For Your Own Protection(65)
CHAPTER FORTY-SIX
On edge and fearful, adrenaline was pumping through Matt’s body as he slowly walked away from the casino and back towards the Tube station. The night hadn’t gone the way he had planned. He sensed that the opportunity to uncover James’s secrets had been wasted.
Matt was still within sight of the casino when he sensed someone approaching him from behind. He tensed at the realisation that this person, whoever they were, was closing in. As they neared, they appeared to slow down. He wanted to turn around, but forced himself to carry on.
‘Don’t turn around. Keep walking,’ the voice said from just behind his shoulder. ‘We should talk, but not here. It’s okay, I’m a friend.’
After everything that had just happened at the casino, Matt’s instinct was to walk away. But curiosity got the better of him. ‘Who are you?’
The man ignored his question. ‘I know a place just down the road. An all-night cafe. We can go there.’
‘Okay.’
‘Let’s go there separately. Just in case any of Samson’s men are watching. I couldn’t help but notice that you caught their attention this evening. So they may still be retaining an interest, if you know what I mean.’
Matt nodded.
The man now came up alongside Matt and met his eye for the briefest of seconds. It was the croupier who had tried to warn him off asking questions earlier, just before Samson’s heavy had intercepted him. ‘Just keep looking straight ahead,’ he said. He continued speaking, but didn’t look at Matt again. ‘If you continue down the road, take the first turning on the right, and the cafe is about five shops along. It’s called Daphne’s. You can’t miss it, as it’ll be the only place open. I’ll be along in a few minutes.’ And with that, the croupier increased his pace and crossed the road, disappearing around a corner.
Matt continued walking, following the directions to the cafe, which was indeed brightly lit, in stark contrast to the surrounding shuttered shops. Through the window, Matt could see rows of white moulded tables and chairs, populated by just two people, both of whom had mugs in front of them. Pushing open the door, he attracted the attention of the customer on the far side, a man with a bushy seaman’s beard, who glanced up from his book before returning to read. The other customer, a younger man in what looked like a haulage company’s uniform, didn’t even look up from the newspaper spread across his table.
At the counter, a lady was drying the surface with a tea towel. ‘Take a seat,’ she said. ‘I’ll be along in just a minute.’
Matt ordered a tea and pulled out his phone, wondering whether the croupier would indeed show up. After a few minutes, he’d begun to think it wasn’t going to happen, but then the door opened and the man entered. He nodded at the woman behind the counter. ‘The usual, please, Sharon,’ he said, and sat down opposite Matt. He shook off his jacket, wrapping it carefully around the back of the chair.
‘My name’s Tony Casey,’ he said, extending a hand, as Sharon returned with a cup of coffee. ‘Thanks, Sharon.’ He watched for a second as she walked away before continuing. ‘I’m the union rep at Samson’s. Any issues that arise in the casino among members – terms and conditions, health and well-being, and the like – I’m the first port of call.’ He slurped some coffee. ‘God, I needed that. Been on shift for twelve hours.’
‘I don’t know how you work in that place.’
Tony laughed at the thought. ‘Neither do I. It’s like survival of the fittest. Most people, they don’t stick at casino work – the pressure, the aggravation of punters, the hours and hours without daylight, it gets too much very quickly. Old-timers like me, been working in the business for twenty-five years, we’re survivors. But I’m not sure surviving in this industry is anything to celebrate.’
‘You don’t enjoy the work?’
He shrugged. ‘I used to, but not for a long time now. I worked my way up through a few of the clubs around London. It was more fun back then, I guess. Or maybe I was just younger and more resilient. Now, well, it’s not much fun.’
It reminded Matt of the way he felt about UGT. ‘You haven’t thought about getting out of the industry?’
‘I’ve thought about it. But it’s too late. I’m pushing sixty. This is all I know. It’s what I’m good at. It’s okay,’ he said, noting Matt’s expression. ‘Don’t feel sorry for me. Feel sorry for the new guys and girls who’ve got another thirty, forty years left in this business. It’s one of the reasons why I stay. I get the satisfaction of helping them out when they’re being mistreated by management. If I leave, they’ll have no one to protect them or their interests.’
‘There wouldn’t be another union rep to replace you?’
Tony laughed at the suggestion. ‘They’ve been trying to get rid of the union influence for years now.’
‘But they can’t do that, can they?’
‘They can do whatever they want.’
Tony put down his coffee cup and took a breath, looking directly at Matt. It was as if he was trying to read him as he would a player, and it made Matt feel slightly uncomfortable.
‘I don’t recognise you,’ Tony said. ‘Was tonight your first night in the club?’