STARSHINE, THE OCEAN AND THE UNICORN
Chapter Three                                                                                                           Part 9



                     It was early in the evening and the club in Old Compton Street was empty.  Joe had hoped to find Mandy there, but Nick the owner's son was behind the bar on his hands and knees, stocking up the cold shelves with bottled lagers and fruit juices.  Nick had not seen him come in so Joe sat himself on one of the high bar stools and cast a long leisurely eye over the row of spirit bottles.  He wanted to start with a short, something smooth on the tongue and warm in the belly.  His eye stuck on the rounded bottle filled with honey coloured liquid and the label with a pen and ink drawing of a Mississippi paddle steamer.  He waited for Nick to squeeze the last bottle of lager onto the cold shelf.
               " I'll 'ave a Southern Comfort please Nick ! "
                  Nick shot up.  He was tall, dark haired boy, well dressed and quiet mannered, good looks, dark eyes and a smile that got him friends and rich women.
                " Hello Joe ! " Nick kicked the empty crates aside and stuck a glass under the optic.  Joe watched the measure of clear gold run into the bottom of the glass and stop.
                  " Make it a double, "said Joe.  The optic was pushed up again and another measure was added.
                 " Where's Mandy ? "asked Joe, without showing any obvious interest.
                 " Gone. Got a job in Amsterdam. "
                 " Oh ? " Joe's surprise showed.
                 " Yeah.  Always off somewhere.  It was Go-Go dancing in Bangkok last time. "
                 Nick lifted the flap of the bar and moved quickly round the tables, putting an ashtray and four coasters on each one.  The Southern Comfort was as smooth and warm as Joe had anticipated but Mandy's spirit of adventure soured it a little.  He imagined nothing past the safety of her cosy, heated room and the gentleness of her kisses. Nothing more had occurred to him and now the pieces did not fit and a mild sense of betrayal gnawed at him, because his understanding had misunderstood.  He pushed the matter somewhere deep in his mind where it could be forgotten and instead he wondered why Ned was not there yet to chew his ears off with stories of old Ireland, its green lands and sweet grass.  Maybe he was about his business of extracting coins from meters and phone boxes or maybe he was in his rented bedsit sitting amongst piles of money, all counted and stacked into little pillars of silver and gold.  Joe wondered what three million pounds would look like in coins and how big a room it would fill.  He could hear the gentle clinking of little cascades of coins falling from mountains of money.  But it was Nick rearranging glasses on a high shelf behind the bar.
                   " There's a card game on tonight Joe.  Fancy joining ? " said Nick.
                   Joe thought for a moment,
                                                              " Yes !" he said and smiled because he could think of nothing he would like more.  He loved the feel of cards .  The dealing and receiving of hands, chance combinations of luck that turns as the cards are played.  He liked the raising of bets, the pushing of money and paper promises to the centre of the table and after some moments of solemn silence, tension and cigarette smoke the drawing back of money towards a winner.  Joe had always walked away from a card game with nothing but a pocket full of debts.  He had winning streaks, but he never learnt to leave the table until a losing streak forced him from it.  This time Joe had a secret mountain of money so that he could win or lose with no other goal but the joy of playing and it seemed so long since he had played.   
                 Nick had a final look around the room to see that everything was set up for the night.  He turned bright lights off and low lights on, put some funky music on the stereo, turned the volume up and sat down to a drink.  Joe offered him a cigarette.  The two men smoked and drank, they talked of the comings and goings in Soho, the court cases and the pay offs, they exchanged jokes and remembered good times and beautiful women.  And so the evening went on.  Nick was kept busy behind the bar as the club filled up.  Cousin Carrot Top turned up with a crowd of friends he and Joe had grown up with and hour passed hour with new rounds of drinks and old rounds of conversation.  Joe was relieved to see Ned come through the door and know that he had not been crushed by the weight of his fortune.  Nick gave Joe a nod and a wink.  The card game was about to begin and there was no time to hear Ned tell of clear running streams through bluebell woods and full cream milk, frothy, warm and fresh from the teets of fat, juicy, brown eyed cows.  Joe turned to his friends and cousin to bid them goodnight but there had been some joke that Joe had missed and their faces were red and screwed up with laughter, Joe left them that way and slipped out through a side door.
                 The backroom was set up for the game, everything was spick and span.  Bottles, glasses and cans of cold beer were set up on a small bar, the ashtrays were clean and the packs of cards were in neat piles on the table.  Several men hung around the edges of the room to spectate.  Some of the faces Joe recognised, others he did not.  Three men sat round the table; one was a young trendy who Joe did not know, with the latest cut in clothes and longish black hair stuck back with brylcreem, another was a wiry, middle aged villain with nicotine stained fingers and eyes as sharp as needles , Joe remembered him as an old drinking partner of his dad's.  The third was Harry, Nicks father and owner of the club.  Harry was a kind hearted man, he was short, fat and bald and had a permanent cigar sticking out of his face. 
               "Hello Joey boy ! Glad to 'ave you with us.  This is Ted and this is Ken. "
                The trendy was Ted and the villain was Ken.  Joe nodded to them and took his place opposite Harry. Harry dealt the cards and the game began.  The cards felt good to Joe, they were smooth and shiny.  Hearts, diamonds, clubs and spades, blood red and jet black, clear and sharp edged on bright white.  The court cards sat straight backed and stern faced in their regal crowns and embroidered robes.  They played on while disorganised piles of money appeared in the centre of the table, disappeared and then reappeared.  Jackets were taken off and sleeves were rolled up.  Stale smoke hung in the air, ashtrays overflowed, empty bottles and beer cans littered the room and the players played on.  Sandwiches were brought in and offered round and more drinks.  Joe refused the food and took the alcohol.  More hands were dealt, more bets were raised and more time passed.  Joe was winning when the cards began to bore him.  The air was too thick to breathe and the booze was racing around his veins.  He wanted to be outside, he wanted to walk through the ice cold night and ring on Annie's doorbell in case she was alone.  So he gathered up his money and left the table.