Free To Die For by Phillip Hunter

If they happened to win, the women would try and rob them and split the money with the management. The marks weren’t going to complain too much. What were they going to say? It helped if the bloke had a wedding ring, as Roger did.
    I wondered if I should hang around a while and see if Roger had any more money to lose. If this woman flirted with him, he might get cocky and start laying it down in piles. But I was tired and my head was pounding and I couldn’t give a fuck about Roger’s money, so I gathered my chips and left the table.
    The Sportsman had a lounge. The lounge had thick red carpets and easy-listening music that was just plain annoying. I assumed the idea was to force the punters back on to the tables as quickly as possible. As staff, I was allowed free drinks after work. I usually didn’t bother, but tonight I needed something to loosen me up.
    Matheson was leaning against the wall, reading a tabloid, or looking at the pictures anyway. I took a seat at the bar. He looked up and saw me and brought over a beer.
    ‘Win?’
    ‘Some.’
    ‘Good,’ he said, and went back to his wall.
    I nursed my drink for a few minutes, trying to relax and hope that the headache didn’t get a grip like they sometimes did.
    ‘Was it something I said?’
    I glanced round. The black pro was sitting next to me. I hadn’t heard her arrive.
    ‘What?’
    ‘I take a seat and you leave.’ I shook my head. ‘Does that mean it wasn’t something I said?’
    She had a northern accent. Yorkshire, I thought.
    ‘It means I’m tired.’
    ‘Yeah,’ she said, rubbing her neck. ‘Me too.’
    She lit a cigarette and looked at me. She seemed to be waiting for something. I tried to ignore her. Finally, she sighed and said, ‘Bloody hell. A girl could die of thirst around you.’
    I signalled to Matheson. He strolled over.
    ‘Get her a drink, will you?’ I said.
    He hesitated for a bit, like he’d forgotten who he was and what he did and how to pour a drink. I just wanted to get rid of the woman. I flicked a glance at him.
    ‘What does she want?’ Matheson said to me.
    I shrugged.
    ‘I’m over here,’ she said. She was smiling.
    He pulled his eyes in her direction.
    ‘Double Bacardi and Coke,’ she said. ‘No. A treble. Make it two.’
    She laughed and Matheson snatched a glass and dragged himself to the optics. He poured a double rum and added a splash of Coke and dropped the glass in front of her.
    ‘Thanks,’ she said, sarcasm in there.
    Matheson had wandered off.
    After she’d taken a long gulp of her drink, she turned to me and said, ‘I’m Brenda.’
    I finished my beer and signalled to Matheson. He grabbed another for me and walked by, sliding the beer on the counter as he did so.
    ‘You’re Joe,’ Brenda said. I turned to look at her. ‘I asked the croupier,’ she said.
    I nodded, wondering why she would be asking about me. For a moment, I thought she might be the law, but I threw that idea straight out. She was too worn out to be law, too deflated.
    ‘You don’t say much, do you?’ she said. ‘What’s wrong? You punchy or something?’
    ‘No.’
    ‘You done some fighting, though. Right? You look like you did.’
    ‘Yeah.’
    ‘Professional?’
    ‘For a while.’
    ‘Heavyweight? You must’ve been or else you put on a lot of weight.’
    My head hurt. I wanted to ease it with alcohol, not make it worse with talk. I wanted her to go.
    ‘So, you ever been in any fights I would’ve seen?’
    ‘How’m I supposed to know that?’
    Her smile faded.
    ‘Yeah, right. Stupid question. What I mean is, have you ever been on TV?’
    ‘Only Crimewatch .’
    She laughed out loud, throwing her head back. I hadn’t been joking. I looked at her then, looked properly for the first time. When she’d finished laughing, she sat smiling. The smile transformed her face. Her eyes, heavy-lidded, sparkled and her wide mouth gleamed with white teeth. She looked okay. I downed my drink and got another from Matheson. I