The Sure Thing ( Pin Numbers I.P)

He got up late that morning, too late. His head pounded like canon balls being fired from an old merchant ship. Far too much whiskey was drunk last night. Far too much money was lost on that bloody poker game. The last hand could have been good to him, but fucking Dave; with his full house did him like a kipper. Two pairs he had, confident of his hand, Aces and Queens for fucks sake, should have won it for sure. Over three grand in the pot and fucking Dave gets the lot. Although Dave was his best mate, he hated Dave. Dave was a wanker!

But today’s another day, the dogs, yep, the dogs. First race at 11.00am, far too early, but around 12.00 perfect. Couple of beers to get him in the mood. Liven him up a bit, that’s all he needed then he’d be ok. Might even see a couple of the old faces; get a bit of inside info.

If Charlie was there that would be even better. Charlie had dogs, about four or five of the fuckers; he knew a few things about dogs alright. Never had a bad tip from Charlie. He remembered once when Charlie gave him a tip for a dog at Catford, the fucking thing flew out of the traps, they never caught it. 7-1 for fucks sake 7-1. He’d lumped on, £500 on the nose. Took home four grand that day. Lovely day, beautiful day.

That first beer was hard to get down, but the second was smooth, hit the spot. Maybe a little whiskey chaser to help it on its way. Lovely stuff. Malt was the only way forward.

Four races gone, eight more to go, take it easy, don’t want to blow everything too early. Fuck me its Roger over there by the bar, who the fucks with him, she’s gorgeous, He’s punching above his weight these days, too good for him, ten years younger at least, and those tits, got to be false. Lucky bastard.

“Roger, me old mate, what’s gonna win the next?”

“Get on trap two, a mate of mine owns it, says it’s the bollocks”

“Cheers Mate!”

Lovely, got to be the first winner of the day, good old Roger, knew I could rely on something turning up for me, get me out of trouble.

“ £500 win on trap two darling, I’ll take the 4-1”

I love this game, wonderful.

What a cunt that Roger is, fucking trap two, came out last and finished fucking last! Ok for him with his new bird on his arm giving it the bollocks, acting as though he’s fucking Brad Pitt. Knows nothing about dogs, apart from shagging them!

Wait a minute, wait a fucking minute, that’s Charlie over there, looking all shifty, talking with two big fuckers.

“Charlie, Chas, how you doing son?”
“Yeh good mate, you?”

“Yeh, not bad, any info?”

“Yeh, see those two guys I was just talking with, well they’re over from Ireland. Their dogs in the next race, it’s a ringer. It’s supposed to be some dried up old sod but it’s actually a fucking champion Irish dog. Won loads of races over in Ireland. It’s a fucking cert, get on son but keep schtum”

“You fucking beauty Charlie”

Now he knew it was a bit gay to kiss another man, but fuck it. He was about to win a fortune.

Lovely, knew they had a fucking cash machine here. He’d use both cards; his max was £500 on each card. He was skint but he had a £1000 overdraft on each card that he’d never used. He’d get £500 on each card and have a grand on the Irish fucker. Its 5-1 for fucks sake, that would give him a return of £6000. That gets him right out of trouble. Ten minutes to the off. One more large malt and then he’d get to work.

“Give us a large Glenfiddich please darling, tell you what, make it a fucking triple”

Wow that really hit the spot.

Now, lets get the fucking cash, get the bets on and leave with a lovely pile of cash.

He walked up to the machine, got both cards out of his wallet.

That was the day he forgot his pin numbers!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!