Two
Nikolai
Roman and Andrei, my most loyal and reliable security team, are already waiting outside the entrance of Zigurat. It’s in a discreet location in a nondescript building. There are no cameras or reporters around here, which is exactly the way I like it. We don't advertise. You have to be recommended by another member to enter. All our punters know exactly what’s on offer inside … and the risks … of non-payment. This way everything is clear from the start.
Roman opens my door and I slide out. Both Roman and Semyon step into place quickly, one on either side of me, and escort me inside. It sounds like too much? Trust me, you can’t be too careful in my business. I have more enemies than friends. Come to think of it. I have no friends. They are all enemies in disguise.
Semyon joins the other two at the front door. His eyes are alert. Good. Inside, I walk through reception, Anastasia, who works the front desk, nods and smiles at me. She doesn’t expect me to smile back. I don’t.
I head upstairs to the first floor. Roman, who is my chief security team leader remains on my heels. He enjoys his job and takes his task of protecting me very seriously, which I am rather pleased about.
“Good evening Mr. Smirnov,” Simone, one of the cocktail waitresses, greets me on the landing. Her smile is wide and promises all kinds of things. She is tall and willowy and shockingly beautiful, and quite honestly, catwalk material. She licks her lips. Yeah, she's nice, real nice, but I don't mix business with pleasure. Actually, who am I kidding. I would mix anything with pleasure, but I’m just not interested. She’s a dime a dozen.
“How many in the Blue Room?” I ask her.
“Six, Mr. Smirnov.”
“And next door?”
“Six as well.’’
“Excellent.’’
“Thank you, Mr. Smirnov.”
I look at my watch. Eight-thirty on the nail. I head downstairs and make my way to the purple room, where I normally dine, and where, very occasionally, the richest of the punters are invited to dine here too, but never with me.
Vanessa, a sweet girl, greets me. “Good evening, Sir.”
I take a seat. With military precision, a glass of Chateau Petrus arrives. I let its opulence slide over my tongue. Yes, this is the life. In five minutes Vanesa brings seared fillet mignon and girolles in truffle sauce. My head has stopped banging and I enjoy the food.
I skip desert, but accept the small, strong expresso she puts in front of me. Standing up, I make my way back upstairs to my offices, with Roman following silently at my heels. I have to pass reception.
A number of punters are milling around waiting to hand their coats into the cloakroom staff. Some stare, some try to make eye contact, others are oblivious, one or two dash over to shake my hand.
I keep moving never looking their way, and Roman ensures there is no contact. Most are hoping that if they lose and their debt to the club is large, knowing me will make their situation somewhat more favorable. They are wrong.
I pass the main gambling room. As I put my foot on the first step of the stairs that lead to my office, my ears tune to a loud frustrated voice. Every sinew in my body tightens. Slowly, I turn around and look towards the commotion.
“Nico,’’ the man in a sharp pin stripe suit calls. Looking directly at me, he attempts to barge past security and come to me.
Andrei, a six foot six, Special Forces soldier, immediately slaps his huge palm on Nigel’s chest, effectively stopping him in his tracks. Well, well, who knew today was the day. I walk towards him, my face wiped clean of the joy and excitement surging in my veins. This is it. This is the moment I have been waiting for.
“You got my money?’’ I ask.
Nigel's facial expression doesn’t alter. “I will. By tonight. I promise.”
I raise one eyebrow. “By tonight?”
“Yes, yes, by tonight. You have to let me play tonight and I’ll be able to pay you back.”
“You don’t have the money now.”
“No,”
I turn towards Roman.
“Wait,” Nigel shouts desperately.
I turn back towards him.
“You see, I had a dream. I dreamt that I would win tonight, so I will. I will win it all back. I can feel it in my bones. You’ll get it all back, Mr. Smirnov.’’
“Take him to the cellar,” I instruct.
Roman and Andrei eagerly oblige by quickly frog-marching him down the hall down to the cellar. I walk behind, keeping a small distance. Nigel shouts and pleads over his shoulder. My men take him inside the cellar. There is nothing in that room but a badly stained pool table and a couple of chairs. They have already pushed him down on a chair, by the time I go in.
I close the door quietly behind me and stand for a moment looking at him. Every time I see him I am shocked by how unbelievably pathetic he is. I don't speak, and he rushes to fill the dank silence.
“What are you going to do to me?'' he asks, the first signs of real anxiety creeping in.
I shrug. “Nothing … if I get my money?’’
I watch him lean forward in the chair and shuffle his feet. “You’re going to get your money Mr. Smirnov. I told you, I had a dream. It was so vivid. I was playing in this club and I just couldn't lose. I won a lot of money. Much more than I owe you. You just need to let me play tonight. Please, I won’t lose, I swear. You’ll see.”
Sudden laughter erupts from my body. Roman and Andrei join in. Our laughter reverberates around the carpetless, curtainless room.
I stop laughing suddenly and step closer. I hold my arms outstretched and Roman comes behind me and removes my jacket. It’s just drama. Adds nicely to the tension. Actually, I’ve never done this before. I suppose I could be a gangster. It’s not too bad. I roll up the shirt sleeve of my left arm, and then my right arm. Nigel's eyes dart anxiously from me to my men. His hands are trembling.
“I’ll pay you back. I’m good for it.”
“You actually thought you could come here without my money, and I would let you play again. You must think I’m fool. Do I look like a fool to you?”
“No, not at all. I know you’re not a fool. It was a mistake. Fine, I won’t play tonight. I’ll get the money. I have the money. I will pay it back.”
“You have the money.”
“Not, not, right now. But, I … I … can get it. Just give me one day.”
“One day.”
“I’ll get it by tomorrow.”
“That’s not the deal, Nigel. The rules are clear. Every member has three months. Run up as big a debt as you want during that time. Then you have to settle in full. Your three months is tonight.”
“But I can settle it tonight. If you just let me play. My dream …”
“This is no dream, Nigel. This is your fucking reality.” I take a step closer. “Put him on the table.”
Before the sniveling liar can say another word, he is thrown face down on the pool table.
“Hold his right hand out.’’ Roman takes one and Andrei the other. I walk slowly towards the wall cabinet, find a hammer. My staff have a sick sense of humor, there is blood still on it. I go back and hold the hammer close enough so that he can see the blood on it.
Please, please Mr. Smirnov. I’ll get you the money.’’ he begs.
I lift the hammer above my head.
“Wait, Wait,” he screams. “You can have my Mercedes. It’s the latest model, worth one hundred and fifty grand. His eyes are wild in his pale face and there is a nervous tick in his jaw. I try not to smile, as I lower the hammer and put it close to his face. How could he fall for this shit?
“You owe two hundred and fifty grand you piece of shit. What else do you have?’’
“Take my house. It's worth one point eight million. You can have everything. Anything. Just let me go.'' he begs.
That’s the thing about gamblers. Even when they’re in danger of taking their last fucking breath they’ll try to con you.
“Is that all you have?’’
“I swear Mr. Smirnov that’s everything I own. I only owe you a quarter of a million, but you can have it all.’’
I walk across the room with my back to him. For a few moments, I let the silence ride while I turn inwards. Why Nikolai you’ve won. You’ve played the game, you never flinched, or gave up, and you won again. I smile. Yeah, I won. I turn around and walk back to him.
“Well, Nigel, in that case, you are completely fucked. We both know the bank owns everything you have offered me. Break his hands, boys,” I snarl.’’
“No, no,” he sobs. “I beg you don’t hurt me. Please.’’
“I don’t understand,” he wails. “If you know I have nothing why do you keep asking for what I haven't got? What do you really want?”
I grab a fistful of his sweaty hair and raise his head. His eyes search mine, hoping for a glimmer of vulnerability. He sees none. Only icy cold eyes. He knows this is one debt he must pay. I smile coldly.
“I want your wife, Nigel.”
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