The Adventures of Marcus Montserrat

He was often asked if he minded being referred to as "Mark" but he always insisted on "Marcus". He felt it gave him a certain debonair image, especially when combined with his surname Montserrat. That wasn't his real surname, of course - but Marcus Brown didn't lend him the kind of mysterious intrigue he was aiming for, so instead, he had adopted the name Marcus Montserrat since he liked the sound of it.

Marcus was something of a shyster, by his own admission, (although not admitted to others, merely to himself). He never worked, not if he could help it - much preferring to get his money through more precarious and perhaps, occasionally illegal, means. This meant he invariably got involved in a spot of bother from time to time, which went some way towards explaining the current predicament he now found himself in.

"I saw him!" accused the rather rotund and red-faced man sitting on the other side of the poker table pointing straight at Marcus, "he switched his cards!"

Marcus puffed himself up at this, feigning outrage, "how dare you, Sir!" he exclaimed, "on my honour as a gentleman, I did no such thing!", trying to look as shocked and dismayed as possible, whilst underneath the table, he desperately tried to shove two slightly bent playing cards down his underpants.

The rather large and intimidating pit boss stood looming over both of them, looking between one and the other, a fearsome frown on his solid, square-shaped and scarred head, a head that had clearly been used as a weapon many times before in his life. He fanned his arms to get them both to be silent before gesturing towards the red-faced man, "now tell me - what exactly did you see happen?"

"He was going to lose! He knew it! then when he thought no one was looking he switched one of his cards! I've had my eye on him for a while, I knew he was a chancer!"

Marcus again tried his best to look outraged at this defamation of his noble character. "You take that back, Sir!", he cried, indignantly, "chancer, indeed!" and Marcus stood up, starting to gather his chips in front of him. "I'm not staying here to be insulted like this!", he got halfway through taking his chips from the table before the security boss said in a loud voice "SIT DOWN, please Sir". Marcus thought about making a run for it then but he knew he wouldn't make it far so instead he reluctantly sat down, adding, "very well, I have nothing to hide, of course" as he plonked himself back on the chair. His friend and ally, Billy Smalls, who was sitting a few seats away (an outright crook, if ever there was one) let out an inadvertent snort at this but luckily no one seemed to notice.

"We'll need to take a look at the camera footage" the security man continued and he gestured to one of his assistants who started making his way out to the back of the casino floor, no doubt to where all the camera equipment had been recording every movement on the card table, notably the moment where Marcus had swapped the two of clubs for the ace of diamonds he had stored hidden about his person. Time for the get-out plan, Marcus thought to himself as he subtly winked across the table at Billy who surreptitiously took out his phone and pressed a number, one that had been stored under the name "Marielle"

Within seconds a commotion erupted at the table next to them. A stunningly beautiful and voluptuous brunette in a tight black dress which left very little to the imagination had stood up and slapped the fifty-year-old man next to her, right in the face. "Get your dirty hands off of me!" she cried. The man looked completely shocked and bewildered and everyone turned to see what the commotion was, the pit boss automatically moving towards the woman, who was such a beauty that any man would have found it hard not to stare, her dress so tight that her bountiful breasts were very close to slipping out completely.

Marcus knew a chance when he saw it and, pausing only momentarily to grab the largest denomination chips at his table, he legged it. He heard shouts behind him but he could move extremely quickly when his own neck was at stake and he weaved in and out of the tables, sprinting for the exit. He slammed into the door and it burst open and he was in the foyer. The receptionists looked up in surprise at this unruly looking man storming into the entranceway but before they could do more than open their mouths he was swinging open the large ornate casino doors and flying out into the cool air of the London streets. He sprinted up the road, he could hear noises behind him and he assumed they would be giving chase by now but he knew where to go - he ducked left down an alley and took a right and another left and pretty soon he reckoned that he was in the clear. He stopped to catch his breath and checked his jacket pockets, he had about seven thousand pounds in chips, not too bad, although if he had gotten away with that last little play it would have been at least ten. Not to worry, he thought to himself, as he sauntered out of the alley onto the main street. He hailed a taxi and greeted the driver cheerfully, adjusting his black hat to a jaunty angle as he jumped in the back of the cab

"Where to, mate?" asked the driver in a strong cockney accent. "The Bull and Bear pub, if you please, my good fellow" answered Marcus and the driver, a small and wiry man in his late thirties, nodded his head and moved the taxi forwards. "Having a good evening?" the driver enquired and Marcus took his hat off, pulling a small but deadly-looking knife out of a secret compartment of the hat and transferring the knife to his trouser pocket. "Oh yes, most enjoyable, thank you, my good SIr" he replied, patting the pocket to make sure the knife was firmly settled there. You could never be too careful around these parts, especially being a man such as himself who, it was true to say, had made a few enemies of late -the disgruntled husbands of his mistresses, "business" associates who may feel they had been short-changed by a pound or two and not least a fair few women who might want more than a strong word with him after his promises of love and marriage, or at least a romantic dinner overlooking the city, hadn't quite come to fruition

The driver pulled up outside The Bull and Bear pub and Marcus paid him, tipping him generously. "Excellent driving! he commented, "couldn't have asked for more" and he bowed slightly, removing his hat before once again placing it on his head and sauntering into the dark, noisy pub. He managed to find a quieter corner and propped himself up on a stool. "Double whisky for me, Annette" he called out to the surly-looking barmaid who was cleaning glasses up at the other end of the polished wooden bar. She scowled slightly but walked over towards him and poured him a generous measure. "Back again, are ye?" she asked in a decidedly unfriendly tone. "Yes", Marcus replied, a charming smile on his face, "and I must say it's always a joy to see you, my angel". She sniffed a little at this, "you'll not be causing trouble again, I hope? It took me an age to clear up after last time"

"Oh come now," Marcus replied, a look of great suffering on his face, "that was hardly my fault. That brute of a man wanted to beat me to smithereens - I was forced to defend myself!"

"You smashed a barstool over his head! and besides," she shook her head, " what do you expect? You slept with his new bride, on their honeymoon!"

"That was a misunderstanding" claimed Marcus innocently, "it could have happened to anyone"

"Hmm," replied the barmaid, with a cynical frown, "funny how these misunderstandings always seem to happen to you though, eh?"

Marcus was about to respond when he heard yelling and singing from the far end of the pub. He glanced around and saw it was Billy and Marielle, his two associates for the evening. They sidled up to him and slapped him on the back as the barmaid turned away, shaking her head. "Here he is, the card wiz", Billy laughed, gesturing to the barmaid for a drink for both of the newcomers. Marielle sat down on the other side of Marcus and she gave him a kiss on the lips, "hello darling" she purred, "got away, ok?"

"Of course!" he exclaimed confidently, "who could resist being mesmerised by your beauty? It gave me just the time I needed to slip away" he took her hand and kissed it "you played it perfectly, darling"

"Yeah sure, give her all the credit," said Billy sardonically, "wasn't it me who had to sit there at the card table with you, cringing inside as you got more and more audacious with your card switching and little tricks? but then she comes along and flashes her tits for a second and suddenly she's the star of the show" he grinned and punched Marcus playfully on the arm, although Billy's "playful" punch was harder than most guys best swing and Marcus winced a little

"Well if you weren't so ugly maybe you'd get more recognition," Marcus told him, "anyway, we did alright out of it, even without that last pot"

"How much?" asked Marielle. She was a beauty but when it came to the money she was very focused indeed. Those designer dresses and handbags she had a penchant for didn't come cheap, nor did her luxury apartment or taste for flashy fast cars.

"Seven," said Marcus, "plus another five from the casino we hit earlier. That makes twelve altogether. Six for me and four for you Billy and two for you Marielle"

"Why do I get the least?" moaned Marielle and Marcus sighed, "we've been through this before, many times" he answered patiently, "I take the most risk, so I get the biggest cut, then BIlly and then you are only there in case we need you, like tonight"

"Well, give me a bigger part then" she complained, "I need more"

"No darling, you don't need more, you WANT more" Marcus laughed, "your appetite for money is insatiable" he clinked her glass, "come on, let's not talk about this now" and he downed his whisky. "Another?" he gestured to both his colleagues and they nodded agreement as the barmaid brought them a fresh round of drinks

A couple of hours later they were all pretty sloshed. They'd been joined by several other local characters and the party was in full swing with singing and merriment and plenty more drinking all around. Marielle and Marcus were sitting close together on a sofa when Marielle clunked down her glass and turned to him

"I have an idea!" she exclaimed, wobbling in her seat a little as she tried to remain upright. "I have a cousin, I haven't seen her for ages. She lives in Paris! Let's go there"

"Okay, we can take a trip to Paris," agreed Marcus, "in Autumn, perhaps, I hear it's lovely there at that time of year"

"NO!" she said loudly, nearly tipping over her glass as she gesticulated with her arm, "I mean let's go NOW! tonight!"

Billy stumbled over to see what Marielle was shouting about, nearly tripping and falling onto Marcus. "What do you say, Billy?" slurred Marielle, "fancy some frogs-legs and snails?"

"What the hell is she saying?" asked Billy, him being almost as inebriated as she was

"She wants us to take a little trip to Paris" explained Marcus, "to see some cousin of hers. She's drunk, just humour her. She'll forget all about it in the morning"

"She's a Madam," said Marielle, "she's in charge of a group of girls who work in her pleasure house, so to speak. It's a classy place, so I'm told. I'm sure a couple of gentleman like yourselves would fit right in there" and she giggled at the idea of calling them gentlemen

"Well, come to think of it, I am rather fond of croissants and, of course, the French do produce a decent tipple of wine" agreed Marcus quickly "it sounds like an absolutely splendid idea!" and he picked himself off the sofa and pulled Marielle up by the waist.

"Billy, lead the way..", he adjusted his hat on his head as the three of them stumbled out of the pub to hail a taxi for the airport