The Cayman Conspiracy. David Ph.D. Shibli
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After getting a line of credit, then losing and hurrying out, he bumped into what appeared be a friendly fellow-gambler. The new friend had seemed to read his thoughts and over a parting cognac, referred him to a loan-shark. He had quickly realized that these people were deadly serious about getting paid back. Now he was broke again and the sharks would be circling; he would have to win some of his money back. This was ridiculous, he thought, but since he had run out of scapegoats, punishing himself would do no good. He decided to press on. Sheepishly, he made eye contact with Charlie, the pit manager.
Immediately, Charlie seized the upper hand and strode over to the hapless Higgins. Charlie lent a sympathetic ear to the request for credit before picking up the nearest house telephone. He dialed a single digit and stared into one of the many security cameras as though he were talking directly to someone. He was.
“Yes, Charlie. What is it?” asked Luca Telesino, the general manager, giving Charlie the chance to put into words what he had spent the last hour watching on one of his screens.
“Mr. Higgins needs a marker, sir,” confirmed Charlie.
“So I’ve noticed, Charlie. What are you waiting for?”
“How much?”
“Two grand. No more. No less. If he loses…No, when he loses, send him up to my office.”
“Will do, sir,” said Charlie, relishing this extra responsibility that he was called upon to execute every so often after another sucker had got in way over their head.
“Will two thousand be enough?” asked Charlie turning to Higgins. He was already filling out the credit voucher in anticipation of the standard response. Higgins agreed with the speed of a scalded cat, afraid that they might change their mind.
The whole sum was converted directly into chips in accordance with house rules but it was not until he could actually feel them in his unsteady hands that Higgins felt the waves of relaxation flow over him.
At last, he was safe. Now he could win his money back and some dignity to boot. Now holding the edge, this stack of borrowed chips would buy his ticket from this hell; only time would tell if it would be a return ticket.
That old winning feeling was coming back to him. Very shortly, Lady Luck would be sitting beside him and it would be time to play. An arrogant smirk held his next cigarette which he lit with his gold- plated, Dunhill lighter, remembering to avoid the flame that always seemed to jump higher in this charged place. He had bought it after one of his early lucky spells. If he had taken the time to look back over his fortune since owning it, he would have dropped it like a red-hot coal, but he exercised his right to be superstitious when it suited him.
He sipped some more of his cognac and sensed Lady Luck sidle up to him with promises that warmed his heart. The bitch sang like a Siren and Higgins was set on joining Ulysses as the only other survivor of the forbidden melody. Unfortunately for Higgins, he had no friends left to secure him to the mast of sanity and sure enough, his sinking ship was quickly dashed against the rocks.
Fickle Lady Luck had only needed an hour to lose all of Higgins’ money. Charlie scoffed through the episode, actually enjoying the pathetic entertainment that Higgins was providing. Like the hard-core gambler that he was, Higgins played it to the bitter end, geeing himself up with fist clenches, clichés and ludicrously comparing himself to a Spartan warrior facing unfair odds. He even changed his emergency five-dollar note into a single chip and placed it on thirteen. The number stayed true. It was over.
A burly security guard invaded Higgins’ wreckage. “Excuse me, sir. The general manager would like to see you in his office. I’ve been instructed to accompany you.”
Like a zombie, Higgins stood up, unable to attain his full five feet ten. He slipped his lucky lighter into a pocket of his tatty, checkered jacket and followed until they reached the private staff elevator.
The guard used his control key and launched them to Telesino’s nerve centre on the thirty-fifth floor. Higgins restrained the urge to make light talk as his chaperone stared at the door throughout, anxious to complete his task and not incur the infamous wrath of Luca Telesino. They duly arrived and a faceless heavy held open the door to his boss’s office.
Like an errant schoolboy summoned before the headmaster, Higgins shuffled in and behind a huge wooden desk he could make out a patch of black, thinning hair that peeped over the rear of a large, leather swivel-chair. Sensing the arrival of an expected guest, the chair spun around to reveal Luca Telesino wearing a black tuxedo and a yellow smile. He rose, confidently filling out his stout six feet.
“Ah, Mr. Higgins, come in. I’ve been expecting you,” Telesino started in a paternal tone. “Sit down. Please.”
Higgins obliged.
“Correct me if I am wrong, Mr. Higgins, but I am led to believe that you are experiencing severe financial difficulties at the moment?”
He paused to await a reaction. None came; he drew the appropriate conclusion and continued, “I would like to give you the chance to redeem yourself.” He paused to let his words sink in. “If you perform satisfactorily, we may be able to forget the two thousand dollars.”
Higgins wondered what the catch would be.
The erudite Telesino went on, “In addition, I am sure that my cousin would also be willing to waive the ten thousand that you owe one of his loan agents.”
Shit! Higgins thought. The loan shark was tied up with this man’s cousin!
“Hey, wait a minute!” Higgins blurted out. “That was five grand, not ten!”
“If you are that unfamiliar with the terms of your agreement, Mr. Higgins, I suggest that you read the fine print again. Interest usually accrues on such transactions and yours is no exception.”
Telesino’s voice took on a sharper edge. The ominous warnings sliced through Higgins’ resistance. He was prepared to listen to any alternative. It didn’t even have to be reasonable.
“What do I have to do?” surrendered Higgins.
“Follow me, please,” commanded Telesino, waddling over to a digital pad on the wall. Rapidly, he punched a few numbers in and the wall appeared to vanish, revealing what seemed to be a control room. Paid eyes were scanning the plethora of television screens and ignored the newcomer.
“This is power, Mr. Higgins, absolute power. All legal, I might add. Once our customers come through the doors, we know every move that they make. How much money they spend, what they drink, the brand of cigarettes they smoke, if they need a loan, you name it.”
“Where do I come in?” appealed Higgins, acutely aware of his sudden nakedness.
“We would like to have the pleasure of entertaining some of your friends,” explained Telesino.
“Like free advertising, you mean?” said the hopeful Higgins.
“Something like that,” replied Telesino with a frown that insinuated it was not that simple.
This business was beginning to sound sinister to Higgins. He weighed up his options and gave up almost immediately.
Telesino continued, “All you have to do is convince some of your friends that they should spend an evening playing our tables. One new person each week will be sufficient. I will be watching for you.”
“Is that all?” asked Higgins, almost relieved. His sales experience would come in handy for this strange task, he thought. It was simple enough. He didn’t even have to bring his victims back again, did he?
“What if they don’t come back?” he asked.
Telesino looked at him, grinning. “You did.”
Past memories smashed to the forefront of Higgins’ brain. What had brought him back? Free choice, surely? What about that taxi-driver? And what about his incessant craving to come always to The Eastern Promise and nowhere else? There had to be some devious way of making people come back? Or was it just a basic