Trip report - The Doc (part 2)

The Doc and I stumbled outside the Cellar Bar and put our shades on. We then discovered it was pitch dark. Fuck. Shades off again. We decided that we would need some further liquid funds for our cardplay and raided an ATM. This provided some brief hilarity for those in the queue behind us as The Doc managed to forget his PIN number repeatedly and then assaulted the ATM machine in a frenzy of drug-fuelled psychotic rage. I took charge of the situation, slapping him across the face until he calmed down. I may even have shouted "get a hold of yourself man". I've always wanted to say that. I withdrew a massive wad of €50 notes from the machine, stuffed half into the Doc's hand and steered him in the direction of the Macao.

Just before we got to the doors, The Doc waved me into a gap between two cars. He then proceeded to empty the contents of his impressively large drug collection into a single envelope. He handed this to me and issued an order "jump on this". I looked at him in wonderment, I had never known The Doc to knowingly waste illicit substances before. "Are you sure this is good stuff we're taking Doc?", I queried. He tapped his nose in a knowing manner. "I know what I'm doing", he said, "just do as I tell you". Somehow, this struck me as possibly the least reassuring thing I had ever heard. Still, The Doc is a professional after all. I complied and jumped up and down on the envelope until the stash had dissolved into a single compacted powder.

The Doc stuck his finger in the envelope and then licked it. He smacked his lips like an epicurean after a good meal and sighed in satisfaction. "Excellent work", he proclaimed, "let the games commence". We marched into the Macao, past the suspicious gaze of Tiny, the bouncer. Tiny,as you may have guessed, is somewhat ironically named being as he is twenty-two stones and six-foot four of pure muscle. He doesn't like me much and he likes The Doc even less after some amphetamine-induced craziness that saw him play for forty-four hours straight before collapsing dramatically into the dealer's highly impressive bosoms. I still think he knew what he was doing. The one thing he didn't know was that the dealer was Tiny's wife.

Before approaching the poker desk, I pulled The Doc aside into a quiet corner. "So Doc", I said, "what's the plan?". "Sow fear and confusion in our enemies", he promptly replied, "and, by the way, tonight we are playing big. We're playing the Top Table". "Jesus. The Top Table. Doc? Are you sure?" I heard the desperation and the doubt in my own voice. The Doc glared at me impatiently, "be a man for once you snivelling little sissy. We are going to take our money to that Top Table and we are going to run all over that fucking game like wildebeest across the fucking Serengeti. You dig it?" I didn't have the heart to point out to The Doc that it was my money we were risking. "I dig, I dig", I grumbled. "Anyway", said the Doc, perking up noticeably, "we have a chemical advantage. That shit we just dropped - the KGB developed it for Soviet astronauts".

Unwilling to allow this conversation to progress further into the realms of communist cosmonauts, I wheeled The Doc in the direction of the poker desk. We staggered to a halt in front of Dec, the sour-faced manager. He looked us up and down. It may have been the booze, the drugs or the gracious living, but I could swear his nostrils curved upwards slightly at the sight of us. I was reassured that this wasn't a paranoid delusion when he spoke; "what do you two fuckheads want?". "Charmed as ever", The Doc airily greeted Dec, "two seats at the Top Table please my good man. My companion and I would also like two mint juleps". As windups went, this was pushing it somewhat but I let it slide. Dec clearly felt likewise. "Money", he roughly demanded.

The Doc and I emptied our pockets onto the poker desk. We had twenty-one hundred euro between us, just enough for two minimum buy-ins at the Top Table. I felt a bit ill seeing such a large proportion of my worldly wealth spread across the counter. I felt more ill when it was exchanged for chips and we were, in the exact words of Dec, told to "fuck off to the Top Table and don't come back crying here when you go broke". We did as we were bidden and took our seats. I noticed as I sat down that The Doc's acid hadn't inculcated any undue effects in me. 'Just another in a long line of bad beats', I thought to myself, glancing around the table. My negative mood wasn't lightened as I looked around me; the table was a veritable rock garden. All seven of the other players were known tough customers, tight and non-spewy. Great, just great.

The Doc had landed in Seat 1 and was in the Big Blind. There had been a raise and a re-raise and the action was now on him. He, however, did not appear to be concentrating on the game at hand and was instead wrestling with his envelope. The Dealer rapped on the table to get his attention.

"Action's on you sir", he said. The Doc raised his head, "what's that?" The dealer patiently repeated himself. "I'm very sorry, you'll have to forgive me", responded The Doc, mucking his cards, "I was totally distracted by the taste of this wonderful sherbert". He then proceeded to take a large pinch of powder out of the envelope and licked it off his fingers, slurping it down with appreciative noises. This outlandish display managed to distract the rocks from the game and all heads were turned towards The Doc. "Like a taste?" he innocently queried the player sitting beside him.

The two seat took the envelope with some trepidation and sniffed the contents dubiously. "Just try a little pinch", wheedled The Doc, "I've never tasted anything like it". Seat Two cautiously ladled out a small amount onto the back of his hand. "Go on", encouraged The Doc. Seat Two took a lick of the powder and I put my head in my hands, foreseeing a future behind bars. Then something unexpected happened. A broad smile broke out across Seat Two's features and he laughed. "This stuff is pretty good", he chortled, passing the envelope around to his neighbour, "give it a lash!" The envelope made the rounds of the table to great approval. As Seat Nine imbibed his share of the mixture, I looked up and caught The Doc giving me the slyest wink I have ever seen. "Ship that sherbert back over here!" he hollered. The now doped-up rocks thought this was the funniest thing they had ever heard. For the remainder of the evening, 'ship the sherbert' became the battlecry of the Top Table.

(to be continued)

el S