As
usual, the bus was late. After half an hour of waiting patiently in
the travel agency we went across the road for some beers, their
arrival, of course coinciding with that of the sleeping bus to Nha
Trang, 10 hours up the coast. The decision to bring rum and coke
along was a double edged sword – it did help oil the social wheels
but the lack of an on board toilet became excruciating. I was forced
to make an emergency exit against a fence when people were getting
off at one point. Claire managed to hold out to the next stop at a
hotel, running around like a lunatic in search of any door with a WC
painted on. While the bus was marginally better than the “sleeping
bus” in Laos, it was another sleepless journey punctuated by
overnight truck overtaking and massive potholes.
We
shared drinks and stories through the journey with Nick, an amiable
Aussie pilot who had done his time flying freight across the outback
but was looking for hard to come-by commercial work on the ryanairs
and easyjets of SE Asia. Groggily turning up our noses at the grubby
hotel where the bus left us off, we jumped in a taxi, way to small to
accommodate the three of us plus luggage, and made for the beach.
After viewing a few overpriced hostelries we settled on the lovely
Thanh Long Hotel, a little off the main strip with a great view of
the mountains and a friendly owner who offered us tea every time we
saw him. Ironically they wanted to put us in a beach view room for a
few more dollars – the view of the beach was in fact a view of the
back of 2 grey multistorey block hotels, not a grain of sand or a
wave in sight.
After
a well deserved catch up on sleep, Claire and I headed out to look
around and get some food. We headed south, away from the centre and
ordered coffees and omelettes in a place called “Nice Cafe”. The
staff, clearly not used to foreigners giggled their way through the
order and after a time brought our breakfast. The coffee was
industrial strength, unthinkably potent and over- complicated by the
little single cup filter it came with. It splashed all over me as I
tried to get to grips with it. The staff stared on as I sat bemused
at the coffee stained napkinless table. Then the “omelettes”
arrived. It was two undercooked eggs, sunny side up with a large
sprinkling of pepper and a bit of lettuce as a garnish. Claire nearly
vomited. We sent them back, gesturing the basic principles of beating
the eggs in order to make the omelette. It was quite obvious when the
waitress returned less than a minute later, plates in hand, that they
has thrown the eggs back in the pan, stirred them around a bit and
sent them back – the yolk was still runny. We paid up, coffee and
omelettes untouched, too tired and hungry to argue. Our second
chicken sandwich-based attempt, after a long walk up the silvery
beach in the scorching midday heat, was much more successful.
Nha
Trang is a quintessential beach resort town, much the same as any I
have seen anywhere in the world, with a plethora of cheap and posh
hotels, bars with all day happy hours and shops selling board shorts
and blow up swords. It doesn't take that long to get the gist of it.
We headed back to the GH to get out of the sun and see if Nick was
about.
He
knocked on the door of our room a few hours later and asked to come
in, looking shocked and generally taken aback. After sitting down and
taking a breath he told us the story what he had been up to during
the day.
Similar
to us he went out for a wander. Not far from the hotel a local on a
motorbike said “nice sunnies” to him in an Aussie accent. They
stared chatting – the local had lived in Oz – and got on well.
The local offered to show him around town on the back of his bike and
Nick accepted. At this point my own internal alarm bells started
ringing, but obviously not Nick's. They had a grand ole time for a
few hours when the local (I'm not sure I was told his name so let's
call him Johnny) offered Nick some lunch back in his house with his
family. They enjoyed a pleasant lunch with Johnny's family, all
washed down by a few beers. So far so good.
Johnny's
brother-in-law, confusingly called Nicky, was a manager in the nearby
Vin Pearl Casino, a very flash 5 star affair on the closest island to
the town (for any fans of useless facts, it's joined to the mainland
by the world's longest over-water built cable car at a cost of $5m).
Over
the course of lunch and the ensuing beers Nicky explained the
workings of the casino to Nick, and also his grand plan of doing it
over. He took Nick through the basics, then the finer details of
black jack, counting cards, secret signals and how to commit the
heist, right down to the dealers, pit bosses and security staff that
needed to be paid off and the profit margin for Nicky. All that was
missing was an unknown gringo to work the 21 table for a fee of
$35,000. The alarms bells in my head had been replaced by police
sirens at this stage.
Intrigued,
but understandably cagey, Nick was getting his head around all this
when a mobile phone rang. It was one of Nicky's high roller Japanese
clients, organising his suite and preferred blackjack dealer for a
night of gambling at the Vin Pearl. He had won big, over $200k on his
last visit but was not popular as he had not tipped anyone out, as is
the convention. Winking at Nick, Nicky asked Mr. Yakimoto to come
over to his house to join them for a drink, to which he agreed. In
the next 10 minutes Nicky explained to Nick that this was the perfect
opportunity to test the scam and, by way of revenge, make some easy
money from Mr Yakimoto.
Nick,
still curious, pinching himself to see if he was awake and probably
more intoxicated by the prospect of making many months salary in a
few hours than by the free beers, stayed on. When Mr. Yakimoto
arrived there was some pleasant chit-chat followed by making the
arrangements for the evening at the casino. Nonchalantly, Nicky
offered to deal some blackjack if Nick and Mr Yakimoto wanted to
play. As Nick recounted the tale It seemed a strange game of
blackjack to me as the participants played against each other rather
than against the house. Nick, assisted by Nicky's finger taps and
secret signals couldn't fail to win as he knew exactly what card was
coming every time.
The
initial bets were small, and Mr Yakimoto consistently lost in the
good natured manner of a professional gambler, knowing his luck would
turn eventually. They played with chips all the while, no money
actually exchanging hands at any point. Eventually there was a big
hand. Mr Yakimoto, sure of his victory bet $50,000. Nick had 21 (of
course). But Mr Yakimoto refused to show cards unless there was proof
that if he won, Nick could pay up. Of course, Nick, who had only
taken a bank card and about $30 with him had no ability to do so. Mr
Yakimoto opened his shiny briefcase to reveal many bundles of $100
bills, far exceeding $50,000. At this point Claire and I raided the
minibar for beers – we needed Dutch courage just to listen. Nick
took a beer too, to assist with the telling.
There
was a stand-off. Nick wasn't sure what to do with himself – was he
on the cusp of wining $50k or was an ominous mafia-esque hole being
dug around him. An approach was agreed. They would seal the cards in
two envelopes which Nick would keep. The $50,000 would be locked in a
safe in the house and Mr Yakimoto would keep the key. Nicky would
start calling around friends and family to raise the capital to allow
the bet to be seen. Nick would make a 20% cut of the $50k – a cool
10k, more than enough to fund his further travels and stave off the
need to work for a few months.
Nick,
seeing that he was in too deep called it a day and left. He left the
cards with Nicky, who, by the time of Nick's departure had managed to
get $10,000 together. It was dark when he left the house – he'd
been there for hours. He was still trying to get his head around it
when he had knocked on our door. Claire and I peppered him with
questions for about an hour to try and make sense of it all but we
couldn't work out how or why this had happened.
The
conversation carried on to a restaurant. Nick was comfortable because
at no point was he asked for anything – money, hotel details, phone
numbers ... nothing. He had Nicky's mobile number and commitment that
once the $50k had been raised, the game could carry on. Also that the
date for the casino bust was set – 3 days time.
My
view was that Nick had had the best of all possible outcomes – a
free lunch and beers, a great story and most importantly no debt,
underworld enemies or hefty jail sentences. Once the initial buzz and
adrenaline rush wore off he tended to agree, but the temptation of a
lost opportunity for easy money weighed heavy on his mind. Even
though it wasn't my story I had to put it down in words as a
cautionary tale of what can happen on an innocent stroll around a
Vietnamese town. He called Nicky up later in the evening while we
listened in – Nicky had reduced the cut to 10% and was now asking
for some financial assistance for the bet, plus some money up front
for the casino heist. Nick thankfully left him hanging although I
suspect he was as curious as we were to see what would happen if he
let it go further.
