The Cayman Conspiracy. David Ph.D. Shibli
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that win and all the losses don’t seem to matter. But losing money can be a real pain. I suppose all gamblers see themselves as winners. That’s why casinos exist, to cater to all those winners. It’s a bloody rip-off.”
“Those are harsh words; perhaps I’ve hit a sensitive nerve?” prodded Arthur.
“Not as harsh as they could be,” answered Joe, “but those days are over for me. It was just a bit of fun.”
Joe refrained from elaborating, preferring to keep certain bad memories to himself.
“But you did have a free choice and it was legal?” Arthur said.
“That’s true,” agreed Joe.
“You can’t tamper with democracy, Joe. People have died for free choice,” stated Arthur, taking the moral high ground.
There was no argument to that. Getting back to the point, Joe probed, “Why the great interest?”
“Let’s just say that the government is looking into various ways of raising capital,” hinted Arthur.
“You mean there are going to be casinos here, in the Cayman Islands?” concluded Joe.
“Not exactly, at least not in the plural,” explained Arthur. “I’m researching an offer that’s been made by a group from the States to have the exclusive rights in the islands. There’d be only one casino.”
“Well, Arthur, you asked my opinion, I’ll give it to you,” stated Joe, “you’ve got by without gambling until now, so why change?”
“Capital,” stated Arthur, flatly. “There are a lot of things we’ve been planning to do and we simply don’t have the resources.”
“Money?” Joe simplified.
“If you like,” accepted Arthur, “Look what happened to the school during Hurricane Gilbert last year. Do you know how much embarrassment that caused us? I mean, imagine a designated shelter losing its roof?”
“Can’t you introduce a form of taxation instead?” asked Joe.
“And ruin the reputation of the islands? No way, an idea like that would be laughed out of the Assembly. Think of all that investment that might be lost if we impose tax.”
“What about import duties, can you raise those?” offered Joe.
“I thought you’d be the last person to want an increase in import duties. You must pay a fortune on your building materials?” suggested Arthur.
“I do, but I’d be prepared to pay more if that meant keeping a casino out.”
“I don’t think that you’re being objective, Joe,” remarked Arthur frowning. “It was a bad idea to bring the subject up.”
“You’re the one not being objective, Arthur,” retorted Joe. “You won’t cream any more from the rich, because you’re afraid of losing investment. So you’ll be creaming from those who want to be rich, all those poor sods with stars in their eyes and gambling chips in their hands.”
“Hold on, Joe. You’ve got to realize that I’m not familiar with the intricacies of gambling, but I’m doing my darndest to find out. I didn’t say that a casino is coming; I merely said we were looking into the possibility of it. It wasn’t my idea, I was asked to do the study by Executive Council, and that’s exactly what I’m going to do.”
“I just hope that you look at both sides of the coin,” said Joe, cooling down hoping that he could drop the subject.
“Please hear me out, Joe” said Arthur, in a firm tone that briefly caught the attention of the two women, “If I felt that proposing new legislation would be detrimental to the country, don’t you think I’d say so.”
“I’m sure you would,” agreed Joe.
“A dear friend of mine told me that when confronted by dilemma, there is only one thing that you can do,” Arthur pontificated.
“Yes?” Joe prompted.
“To yourself be true.”
Their eyes connected in a fleeting tribute to Joe’s late father and this common ground defused the debate as starters were served.
After a sinfully rich dinner, the diners did penance by sitting through a standard dose of clichés after which, Arthur was called upon to present the awards.
Joe was left to mull over the implications of their discussion, retreating from any light family banter to the events that had given him such a rigid view on this subject.
During his college days, Joe, his flat mate Simon, and two other friends had joined a casino. Since the death of his mother, Joe had found himself fighting the kind of escapism that could be found in a bottle and the exciting atmosphere of a casino had seemed a natural progression. After several expensive forays, the eccentric but brilliant Simon had confronted Joe and mathematically proven that losing was inevitable.
Joe had just imparted some of his friend’s words to Arthur along with his own experiences. Fear of losing his best friend had motivated Joe to drop his gambling, but he would never forget the addictive high that came with the winning wager. His two other friends were not so fortunate, and in a few months, they had lost every penny and dropped out from their studies.
Arthur resumed his seat and Joe approached the subject from a calmer angle, “How much time do you have before you finish your feasibility report?” he probed.
“About three months. Then I’ll be meeting with the directors of the consortium to evaluate their final proposal, after which I submit my recommendations to Executive Council.”
“But even if ExCo approve, it’ll still have to go to vote in the Legislative Assembly?” inquired Joe.
“That’s right. The whole thing could take a year before any new laws are passed.”
Although the time frame comforted Joe, he knew that he had not heard the last of this. He felt powerless; after all, this was not his country and he didn’t even have a vote. He would have to hope that Arthur would complete his study and arrive at a negative conclusion, but turning down instant millions might be too much to ask.
The restaurant was showing signs of emptying as the merry travel-agents decided to take their chances of waking up with somebody they had never met before as they hunted the city-beat at one of the nearby night clubs.
The quieter atmosphere was immediate relief to Arthur’s indigestion and he expressed a desire to leave. Joe and Rachael stayed behind for another coffee while Arthur took Elene home.
“It sounded like you and Daddy got a little worked up?” Rachael began.
“It wasn’t as bad as that,” replied Joe. “He asked for my view on legalized gambling and I gave it to him, a little too bluntly perhaps.”
“I don’t think he knows much about it. We’ve never had it here although I’ve read that people can get rich overnight,” she offered.
“That’s true. I’ve never seen a poor bookie,” mused Joe
“A bookie?” Rachael’s quizzical look told Joe it was time to drop the subject.
“It doesn’t matter, honey” said Joe, “it may never happen. Come on, let’s go home.”
After an afternoon of bliss, the evening left them driving home in silence. Rachael was Arthur’s daughter, and that could neither be changed, nor compromised, so Joe decided not to rock the boat, and dropped the matter.
That night he lay awake thinking, chastising himself for being so idealistic, but try as hard as he might, he could not forget the destruction that he had so narrowly avoided. As the memories of his university days played themselves out in his mind, he felt himself remembering the incredible highs and lows that come with the life of a gambler. His pulse began to race and sleep eluded him. Mercifully,