CASINO SHUFFLE

by Fields Jr. , J.

  “And your badge number?” Damien stood stretch-necked to a State Trooper’s chest. “Speak up. I don’t want to get the wrong guy suspended.”

  The State Trooper glared at the top of the casino host’s head. “I’ll ask you one more time to get outta my face. Well, you’re not tall enough to be in my face, but move anyways.”

  “Keep cracking jokes. I’m recording all this down.” Damien’s thumbs hovered over the touchscreen. “Spell your name.”

  “I’ll give ya my initials. F.U.”

  “Does that stand for Fuck Up?”

  The formation of State Troopers took one collective step closer.

  Mark Ford jumped in. “Hey, I don’t like him either. But let’s all calm down.”

  “Good Evening gentlemen,” said Antonio, formally presenting himself. “First, is anything that has happened here tonight going to result in a summons to appear in court?”

  The trooper standing toe-to-toe with Damien said, “The situation was pretty annoying before this pint-sized Pacino showed up. Now I’m really pissed off.”

  Antonio turned. “Mark, I believe that the State Police are officially requesting the removal of Mr. Valentine.”

  Mark turned to the trooper. “Is that the case? Because if that’s the case I’m obligated to follow your directive. If that’s the case, which I’m asking.”

  Damien jerked his head back. “Nobody’s fucking removing me.”

  Antonio peered down at him. “This is the second incident this evening wherein your interference has caused a scene. The first, I believe, involved a phone call to the press regarding the clandestine arrival of a celebrity guest.”

  Damien huffed. “You can’t prove that.”

  “Phone records obtained from the Information Services department regarding outgoing calls on your company-issued cell phone may, in fact, accomplish that for me.”

  Damien stuffed his phone into his trouser pocket. “Those are private.”

  “If you two are finished,” the trooper jabbed his thumb at the limousine. “Can someone make this go away?”

  “If I may?” Antonio took the clipboard from the tow truck driver. He signed and scanned the invoice and handed it back. “Please have your office fax me a copy, my card is attached. I’ll have the valet supervisor help you offload the vehicle. You’ll be back on the road in ten minutes.”

  The driver found a folded twenty dollar bill beneath the business card. “Hey, thanks.”

  “Your patience is appreciated.”

  The State Trooper jutted his chin towards Damien. “Now get rid of this prick before I shoot him.”

  Damien slapped his hands together. “I heard that. Your boss is getting a call from me.”

  Mark Ford stepped in front of him. “In accordance with casino security regulations regarding compliance with Federal and State authorities I am escorting you down to the security offices where you will complete a statement regarding your involvement in this matter.”

  “Bullshit. I’m calling my department head.” He brandished his phone.

  Mark snatched the phone from his hand. “Your phone will be returned after you’ve made the statement.” He held up the phone and turned it in the light. “This the new one with the navigation system? Nice.” He stuffed it into his pocket. “Let’s get moving.”

  “You can’t touch me.”

  “Okay.” Mark waved at his two security officers. “Guys, come drag Mr. Valentine to the office.”

  A guard grabbed each of Damien’s elbows. “Get offa me you fucking rent-a-cops! Don’t touch my suit!” He was steered away, his feet shuffling sideways between the officers. “You’re ALL getting written up for this – especially you, Cruz!” Tripping over a bush, he cried out in a burst of spittle: “I expect a meet with Max Allen tomorrow! Executive ORDERS!”

  Antonio motioned for Mark to step to the side. “We haven’t yet addressed how Ang Wang gained entry to the Sachem Suite.”

  “That’s bothering me too. I have a surveillance guy looking for him on the cameras to find out where he is now, but there’s no one to review the old footage to find out how he got in.”

  “I think that’s vital. At the very least we have someone who is not following policy and allowing people access to our premium suites. At worst, he broke into the suite somehow.”

  “Don’t you think I know that? But if the guy isn’t counting cards or palming chips then it’s hard to get surveillance interested, especially on a weekend. And we just got word from Homeland Security that since Bin Laden got popped, we gotta post guards to check trunks before entering the parking garages. Maybe we’ll get lucky and instead of a bomb, one of them will be stuffed with an Asian guy holding a camera.”

  “I can see your point. Call me if you find anything.”

  “Now can I go beat Valentine with a rubber hose?”

  As Mark walked away the State Trooper extended a hand to Antonio. “Thanks. Even though I kinda wanted to shoot that guy.”

  “I appreciate your restraint. Here’s my card in case I can ever return the favor.”

  “Head butler, huh? That explains the bowtie.”

  “Champagne.”

  “You’re offering me champagne?”

  “The color of the bowtie is Champagne.”

  The trooper rolled his eyes, but then looked back at the card. “Maybe I can impress the wife. Anniversary’s in a couple months.”

  “I can arrange a night to remember. You deserve it after so many years of marriage.”

  The trooper frowned. “I been married twenty-five years. How’d you know that?”

  “The gold on your wedding ring has been nicked several times, and it looks tight on your finger.”

  “It fit twenty five years and fifty pounds ago.” He nodded towards the tow truck. “What’s the story with the guy in the limo?”

  “High-roller. He’s somewhat eccentric.”

  “Me being the State Police and all, I was a little worried about him not wanting to come out. He wanted for murder or something?”

  “He’s highly superstitious. If I don’t greet him personally, he feels that it’s bad luck.”

  The trooper grunted. “He’s a nutcase?”

  “He’s harmless.”

  “He grow up in a bubble?”

  “Vegas casinos.”

  “Oh, he’s a nutcase.”

  Antonio dialed his BlackBerry. “Hello, this is Antonio. Who’s on for valet supervisor?” He arranged for someone to assist with the off-loading of the limousine.

  The trooper spoke into his radio. He looked at his men and raised his fist. They withdrew to their vehicles.

  The trooper asked Antonio, “You know anything about a bus full of women on Route 2A shaking their tits at cars?”

  Antonio smiled. “Proceed with caution. They may be carrying a concealed weapon.”

  Doors slammed, engines gunned and the state vehicles nosed into valet traffic. Once clear they hit the sirens.

  Antonio walked over to the limousine. He reached up and rapped on the back door.

  The door opened. The interior light was on.

  Max peered down from within. “I was holding a pair of jacks.”

  The limo driver leaned over from the adjoining seat. “First good hand he’s had all night. I feel kinda bad for him.”

  Max pulled a roll of money from his pocket. “Here ya go. Good game.”

  The driver fanned the bills. “This is way too much.”

  “You were good company, as always.”

  “Mr. Allen, you’re a class act.”

  “You helped me run out my bad luck,” said Max. “Only place to go now is up.”

  Antonio cleared his throat. “Actually, you have to come down first.”

  Max hopped out, landing next to Antonio. Though he was thirty-four, his uncombed hair, dimples, souvenir Atlantic City t-shirt and worn blue jeans made the poker player seem younger. To Antonio, however, it was the man’s inexperience with life that gave him a somewhat reck
less youthfulness that required such attention and protection.

  Antonio outlined their options. “We can wait for the limo to be unloaded from the flatbed and drive back around to the front entrance. Or, perhaps you’d like to walk around to the entrance. I have to warn you the valet port is rather busy just now.”

  “I just want to get to my room.” Max took in a deep breath. “Where do these stairs go?”

  “That’s the truck driver’s entrance to the loading dock.”

  “Cool.”

  “Max, I know you’re anxious to get inside, but we could walk over to the front entrance…”

  “Nah. Look, the door’s open.”

  Antonio climbed the steps. “Might I suggest you hold your nose before entering? The break room is directly inside the door.”

  “I just came from Atlantic City. I can handle a little stink.” Max laughed and gagged all at once. “Wow. This smells like feet and onions.”

  “Perhaps you’ll reconsider the front entrance.”

  Max pinched his nose. “I’m going to run for it. Cover me.” Rushing headlong into the darkness of the truck driver’s break area, he shouted a battle cry. “Come on Antonio!”

  Antonio withdrew his handkerchief, pressed it firmly over his nose and mouth, and stepped forth bravely into the abyss with the full knowledge that this was possibly the most amusement he was going to have all weekend.

  Chapter Five

  “Home sweet home,” said Max, pulling out his laptop and dropping onto the leather sectional in the sitting area of the Villas corner suite.

  Using the universal remote Antonio closed the drapes and began turning on the lights. “I know that we often refer to the casino as the house, but I don’t believe it was meant to be taken literally.”

  Max was already on-line and typing. “It’s the closest thing I’ve got. Besides, if I had a real house then I wouldn’t get to see you.”

  “How empty your life would be.”

  Max looked up from the screen. “You don’t give yourself enough credit. I want to be just like you when I grow up.”

  Antonio opened the cabinet safe and placed the laptop case within. “Having a home is an essential component of adulthood. I think Trixie would agree with me.”

  Max laughed. “She tells me to grow-up, too.” He suddenly swung his legs off the couch, the laptop tumbling to the floor. “Antonio!”

  “Yes, Max?”

  “What’s the date today?”

  “September 5th.”

  “What’s the date tomorrow?”

  “September 6th. The days run consecutively.”

  “So that means that Sunday is Trixie’s birthday.”

  “September 7th, yes.”

  Max stood up and banged into the glass coffee table. “I have to go shopping. I mean you have to go shopping. We have to go shopping.”

  Antonio withdrew an envelope from his inside jacket pocket. “I have two tickets for Brandon’s sold-out show in Twilight tomorrow evening.” He presented them to Max. “With my compliments.”

  Max stared at the envelope. “Who’s Brandon?”

  “Shannon Moon’s boyfriend.”

  “Oh! The pop star guy! She’ll love it…come here you big softy.”

  Antonio stiffly embraced the poker player and withstood several sharp slaps on the back. “I hate to cut our reunion short, but we have to get you ready for the tournament.”

  Max sagged back down to the couch. “The tuxedo.”

  “You did mention that you wanted to be like me.”

  “But there’s the big hat.”

  “Correct.”

  He picked up his laptop and began typing. “Let me just finish up this online tournament. It doesn’t have a dress code. In fact I’m pretty sure some of these players are sitting naked somewhere.”

  Antonio checked his watch. “Would you like me to prepare you something to eat?”

  “No thanks. I had Vinny stop at Burger King.”

  Antonio left Max to his on-line poker and walked into the master bedroom to call Sonny. As he dialed he noticed the bathroom light was on, illuminating an arrangement of toiletries on the marble countertop. He hung up.

  Max didn’t like the exotic aromas of the high-end soaps and shampoos. They made him sneeze. Antonio touched the over-the-counter products with his fingertips, checking off his mental list of necessities. On the side of the Jacuzzi was a basket of more luxurious products imported from a European spa. These were for Trixie, who enjoyed being pampered when she visited the casino. Antonio saw that a slender box of the newest Belgian truffles was in the basket as well, a special treat he’d ordered for Trixie after reading about them in an industry periodical. He’d left the box sitting in the butler office in anticipation of Max’s arrival.

  The efficiency of his staff never ceased to impress him.

  In the bedroom Antonio opened the armoire. Inside was the wardrobe kept laundered and pressed for Max, who traveled with nothing but his laptop and whatever clothes he happened to be wearing on his private plane. The drawers were stocked as well, undergarments and socks arranged just so. In the bottom drawer were a few sets of silk pajamas for Trixie.

  Antonio unclipped his BlackBerry and sent Sonny an email.

  From: Cruz, Antonio

  To: Wu, Sonny

  Subject: Max Allen Suite

  Thank you for not listening to me. The arrangements in the suite are superb. Bravo.

  “Holy crap!”

  Antonio put away the BlackBerry. “I placed that in the armoire for the express purpose of keeping it from you until the last minute.”

  Max was holding the white Stetson. “It’s the size of a Christmas ham!” He hefted it over his head and lowered it into place. His face was cast in shadow. “It’s like my head is being eaten by a giant marshmallow.”

  Antonio adjusted the sit of the hat at Max’s hairline, a quarter inch above the ear. “The tournament is a combination of the current fad of poker and the nostalgic past, which marketing assumes is a tuxedo and a cowboy hat.”

  “Well thank God it’s not Caribbean Stud. They’d want me bare-chested and smeared in coconut oil.” He sauntered up to the wall mirror. Stopped. Drew down on the cowboy staring back. “I look ridiculous.” He shook his head and winced. “Ouch. I think I pulled a neck muscle. I’m not going.”

  Antonio had the tuxedo separated and laid out on the bed. He used a cloth brush to remove the lint. “You’ll want the black stocking socks and black shoes. Both are in the closet. I’ll give the shoes a quick polish before you set off.”

  Max walked into the bathroom. The hat brim knocked into the doorjamb and cocked the Stetson sideways. “It’s like trying to drive a big rig. I’m going to hurt somebody.” He stared at himself in the bathroom mirror. “I can’t do this. I’m not a big fan of crowds. It’s worse when the crowds are laughing at me.” He turned abruptly, the hat spinning on his head and tipping down over one eye. “Seriously.”

  Antonio was standing in the master bedroom holding a small box.

  Max eyed it suspiciously. “Are you going to propose?”

  “A good luck gift.”

  Max lifted off the Stetson and smiled down at the box. “What’s the occasion?”

  “Necessity.”

  Max took the box. “Not big enough to be a neck brace.”

  Antonio waited patiently.

  “Okay, okay.” Max pulled up the hinged lid to reveal a pair of sterling silver cufflinks. He looked confused. “They’re shaped like little guns. Oh! My six-shooters!”

  “Cuff links were required for the shirt I chose.”

  “My rods! My shootin’ irons!”

  “I hoped they would help you get into the spirit of the tournament.”

  Max peered at the Stetson with a newfound curiosity. “Maybe it won’t be so bad when I’m wearing the tux. Like a wild west James Bond. As long as I can still wear my lucky underwear.”

  Antonio consulted his wri
stwatch. “Perhaps it would be best to get dressed. I’ll leave you to it.” He stepped out of the bedroom and closed the double doors.

  “Antonio!”

  Antonio turned, grasped the handles and opened the doors again. “Yes, Max?”

  He was holding a cufflink outstretched in each hand. “Got the drop on ya!”

  “Indeed.” Antonio eased the doors shut.

  “Antonio!”

  He pushed them open. “Yes, Max?”

  “Thanks. I really like them.”

  “It was my pleasure.”

  “Antonio?”

  “I haven’t closed the doors.”

  “You and I are friends right?”

  Antonio was taken aback by the question. “I consider you a friend, Max, if that isn’t overstepping my bounds.”

  “Good! Thank you. I don’t have very many, you know.”

  “I have always preferred quality over quantity.”

  “Can I call you Tony?”

  “No,” said Antonio as he closed the doors.

  While he checked the stock in the bar area he considered Max’s question.

  The hotel manager, Jonathon, had been correct when he’d said Max preferred the comfort of his suite to the limelight of the casino. He was a celebrity in the reclusive world of on-line poker, but at the same time nearly anonymous under his screen name. When he visited the casino he played a private table in the VIP section, or stayed ensconced within his suite and only ventured out to entertain Trixie in the odd hours of the night. He had competed in live tournaments a half dozen times, only for large prizes to fund his lifestyle, usually placing in the top five. Other than that, Max’s tournaments had all taken place in the virtual world, in spite of several Vegas and Atlantic City casinos courting him endlessly as the brick-and-mortars began their competition with the internet in a rapidly changing marketplace. His father, a bad-luck poker player from Sinatra’s Vegas, had been a friend of Benny Binion’s and a regular at the infamous Horseshoe casino. His mother a cocktail waitress and a nightclub singer, Max was the only son of a SinCity marriage who spent his childhood in casino hotel rooms. Absorbing television through his adolescence, he mastered video games in his teen years, his home-cooked meals were rolled in by room service and his most frequent visitors were the maids delivering his laundry and making his bed. Everything was routine and ordered, his father considering any change in routine a prophecy of bad luck. In the outside world this upbringing would make Max very high maintenance. What modern woman would suffer such a helpless and superstitious man? But in the casino hotel industry he was the perfect guest, expecting only the service that is always provided, and wanting nothing more than exactly what had been provided before. He wasn’t averse to the real world so much as he had never really been introduced to it.