by Angus McLean
Chapter Eleven
They split their forces and went to work. Dan phoned a contact at the Sky City Casino, an ex-cop named Slick Willy who ran one of their security teams. He ran Terry and Brian Marcus through their database and got a minor result. Terry didn’t show up but Brian did-he’d been barred from the premises six months ago for cheating. He’d run up a tab which they’d since written off.
‘He’s a hopeless case,’ Willy said down the phone, ‘some guys you know you’ll get the money out of and some you won’t. He’s one we won’t. It’s a matter of cutting your losses-something he never learned.’
‘Big spender?’
‘Not huge. We wrote off enough to be annoying, but peanuts compared to what some guys get into.’
‘Where would he go if he got barred from you guys then?’
‘Probably the Ace of Spades if he’s from your area, or maybe the Jackpot. Try either of them, but don’t expect much help-their staff are as crooked as their punters.’
‘Cheers Willy, I’ll buy you a beer sometime.’
‘Yeah, right.’
They rang off and Dan made his way to Otahuhu town centre. It was his old beat and he drove past the Police station-he could even see his old office on the first floor. He ignored the pang in his gut and drove past. No point looking back.
Otahuhu was one of those areas that were traditionally working class and pretty rough, but close enough to the city for property values to exceed the means of most residents. A lot of state housing and unemployment, high crime, high immigration, and with it a lot of different cultural influences.
Dan drove past Indian dairies, Chinese supermarkets, afro barbers and the XXXXL clothes shop-’For the Big Man.’ He dropped the car behind the food court and walked back to the main street, wandering through the cultural melting pot and feeling at ease, despite being one of the few white faces. He had a soft spot for South Auckland. One old timer had once told him, ‘She’s a cruel mistress, she just won’t let you go,’ and it was true. It was a tough beat, the toughest any cop could walk, but it was also the best.
He ducked through a doorway into a dimly lit arcade, off which sprung a pair of loan companies and a pawn shop. They all did good business from the unlucky punters at the Ace of Spades, which was up the stairs directly in front of him. He went up the well-worn carpet and found himself in a long low-roofed bar that used a couple of games tables and several rows of pokie machines to masquerade as a legit casino.
Two huge Samoans looked coolly at him from the bar to the left. One was six foot and about 100 kilos. His mate was bigger and had scars on his face. Neither looked friendly.
‘Boss around?’ Dan asked, strolling casually over to them.
‘Warrant?’ the shorter one grunted.
‘What for?’ Dan replied with a quizzical look.
He leaned against the bar and gave Scarface a grin. Scarface didn’t respond, just cracked his knuckles loudly.
‘Warrant?’ the bar man repeated.
‘Mate, I think you got me wrong. I’m not a cop.’
The bar man gave him a disbelieving look. Scarface stayed silent.
‘I just want to talk to the manager. Is he around?’
‘Name?’
‘I don’t know the name.’
The bar man scowled. Scarface popped the knuckles on his other hand and bared his teeth. Dan wondered if that was a grin or just an animal instinct.
‘Your name, fool.’
‘Crowley.’
Dan slid a business card across the bar and tapped it with his forefinger. The bar man peered at it. Scarface looked like he couldn’t read, and he made no effort now to change.
‘Maybe I don’t need the manager,’ Dan told the bar man.
‘Yeah?’
‘Yeah.’ Dan shrugged. ‘I mean, all I want is some info.’
‘Yeah?’
‘Yeah.’ He shrugged again. ‘There’s money in it…’
Scarface’s face twisted into what may have been a look of interest. Or maybe he was chewing on a wasp. It was hard to tell.
‘Yeah?’ he growled.
Dan grinned. ‘Yeah.’
The bar man gave a sly smile and Dan knew he had them. Twenty bucks later they told him that Brian Marcus came there occasionally and didn’t do very well. He was a blackjack fan but bad at it, and had the occasional win on the pokies but not enough to cover his losses. The bar man told how Brian Marcus had been there only a few days ago and had taken a hit on the blackjack table, big enough to empty his wallet. He’d accused the dealer of fixing the game and caused a scene.
‘So we chucked him out,’ the bar man laughed, ‘straight down the stairs like a sack o’ spuds, bro.’
He cracked up, and even Scarface’s lips twitched slightly. That was a lot of emotion for him. Dan forced a smile onto his face and awaited the next instalment of the riveting tale.
‘So that’s it?’ Dan asked, ‘he’s barred now or what?’
‘Na, bro,’ the bar man scoffed, ‘he can come back. Still got money, still gunna lose!’
He cracked himself up again, and Dan nodded to himself. He could see the vicious circle these gamblers got themselves into, and it brought a flash of clarity to the case.
Brian Marcus, spiralling out of control in the gambling dens of South Auckland, turns to ripping off his own brother’s company to make ends meet. Maybe the false insurance claims weren’t enough and he turned to outright theft instead, or maybe the thefts were nothing to do with him at all. Either way, he was in it up to his eyes.
‘Thanks fellas,’ Dan said, pushing off the bar and giving them a tilt of the chin. ‘It’s been enlightening.’
‘So you’re really a private eye, bro?’ Scarface spoke up, catching him by surprise.
‘I am.’
‘You look kinda like Magnum PI with that ‘tash, bro. Don’t see too many ‘tashes on white dudes no more, bro.’ Scarface shook his head and sighed. ‘I used to love that show man, the red Ferrari, the chicks, Hawaii…good times, bro, good times.’
‘Right on, TC.’
Dan gave him a waggle of the eyebrows and that cracked him up. They were still laughing as he made his way downstairs and back into the melting pot.
