LOST AND FOUND   (Part 1 of 2)

by Richard Banks                       

I live in Denton, at least I use to. I like Denton. Thirty years ago it didn’t exist, now it does. Three cheers to the guys who made it happen. Denton is a new town for a new age, Yorkshire’s answer to Silicone Valley. It has more millionaires to the acre than any other town or city in the UK. If you want to get rich go to Denton. And just in case you’re wondering, I don’t work for the Tourist Board, I’m an accountant. What’s more, I’m a successful accountant which means that the people I work for pay me big bucks for a range of services that includes making their tax go away. That’s something I’m particularly good at and providing they’re good at what they do we all grow rich together. Happy days! At least they were.

         So, you’re asking, what went wrong, how come he’s not in Denton anymore. The answer can be summed up in just three words, The Sunrise Casino. If that’s not enough read on. In a way, in several different ways, Paulo Sivori and his casino were no different to myself. We both offered a service, the success of which was based on an understanding of arithmetical principles that, thankfully were beyond the understanding of our clients. We were bees around the honeypot and there we would stay until the pot was empty. But in Denton that was never, ever going to happen.

         At first, my only interest in Sunrise was the business they might be persuaded to put my way.  A formal letter of introduction was never going to be enough so I decide to pay them an unannounced visit in the hope of pressing the flesh with Sivori, the main guy. Unsurprisingly he was not in, or, more likely, not wanting to see me. Instead, I had to make do with Tom, a fresh faced graduate of the Harvard Business School who had just completed his internship at the company’s head office in Nevada. He was good, I give him that, and with the easy charm of one destined for great things deftly declined my kind offer. Seldom had rejection seemed so painless.

         I was about to make my departure when he offered me what I thought was the courtesy of a consolation prize – a tour of the gaming rooms. He left me in the company of an agreeable young woman in evening dress and a dozen gaming chips. “On the house,” he said, “have a good day.” Half an hour later I was chipless and reaching into my wallet to buy more. 

         This is not what I intended. In fact, it’s back to front, instead of taking their money I’m giving them mine. But no problem this can all be turned around to my advantage. I’m an accountant and numbers are what I know best. Choose a game, figure out the odds and make them work in my favour. So I choose roulette and for the next month, I’m at Sunrise every evening until late. Of course, I don’t expect to win from day one. While I’m developing my system there will inevitably be losses but once I know what’s what the cash will soon be flowing in. A month later I’m a hundred grand down and my bank account’s nearly in the red. But no matter, I’ve almost sussed it and as a ‘regular and valued’ customer of Sunrise, I qualify for a member’s account with a six figure credit limit. So, now when I get it right, I will make a fortune by playing with their money rather than mine.

         He can’t be serious you’re thinking, but remember I’m an accountant, I’m good at figures, I have a system. At least I nearly have a system and if I can only….... OK, we all know where this is going so let’s cut the proverbial and fast forward two months. I’m back in the office after another late night at Sunrise, the telephone rings, and fresh faced Tom bids me good morning and requests the pleasure of my company for a review of my account. “Can you call by at 3,” he says. This is the news I’ve been waiting for since applying to increase my credit limit, and judging by Tom’s untroubled small talk this is going to be no more complicated than the signing of a few forms. 

         I arrive with five minutes to spare and tell the girl on reception that I have a three o’clock with Tom Parker. She frowns but when I tell her my name she brightens up and says that I’m down to see Mr Vicinti. “It’s the third door on the right,” she says pointing towards a corridor marked private. Vicinti is the only guy in the organisation you don’t call by his first name. That is a secret known only to his friends and, judging by his unfriendly expression, I’m not one of them. If he has a nickname it’s probably Scarface owing to the etching down one side of his face. I sit down and his cold, grey eyes cut into mine.

         “Hi,” I say.

         He responds by opening a drawer in his desk and taking out a baseball bat. This he regards almost with affection before returning it to the drawer and slamming it shut. Given a choice Vicinti would rather be wielding the bat than passing the time in conversation, but business is business and can’t be done without something being said. He’s brief and to the point, “five hundred grand.” He looks at me as though I have just insulted his mother, wife and everyone else he holds dear.

         “I’ll pay it back,” I say. “I just need time.”

         Vicinti thinks that now is a good time and that if I have any thoughts about bankruptcy forget it. “That way Sunrise gets only a few cents on the dollar.”

         “But,” I say.

         “There’s no buts. We want the full dollar, 100 cents; in your lingo that’s £505,735.55p. Sell what you have and if that’s not enough beg or steal the rest. No one welshes on us. You pay or you pay. If you want to stay living there’s no other choice. Now, get out of my sight.”

         At last he’s said something I want to hear and I can’t get away quick enough, so quick that I almost collide with fresh faced Tom. Tom’s a nice guy although I’m inclined to believe that his presence in the corridor is not the accident he makes it seem.

         “Come and have a drink,” he says, “you look as though you need one.”

 

(To be continued)

        

Copyright Richard Banks