Fair Game by Alan Durant Page B

and shook my hand.
    â€œPleased to meet you, Billy,” he said.
    â€œAnd you,” I replied. He waved at me to sit down.
    â€œIt’s a pleasure to meet a real sportsman,” he added with a smile. He was a stocky, middle-aged man with tanned, plague-pocked skin. He had neat, brown, lifeless hair that had to be a wig. He smiled like a crocodile. “I hear you know Danny Marconi?”
    I nodded.
    â€œHe’s a good man, is Danny,” Gull said. He opened his large, lined palms. “We go back a long way.”
    â€œDid you know his grandad?” I asked.
    Gull raised an eyebrow. “I saw him play a couple of times when I was a kid,” he said. “He was a great footballer, Billy. He had such skill. They called him The Wizard.”
    I didn’t say anything. We’d had our small talk. Now it was time for business.
    â€œI guess you didn’t call me in to talk about Danny and his grandad,” I said.
    Gull smiled again. “Danny told me you were sharp, Billy boy.”
    â€œYou’ve spoken to Danny?” I said, amazed. I had no idea prisoners could have contact with people on Earth. I never had.
    â€œDanny has a special arrangement,” Gull went on. “We chat now and then.” He leaned back in his chair. “He told me about you, Billy. He said you were a real football star. He was sad to lose you. And then I see this blogcast you’ve been sending out. I see you are looking for people to play football. And I get an idea.”
    â€œYeah?” I said, not sure this was going anywhere.
    â€œYeah,” he confirmed and he told me his idea.
    Gull wanted me to form a football team to play against the prisoners on Penal Colony 156. He’d help with finding the players and pay all expenses, he said. I was puzzled.
    â€œWhy? What’s in it for you?” I asked.
    He smiled his toothy, crocodile smile. “Money, lots of it.”
    Then it came out. Gull Reeves ran a betting syndicate. Or he had, before the state banned them. Now he was in charge of the state’s betting system. The problem, he explained, was that people were bored of betting on virtual sport. They wanted something new, exciting. And my idea of real football could be just the thing. What could be more thrilling than a real football match between two top teams, broadcast live all over the world?
    â€œTwo top teams?” I queried.
    â€œI hear Danny’s boys are pretty hot,” Gull said. “And I’m sure you can put together a strong team.”
    He may have been sure; I wasn’t. But it didn’t matter anyway. “I’m not interested,” I said.
    Gull moved forwards in his chair with a look of shock. “Billy, Billy!” he pleaded. “Why would you turn this chance down?”
    I told him my feelings about gambling – and why I’d been in prison.
    â€œThings are different now,” Gull soothed. “The bad old days of gambling gangsters are over.” He said it with a kind of regret, it seemed to me. I guessed he’d been one of those gangsters himself.
    â€œI won’t have anything to do with gambling,” I insisted.
    Gull threw up his hands. He stared at me like I was a very complex sum he couldn’t work out.
    â€œYou love football, right, Billy?” he said at last. I nodded. “You want people to play the game, really play the game?” I nodded again. “So you need to show them what fun it is and what they’re missing. Right?”
    â€œI guess so,” I agreed.
    â€œWell, you’ll never get a better chance than this,” Gull stated. “Millions, no billions, of people aregoing to watch this match. It’ll put real, physical sport back on the map.” I could see he had a point. But I wasn’t going to admit it.
    â€œLook, don’t decide now. Go away and think about it,” Gull told me.
    â€œOK,” I said. “But don’t expect me to change