A Chancer (21 page)

•••

McCann was crossing the road, glancing sideways and moving quickly to avoid a big lorry. Reaching the pavement he brushed the sides of his trousers, shaking his head and gazing
after it. These bastards try to splash you! he cried.

Tammas nodded.

They walked on together, detouring to the corner of the street where Billy lived. While they were standing waiting McCann asked, Any fags?

Naw . . . Tammas brought a cigarette dowp out from behind his ear. This is to last me till Christmas.

McCann smiled. That wife of mine’s, she’s started hiding her handbag!

Another five minutes passed before Billy appeared. They strode along the main road, pausing occasionally to look in at the displays in shop windows. It was Billy stopped at the jeweller’s.
Still there, he said, pointing to a gold watch with a white face and black Roman numerals.

Billy! McCann shook his head. D’you think there’s only one of the fuckers! Christ almighty, they’ll have half a hundred of them through in the back shop.

What?

They’ll just take a fresh yin out whenever some cunt buys one.

Hh.

Maybe no, said Tammas. A lot of jewellers like just to have a couple of things at once.

McCann was about to reply but his attention was attracted elsewhere, and he muttered, See yous in a minute . . . He crossed over the road, watched by the other two. He approached a man and woman
who were standing outside the post office.

He’ll be trying to tap them, said Billy.

Tammas nodded.

McCann and the pair were chatting now and the other man could be seen laughing at something said by him and then putting his arm round the woman’s shoulders.

Tammas said, Come on.

They started walking, halted about fifty yards farther on, at a corner beside a pub. Tammas took the dowp from behind his ear and struck the match, got it going. Billy asked, Give us a drag
man?

Tammas gave him it.

Billy dragged twice on it and returned it. See the results at Shawfield last night?

Naw, no yet.

Only two favourites. Punters must’ve took a hammering.

Maybe.

No think so?

Depends.

Billy nodded.

McCann was walking along on the pavement opposite now.

When he made the crossing he did so without looking in their direction. The other two fell into step with him. He winked and led them into the next tobacconist’s. Billy laughed:
You’re a genius.

Think nothing of it, replied McCann.

After signing on they headed round to the job centre but Tammas halted at the entrance. See yous later . . .

What d’you mean? asked Billy.

I’ll see yous later.

Where you off to?

Just a message.

Aw aye . . . Billy glanced at McCann.

Look, said Tammas, and he smiled, held his hands palms upward. I’m away to see if I can get a few bob. If I can I’ll fucking send you a postcard, alright!

No want us to come with you?

Naw, best no.

Billy shrugged.

Just as he was about to walk off McCann brought his cigarettes out and gave him one. Hope you’re lucky!

Tammas grinned. Ta.

A few guys in boilersuits were standing about talking together at the junction of the main road and the street leading up to the factory. He recognised a couple of faces but
made no acknowledgments. He stood with his back to the wall of the pub for a time. Eventually he entered. A man stared at him and smiled: How’s it going? You got a job yet?

Naw, said Tammas.

Through in the lounge he spotted Murdie immediately; he was sitting at a table with another man towards the rear of the room. Tammas, he said. He looked at his companion: Mind Tammas?

Aye. How’s it going Tammas?

Ah no bad.

Take a seat.

Naw, no got much eh . . . I just come in when I was passing and that – Murdie. That message? Mind?

O aye. Murdie nodded.

Can I see you about it?

Outside! grinned Murdie.

Naw, I dont eh . . . Tammas sniffed: Just for a minute.

Actually, said the other man, I’ve got to go for a slash.

Tammas sat down as soon as he had gone.

Want a fag? said Murdie, opening the packet and giving him one.

It’s that twenty quid man. Tammas paused, accepting a light. He exhaled smoke.

Murdie was shaking his head. I know. I’ve been meaning to fucking weigh you in long before this. But listen Tammas dont fucking worry about it I mean at least you know you’ll get
it.

Tammas nodded.

I mean I gave you that tenner.

Murdie that was fucking ages ago. Aye, I know, Christ.

I mean I’m right out the fucking game man . . . Tammas sniffed and stared at the table.

Murdie sipped at his beer and grimaced. Tammas, he said, I’ve got three fucking weans. Christmas is coming – know what I mean?

Tammas frowned at him then glanced away. He had noticed the other man coming from the lavatory.

Murdie was saying: I know it’s out of order but what can I do? I’m owing half the wages this week as it is. I mean I’m no kidding you. I was up at that chemmy a couple of week
ago and took a right fucking hammering.

Tammas looked at him.

Honest.

When am I going to get it then?

Soon.

Soon! Tammas shook his head, inhaled on the cigarette.

At least you know I’ll give you it.

Hh.

The other man was returning. Tammas got up and moved out from the table. Murdie asked, Have you seen auld Ralphie?

Tammas made no reply. The other man had sat down and was sipping beer. Murdie continued: He was talking about you the other day, wondering how you were getting on and all that.

Tammas nodded.

I’ll tell him I saw you.

The other man gestured at the pint of beer he was holding: You no having one yourself?

Naw, said Tammas.

•••

He blinked and shielded his eyes from the glare of the electric light. The book he had been reading lay closed; it dropped into the hollow left by his elbow and he raised
himself to see the time. It was just after 3 am. He got off the bed.

Rain was falling. He stared out the window, watching some of it gather in a puddle on the ledge. He drew the curtains, went to the bathroom and to the kitchen. He filled a kettle to make tea and
put on the grill, toasted a couple of slices of bread. When it was prepared he returned with it to the bedroom and got undressed and into bed. He had a cushion which he packed in beneath his
pillow, opened his book at the page he had left off reading earlier. Then he reached for a slice of toast.

•••

After he had cashed the giro he went home and reckoned out the money, leaving different sums arrayed on top of the bedside cupboard. He took enough for a couple of pints and a
game of dominoes. About 1 o’clock he was involved with Brian McCann and some others in a game of knockout when Phil from the betting shop came in. He waved Tammas over.

They exchanged hullos. Phil went on, Quite a decent boy that nephew of mine; he lets me skip out for a half now and again! He smiled and sipped at his whisky, and added, You’re looking a
bit healthier than the last time I was in here.

Tammas grinned, indicated the whisky: Want another yin?

Naw son I’ll no bother – got to keep the head clear. He drank the rest of his whisky. Then he cleared his throat and lowered his voice while saying: The 6th son, keep your eye on the
3 dog.

Tammas frowned slightly.

I’m talking about this afternoon’s card. 6th race trap 3 – at least you’ll know it’s been trying . . . Phil patted him on the side of the shoulder.

Christ, Phil, thanks.

It’s no problem son. And by the bye, I dont have to tell you . . . He tapped the side of his head: Say nothing.

Tammas nodded.

O and son . . . Phil smiled: Mind and bet it in another bloody shop.

He returned to the domino game when the elderly man had gone. McCann was looking at him. One of the others said, A nice auld guy that.

Phil, aye. Tammas nodded.

He played one more game of knockout before leaving the pub. Upstairs in his bedroom he collected all the money from the top of the cupboard. He travelled by bus to the bookmaker’s Billy
worked in. The closing stage of a horse race was in progress when he arrived, a neck and neck struggle developing between the favourite and a big outsider. The shop was very busy. As the big
outsider began to forge ahead on the run to the line the muttering from the punters became an angry outburst. Up on the passageway beneath the boards Billy was standing waiting to mark up the
returned odds; he was shaking his head. Down below a punter was calling to him: These results are fucking out of order!

Billy nodded. When he saw Tammas he grinned then shook his head again.

Tammas stood to the side. He kept the wad of notes in his pocket right through the remainder of the horse racing programme and on to the 6th dog race. He told Billy of the tip. But Billy was
skint; he already owed half the week’s wages. Tammas loaned him £4 to make the bet. This reduced his own to £16, but dog 3 won the race at 7/2 and his return amounted to
£72.00 less tax. Once he had been paid he remained near to the pay-out window, leaning on a ledge, gazing at the formpages. Billy signalled him over and handed him his betting receipt without
a word. Tammas stared at it. He had not bet dog 3 as a single bet. Billy had wagered the £4 he had given him on a losing forecast.

After the last race he helped him sweep the floor and generally clean the premises up. Then they went by bus to
Simpson’s.
It was just on 5.30 pm and quite empty. They carried their
pints to a table near the darts’ area.

Fancy a game? said Billy.

Cant be bothered. Tammas peeled the cellophane off the new packet of cigarettes, gave one to him. They sat without speaking for a time. Tammas had a morning newspaper and he brought it out,
began reading. Eventually Billy asked, You going to Shawfield the morrow night?

Naw.

With that wad in your pocket! Billy grinned. You sure!

Tammas sniffed. What about you, are you going?

Me! Naw . . . I’m skint man.

I know, I know you’re skint.

Billy looked at him for a moment. Hazards of the job. Ever hear of a rich boardman!

Tammas did not answer. He continued to read the newspaper. Soon he folded it up again. He laid it on the table and drank a large mouthful of beer, shifted position on the seat so that he was
facing the television screen.

Billy said: What’s up?

What’s up? Fuck all’s up.

Aye there is.

Tammas shrugged.

Is it because I backed that forecast?

What?

Nothing. Billy inhaled deeply and he blew out smoke at the ceiling. Then he stared in the direction of the television.

The first time auld Phil’s ever gave out a tip and you’ve got to go and fucking blow it man. I mean the first time he’s ever . . . !

Ach I get tips every day of the week in that fucking job.

No from auld Phil you dont.

Billy closed his mouth tightly and he sighed. He dragged on the cigarette, began drumming his fingers on the edge of the table, staring at the television.

I want to ask you a question Billy, straight: when did you last get a turn?

What? Billy frowned at him.

A turn, when did you last get a turn? I mean you must be the only cunt in Glasgow that never fucking gets one. I mean never! You never fucking win! When did you last win?

Billy lifted his pint glass and sipped from the beer.

What I mean man Christ! that was a good tip, a good fucking tip.

Aye cause it won.

Aye cause it fucking won, aye. Auld fucking Phil gave us it man. I mean I went all the way out to fucking give you it. I gave you four quid. You were skint. And then you turned round and bet a
forecast, a stupid fucking forecast. I mean Billy I brought out the dough to bet the one dog, just that one.

I’ll give you it fucking back.

That’s no the point but.

Billy swivelled round on his seat and cried, Will you give us a break eh! He shook his head and swivelled back again.

Tammas continued to sit for a few moments. Eventually he muttered, I’m away up for my tea.

Billy did not respond.

•••

The Royal
was crowded approaching 1.30 am and being a Saturday night the casino would have to shut its doors at 2 o’clock; but the poker would continue in a private
room. The roulette and blackjack tables were all in use and there was a small crowd round the craps game. Tammas walked on through to the coffee lounge. He sat at an empty table with the following
morning’s
Sunday Mail.
On an inside page at the back he found a tiny report on the match Rab had been playing that afternoon though apart from the team list his name was not
mentioned.

I thought it was you!

Tammas glanced up, grinning when he saw Joe coming towards him. Hullo Joe, how’s it going?

Here! What you been doing to that wee lassie?

What . . .

Joe had sat down facing him, and he chuckled. I dont think I’ve ever seen her in a bloody casino as much in my life! About three weeks on the trot she’s been here! Did you no see
her?

Naw but I’ve no really been through yet.

Joe grinned.

Tammas peered in the direction of the gaming section.

She’s at the roulette with Milly. And I’ll tell you something son; never teach a woman how to gamble unless you’re a masochist cause they’ll ruin you! No kidding!

Tammas offered him a cigarette but he declined. I’m trying to stop it, he said, a couple of cigars a day I’m down to. It’s bad for you ye know!

Tammas grinned, but he shut the packet without taking one for himself. He tapped the junior match report and turned the page for Joe to see. That’s a mate of mine Joe – McCorquodale
– he’s just signed senior with an English team.

Aw great – that’s smashing! Get him away from this place eh!

Hull City.

Joe nodded. Great.

Tammas turned the newspaper back round and after a moment he asked, What time’ll the poker be starting?