The Devil's Graveyard by Anonymous Page A

number of odd glances from the others as he tugged at it three or four times before it came free. The sudden release made his arm shoot back and he accidentally elbowed the small Chinese lady in the face, knocking her off her stool to land on her back on the floor. Shit! Thought Sanchez. Still, no time for an apology. She’d be okay, one way or the other.
    Recovering his composure, he opened the envelope, pulled out the thick wad of bills and casually tossed it over the table to the croupier. The latter’s face gave away nothing. He was a bald, olive-skinned young man in his late twenties, and he had an impressive poker face when it came to showing a complete lack of interest or surprise when large amounts of cash were thrown at him.
    The tiny Chinese woman climbed back on to her stool muttering angrily and looking about ready to fell Sanchez with a karate chop. But when she saw the wad of cash she seemed to change her mind, and even attempted a wan smile at the bar owner. Everyone liked a guy with money. And for once, Sanchez was that guy. Smiling himself, he called over to the croupier. ‘Chips please, good sir.’
    The croupier picked up Sanchez’s money, expertly counted it, and replaced it with a pile of red, yellow and blue chips of corresponding value. Sanchez could sense that his female companions were mildly impressed by his apparent wealth.
    Annabel confirmed it. ‘Hey, Sanchez, that bar of yours must be doing really well!’
    ‘Sure. I’m a pretty astute businessman,’ he bragged.
    ‘Reckon we should go into business together,’ suggested Annabel. ‘With your business sense and my foresight, we could make a killing.’
    ‘Sure. Let’s start now. You tell me red or black and I’ll lay down the money.’
    ‘Oh, this one is definitely gonna be red.’
    ‘You sure?’
    ‘Absolutely.’
    She did sound incredibly confident. More telling, to Sanchez, she placed a stack of chips down on red.
    ‘Last bets, please,’ prompted the croupier. Although his request was aimed at everyone at the table he was looking directly at Sanchez, daring him to prove he had the balls to gamble more than just one chip on his first bet.
    Sanchez weighed up his options. He had to make a decision quickly. Oh, what the hell? It’s all found money anyway, he decided.
    And he placed all his chips on red.



Eleven
     
    In the time that had elapsed since the Bourbon Kid had punched the former bank boss Jonah Clementine in the face, killing him instantly, no new customers had come into the bar for a drink. The leggy blonde glamour model who had, until very recently, been hanging off Mr Clementine’s arm had left almost immediately, most likely heading to the casino in the hopes of finding a wealthy substitute before they all got snagged by other gold-diggers. Slowly and unobtrusively, the other drinkers in the bar had followed her out. None of them had made sudden movements to get up and leave, but they had all discreetly finished up their drinks and conversations and, one by one, made their way out of the bar.
    Valerie the barmaid had no one new to serve, but tried to busy herself wiping down parts of the bar as far away from the Kid as possible. All the other staff had been closer to the exit behind the bar and had dashed through it before Valerie got the chance. With the hotel having a policy that one member of staff had to be available behind the bar at all times, she was stuck there until one of them plucked up the guts to return. Which wasn’t likely to happen any time soon.
    For the first twenty minutes after the killing the only people to enter the bar were two guys from the security team. Gunther had sent them along after the Kid had warned him that a corpse would need disposing of. Soon. The two men had slipped in quietly and lifted Clementine’s lifeless body from the black hardwood floor, which now had a pool of his blood settling on it. They carried it round behind the bar, at which Valerie threw a fit.
    ‘You