Read Online Black Daffodil (Trevor Joseph Detective series) by Katherine John - Free Book Online
Authors: Katherine John
Ads: Link
big-time drug dealers needed to attract attention from the right – or depending on how you looked at the situation – wrong – kind of people.
Peter walked to a blackjack table. He opted for the game whenever they went undercover in a casino. If the game was straight and the decks weren’t marked, it had the best odds. And Peter was a good player. He didn’t declare his winnings because he played with his own money. He said it was enough of a bonus to get paid while he was at the card table.
Trevor joined the crowd at the roulette table. He recognised a few faces. Alfred … Harding. He forced himself to think of him by his cover; he was stacking half a dozen fifty-pound chips on red. Next to him were two sharply dressed West Indians. Alfred hadn’t lost any time in making contact. But infiltrating the supply chain wasn’t difficult when you could offer cheap merchandise. He didn’t doubt Bill and Dan had supplied all the operatives as liberally as they had him and Peter.
Lee Chan walked through with a group of Chinese who disappeared through a door at the back of the room. Trevor guessed they were on their way to a private poker game. He had never known a race enjoy gambling as much as the Chinese. It wasn’t so much a pastime as a way of life.
The two Americans, Maria and Michael, were playing the slots and exchanging banter with a group of swarthy, well-dressed men and women. Trevor walked past them on his way to the bar and picked up their transatlantic accents. The only other operatives he saw were the Albanian, Justin Lebov and the Russian, Alexander Markov, who were rolling dice.
‘How can I help you, sir?’ A girl who looked as though she’d raided her big sister’s wardrobe and make-up box accosted him. The voice was deep, the accent Eastern European.
‘Isn’t that the other way around? You want a drink?’
‘I thought I’d die of thirst before you asked,’ she answered shamelessly. She turned to the barman. ‘Champagne cocktail, large, please.’
‘And for you, sir?’ the Polish barman smiled at Trevor.
‘Vodka, straight on the rocks.’ Trevor wondered if every restaurant, bar and casino in Britain would close if the Eastern Europeans left the country overnight. He took his credit card from his wallet and handed it to the barman. ‘Start a tab and have a drink yourself and make it a double.’
‘Thank you very much, sir.’
Trevor wasn’t being altruistic. He had picked up more useful information from waiters, barman and bouncers over the years than from police narks. He perched on a stool next to the girl.
She touched her glass to his. ‘I toast your winning streak.’
‘Thank you … ?’
‘Masha.’
‘A real live Russian?’
‘A real live Bulgarian.’
‘How long have you been working here?’
‘In this casino, six weeks. In the UK a year.’
‘You like it here?’
‘I love it,’ she gushed. ‘After a month I was able to send enough money home to my mother to buy a washing machine and a television. Another two years and I’ll have enough to buy a dress shop.’
‘Which game do you recommend?’
‘Roulette.’
Trevor knew she’d been primed by management. Roulette had the worst odds in favour of the gambler and the best for the house. ‘Try again.’
‘Dice. I always bring people luck at dice when I stand beside them.’
Trevor noticed an enormous bouncer cross the room. He looked him in the eye when he approached. ‘Evening.’
‘Evening, sir.’ The bouncer shouted to gain the barman’s attention. He took the bottle of mineral water the boy handed him.
‘Not allowed to drink on duty?’ Trevor knew no bouncer was allowed to consume alcohol on the job, but it was as good an opening gambit as any.
‘Only the hostesses are, sir.’ The man winked at Masha. ‘So, how do you like our little Bulgarian, sir?’
Trevor glanced across the room. He couldn’t see any sign of Eric Darrow but what he could see were CCTV cameras covering every inch
Peter walked to a blackjack table. He opted for the game whenever they went undercover in a casino. If the game was straight and the decks weren’t marked, it had the best odds. And Peter was a good player. He didn’t declare his winnings because he played with his own money. He said it was enough of a bonus to get paid while he was at the card table.
Trevor joined the crowd at the roulette table. He recognised a few faces. Alfred … Harding. He forced himself to think of him by his cover; he was stacking half a dozen fifty-pound chips on red. Next to him were two sharply dressed West Indians. Alfred hadn’t lost any time in making contact. But infiltrating the supply chain wasn’t difficult when you could offer cheap merchandise. He didn’t doubt Bill and Dan had supplied all the operatives as liberally as they had him and Peter.
Lee Chan walked through with a group of Chinese who disappeared through a door at the back of the room. Trevor guessed they were on their way to a private poker game. He had never known a race enjoy gambling as much as the Chinese. It wasn’t so much a pastime as a way of life.
The two Americans, Maria and Michael, were playing the slots and exchanging banter with a group of swarthy, well-dressed men and women. Trevor walked past them on his way to the bar and picked up their transatlantic accents. The only other operatives he saw were the Albanian, Justin Lebov and the Russian, Alexander Markov, who were rolling dice.
‘How can I help you, sir?’ A girl who looked as though she’d raided her big sister’s wardrobe and make-up box accosted him. The voice was deep, the accent Eastern European.
‘Isn’t that the other way around? You want a drink?’
‘I thought I’d die of thirst before you asked,’ she answered shamelessly. She turned to the barman. ‘Champagne cocktail, large, please.’
‘And for you, sir?’ the Polish barman smiled at Trevor.
‘Vodka, straight on the rocks.’ Trevor wondered if every restaurant, bar and casino in Britain would close if the Eastern Europeans left the country overnight. He took his credit card from his wallet and handed it to the barman. ‘Start a tab and have a drink yourself and make it a double.’
‘Thank you very much, sir.’
Trevor wasn’t being altruistic. He had picked up more useful information from waiters, barman and bouncers over the years than from police narks. He perched on a stool next to the girl.
She touched her glass to his. ‘I toast your winning streak.’
‘Thank you … ?’
‘Masha.’
‘A real live Russian?’
‘A real live Bulgarian.’
‘How long have you been working here?’
‘In this casino, six weeks. In the UK a year.’
‘You like it here?’
‘I love it,’ she gushed. ‘After a month I was able to send enough money home to my mother to buy a washing machine and a television. Another two years and I’ll have enough to buy a dress shop.’
‘Which game do you recommend?’
‘Roulette.’
Trevor knew she’d been primed by management. Roulette had the worst odds in favour of the gambler and the best for the house. ‘Try again.’
‘Dice. I always bring people luck at dice when I stand beside them.’
Trevor noticed an enormous bouncer cross the room. He looked him in the eye when he approached. ‘Evening.’
‘Evening, sir.’ The bouncer shouted to gain the barman’s attention. He took the bottle of mineral water the boy handed him.
‘Not allowed to drink on duty?’ Trevor knew no bouncer was allowed to consume alcohol on the job, but it was as good an opening gambit as any.
‘Only the hostesses are, sir.’ The man winked at Masha. ‘So, how do you like our little Bulgarian, sir?’
Trevor glanced across the room. He couldn’t see any sign of Eric Darrow but what he could see were CCTV cameras covering every inch
Similar Books
