I told myself that it would be an adventure: something I could write about as I embarked on a career in journalism. I remember the frisson of excitement I’d felt at her approach, at having been singled out, and the justification that swiftly followed. ‘But I pick all his assistants,’ she told me, pressing her business card into my palm before she left. Her husband, Ken, a former research chemist, was the blackjack pro. I had been casually recruited into the ‘Odds and Sods’, as they sometimes called themselves, by a colourful Peruvian woman with owlish grey eyes, who correctly pegged me for a drifter when we’d met over a platter of spicy prawns at the home of a mutual friend. For two years in the mid-1990s, I worked on and off as a professional gambler, touring the world as the rookie member of a long-standing blackjack team.
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