Imagine you organise the European Games. You have two events coming up. There's tonight's Sumo Wrestling Tournament, and there's tomorrow's Poetry In Motion Contest. Where would you deploy your regiment of bodyguards and medical assistants? Would you pick the poetry? The E.G.O.-maniac (European Games Organization's Major Almighty Negotiator & International Armada Coordinator) decided to prepare the troops for the Sumo Suit Wrestling Tournament. They scheduled Doc and me (without backup) for the Poetry In Motion Contest. Doc enjoys a free afternoon and a free night, and I work the afternoon shift (16:00 — 24:00) at my desk at the Emergency. The Diplomat didn't book me a free ride the other day; he just switched yesterday's shift with today's free time.
It doesn't bother me. Although the afternoon is full of patients with big and small accidents, I also have time to watch the highlights of the Sumo Suit Wrestling tournament on my spiPhone. The rules are simple. Each national team consists of a mother, one of her children, and one of her parents. The mother has to be between 25 and 50 years old, her parent should be over 50, and her child under 16. The parent and the child can't be of the same gender; either grandpa and granddaughter, or grandma and grandson support mummy.
The tournament is simple too: each generation fights the other. When a team wins at least two of the three fights, they go to the next round. The competitors wear a giant suit, stuffed like a turkey and closed at the back with Velcro; it turns even a 30-kilo feather into a 300-kilo heavy Japanese wrestler. The foam helmet looks like a black Japanese wig. It's hilarious. The fights are, exactly like the Japanese originals, short and intense: you win when you throw or push your opponent out of the ring, or when you make hor fall on the ground. Thanks to the suits, nobody gets hurt. There's only one minor incident: the grandpa of on team needed to go to the bathroom, but he couldn't find his willy in time and pissed himself. Both grandpa and the suit were expelled from the competition.
Teams with a grandmother and a grandson have an important tactical advantage against teams with a grandfather and a granddaughter: the granddad behaves like a gentleman and lets a lady of his age win, while boys are full of hormones and want to show the world how strong they are in an unequal fight against a girl (who can't use her strong points like pulling hairs, hitting with high heels, or putting long nails into eyes, as those hairs are under a wig-helmet, the nails are in the gloves of the suit and the fights are barefoot).
The E.G.O.-maniac knows his bread-and-circus audience. Violence guarantees high TV ratings. Sell fighting as low-casualty entertainment, and even Nobel Peace Prize winners will watch the show. All those spectators put phenomenal pressure on the competing families. Imagine you're a 12-year-old child, having doubts about your personality and your figure, and you find yourself on TV, looking ridiculous and overweight, under pressure with 300 kilos on top of you, while your mother and grandfather shout from the side: "Come on! You can do it!" and all you can do is scream: "Let me out!" It's a terror to know what the world is about. It splits families in two.
Latvia wins the bronze medal after a 3 – 0 win against England. It's already England's third 4th place on these Games, and they are still without a medal. The tabloids put impressive pressure on the English players.
The final between Albania and Northern Ireland is decided on the third fight, the one between the mothers. The Albanian mother wins the gold medal, but the Northern Irish mother is just as happy with the silver: she takes off the suit and loses 240 kilos in five seconds.
I'm already dreaming about a full night of sleep when, at 23:55, my spiPhone reminds me to visit the Intensive Care and check on Tong Au. He's probably still in a coma, but if I don't shoot, I can't score.
When I enter the floor of the Intensive Care, I find the guard fast asleep on the ground next to his chair. The towel on his face fills the air with the sweet smells of chloroform: suddenly I'm wide awake and all alert. Silent as a cat on white socks, I move to Tong Au's room. I hear a monologue, but it's not one by Tong Au: it doesn't have his funny accent, and it's not funny either.
"You're not learning, Dum Kau. It's-ah not my fault. I do my best. I teach you, but you're not learning. It's-ah physics. It's-ah simple. The first lesson was the blows with the open hand, to teach you to pay us fast. It hurt, but not enough for you to understand. So we give you this second lesson in physics, the punches with the fist, to teach you pay us our money without further delay. What do you do? You don't learn. You run away. From Macao to France. But we find you. And what do you have for us? A lousy 2.000 euros and a gold coin. Not enough, Dum Kau. So we give you the third lesson in physics, with the lead pipe. We're good teachers. We teach you and always find you. Do you learn? Do you pay us? You go lie in a bed and do-ah nothing. If you study hard and learn fast, we can avoid more lessons, Dum Kau. But you are stupid. So now, I brought this tool to teach you. Every job goes better with the proper tools…"
Carefully, I move the lens of my spiPhone around the corner, grab a few seconds of video, and watch who's with Tong Au in the room. It's Luigi, the youngest son of Salvatore Gambino. Uncle Francesco is in charge of the gambling. Uncle Domenico does the drugs department. Salvatore, Luigi's father, is the loan shark. He helps others by taking over their debts but, like every banker, he charges higher interest than the original owner of the liability. Luigi is officially the C.H.O.K.E. of the family, the Charming Hangman Of Kind Eliminations, which means, in the less bureaucratic language of criminal marketing, he's the family's executor of testaments.
What do I do? I'm not armed. If I can get close, I might surprise him, but… when an armed gangster, at the point of retiring his objective, sees someone enter the room, what will he do? Can I come close and break his nose? Can I come near and remove his sneer? Can I gamble to wait, take him when he comes out, bet he's bluffing to hurt Tong Au? I'm not a gambler. Luigi enjoys hurting people too much to bluff. This man is a professional. But I'm a professional too. I'm going in…
"What's wrong, Luigi? Doesn't the family take care of you? Are you collecting funds for your own account now?"
Luigi, standing alongside Tong Au's bed, turns to face me at the entrance of the room, showing me the tool he wanted to use for Tong Au's next physics class: a Smith & Wesson Model 29, better known under the name of «Dirty Harry's .44 Magnum Revolver». I hope Luigi won't spoil this precious moment by asking me: "Do you feel lucky, punk?"
Luigi is too surprised to ask anything. To buy some time to think, he points the barrel right between my eyes. I look into the tunnel-towards-the-terminator that people with a near-death experience so often talk about. As soon as I'll see a spark of light at the end of this tunnel, there won't be much left to talk about…
"And who are you, Snow White? Don't you know I enjoy hurting people? Do you want to be next?", Luigi asks.
"I'm your cousin. We've met at that funeral, three years ago."
With so many members of the family and so many funerals, Luigi needs a secretary. I help him: "Do you remember your grandmother Cornelia? After she gave birth to your father, she had a little… affair… with a friend of the family. You publish all your female conquests on your Facebook page, but women like your grandmother are more discreet. Only a few insiders know that Lady Marmalade, my mother, who handles our family's European businesses, is, in fact, your aunt."
Luigi is interested in this new chapter of his family history: "With a friend of the family?"
"Do you know Frank Sinatra? You can call him Uncle Frankie from now on. Everybody knows that Frankie went to Hollywood, but it's a well-kept secret your grandmother sent him there. He wanted to marry her, stay with her forever in her Sicilian castle on top of the Etna. She told him to leave and start a singing career. One hit was enough. With her shoe. He did it her way. Your grandmother was pretty convincing…"
Luigi isn't convinced I'm telling the truth. If I'm indeed family, he shouldn't trust me. But my story sounds too Mario Puzo to be fiction.
If I keep the initiative, I might distract Luigi from his plans: "Why are you here? Doesn't your father trust me to handle the family affairs? Did you beat up my Chinese slave last Saturday? Are you going to explain to uncle Domenico why you disobey his orders?"
I hope my smile is both confident and reassuring. I pray my eyes don't reflect the panic with which I try to search for words that make Luigi lower his gun. His doubts are a good start: "Your slave? You work for uncle Domenico?"
I point at Tong Au, who's tied on the bed with leather belts, a piece of dirty underwear stuffed in his mouth: "The man you want to retire… He works for me. I don't want him to retire. Not yet. First, he has to finish his French formula. You can pay out his pension after his drugs pass our test."
Luigi sneers: "We don't do drugs."
I try to sound cool and relaxed: "Don't we? Don't you drink? Alcohol is a hard drug. Your mama brewed illegal Limoncello in her basement."
I drop a brief pause, to impress Luigi, and continue: "Our Asian friend here is a medical doctor. Healthcare doesn't advertise its products. He developed G.O.D., a drug we try to keep as secret as possible. Why do you think we sponsor the European Games? Our family is making fortunes here. We have the exclusive right on the bets, and our exclusive G.O.D. helps our best man to win. But what do you do to our Chinese swan with the golden eggs? First, you beat him up so he can't work, and now you want to retire him? You're not really helping here, Luigi…"
Luigi lowers his weapon: "I didn't know. I knew about his bad debt at the Macao casino. My father does a lot of business there. We took over this debt, but the stupid Chinese didn't pay. His only plan to get the money was: return to the casino and gamble a little more. He was not smart enough to figure it out. Who makes money with a casino? The owner. The gambler pays the profit. So what do we do? We make him pay like we make everybody pay."
"Are you so stupid that you just follow orders? Or are you smart enough to think for yourself? Who 'taught' Dum Kau to gamble? If it wasn't stupid you, perhaps it was smart me. First, we let him make little wins. We'll recoup our investment when he's addicted to gambling. When he's into so much trouble that only a miracle can save him, we make him believe miracles only happen in casinos. Now, he's a puppet on a string, a slave who gives us G.O.D. for free. But what do you do? You beat him up and kill him? You're killing our family's investment."
Suddenly, I think of something I read. Luigi is Salvatore's fifth son. Mario (whose feet were found in the harbour of Monaco) was the oldest son of Salvatore's second son, Vincenzo. Could it be possible that Luigi dumped him there? I might do some fishing and see what I catch: "Did you also retire your nephew Mario?"
"What do you know about Mario?"
I have Luigi on the hook: "Mario worked for us too. I'll tell you a story. You have two casinos. One is a solid enterprise, making millions per year, thanks to the visiting millionaires who have nothing better to do with their money than lose it, playing games. The other casino is exactly the same, but it has 50 million dollars in bad debts, caused by one person who got too much credit. If you want to buy one of these two casinos, which one will be cheaper? I'll help you, Luigi: it's the casino with the bad debts. We created those bad debts. Mario did what I told him to do: bet high and lose it all. You might be good at Physics, but you need tutoring for Economy class. Thanks to Mario, your uncle Francesco got a 50 million dollar discount when he bought the Monaco casino. But what do you do? You kill your nephew. He was only doing the family a favour. What will your father say when he finds out?"
"My father gave the order…"
"Great. And you don't think. You shoot first and ask questions later."
"Mario tried to sell family secrets for 50 million euros. We can't have that."
"Mario was only advertising. When someone claims you'll be smart, sexy and successful when you brush your teeth with AllWhite, do you believe him? When someone tries to convince you with the promise «America First», do you ask back your vote when America finishes last at the next World Championships? Mario was advertising. He tried to find someone with 50 million euros who was greedy enough to bite the bait. After retiring the former owner, we would have used his money to buy the casino. What did you do? Are you going to shoot the Chinese and me, to avoid we tell the family? Or are you going to learn and listen to me? I'll give you a clue: if you kill me, you can explain to the rest of the family what happened; if you kill yourself, I'll explain to them it was an accident."
Luigi is K.O. now: "I didn't kill Mario. I chopped off his feet, to avoid he would run away, and I locked him up in a whorehouse in Thailand."
It's time to change tactics: the Bad Cop has to turn into a Good Cop. Tong Au (Dum Kau?) and I don't want to keep looking over our shoulders forever: "We're the Gambino family, with the G of Gambling. Not the Bambino family with the B of baby… We're the crime de la crime of American culture. We look good, we dress better, we eat best, and we certainly don't behave like a bunch of Russian cowboys. You're my cousin, Luigi. You should help me. The French police put a price on my head: the one who arrests me gets a free MacAbre Crappy Meal, with one of the action figures of the New York Five Families. I'm taking a risk here. For our family. For you. Someone should cover my back, someone whose sharp eyes detect danger, someone whose sharp mind knows what to do. I want you to be that man, Luigi. Can you do that for the family? Come on, punk. Make my day."
Luigi smiles at me: "A crappy meal on your head? That's a lie. Nobody would treason the French cuisine for Scottish MacAbre fast food."
I smile back: "You're right. I made that up, to see if you were as smart as I expected. I want you to help me. While I check on the candidates that are running on G.O.D., you make sure I stay out of trouble. I count on you, Luigi. The family counts on you. Don Domenico told me he would like it if you'd become the next G.O.D.-father."
"Did he?"
"Hush. Don't tell anyone. It's a family secret. Do we have a deal?"
"Do you take care of the payback of the loan? I'll have a problem with my father if I return with empty hands."
"Putting Dum Kau under more pressure will not solve your problem, Luigi. Let the man finish his job. Be patient until my investment starts to generate income. I guarantee you'll get your money… and I'll give you all the credits for the success of the entire operation too."
"When?"
"Within two weeks from now, or earlier, if I get the chance. Do we have a deal?"
We have a deal. Luigi hides the Magnum under his jacket and leaves. I walk with him to the lift, formally to say goodbye, but practically to make sure he leaves the building. Then, I clean up the chloroform towel that keeps the guard in the arms of Morpheus, son of Somnus, and return to Tong Au.
I take the stinking sweat socks out of his mouth, use them to wipe his tears away, and untie the leather bands that attach him to his final place of rest.
"Are you okay?"
Tong Au nods.
"Can you walk? Are you hurt?"
"I can walk. My broken rib hurts badly, but only when I laugh."
I help him stand up and let him lean on me while we walk outside. We have to get out of here. I'm not afraid I'll get hurt myself, but I don't want Tong Au on the barrel of the next gangster in line. Also, I want to make sure he doesn't run away.
"Tell me. Those corpses of you, the ones we moved to the freezer of the butcher… Were they Luigi's clients?"
Tong Au hurts himself with laughter: "No. Clients of Ristorante Pasta e Basta. Bad cooking there. He the cook promised to pay me if I help him cover up. But now, he says: «no clients, no money». You better eat at Chinese restaurant."
We walk down the aisle towards the other wing of the hospital. There we take the lift to Rosie's Closed Department. We're lucky: she's there, and there's nobody else.
"I need a favour, Rosie. I have a patient here. He's addicted to gambling. I want him to stay out of sight for a while, and I want to be sure he stays there. Do you have a room for him? It's only for a few days, just until I've found him a job on Greenland or Antarctica, far away from casinos, one-armed bandits and online connections to websites that undress their visitors with betting and poker."
Rosie nods and takes us to a room at the end of the corridor, a room with a bed, a low table and two comfortable chairs.
"Tea or coffee?", I ask Tong Au.
"Tea, please."
I could have guessed that. While I prepare the two cups (the hospital only has Earl Grey tea available, but I hope Tong Au doesn't mind), I try to find the right words for what I want to say.
"Is your real name Dum Kau?"
"Dum Kau Dung. It means «high spirit» in Mandarin. Most English speakers are not fluid enough on the Mandarin. They might get other idea… I changed my name, so he the mafia wouldn't find me here. Someone tipped him Luigi…"
"Or Luigi saw you on TV when you handed out the Pinball Wizard medals. I hope you don't mind if I keep calling you Tong Au?"
He doesn't mind. I continue: "What do you know of G.O.D.?"
"I would have met Him, if it wasn't for you coming in."
"Not God. Gee Oh Dee. The drug."
"I don't know about that. I have no idea."
He's sad as a polar bear, looking at the next decade's weather forecast. I believe him.
"What are we going to do with you, Tong Au? You are addicted to gambling. This can't go on. You need to change, but you will never change."
"I can change. It's easy. From now on, I don't bet anymore."
"You can't."
"I bet you I can…"
"You see? You lost your bet. What do I win? I lose a friend for winning that bet. And what will happen to you? You lose your life for not being able to stop gambling. In gambling, the only one who wins is the owner of the circus, Tong Au. Luigi was right: you are stupid."
"I'm not stupid."
"Aren't you? Well, I bet you are stupid. If you are so sure you're not, take the bet…"
"What do I win?"
"First, I'll tell you the conditions. According to the nurse who brought us here, addiction is 10% body and 90% mind. Your addiction doesn't cause physical dependency; your problem is mental. According to your mind, gambling is a reward. I say it's a punishment. Who do you trust? If you're intelligent, you can figure it out.
» Doc has a therapy, «Flip the Switch». In five minutes, he cured a woman of her depression. Depression is an addiction to negative thoughts and feelings. If I'm right, we can use the same therapy to cure your sick mind of the desire to gamble. There's one restriction: Doc's therapy only works with intelligent people. You need to understand why you did what you did, and you need to understand how you can change. Prove you're not stupid: you'll win our bet when you accomplish the stop-gambling therapy. If you win, you win back your life and I win a happy friend. If you lose, you lose your life and I win the bet. For me, it's always positive. For you, winning proves you're intelligent. Do you understand what I'm trying to tell you?"
"I don't. I'm stupid. Please explain again."
I force myself to keep calm, but I feel the rage running. What do you do with stupid people? If you can't reach them with words, put them under pressure: "This is your last dance. This is your last chance. This therapy doesn't work if you're stupid, Tong Au. It only—"
"I know. I was just joking. You win. I take the bet and…" Tong Au tries to laugh but his face turns into a grimace thanks to his broken rib: "I understand. It will be the last bet of my life. I follow the therapy. But… I still have this minor problem with him Luigi…"
"How minor?"
"Half a million dollars."
"Taiwanese dollars? Hong Kong dollars? Singapore dollars?"
"American dollars…"
Talking about pressure…
"If you're my friend, if you show me you do everything for me, including the therapy to make me lose my bet, I will arrange your minor problem with Luigi. Do we have a deal?"
We shake hands. We have a deal. I take a sheet and write a contract with the conditions, just like Doc did with his depressed patient. Tong Au signs. Then, I search the files on my spiPhone. The Permanent Voice Recorder app recorded the conversation between Doc and his patient, where he explained the therapy to her. I copy those files to Tong Au's smartphone and add several books from the writers Doc recommended to his female patient (I have over 100.000 e-books in seven languages on my backup disc in the cloud). Finally, I return Tong Au his phone: "Your therapy starts here and now. The therapy usually works with a doctor, but that doctor is not available at the moment. You'll have to learn from his written advice. If you're truly intelligent, you can."
"I'm not stupid. You can trust me… And, Bugs… Thank you. You saved my life."
"Next time, you save mine and make us even. Okay?"
We say goodbye. I lock the door behind me. On my way back, I brief Rosie. She understands why I brought Tong Au here; this is his last chance and his best option to change. She promises to take care of him. Tong Au will be in the best hands (and also the biggest hands).
There's only one minor problem left.
Rostov!
Where do I get half a million American dollars?