Just spent the evening brushing up the good old Curriculum Vitae. Might be needed soon
I meant well, but it did not work out quite like that.
tikay was playing at Caesars and he had received his annual ruling penalty from the floor. A tradition, it has become. I, as ever, remained silently indignant from the safety of my position a few feet behind my master, portable fan in one hand, copy of "Trams and Coaches of Nevada (July edition)" in the other and Master's Starbucks VIP card, with no less than 63 stamps on it this trip alone, dangling on a string round my neck
However, silent indignation was better than what was about to follow. I could tell Master was stewing. A short time afterwards in the same event a youngster (its all relative) moved all-in twice behind tikay, out of turn both times. Once might be a mistake, twice, not so much. tikay called for a ruling,and the ruling was given. I watch a lot of poker and I decided enough was enough. I strode up next to tikay, brandishing my copy of tram monthly with intent and said the the Tournament Director. "But sir, that's just WRONG".
"One orbit penalty, I run this Tournament, not you" said Mr Big Butt
"I'm not playing" I replied (irrefutable logic, take that)
He pointed at tikay
"The man in the monocle is with you?"
tikay looked at me. I looked at the floor. tikay looked at Big Butt. Tried to mouth something. Failed
The TD pointed at tikay. "One orbit penalty, both of you"
tikay had said nothing. An octogenarian gentleman in seat three tittered. The dealer exhaled loudly
tikay "I did not say anything. I am with Sky Poker. Poker is to enjoy. Sky Poker sir, Sky Poker. Sky...." and at that point he considered that protestation was futile
The TD was firm "He's with you, penalty"
A cowboy in seat seven chuckled "He's British, he'll only miss it"
tikay rose, IPad, HTC phone, pack of 20 Embassy regal, picture of a cement mixer that accompanied him at the table gathered up messily and clutched to his chest like a electronic safety blanket in this unedifying moment.
I followed him out as he went to sit in the sports lounge, where as you can see from the photo when someone gets a penalty they get an large-screen lecture from a Nevadan Fiona Bruce on etiquette at the table
tikay was furious. I didn't know where to look. We didn't speak the rest of the day. I silently went about my duties while tikay occasionally gestured and grunted, writing eight drafts of a note to the Head of Sky Poker about his ignominy in case the incident broke in the Poker Media.
---
This morning tikay awoke in a slightly better mood
"Jeeves, book a taxi. We're off to the Meridian Apartments"
"Yes sir?" I wondered
"text from Goulder, jeeves. Couldn't run a piss up in a brewery that boy Jeeves. Spot of building trouble. Needs my help"
"Yes sir"
"Oh and Jeeves, get me a yellow hard hat and a sharply pointed pencil. Thirty-five years in the Building Industry and one thing I know Jeeves, one thing I know, is that if you show up in a hard hat with a pencil behind your right ear you have SO much more gravitas"
I left tikay to draft nine of the "what if" note to his boss and returned twenty minutes later with the items, fifteen minutes after that we arrived at said appartment, which appeared to be missing a front door, most of the walls, part of a roof and where a man in a neck brace lay in the kitchen, moaning softly to himself.
"Hello, Poshboy? HELLO"
No reply. Until we rounded a corner and came to the living room, where a scene of complete and utter devastation met us
In the corner, a chubby lad was on the IPad muttering to himself
"If I'd only got that conundrum I'd have got my average score over every episode I appeared on up to 92.62,(PING) oh no that's the sixty-second email to Rachel Riley that's been sent back undeliverable" he said to no one in particular
On one sofa, a Mitchelin Man was tucking into three triple Bacon burgers with avocado relish.
Out on the balcony, a young lad was setting out a croquet course with one hand, while playing Rachmaninov on a children's organ with the other muttering all the while to himself about kittens, auctions and how much better his trophy is than Rastafish's.
Back inside on the other sofa a tall skeletal man was shouting at the wall
"I finish SECOND in the Aussie Millions, I make that staking board ONE MILLION Aussie dollars and STILL they haven't asked me to go in the fucking well. Well I will teach them, my fucking auctions are going to get ramped so far that they won't know what's hit em. In the well with Rupert flipping Elder my bony arse" and on and on it went
Finally, sat quietly in the corner, stroking a white cat, wearing sunglasses and softly spoken, what must have been a mafia boss. The boss spoke
"Hey tikay, I wanna get you a fix a this mess a Wanda. No one stiff a the Mondeoman. Comprende? Or else that Wanda is part of the new flyover. Capiche?"
I capiched. tikay comprended.
I've got to give tikay credit, he knew his accoutrements. Out came the pencil from behind his ear. Off came the hard hat. A furrowed brow, a shake of the head, a few quick calculations
"It's gonna cost you, Sir"
A lifetime in the building industry clearly had not been wasted.
"I can get my team here for tomorrow. Have it fixed in forty eight hours. Will get Sky Poker legal on the case wtih Wanda. Constantine is toast. You'll be in a palace before you know it"
"and you a get ridda the man with da neck?" said Mondeoman
tikay looked at me. Nodded at me to take care of it. I mentally scrolled my contract. No, nothing about disposing of injured people. Silent indignation though, I had learned yesterday that this was a better course than getting involved.
"good. Ciao now" said the syndicate boss, while the assorted rainmen in his company rocked back and forth in their respective positions with only thoughts of Rachel Riley, croquet, burgers and in the wells in their heads.
Author