Croupier Page #3

Stubbing out his cigarette, JACK SR. leaves the booth. We

now see where he is. A beach bar in South Africa. He walks

to the bar and....goes behind it, slipping on his barman's

jacket. A WOMAN in dark mirror glasses and a bathing suit

is waiting.

JACK SR.

(smiles)

Sorry to keep you. What'll you

have?

INT. JACK'S SITTING ROOM - DAY

JACK, disturbed by the call, pours himself a vodka. He

looks at what he's written: 'THE BALL... A NOVEL BY...

JACK MANFRED.'

JACK'S VOICE

Jack knew something was wrong.

He'd forgotten Giles' advice. Giles

said three words.

JACK inserts a word in the title. It now reads: 'ON THE

BALL'. JACK drinks. After a moment...

JACK'S VOICE

JACK'S VOICE No. Jack knew it still

wasn't quite right...

He types:
'IN THE BALLS'. Then, on reflection, deletes 'IN

THE'. Through the iron bars JACK watches feet pass on the

street above. A drunk drops a beer can over. The can falls

in SLOW MOTION but the clatter is loud.

DRUNK'S VOICE

I want to f*** the whole world

over.

INT. CASINO - DAY

Reception area. The CAMERA turns around the fake glitz of

the interior:
brass, drapes, polished wood, mirrors, and

moves towards the front door.

JACK'S VOICE

Welcome back Jack... to the house

of addiction.

The door opens. Against a blaze of street daylight, JACK'S

silhouette appears. The CAMERA moves forward to greet him.

JACK removes his wristwatch.

INT. CASINO - MANAGER'S OFFICE - DAY

JACK shakes hands with DAVID REYNOLDS, a cold man in his

late forties, dead behind the eyes.

REYNOLDS:

David Reynolds, I'm the Manager

here. Sit down, John.

JACK:

Jack.

REYNOLDS examines a file in front of him.

REYNOLDS:

You've been recommended by the

management here. They know your

father. He has a bit of a

reputation, hasn't he?

JACK:

(frowns)

Has he?

REYNOLDS:

In any case, I understand you've

had some previous experience... in

South Africa.

(Jack nods)

You'll find the rules a little

different here. Before we start,

you haven't got a police record,

have you?

JACK:

No.

REYNOLDS opens the door. He lets JACK go on ahead.

REYNOLDS:

Where did you go to school?

JACK:

(surpised)

I was at Beadles.

REYNOLDS:

I don't think I know that one.

Private, I suppose.

INT. CASINO - HALL - DAY

The full overhead lights give the casino an exposed, tacky

appearance, devoid of mystery or glamour. The place has

roulette tables and blackjack counters. It is deserted

except for several CLEANING LADIES, vacuuming, emptying

ashtrays. REYNOLDS walks with JACK, talking.

REYNOLDS:

There are three types of casino in

the U.K. High volume. Small faction.

And MOTR. That's middle of the

road. Us.

JACK:

Do you have a Salon Prive?

REYNOLDS:

We tried. But there wasn't enough

business. The punters like company.

REYNOLDS goes to one of the tables with JACK.

REYNOLDS:

Let's see you handle the chips.

He slides open a box and tips 200 chips of varying

denominations onto the table.

JACK:

I have to assume the serial numbers

on the bowl and cylinder correspond.

REYNOLDS:

We check every four days.

JACK:

Why four? And not three or five?

REYNOLDS:

(shrugs)

It's the procedure here. Now sort

the chips.

JACK starts to stack the chips in piles from a hundred

pounds to five. REYNOLDS watches. JACK'S fingers work fast.

In a matter of moments he has the lot stacked.

JACK:

Stacks of 20. Rows of 5.

REYNOLDS:

Any exceptions?

JACK:

25 pounds or 25 pence in fours.

REYNOLDS:

Give me 365.

He presses a stopwatch in his hand. JACK quickly sets out

four neat piles, three of 100, one of 65. All four piles

are in denominations of ten and five.

REYNOLDS:

Very good. Now take these colours...

He throws a pile of blue and white chips on the table.

The blue are 10, the white are 5.

REYNOLDS:

I want 780, but I want 500 in

denominations of 25.

JACK nods and gets to work. His fingers make Reynolds's

ticking watch seem slow.

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