An Occupational Hazard by James Wrethman Review: As the investigation into the unsolved murder of Eve Stratford, ex Playboy Bunny, in 1975 resurfaces again, suffice it to say that the disclaimer that all characters are fictional, etc., etc. is the protection that a novel needs in order to reflect life. One is not sure whether someone else called Ricki Chavez-Munoz is writing this review in another dimension somewhere in a galaxy still to be discovered, but what is certain is that some of us look into the mirror of our life and see events in the distant light that history throws, with shards of colour that warm our past or chill our present. For some of us there has been life after The Playboy Club, while others have remained in a time warp where the riveting life at any of the four gaming properties in London, Manchester and Portsmouth is still part of an ongoing party and the years remain firmly entrenched in the glorious seventies of jubilee Britain. Of course, it was not always party time at Stocks, the Playboy mansion in rural Hertfordshire, or any of the gatherings where Bunny Girls were the main feature, because as life is only a mirror of cruel daily living some of us were dealt literally Wild Bill Hickock’s dead man’s hand. James Wrethman’s novel An Occupational Hazard (Pen Press) takes us into the Ventura Club’s operation, a casino and the home of the Chica Girls in glamorous London’s Mayfair, not a stone’s throw away from the Park Lane/Curzon Street corner where the building that once housed the Playboy Club still stands, grey and silent with the party laughter long gone and a lugubrious veil covering half forgotten memories. For years we have enjoyed pieces that Wrethman has penned for casino industry publications and magazines. An Occupational Hazard is Wrethman’s first novel, and not surprisingly it is set in the industry where he has spent the greater part of his life. Starting as a casino croupier in Glasgow, Wrethman graduated to management by the early 1970s and held senior positions with three of the leading British gaming companies of that period. Since then a number of years have been spent setting up casinos on cruise ships calling at ports in Australia and the Far East, and then operations in Africa, Russia and South America. The novel soon moves into gear after it opens with a gaming professional’s touch firmly at the helm, taking us briefly through the dreary processes necessary to run a casino operation. As the characters settle into their jobs they are faced with the principal elements that made the London casino scene of the 1970s, when newly rich Arabs were descending on the capital along with other affluent visitors for whom Swinging London was the fashionable place to be. As money was no object for petrol rich sheikhs, a cottage industry of sycophants also developed. In this fatal consequences were also part of the game at times. Some like Chica Penny were taken in by the dizzying highs and rolls of a fun park ride. Others just took advantage of the conditions that provided enormous opportunity for the casinos of the age. “Penny left the gaming floor and took the staff lift to the Chicas’ changing room. It was early evening and only a few girls were there. One of them was Katerina, a Chica who, it was said, had entered for the Miss Great Britain contest. She was certainly beautiful, but Penny felt a little intimidated by her aggressive character; her language was worse than some of the guys’ in the pub.” As innocence meets the world of conveyor belt beauty, Wrethman’s narrative illustrates the sharp contrast between the provincial prospects of the young in the big city and the corruption that is laid like an old Soho sex club carpet, covered only by the dark, and where the glimmer of hope in hostesses' eyes fade as fast as the hopes of people like Penny. Like a rabbit caught in the lights of an oncoming articulated truck, Penny is just another number in the game played by Morgan, the casino owner and Ahmed the pimp. Wrethman has Patrick, the happy go lucky Irish PR man, witness the tragedy waiting to happen at the side of the proverbial road where Penny awaits hypnotized by the imagery of love. As the novel accelerates, Wrethman takes the action to the Costa del Crime in Spain, where Patrick’s atonement seeks solace years later. The long years in Patrick’s life had not erased the vision of the innocent girl he befriended at the Ventura Club, and the fate that befell her. In a plot that moves from party excesses to a seemingly impossible love affair with a dashing young sheikh, from aborted casino union activity to laundered cash in offshore banking, along with other shady deals, Penny’s murder is revealed as a twisted objective that Patrick unveils with the help of the victim’s close friend Elena. Ricki Chavez-Munoz 28/05/09 An Occupational Hazard (Chapter 50 – Excerpt) Suddenly, the door he’d first knocked on opened, and in the shaft of light that shot from the apartment’s interior, the silhouette of a large man stood in Pat’s way. He was joined immediately by a second male. Monaghan’s pulse-rate moved into overdrive. For a few seconds all three of them remained silent and stock-still, like a stand-off in a Hollywood Western. Pat would have spoken first but his throat had dried up. ‘Que…?’ The man’s words were incomprehensible but again Pat guessed the question. ‘Er…hello. I look for Linda Pardo,’ he addressed the two dark outlines. ‘Aha…you Eengleesh. Come for puta….prost –toot, drogas!’ said one of the two men as they both moved threateningly closer. Pat took two steps back. ‘Ah well no, maybe she…she’s a friend with drug problem…’ he said, hoping they might recognise who he was talking about. ‘You want drugs…you want sell drugs?’ The men moved forward again, one mumbling menacingly. ‘No, no I want help my friend…she’s in trouble!’ Pat was alarmed by their aggressive tone. At that moment his mobile rang. Elena - he was sure. He pulled it out quickly, startling them. ‘Yes, yes hello, I’m here. Ah, you’re outside!’ he shouted and looked down towards the door. He could see the two men were now in some doubt. ‘Yes, yes I’m coming down!’ He went to pass the two figures, who grudgingly parted to allow him access to the stairs. ‘No, no problem…gracias!’ he called back to the men, who looked on suspiciously. Pat continued to talk all the way down the stairs and out through the door, although most of what he said was barely comprehensible to an increasingly alarmed Elena. ‘Sorry, love, I’m not mad,’ he muttered when he got to the street. ‘Don’t worry, I’ll call you back and explain in a few minutes.’ And he broke into a run. He’d gone about fifty yards when he stopped, realising he was going in the wrong direction. No one was giving chase nor had they even been interested enough to come down to watch his hurried departure. His car was parked just off the other end of the street and he could see no simple way of returning to it without passing the place he’d just left in such haste. Slowly and reluctantly he retraced his steps, keeping an eye on the open door of number thirty-five. He was actually already two yards past when a figure caught his eye in the darkness of the doorway. Glancing back as he walked on, it took a second or two for him to register who it was: then it came to him. He didn’t run, but increased his stride. Palomino, Juan Palomino, Linda had called him. Could Pat dare hope he’d not recognised him? No. He was now following. Reaching the corner, Pat was tempted to seek assistance in the bar but, on seeing his car in the distance broke into a run and could hear the footfalls of his pursuer. All pretence now gone, he struggled to find the car key while maintaining speed. Key in hand, he reached the car. Aiming, poking, fumbling - why hadn’t they given him an automatic lock! It was finally open. He slammed the door shut, again stabbing blindly at the ignition - once, twice, three times. Palomino was at his rear door. The engine started, the door opened but Pat pulled away abruptly, leaving his attacker clawing air. As he reached the next corner, a car turned into the narrow street and blocked his path. In the rear view mirror he could see Palomino was gaining once again, this time with something in his hand. A knife, a gun?