"You little fuck!" I roared, not half an hour later.
I swung at him, leaning in my full body weight, but he dodged the blow with unexpected and remarkable agility.
"…S-security!" He yelped, kicking the chair from behind him which clattered to the ground.
A few of the braver men that had been standing round the table watching the game grabbed my arms and held me back. From what they had seen this James had won fairly. Expletives streamed from my mouth as two bouncers dragged me from the bar, one of them receiving a bloody nose from my fist in the process. James remained at the table, feigning innocence but looking flustered… and thirty grand richer.
Out by the bins in the wintry night air, I tried to clear the warm fuzzy drunken feeling from my brain. Tried to fully realise that I was now penniless and within a few hours I would most likely be homeless. I owed two months rent on my flat in Mayfair and with an eviction notice looming I had meant to win enough money to pay it back tonight. I had done, until that ludicrous man had cheated me out of everything. I had meant to take him for everything he had, to wipe that horrid smile from his face and to make him actually face a problem for the first time in his posh little life. I'm not sure what happened. I was winning and then in the space of a minute I'd lost. He'd been clueless but within a matter of seconds this brilliant hand of cards was laid out on the table.
I went to light my cigarette, only to find the flint had run out in my lighter. I tossed it away angrily, the smash of cheap plastic not fully satisfying my resentment.
"You should invest in a proper lighter if you're going to keep up that disgusting habit."
I spun around, unnerved.
"Hullo Moran," The Chelsea riff had gone from his voice along with the school tie to be replaced with an intense and dangerous Irish lilt and a designer suit. 'James' stood behind me, hands in his coat pockets and eyes staring menacingly at me. It was undoubtedly the same man who'd sat opposite me earlier, yet everything from his clothes, to his voice, his posture and his gait had changed. Yes, the clothes were still expensive, but they now looked refined. Yes, the voice was still drawling and his stance arrogant, but now it carried authority and command.
I glared at him, trying not to feel intimidated by someone at least six inches shorter than myself.
"Does someone want their money back, or do you just want a light?" He asked, putting on a puppy dog voice as he drew the cash from one pocket and a gold cased lighter from the other. He smirked wildly, not giving me a chance to reply as he flicked open the lighter and ignited the flame. Holding the money up, he set it on fire.
"Oops!" He said in mock surprise, avidly watching the paper as it curled in the heat. Throwing it to the ground theatrically as it blackened to a burning ball, he stepped forward towards me.
"I'd say that I never play by the rules but it's a bit cliché. True yes, but incredibly dull," He said cryptically, his head swaying on his shoulders as the light from the flames danced across his face.
"So you cheated?" I asked petulantly.
"I'm not a conjuror Moran, I'm not a magician. No, I'm a genius."
"You said you'd never played before."
"You said you'd help me along."
"You still won."
"Well, it didn't take me long to get the hang of it… pretty boring really," He shrugged his shoulders, looking sulky, "Now what should we play next?"
"What, what do you mean?"
"I'm looking for a game to play Moran and I want you to play it with me."
"What are you talking about?"
"I'm talking about drug cartels, I'm talking about assassinations. I'm talking about smuggling rings and serial killings and black market art dealings. In short Moran I'm talking about crime."
"Why?"
"Well, I'm really very bored and you seem to be in need of a new place to stay. Why not come and work for me?"
The offer was met by a surprised silence. For a moment I could have sworn the man looked anxious. This worried expression was gone in an instant of course, his face stiffened once more and he resumed his solid, soulless stare.
"Moran… don't keep me waiting!" He said, pouting slightly, his voice dragging over my name.
"How do you know who I am?"
"Sebastian boy I know everything about you."
"Then prove it."
"Oh I thought you wanted to know how I knew. Never mind, I don't suppose it really matters. Yes, I do know all about you, I could tell you all about your drug addict sister but who really cares, then there the power struggle between you and your domineering father, that's fairly interesting. Sebastian Moran, I know that you're an army sniper who was asked to retire just before the end of your sixth straight tour in Afghanistan and before that you'd spent eighteen months fighting in Iraq. You're trained in precision marksmanship, fieldcraft, infiltration, observation, field surgery and goodness knows what other rubbish. I know that you're the best man for the job."
"What job?"
"To be my right hand man and fulfil my every whim. I need a sniper Sebastian darling and I heard you're a rather good shot."
"You heard right."
"Is that a yes? You'll take the job? Of course it is."
"Does it mean I get my money back?"
"What and let you go back to your cushy drunkard Conduit Street life? No, I think a night or two out on the streets will do you good, sober you up a bit… you've really let yourself go you know."
He spun on his heel, pulling out his phone as he walked away.
"It's January!" I yelled at him.
"That's true," He said thoughtfully, pausing for a moment, "You'd better take my coat," He said, pulling it off and throwing it at me in some false gesture of generosity.
"Sleep well Sebastian."
