Memories - Live and Let Die
It’s 3am on a Thursday night, late in 2006. Myself and two work colleagues have just stumbled out of Stringfellows following my boss’s stag do, and aren’t in the mood to go home just yet.
Colleague 1 (South African trader) is wasted - he is approached by a Nigerian gentlemen who asks if we want a lift anywhere.
“More booze! More Women!” blubs the trader.
The Nigerian emits a huge booming laugh, very similar to Dr Samedi in Live and Let Die.
“I know just the place for you boys”.
I look nervously at Colleague 2 (Welsh analyst), but the South African has already jumped into the back of Dr Samedi’s Mercedes. Off we go I guess.
We drive for a long time, in increasingly uncomfortable silence. We crossed the river southwards and, if I were to guess, I say it must have been 20 minutes and zone 4, before we arrived at our new “nightclub”. Dr Samedi drives us down a deadend road behind a row of houses and pulls to a stop.
Welshman addresses Dr Samedi: “Are we going to die???”
Dr Samedi turns, and looks at us with a grave face. Suddenly he smiles broadly and bursts into a huge laugh:
“Don’t worry guys - nobody dies today! Let’s go inside.” Well that’s all right then.
Dr Samedi executes a knocked code on the backdoor of one of the houses and we are buzzed in. We arrive in a large reception room, with several sofas, a fridge containing beers and an old TV with MTV showing. Dr Samedi asks us to wait, and leaves the room.
Suspicions of what this place was, were confirmed when an aged Ukrainian Madam sat down next to us to discuss prices. We’re in a Knocking Shop :( In Zone 4 at 4am :( A sample of attractive Eastern European women are paraded round the room, as we wonder how to get out of this bizarre situation. We tell the lady that we are not interested and that there has been a misunderstanding, and can we just have a few beers? Surprisingly, the Madam says this is ok, and lets us drink Stella at £5 a bottle while watching TV. This price is a bargain, compared to the extortionate prices charged by Mr Stringfellow earlier in the evening.
After a while it becomes apparent that the owners of the knocking shop are happy for us to remain, drinking beer and chilling out on the sofas. A string of blokes in suits arrive intermittently, and after brief waits in the holding room are taking upstairs by the Madam to meet their dates for the evening.
After about 30 minutes and two beers, I have raging thirst, and ask the Madam on her next visit to the holding area if I can make myself a cup of tea. She directs me to the kitchen, which is two doors along, as the situation becomes more bizarre by the second.
When I arrive in the kitchen, I recognise Dr Samedi and two other Nigerians huddled over a table, which contains money, and cards. The pimps are playing Holdem! I explain that I’m just making tea, and won’t disturb them. The big guy (Whisper) is fine with it, but the leader (Mr Big I guess) eyes me suspiciously. Whilst the kettle is boiling I get to sit down and watch one hand (they are playing three handed £10/£20 from what I can make out).
Pimp Hand Analysis
The bet sizing and board cards are approximate, because this was two years ago, but I still remember clearly the outcome of the hand.
Mr Big raises on his button to £30. Dr Samedi calls in the small blind and Whisper comes along as well.
Flop
It’s checked around.
Turn brings 5c
Whisper leads for £30, and Mr Big min-raises to £60. Dr Samedi laughs and lets it go, but Whisper calls the £30.
River is 9c
Whisper overbets the pot for £300 and Mr Big snap calls showing down a flopped set of 8s. However, Whisper has for the flush and scoops.
Mr Big is furious - but he only has himself to blame. His min re-raise was a disaster and just inflated the pot while giving Whisper perfectly adequate odds to call for his. I resist the urge to critique his play, and head back to the lounge with my tea.
20 minutes and one beer later we are on our way back into London with Dr Samedi. We talk poker on the way back, and it seems Dr Samedi is genuinely worried about winning big pots off Mr Big. I hope Whisper will be ok.
With only two hours till work time we decide to sleep at the office, rather than head back to our respective houses. When I arrive at my desk I realise my wallet, including the previous night’s poker winnings, is missing.
Bollox…done again.
Seems Mr Big didn’t lose as much as I thought on that pot :(