smerdyakov
12-01-2011, 11:49 PM
Paul jumped to his feet. He felt the nerves in the stomach dissipate a little as the horse he had bet on was gaining lengths. Three lengths… Four lengths…. Five lengths clear! There was a furlong left in the race. Six lengths now…
“Get in!” roared Paul, seeing his horse steam home past the post in the last race at Sandown.
Fifty quid on a 4-1 shot, which meant he just about broke even for the day. What a relief!
His hand shook slightly as he passed the winning slip across the counter to the tired- faced clerk. She passed him back five fifty euro notes. The rent would be paid tomorrow anyway, he thought to himself. Not that he particularly gave a sh!t about the rent. He was always falling behind in the rent.
“Nice to see someone is winning,” said one of the old men who were left in the shop.
“Yiz wouldn’t pick a winner in a one horse race, youse lot,” Paul scanned the faces of the few people there, laughing softly to himself.
They were a desperate lot, he thought. The thing with him was, he knew when to knock it on the head. He could have stayed there betting his winnings on the dog races. But he didn’t. Discipline, that’s what you needed.
In work the next day, it was busy. A lot of the people who drank in the bar were unemployed alcoholics. They got their dole money on Wednesday and went drinking with it straight away. Some of them would come in as early as half ten, just as the pub opened. Paul didn’t mind working there. Most of the customers were okay, and didn’t cause trouble. The odd one or two could get loud or whatever, but for the most part they were quietly drinking themselves to oblivion. And his boss was hardly ever around, so he had the run of the place to himself.
“Paul…I have a good tip for you today,” said one of the men drinking at the bar.
“Yeah,” Paul said.
The men in the bar hadn’t a clue about horses. Hadn’t the slightest notion, they hadn’t. They were thick as sh!te, and didn’t have a clue about most stuff. Paul indulged them all the same. It was good to keep everything on a smooth keel, no arguments or agro. On the way home last night, he picked up the racing paper, studied the form, and made out all his bets for the following day. He had been doing this for the past few weeks now. Gambling never held much appeal to him before. Whether it was through boredom or depression he had started gambling, he wasn’t sure. What he was sure of was the rush of excitement it gave him. The shifts in work seemed to fly in, he noticed, when he had a bunch of horses spread out across the day. The racing started at half one, that was the only thing.
On his break, Paul went in and placed his bets. He only had ten euro left, so he decided to skip lunch and have a good dinner instead when he finished work. The pub used to have two staff on in the day, but since the recession and everything, business was down a lot. The owner would nip in to relieve
Paul while he took a break, then he would head off again.
By five o’clock he had lost almost 200. He felt like throwing up all day, as he watched his horses, one after the other, get beaten. The adrenaline, leading up to the race, was replaced by butterflies, which quickly segued into peptic nausea as he realized his horse was beaten. He knocked the TV off in disgust. Some of the men asked him to switch it back on as there was a race left, but he told them to fu*k off and stop annoying him.
The landlord was coming around tonight for his rent as well, but Paul texted him, telling him to call tomorrow instead as he was out in his mother’s. There were a few football matches on tonight, and he was pissed off as he didn’t even have the money to do a bet.
Before he left work he decided to borrow fifty quid from the till; he left a note under the cash tray, so the owner would know he borrowed it. Sure he could take it from his wages tomorrow. No big deal.
He could have a half enjoyable evening at least, once he could have a bet on the football.
When Paul finished work he went over to his friend John’s to watch the match and have a few cans. John was doing some course in college now and seemed to be much more focused than he used to be. John knew that he gambled but not the extent to which he did it.
“You’re very quiet there, Paul.”
“I’m watchin’ the match, man.” His team was losing 1-0. Fifty quid on them he had. Give us a break here John, he thought to himself.
“Did you have a bet on it?”
“Nahh,” Paul replied, eyes glued to the telly.
“Go on!” Paul threw his fist in the air as his team equalized on the stroke of half-time. 1-1.
“So you did have a bet on it, then.”
“Yeah, just a few quid.” Paul answered, turning around to face him.
“Seriously, Paul… That gambling lark is dangerous. The road to ruin, it is.”
“It’s under control.”
“Is it? I saw one of your betting dockets last week. 100 quid you backed on a horse! And it lost…”
“That’s my business, John.”
“That’s too much, Paul! You’re only earning four hundred quid a week. Why can’t you just limit it to ten euro a bet?”
“I usually do. I never put on more than twenty. That time was just a rush of blood, that’s all that was. Everyone fu*ken bets, John. Everyone you know and I know does. You should see the lads in the bar, bet on two flies goin' up a fu*ken wall, they would.”
“Yeah but you’re not like them, Paul.”
“What a load of sh!te,” Paul screamed at the telly, watching his team concede another goal with seconds of the match left. 4-1.
“Ah that’s hard to take,” he exhaled, getting up and putting his jacket on.
“Look, Paul…try giving it a rest for a few days. Put some distance between yourself and the betting, so you can get some perspective on it.”
“It’s alright, John. Really, it is.
”I know it’s not. You never go out with the lads anymore; you’re always staying at home to watch a match, or in the bookies. And you’re working, living on your own, but you’re always broke all the time. You have to grab a hold of this, Paul. I’m telling you as a mate. It will end up bad.”
“Yeah. Look, John, I’ll see ya after.”
A part of him knew John was right, but he just wasn’t in the mood to listen to him. Their relationship had drifted off in the past year. Something changed. They didn’t get on like they used to. That was life though, things changed.
Two weeks went by in the same way. He might be up for a few days, and then, invariably, he would lose whatever he won. Up and down, up and down, round and round. But the buzz from winning was what he chased. The feeling he got from winning was a grand thing. It felt like everything had clicked, like he was ….
He borrowed a few hundred from his mother, lying about going away for the weekend. His mother thought he was bringing his girlfriend away. He had broken up with her a few months back though. Funnily enough, his mother thought he was doing well. Paul would pop over to her the odd weekend. She was in the house on her own now since his younger sister moved out. The council wanted to put her in a flat, because it was just her there in the three bed roomed house, but his mother wanted to stay where she was. They sent another letter out saying she had to move because she was over 65, but she knew well they were chancing their arm. Even though it was never her home, she spent a lot of money doing it up over the years. His mother always had a lot of pride. It made him cry sometimes, just thinking about his mother, and all she went through, bringing four kids up on her own. The other three would come out the weekends and bring the grand-children. He promised himself he would drop out to the house next Sunday.
Paul couldn’t go a day without doing a bet now. He started to gamble online so if he was in work or had something to do he could still place a bet. Everything else had become a sort of impediment to the gambling. He knew it wasn’t right but couldn’t resist his compulsion all the same. His friends never even called him anymore. He didn’t really care though.
One night on the way home, he went into a casino which had opened up down the road from where he worked. The place was busy for a Tuesday night, he thought. He never went to casinos before, and was a bit wary of them in general, but there was no football on the telly and he felt like killing an hour or two.
He decided to give the roulette a go. He always liked the idea of roulette, how you could win loads of money and just take the chips up and cash them, like you see in the films. No hassles. A few hours and you could be made for life. There was a certain romance in that alright, but he wasn’t so stupid that he thought that kind of stuff happened in real life. He’d be happy to leave with a few hundred quid. He wasn’t greedy; he knew when to call it a night.
The first hour went pretty well. He kept the stakes small, and had managed to accumulate almost 300. He began to raise the stakes slowly, going from 10 percent of his pot to 15 percent to 20 percent a spin. After two hours he was up over 2000. His pulse was racing now, and his face flushed crimson with the excitement. This was certainly up a league from the football and the horses, he thought. He took his chips up to the counter, silently congratulating himself on his decision to do so. In those two hours he had won more than on any bet he had ever done in his life. A part of him said never to go back in the casino again, that he had just been lucky, that if he stayed there he could lose that money in a flash. But he laughed at this, amused by his own naivety; he simply knew he would go back.
When Paul went to bed that night, it took him a long time to sleep. He played every spin back in his head. The sheer, undiluted excitement of the thing …it made him giddy just thinking about it. He had never felt that much adrenalin before, never felt such a rush.
The following night, he went to the casino again. Against his better judgment, he brought every cent of the previous night’s winnings with him. He should have sensed that was a bad omen in itself. In less than an hour, he had lost it all. Everything went wrong. His plan of 10 per cent stake per spin went out the window after 6 or 7 spins. He placed a series of bets he had no idea about, sticking chips haphazardly on random numbers, changing from black to red to high to low impatiently and without discipline. Needless to say, he left the casino a dejected figure, his conscience smarting like he had never experienced in his life. His esteem had been flayed to death. Paul felt like this body he inhabited wasn’t his anymore. He felt like something else had taken up residence in it, and he couldn’t get back in. As he walked home along the canal, he contemplated just throwing himself in. And it terrified him.
The following day in work, he overheard one of the customers talking about getting a loan from some money-lender called Nemo. Paul got Nemo’s number from the customer, as he was completely broke and didn’t get paid until next week. His boss had scolded him over taking the money from the till, even though he paid it back. And there was no one else he could ask.
After work Paul rang the number and Nemo said he would call down to him with the money that night. At about eight in the evening Nemo called over in a brand new Merc. He was small enough for a money lender, was the first thing Paul noticed about him. And Nemo was quite friendly as well, which he didn’t expect. But there was a hardness in his face, in the eyes. Paul sensed he was a dangerous fellow. It wasn’t hard to tell. As they walked into the light of the living room, Paul winced as he noticed a huge scar, which looked more like a crater, running along the top of his bald head.
“Ok, Paul. I charge forty per cent, and I want the cash plus interest back in 28 days. 1 month from now, mate. Nemo doesn’t ask what you want the money for. The only thing Nemo wants to know is can you pay it back?
“Yeah.”
Nemo took out a roll of fifties and peeled off ten of them.
“500. Now…are you absolutely okay with the terms of this agreement?” Nemo smirked slightly and waved the money towards Paul, then drew it back.
“Once you take this money Paul, you will owe me 700. Are you cool with that?” he stared hard into Paul’s eyes as he said this, his own eyes as dead as stones. His accent became a lot thicker now, more menacing. He dropped the quasi professional tone and settled back into his original character.
“Yeah, sure.”
“I’m sure you know my rep in this town, Paul. Nobody owes Nemo money for long. Remember what I’m sayin’ to ye now, okay?”
“Yeah.”
Nemo handed him the money.
“Okay, kid. See you in one month, yeah? And if you need a top up, you have my number. Terms on this loan are non-negotiable, but if you want another loan it will be due 28 days from the day I give it to you, yeah?”
“Sure thing, Nemo. Nice one.”
And that was it, Nemo was gone. He had the money. And he only had one thing on his mind.
“Get in!” roared Paul, seeing his horse steam home past the post in the last race at Sandown.
Fifty quid on a 4-1 shot, which meant he just about broke even for the day. What a relief!
His hand shook slightly as he passed the winning slip across the counter to the tired- faced clerk. She passed him back five fifty euro notes. The rent would be paid tomorrow anyway, he thought to himself. Not that he particularly gave a sh!t about the rent. He was always falling behind in the rent.
“Nice to see someone is winning,” said one of the old men who were left in the shop.
“Yiz wouldn’t pick a winner in a one horse race, youse lot,” Paul scanned the faces of the few people there, laughing softly to himself.
They were a desperate lot, he thought. The thing with him was, he knew when to knock it on the head. He could have stayed there betting his winnings on the dog races. But he didn’t. Discipline, that’s what you needed.
In work the next day, it was busy. A lot of the people who drank in the bar were unemployed alcoholics. They got their dole money on Wednesday and went drinking with it straight away. Some of them would come in as early as half ten, just as the pub opened. Paul didn’t mind working there. Most of the customers were okay, and didn’t cause trouble. The odd one or two could get loud or whatever, but for the most part they were quietly drinking themselves to oblivion. And his boss was hardly ever around, so he had the run of the place to himself.
“Paul…I have a good tip for you today,” said one of the men drinking at the bar.
“Yeah,” Paul said.
The men in the bar hadn’t a clue about horses. Hadn’t the slightest notion, they hadn’t. They were thick as sh!te, and didn’t have a clue about most stuff. Paul indulged them all the same. It was good to keep everything on a smooth keel, no arguments or agro. On the way home last night, he picked up the racing paper, studied the form, and made out all his bets for the following day. He had been doing this for the past few weeks now. Gambling never held much appeal to him before. Whether it was through boredom or depression he had started gambling, he wasn’t sure. What he was sure of was the rush of excitement it gave him. The shifts in work seemed to fly in, he noticed, when he had a bunch of horses spread out across the day. The racing started at half one, that was the only thing.
On his break, Paul went in and placed his bets. He only had ten euro left, so he decided to skip lunch and have a good dinner instead when he finished work. The pub used to have two staff on in the day, but since the recession and everything, business was down a lot. The owner would nip in to relieve
Paul while he took a break, then he would head off again.
By five o’clock he had lost almost 200. He felt like throwing up all day, as he watched his horses, one after the other, get beaten. The adrenaline, leading up to the race, was replaced by butterflies, which quickly segued into peptic nausea as he realized his horse was beaten. He knocked the TV off in disgust. Some of the men asked him to switch it back on as there was a race left, but he told them to fu*k off and stop annoying him.
The landlord was coming around tonight for his rent as well, but Paul texted him, telling him to call tomorrow instead as he was out in his mother’s. There were a few football matches on tonight, and he was pissed off as he didn’t even have the money to do a bet.
Before he left work he decided to borrow fifty quid from the till; he left a note under the cash tray, so the owner would know he borrowed it. Sure he could take it from his wages tomorrow. No big deal.
He could have a half enjoyable evening at least, once he could have a bet on the football.
When Paul finished work he went over to his friend John’s to watch the match and have a few cans. John was doing some course in college now and seemed to be much more focused than he used to be. John knew that he gambled but not the extent to which he did it.
“You’re very quiet there, Paul.”
“I’m watchin’ the match, man.” His team was losing 1-0. Fifty quid on them he had. Give us a break here John, he thought to himself.
“Did you have a bet on it?”
“Nahh,” Paul replied, eyes glued to the telly.
“Go on!” Paul threw his fist in the air as his team equalized on the stroke of half-time. 1-1.
“So you did have a bet on it, then.”
“Yeah, just a few quid.” Paul answered, turning around to face him.
“Seriously, Paul… That gambling lark is dangerous. The road to ruin, it is.”
“It’s under control.”
“Is it? I saw one of your betting dockets last week. 100 quid you backed on a horse! And it lost…”
“That’s my business, John.”
“That’s too much, Paul! You’re only earning four hundred quid a week. Why can’t you just limit it to ten euro a bet?”
“I usually do. I never put on more than twenty. That time was just a rush of blood, that’s all that was. Everyone fu*ken bets, John. Everyone you know and I know does. You should see the lads in the bar, bet on two flies goin' up a fu*ken wall, they would.”
“Yeah but you’re not like them, Paul.”
“What a load of sh!te,” Paul screamed at the telly, watching his team concede another goal with seconds of the match left. 4-1.
“Ah that’s hard to take,” he exhaled, getting up and putting his jacket on.
“Look, Paul…try giving it a rest for a few days. Put some distance between yourself and the betting, so you can get some perspective on it.”
“It’s alright, John. Really, it is.
”I know it’s not. You never go out with the lads anymore; you’re always staying at home to watch a match, or in the bookies. And you’re working, living on your own, but you’re always broke all the time. You have to grab a hold of this, Paul. I’m telling you as a mate. It will end up bad.”
“Yeah. Look, John, I’ll see ya after.”
A part of him knew John was right, but he just wasn’t in the mood to listen to him. Their relationship had drifted off in the past year. Something changed. They didn’t get on like they used to. That was life though, things changed.
Two weeks went by in the same way. He might be up for a few days, and then, invariably, he would lose whatever he won. Up and down, up and down, round and round. But the buzz from winning was what he chased. The feeling he got from winning was a grand thing. It felt like everything had clicked, like he was ….
He borrowed a few hundred from his mother, lying about going away for the weekend. His mother thought he was bringing his girlfriend away. He had broken up with her a few months back though. Funnily enough, his mother thought he was doing well. Paul would pop over to her the odd weekend. She was in the house on her own now since his younger sister moved out. The council wanted to put her in a flat, because it was just her there in the three bed roomed house, but his mother wanted to stay where she was. They sent another letter out saying she had to move because she was over 65, but she knew well they were chancing their arm. Even though it was never her home, she spent a lot of money doing it up over the years. His mother always had a lot of pride. It made him cry sometimes, just thinking about his mother, and all she went through, bringing four kids up on her own. The other three would come out the weekends and bring the grand-children. He promised himself he would drop out to the house next Sunday.
Paul couldn’t go a day without doing a bet now. He started to gamble online so if he was in work or had something to do he could still place a bet. Everything else had become a sort of impediment to the gambling. He knew it wasn’t right but couldn’t resist his compulsion all the same. His friends never even called him anymore. He didn’t really care though.
One night on the way home, he went into a casino which had opened up down the road from where he worked. The place was busy for a Tuesday night, he thought. He never went to casinos before, and was a bit wary of them in general, but there was no football on the telly and he felt like killing an hour or two.
He decided to give the roulette a go. He always liked the idea of roulette, how you could win loads of money and just take the chips up and cash them, like you see in the films. No hassles. A few hours and you could be made for life. There was a certain romance in that alright, but he wasn’t so stupid that he thought that kind of stuff happened in real life. He’d be happy to leave with a few hundred quid. He wasn’t greedy; he knew when to call it a night.
The first hour went pretty well. He kept the stakes small, and had managed to accumulate almost 300. He began to raise the stakes slowly, going from 10 percent of his pot to 15 percent to 20 percent a spin. After two hours he was up over 2000. His pulse was racing now, and his face flushed crimson with the excitement. This was certainly up a league from the football and the horses, he thought. He took his chips up to the counter, silently congratulating himself on his decision to do so. In those two hours he had won more than on any bet he had ever done in his life. A part of him said never to go back in the casino again, that he had just been lucky, that if he stayed there he could lose that money in a flash. But he laughed at this, amused by his own naivety; he simply knew he would go back.
When Paul went to bed that night, it took him a long time to sleep. He played every spin back in his head. The sheer, undiluted excitement of the thing …it made him giddy just thinking about it. He had never felt that much adrenalin before, never felt such a rush.
The following night, he went to the casino again. Against his better judgment, he brought every cent of the previous night’s winnings with him. He should have sensed that was a bad omen in itself. In less than an hour, he had lost it all. Everything went wrong. His plan of 10 per cent stake per spin went out the window after 6 or 7 spins. He placed a series of bets he had no idea about, sticking chips haphazardly on random numbers, changing from black to red to high to low impatiently and without discipline. Needless to say, he left the casino a dejected figure, his conscience smarting like he had never experienced in his life. His esteem had been flayed to death. Paul felt like this body he inhabited wasn’t his anymore. He felt like something else had taken up residence in it, and he couldn’t get back in. As he walked home along the canal, he contemplated just throwing himself in. And it terrified him.
The following day in work, he overheard one of the customers talking about getting a loan from some money-lender called Nemo. Paul got Nemo’s number from the customer, as he was completely broke and didn’t get paid until next week. His boss had scolded him over taking the money from the till, even though he paid it back. And there was no one else he could ask.
After work Paul rang the number and Nemo said he would call down to him with the money that night. At about eight in the evening Nemo called over in a brand new Merc. He was small enough for a money lender, was the first thing Paul noticed about him. And Nemo was quite friendly as well, which he didn’t expect. But there was a hardness in his face, in the eyes. Paul sensed he was a dangerous fellow. It wasn’t hard to tell. As they walked into the light of the living room, Paul winced as he noticed a huge scar, which looked more like a crater, running along the top of his bald head.
“Ok, Paul. I charge forty per cent, and I want the cash plus interest back in 28 days. 1 month from now, mate. Nemo doesn’t ask what you want the money for. The only thing Nemo wants to know is can you pay it back?
“Yeah.”
Nemo took out a roll of fifties and peeled off ten of them.
“500. Now…are you absolutely okay with the terms of this agreement?” Nemo smirked slightly and waved the money towards Paul, then drew it back.
“Once you take this money Paul, you will owe me 700. Are you cool with that?” he stared hard into Paul’s eyes as he said this, his own eyes as dead as stones. His accent became a lot thicker now, more menacing. He dropped the quasi professional tone and settled back into his original character.
“Yeah, sure.”
“I’m sure you know my rep in this town, Paul. Nobody owes Nemo money for long. Remember what I’m sayin’ to ye now, okay?”
“Yeah.”
Nemo handed him the money.
“Okay, kid. See you in one month, yeah? And if you need a top up, you have my number. Terms on this loan are non-negotiable, but if you want another loan it will be due 28 days from the day I give it to you, yeah?”
“Sure thing, Nemo. Nice one.”
And that was it, Nemo was gone. He had the money. And he only had one thing on his mind.