The Big Bust: The Blitzkrieg Casino Scam 2

By D. R. D. Rollo

Drago Tosa is a roulette wheel watcherthe best in the world. Using only mental calculations, he is able to predict with uncanny accuracy the number on which the ball will land and hits casinos around the world amassing a fortune. However, his dark past continues to haunt him, until he arrives in a casino in Italy, where he meets the man responsible for his fathers death. Having exacted revenge in his own special way, he happens to meet and join up with a renegade band of Blitzkrieg roulette past posters and falls in love with one of the girls they use to distract casino staff. Sam Morris, casino investigator, desperately tries to halt their activities, fearing for his life and increasingly threatened by ruthless casino owner Steve Kruger, who has his own dark past to hide. After a massive raid in Cape Town, the wheels are set in motion for a dramatic and bloody end to Tosa the wheel watcher and his gang of roulette past posters.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Xlibris UK
• Release date: Jan 5, 2017
• ISBN: 9781524597146

D. R. D. Rollo

David Rollo grew up in Scotland, Libya and Singapore before returning to Scotland and graduating from Stirling University in 1982. After work as a barman, salesman and refuse collector he trained as a croupier with the intention of seeing the world. He has worked in S. Africa, Poland, Russia and Greece and has two children and a grandson.

Book preview

CHAPTER 1

February 2014

M ORRIS PUT HIS empty glass on the table—deciding against another drink. The Culag bar in Lochinver was about to close anyway, and he was looking forward to a languid walk home around Enard Bay. He opened the bar door and felt the temperature drop a little—but it was good and clean fresh air.

‘A fine night,’ he thought, looking up at the full moon, which was reflecting light over the glassy sea. There was no wind, or rain, just the quiet void of a still highland night to enjoy as he walked the two miles to his house. Having left before closing, the streets were his—enhancing his isolated contemplations.

It had been five months since he had returned home after the ending of the Blitzkrieg scam in Vegas. Cain was also back in Lochinver, minus an eye and half an ear—but he was alive, although he had yet to venture out of his house at the insistence of his wife Magda. Morris himself had been offered his casino job back in Greece, but had declined, even before the clandestine meeting in a London hotel, where one million dollars had been handed over to him by a tough-looking stranger who had said only, ‘Tell anyone where you got this from, or cheat again and you are dead.’ One million dollars, part of the money stolen from the late Mr Ling’s Vegas casinos. He had, it seemed, and according to Kruger, committed suicide for what was Ling a paltry amount. Morris had strong doubts about Kruger’s ‘suicide’ story about Ling. Anyway, he was no more. So long, Ling. Morris had not attempted to make contact with his benefactor, Kruger—and had no intention of doing so. Capone, in Tolo, on the other hand, he had an urge to contact. First to see if he too had got his share of Ling’s money and he admitted to himself he was quite fond of the mayor after their shared experiences in Vegas. He wondered what the town was getting up to. ‘Good luck to them,’ Morris thought, as he walked over the short Lochinver bridge, glancing upwards at the sky bursting with stars as the wind picked up a little.

In Moscow that same night, there was also little wind, but it was much colder and there was some snow lying on the streets, shovelled to the edge of the grey pavement, as the man made his way to the illegal casino the taxi driver from the airport had earlier told him where to find.

‘Ochin safe—very good’ he had said with a wink, stretching his hand out for a presumed tip—which was given, with a ‘spaseba’.

The stranger found the described alley way near the Novi Arbat easily enough and looked down it. About fifty metres away, he saw the dim blue light he had been told to lookout for. Beneath it two men were moving around and occasionally stamping their feet. He walked towards them and caught their eyes, which fixed on him as he approached.

‘Good evening, I am a tourist. I would like to play inside, if I may?’

The two men looked at him hard—glancing up the street at the same time.

‘Your name, hotel, and room number please,’ he said, in a strong, but not unfriendly, manner.

His taxi driver had indicated that these were standard questions he was likely to be asked and was glad he had prepared well. He supplied the information and the man who had talked moved back a little, punched a number into his mobile, and asked in Russian, ‘Good evening, could you put me through to Mr Javonic, in room 224, I think? I have to cancel an appointment.’ A moment later, the reply came that it was the right room, but there was no one there at the moment.

The doorman said he would call later, ended the call, and said, ‘Okay, you go in, Mr Javonic—enjoy yourself.’

‘Thanks,’ replied the man, slipping both of the men some euros. ‘Can I change money inside?’ he asked.

‘No problem, sir—and thanks,’ the slightly bigger man said pulling open the door, with a gesture approaching amiability.

Javonic entered the casino. It was not as grubby as he had imagined. In fact, he had been in a lot less attractive legal establishments. It was busy. Good for his purposes.

He surveyed the place as he approached the bar. He was after the roulette tables. There were three of them. That was okay too. He ordered a coke and continued looking around. Each roulette table had an inspector. Looking up and around, he did not see any cameras, but that didn’t really matter. He didn’t need to cheat to win. He started watching the three roulette games more closely. He was specifically looking for how the dealers spun the ball and the wheel. He was encouraged by what he saw. The games were frantic, and there was a mad rush to get bets on before the ball dropped in the winning number. It was likely his presence would go unnoticed. After half an hour of watching the roulette dealers closely, he noticed that one in particular would suit him. She was spinning the ball and the wheel at the same speed on each spin. He now placed his full attention on her. He watched her for more than a dozen spins—already doing the simple calculations in his head. On the last few spins, he mentally predicted the winning section of the wheel and was proved correct each time. Javonic felt a surge sweeping through his body. When he came across such a dealer, it was like winning the lottery. ‘Right—I’m in,’ he muttered. His targeted dealer went for a break a few minutes later, and when she returned, he was glad to see it was to deal on another roulette table. He watched her again for a while, then got off his seat and changed 6,000 euros for roubles at the cash desk. The cashier’s body language showed that this amount was nothing that would make her mention him to her superior. Javonic had seen anyway that there was quite a few decent players around. It was a smallish room and the atmosphere was loud and tense. He was getting excited too. It was a strange feeling knowing that he had a ninety percent chance of winning, but he never took anything for granted. In any case, it was not the winning that was difficult, he almost took that for granted now. Rather, it was getting the money safely out of the casino. Illegal casinos always worried him, but he had found the staff were generally inexperienced and more likely to deal in the manner of the dealer he had targeted. He bought in for cash chips and managed to position himself in the best position he had found for placing call bets—directly opposite the dealer.

The dealer spun the ball and the wheel as she had done on the previous dozen or so spins that he had watched. Javonic already knew that after the ball had spun twelve times, it would leave the rim and start to fall into the rotating wheel. This would happen eighteen seconds after she spun the ball. Every time. The dealer spun the wheel fairly slowly, and it was taking four seconds to complete a revolution. By combining the two variables, he quickly worked out which section of the wheel would be underneath the ball as it dropped. He found it simple to work on a twenty-number basis. In other words, he was 90 per cent sure that the ball would drop in the middle of these twenty numbers. He had to cover the numbers on either side of this targeted hit number to counter the scatter effect of the ball hitting one of the diamond deflectors as it left the rim and for the additional scatter effect as it bounced when it hit the number frets. The next step was to make sure he managed to get his bets placed on time. He had the chips in his hand and was ready. The ball had spun around the wheel three times when he made his call. This was long before the ball even started to slow down. There would be no suspicion of a ‘late bet’.

It was very important that the dealer understood his bet and had plenty of time to accept it. So he watched till she was not preoccupied with anything else and handing over the twenty chips, in four separate piles, he said in a clear voice, ‘Two, twelve, twenty-two, and thirty-two and the neighbours by one please.’ He spoke in English, which he had noticed the dealer speaking with one or two of the other players. She seemed to have a reasonable grasp of it. If needed though, he could call his bets in five or six languages albeit not Russian—having ventured into the country only once or twice before.

The dealer nodded and repeated the bets and placed them on the special area assigned for such bets, often called ‘the track’.

She placed the last of these bets just as the ball completed its eighth rotation, so his bets were on well before the ball started to drop four seconds later. That was why he was a cut above the rest of the wheel ‘clockers’ who invariably tried to get their bets on later than he did, thus risking that the bets would be refused as ‘late’. As it descended, Javonic was pleased to see that the ball first hit right in the middle of his target area, number 26. It bounced a little before landing in number 28.

The dealer pointed to the winning number and announced that three call bets had won—one of which was his twelve and the neighbours bet. He clapped his hands slightly, in mock delight, trying to look like a first-time tourist customer. The dealer then placed the relevant chips on the winning number, cleared the layout, and paid the customers. Javonic’s total bet had cost him the rouble equivalent of approximately 2,000 euros. He was similarly paid 3,500 euros and after he took the winning chip from the number and added it to his pile of chips. Three thousand six hundred euros—a profit of 1,600 euros. He ordered a coke and gave a tip to the dealer and waitress. He had found this was one of the best ways of ingratiating himself with the staff. They were always much more inclined to accommodate a big tipper when it came to the occasional disputes he got involved in.

Javonic looked around surreptitiously. His bets had not seemed to have aroused any suspicion. ‘Good, good,’ he thought, watching the wheel as the dealer spun the ball and the wheel again in exactly the same way as before. ‘God, I love this,’ he confirmed to himself as he did every time he found himself in these situations.

He had five wins in row, then one loss when the ball on hitting the number segments bounced all over the place seeming to defy physics. Javonic was used to this—it happened sometimes. It was also good to lose one or two spins and he made a big show off his disappointment when he did so. He expected the dealer to go for a break after an hour, which he had found was the most common dealing length in the hundreds of casinos he had visited. However, after an hour, and a half, she was still dealing and looked a bit tired, although her rotation speeds remained consistent.

When she left soon after, Javonic played three more spins just as a distraction with the new dealer who varied his spins and wheel rotations. He didn’t want to stop playing the minute the favourable dealer went off the table—somebody could pick up on that. But he stopped after losing two bets where he did not even attempt to calculate the winning section of the wheel. This showed that he did not win on every spin to those that might have been paying some attention to him. Javonic was more than satisfied. He had played for twenty spins and lost four. His bets had cost him 40,000 euros and he had been paid 56,000 euros and kept 1,600 in winning chips. He had given a few hundred in tips, leaving him with a 17,000 euro profit. He could have stopped earlier, or even waited for the dealer to come back on a roulette table, but he was happy with what he had got. He judged every casino that he was in very carefully. Win—but not too much. He had seen a Russian on the blackjack table playing about 2,000 euros on each of the four boxes he was playing on. The pit bosses and managers’ attention were as on him and not Javonic—although he was sure his win would cause some scrutiny at a later time. ‘Or maybe not?’ he thought. In any case, he would be out the country in a few hours. Next came the bit that sometimes made him nervous. He glanced around to see if anyone was paying attention to him. It seemed okay. He cashed in half of his chips, changed them to euros, and walked to the toilet. On entering, he put his cash and chips in several different pockets, leaving only a thousand euros in his wallet. He waited ten seconds and then re-entered the casino floor. Nobody had followed him towards the toilet. Still he felt more nervous than normal This was Moscow after all. A good part of the clientele were probably criminals and it was likely the owners were too. There was a reason not many international cheats ventured into this city. ‘Take it easy—take it easy,’ he thought. He then left the casino and strolled a few yards up the road. Then he turned and re-entered, tapping his pocket as if he had forgotten something. Only now was he satisfied that no one was following him. He cashed out the remainder of his chips and changed all the money into 500-euro notes. All told he had fifty of these notes, including the money he had brought to the casino. He went back to a toilet cubicle and distributed the money between various pockets, an empty cigarette packet, his socks, and his wallet—adding another thousand to the 1,000 euros already there. Now there was just the guys at the door. Had they been told to stop him? They had seemed okay and had seemed disinterested when he had left the casino a few minutes before. He thought he would be fine. Anyway, there was no choice—he had to get by them. He stepped outside and looked at them. They remained unconcerned by his presence. He took no chances and tipped them both a hundred euros. ‘Spasiba bolshoi,’ they