My face, Ro's brains, 'Ocean's Eleven' - the casinos of Las Vegas might as well fold . . . writes Ross O'Carroll-Kelly
SOME PILE of bricks, the Bellagio - no two-star flea-pits for me and the boy genius.
Yeah, it's the day before Christmas Eve and we're like a couple of high rollers, strutting our stuff on the casino floor - or at least I am.
Ronan's up in the suite, watching Ocean's Eleven, Twelve and Thirteen on DVD, which was actually my idea - see can he get any, like, inspiration from it?
I meet a cracking-looking bird at the bor and doff the old Stetson - it's Vegas, you've got to! She's a ringer for Lindsay Lohan. I buy her a Tequila by the Yord. She says she has to hit the old banana fritter, which she does, taking the drink with her but then doesn't come back.
There I am, down $20, thinking, that probably was Lindsay Lohan.
But, hey, it's like, easy come, easy go.
I decide to go up to the room to check on Ro - doing the whole responsible father bit. There's no doubt I've, like, matured in the last couple of years? And it's a good job too, because I actually find him pacing the floor, muttering basically curses to himself.
I'm like, "Ro, what's wrong?" and he looks at me, totally hassled, and goes, "Ah, I been eighty-sixed, Rosser.
"From every joint in this town. Dunes. Sands. The Hacienda. I been black-booked - can you believe that? The commission - mutter-fookers! Seems they don't like some of my associations . . ."
I understand very little of what comes out of Ronan's mouth even on a good day. But for a minute, roysh, I think he's having, like, a meltdown? Then I'm all of a sudden worried that I maybe pushed him too hord. It turns out he's only getting into character. "See, we need to blend in," he goes.
I could kill Buckets of Blood for letting him watch Casino the night before we left.
There's a knock on the door. "Whoever that is," he goes, "tell them they'll get their money when Russian Louie shows up."
"Ro," I go, "it's cool, it's room service. I ordered you fish. Good for the brain is what they say," and, as he tucks into his Kodiak Island Alaska Halibut, I ask him if he's come up with, like, a plan yet. He's like, "A plan?" and it's like we haven't even discussed what we're doing here.
I'm there, "Ro, you've just sat through, what, six hours of Pitt and Clooney? The school said you were gifted - fock's sake, how long does it take to come up with a plan to take a casino for a couple of mills?"
He all of a sudden looks at me sadly and of course I suddenly feel like the worst father in the world. "I don't even want to be here," he goes. "It's Christmas, Rosser - I want to be home, with me ma. And me sister. And me own people."
Me own people! Talk about a guilt-trip. It's, like, the worst ever. So I end up having to put my orm around his shoulder and tell him one or two, I suppose, home truths?
"Ro, the world - I don't know - economy, blahdy blahdy blah, is basically focked," I go. "There's, like, actual estate agents in Ireland on a three-day week now. JP, for instance. Habitat closed down this year. Who saw that coming? You would have thought there'd always be a morket for disco balls and framed pictures of Che Guevara.
"But that's the thing, Ro - no one can take anything for granted anymore. This recession that everyone's banging on about - it could affect even our family . . ."
I hate lying to him like that - but with a kid this smart, you kind of, like, have to? I'm there, "Think of it this way - by not doing this, you'd be basically taking bread out of the mouth of Honor. I mean, could you live with that?"
That brings him to his senses. "Fair enough," he goes.
I'm there, "Okay, look, we can come up with something between us - what, your brains and my face? It's, like, what a combination. Hey, if you want me to seduce a cracking-looking croupier to steal her keys, I'm game for anything . . ."
"Rosser," he goes, "them Oceans films are no fooking use to us. We're not boorsting open the casino safe, are we?" I'm like, "Er, probably not, no."
"Reet," he goes, "it's got to be gambling, then. And given that I'm a good 10 years too young to set foot on the gaming floor, you're going to have to be our front-of-house man."
I'm there, "Cool - but you can, like, instruct me, can you?"
He's like, "Course. Here, listen, I'm after making one or two notes. It strikes me, see, that your average blackjack player doesn't realise the advantage to the casino in making players draw foorst. It's seven fooken percent, Rosser! But by playing the basic strategy correctly, you can counter nearly all of that advantage . . ." I caught, like, two focking words of that.
He's like, "The lowest percentage bets at craps are pass-line bets and come-bets with multiple odds. If you start with the small bets, progressing to larger bets only if you're winning, you'll be the hardest man to beat at the table." I'm there, "Okay, go slower. Bear in mind some of us don't have IQs of, like, 140 . . ."
"Roulette," he goes, "is a system-player's dream come true but. Don't know what our bankroll is for this blag, but stick $5 on a group of 12 numbers - it's called a dozen bet. The betting boxes will be marked foorst 12, second 12, thoord 12. If one of your 12 numbers hits, you'll win double yisser wager. Then stick $10 dollars on the same box and keep adding $5 to it as long as you keep winning. When you lose, go back to a $5 bet. But always bet the dozen what won before. It's called follow the wheel, my friend."
I take a deep breath and sit down. "Ro," I go, "maybe it would be easier to blow the safe."
