by Fred Galvin
“Yeah, well he stepped over the line.”
“What line was that, Fingers?”
“During an alley craps game he called me a son of a bitch. I told him to watch his mouth, that my mother wasn’t a bitch. He laughed and just told me to go fuck myself. Now, I’m a patient guy, ya know? So I waited around after the game until it was just me and him. Then I demanded he take back what he said about my mother. Again he told me to go fuck myself, so I slipped my blade between his ribs.”
Well, I had my confession. We rode the rest of the way in silence.
Chapter 15: “Because it’s the seventh wave, I mean, the seventh deal.”
Late afternoon Ronnie pulled us into the parking lot of the Knights Templar Inn & Casino, a moderately priced hotel which had a moderately sized casino within. It was a block off AC’s main casino row but it was a decent size and quite busy. She seemed to know the place.
“Do you frequent AC very often? You seemed to know just how to find the”—I looked up at the neon sign—“Knights Templar Inn & Casino.” Under the sign was a huge image of a classic armored Crusades knight brandishing an Excalibur-type sword on his mighty steed and carrying a shield with a red cross emblazoned on a white field.
Ronnie waved off my question. “I was here a while back on a girls’ road trip.” She left it at that and I knew better than to pursue any related trivialities such as when? What girls? and Did you do anything in AC that had to stay in AC? Besides, my physical and emotional batteries were low and I was ready to crash.
She added, “DD, we’re here to give you a short break from reality. We can base ourselves here and just kick back. I’ve got tomorrow off so let’s relax, maybe play a few games of chance.” She put those last three words in air quotes. “We’ll have a few drinks, enjoy a nice meal and perhaps a show. You may even get a bit lucky and win some AC Juice.” More air quotes.
“AC Juice?” I asked, with air quotes of my own.
“Yes. Monopoly money. You don’t use cash here. It’s easier to spend when you use chips, vouchers, house credits, credit cards, debit cards, anything that doesn’t have a dead president’s face on it.”
I yawned. “How is it you’re so wise in the ways of Atlantic City?”
She shrugged. “Like I said, I once took a girls’ road trip here. We had some fun and I got lucky. I came home a bit flusher than when I arrived.”
I also knew better than to ask her to define what kind of lucky she meant and exactly what kind of flush—with cash or the other kind. That was her business.
“Now let’s go to our rooms and chill for a couple of hours. Do that power sleep thing that you do. I’ll ring you about seven and we can enjoy the city. I promise you it will do you good to get your mind to focus on other things. Just let it go and let me take care of you for a while.”
“Sounds like a plan.”
We checked in, found our rooms, and I was asleep on my way down to the pillow. I didn’t even unpack my toothbrush.
~~~
By the time my cell phone rang precisely at seven (Ronnie was one of the most punctual people I’ve ever known), I was showered, shaved, and dressed. Over my career of working cases long days and nights I have become accustomed to falling asleep quickly and being recharged after a few intense hours of sleep. Many times I don’t think I even dreamt. This was the “power sleep thing” Ronnie had referred to. It used to drive Jen crazy because she always had a hard time falling asleep. Sometimes she would time me from the time my light went out until I was sleep-breathing. In the morning she would jealously tell me it was five minutes and insisted she hated me. I knew better.
After about three hours, some internal alarm clanged in my brain and I was almost instantly awake. I looked around and had no idea where I was. Then I spied the framed picture of a Knight Templar on his mighty steed and I was ready to get going.
Rather than immediately go to the huge casinos, Ronnie suggested we try our luck at the Knights Templar. “I’m going to try my hand at blackjack. What’s your pleasure? Cards? Craps? Roulette?”
“I think I’ll just watch you for a while. I don’t understand craps, roulette seems lame to me, and cards and I don’t get along all that well. Once the cards feel me touch them they somehow turn against me. Same with dice and that little roulette ball. So I promise just to watch and not touch.”
She just stared at me as though I had said that I don’t particularly enjoy sex. “Okay. That’s a deal. Come, watch, and learn.”
My understanding of blackjack is modest at best. I know that each player plays against the dealer (thus the house) rather than against the other players at the table. The dealer dishes cards from a boot which may have multiple decks of cards to discourage card counters. Each card is face value with ace being one or eleven and picture cards ten.
The idea is to have your cards add up as close to, but not exceed, twenty-one and be closer to twenty-one than the dealer. You bet by putting your chips out on the table in front of you before the cards are dealt. The initial deal is one card down followed by one face up. You then look at your down card and calculate your odds to get close to or exactly on twenty-one, but not over, with succeeding cards (“hits”) being dealt to you.
When you think your next hit will take you over twenty-one you “stand” and take no further hits. The house does the same and the closest to twenty-one wins when all players stand. The house must draw on all totals of sixteen or less and stand on totals of seventeen to twenty-one. A blackjack, which is an ace and a picture card, that is dealt on the initial deal is an automatic winner unless the house ties.
If you take a hit and it puts you over twenty-one, you lose and your chips go to the house. The house pays all players who are closer to twenty-one than the house is. If a player and house tie it’s a “push” and no one wins. If the house hits and exceeds twenty-one, all players still in the hand win. There are more options like doubling down and splitting your cards but I was never sophisticated enough at the game to do any of those.
We ordered drinks. Ronnie had something with an umbrella and fruit in it, and I ordered a Coors Lite. She took an empty seat at a medium-stakes table that had a twenty-five dollar minimum and used a double deck. She placed a stack of chips in front of her. I stood behind her with my beer, hopefully far enough back so the cards didn’t know I was there. If they did, they’d not be kind to her.
Ronnie seemed to know what she was doing. Her chips were neatly stacked by color value and she handled her cards like she’d done this before, more than just a few times. A quick calculation told me she had $400 worth of chips, which surprised me a bit. But, as I’ve said, who really knew Ronika Deveaux? When it was her turn to hit or stand, no words were spoken. To stand she just put her chips on her cards. To take a hit she did a little sweep-type move toward her with her cards indicating to the dealer to send an up card her way. I made a mental note to remember that move so at least I’d look cool when I lost.
Her first two hands were won by the house with nineteen to her seventeen and twenty to her eighteen. It didn’t seem to faze her. I moved a bit farther behind her out of sight of the cards. My move didn’t seem to matter because she went over twenty-one on the next three hands and showed some irritation. After the sixth hand was a push at nineteen, she downed the remainder of her drink in one pull. She counted her remaining chips and it looked like about $150. She turned around and looked up at me.
“Well, partner, what should I do? I’ve lost six in a row. Go high or go try something else?”
Something inside me sparked. “I’ve lost count. You say the next hand is your seventh?”
“Yeah, seven. So what?”
I somehow knew what to say. “Go for it. Bet all you have on the next deal. You’re bound to win. If you don’t, I’ll cover half your bet.”
“What? Why would you do that? And how are you so sure I’ll win?”
“Because it’s the seventh wave, I mean, the seventh deal. Just trust me. Why not?” Wow! Di
d I say seventh wave? Again? Amazing how the mind works and mine certainly had been stressed lately. Anyway, it was worth a shot.
Ronnie looked at me quizzically. “Seventh wave? What are you talking about? Is seven a lucky number for you?”
I just grinned. The dealer asked for bets. Ronnie winked at me. “Okay, DD. Let’s give it a shot.” She put all her remaining chips out in front of her.
The cards went out facedown around the table, one to each player. Ronnie turned up the corner so I could see it. She had a jack of clubs, literally one-half of a blackjack. Now, one would think a jack down was a very good thing in that it was ten points. Yes, it could be good because drawing another picture card would put her at twenty and force the dealer to pull twenty to push or twenty-one to win. Even a nine would be good. An ace would guarantee no worse than a push and most likely a win. But the flip side was that a draw of anything from deuce up to six would put her in a tough spot as she would be forced to hit. At sixteen she would need her next card to be five or less or she’d be done.
All that went through my mind in about two seconds, and I’m a rank amateur. I’m sure Ronnie had figured the same more quickly. She was likely considering if she had any recollection of previous cards being shown but that was difficult. This was the third hand into a fresh double deck of cards.
The next cards were dealt up. Ronnie’s was a seven and I saw her shoulders slump just a little. With the jack down that was seventeen, which was right on the fence. The dealer would need eighteen or better to win. The other players’ up cards were six (terrible), nine (so-so to decent), queen (good), and ace (as good as it can get). The player with the ace was sitting pretty since he had the option of counting the ace as one or eleven. A down ten or picture card to him was a winner unless the dealer drew a push with twenty-one. Of course none of that mattered since Ronnie was just playing the house. The dealer’s up card was a king of hearts. Good for the dealer, not so good for Ronnie because it offset her jack.
I did know that the usual play was to hit on sixteen or lower and stand on seventeen or higher. Ronnie looked back at me as if to say, “Well, stand or hit?” I certainly would have put my chips on the cards to stand. But I’m a wuss. I just raised my eyebrows and shrugged. She smiled and said, “Seventh wave, seventh hand, right?” I got where she was going.
On her turn, rather than do that sweep thing with the cards she said emphatically, “Hit me low.” The dealer hesitated slightly, perhaps expecting her to stand. He flipped a card her way. It was the three of spades. That gave Ronnie twenty. I gave a silent Yes! and a subtle fist pump but Ronnie just put her chips on her cards to stand on twenty. The player with the six hit drew a king, said “Shit,” and turned over his cards. Bust. The guy with the nine, the woman with the queen, and James Bond with the ace all put their chips on their cards indicating they were going to stand.
It was then up to the dealer to turn over his down card. Seven for seventeen! As in Vegas, the house in AC has to hit on fifteen and stand on seventeen.
The dealer said, “Pay eighteen.”
Ronnie turned over her hold jack showing twenty, stood up, turned to me, and gave me a hug. “Seventh wave, seventh hand, the dealer drew seventeen! It worked!”
“Yeah, it sure did. I knew it would.”
“You knew? How?”
“Come on. Grab your winnings and let’s go for a bite to eat. I’ll explain.”
“Sure. I’m hungry. My treat.”
We ordered a couple of steaks, wine for her, and beer for me. While eating, I explained about the seventh wave from my surfing youth. She listened attentively, those huge dark brown eyes fixed on me. When I was done, instead of asking curious questions about the wave theory, she asked simply, “You used to be a surfer? I thought you were from Brooklyn.”
“There’s a lot you don’t know about me.” We both laughed at the irony of that statement.
We took in a modest show at the Knights Templar’s showroom and it was pretty good. Plenty of dancing legs, feathers, good music, and even a decent comic.
Walking back into the casino, Ronnie was clearly energized. “What now, Surfer Dan? Want to head over to the boardwalk?”
I was suddenly very tired. Everything was finally taking a toll on me. “You go ahead. If you don’t mind I think I’ll call it a night. Maybe tomorrow I’ll be a better sidekick. Go have some fun and win some more AC Juice.”
“You sure? I don’t think you should be alone right now.”
“Really, I’m fine, just exhausted. Go.” I gave her a gentle push.
“Okay, DD. I’ll meet you for breakfast at nine sharp. But you call me if you need me.” She smiled, kissed my cheek, and off she went.
On my way back to my room, I passed through a bank of slot machines. I stopped and watched a few patrons play. Most of the machines were modern in that they did not have the traditional handle that set the dials spinning. Instead, a “spin button” was pushed. These worked on house credit of the patron’s “Templar Card.”
At the end of the row there were five of the older variety into which the player actually put quarters or tokens in the slot and pulled the handle. If a winner came up, the machine spat out the winnings, which clattered into a metal receptacle. I remembered Jen’s modest fifty-five-dollar success in Vegas was on one of these types of machines. As I recalled, it was all in quarters. The memory made me smile and feel sad at the same time.
On a whim (or was I drawn to it?) I found the one machine that actually accepted quarters and sat down. As I slid a coin into the slot, I thought “This one is for you, my love.” To my amazement, three cherries came up and lights started flashing as the machine belched coins into the receptacle.
I had no idea what to do. I just looked around and was greeted by a few smiles and one jealous sneer from my fellow handle pullers. The sneerer was a woman on the machine next to me. One of the smilers, a pleasant looking woman in her fifties, came over to me and shook my hand.
“Congratulations! I won on that machine yesterday but figured it would be cold today. I guess I was wrong.”
“Lucky SOB,” the sneerer said, just loud enough for both of us to hear.
The smiler nodded toward the sneerer. “Don’t mind Hazel there. She gave me the same good wishes yesterday when I won. She’s a career machine gambler. She has incredible stamina and fortitude. I’ve seen her spend an entire day at that machine, not eating or drinking, not even going to the toilet. Just pulling the handle and losing and losing over and over again.”
“No wonder she’s so happy.” I wondered how often my well-wisher must be there also to be on a first name level with the likes of Hazel.
A casino employee materialized and shook my hand.
“Congratulations, sir. You are a Knights Templar winner. Do you wish to continue playing?”
“Thanks. I, uh, no thanks. I think I’ll quit while I’m ahead.”
“Certainly, sir. Let’s gather your winnings and cash you out.” He emptied the coins from the receptacle into a canvas bag and handed it to me. I was surprised at its weight. As I followed him, I noticed Hazel had moved from her machine to mine, obviously thinking it was a winner. She was furiously shoving quarters into the slot and pulling the handle. “Come on, come on, dammit.”
We went to a caged window where I handed my canvas bag to a smiling woman who said, “Congratulations, sir. You wish to cash in your winnings?”
I nodded and she poured my quarters into a coin counter with a digital display in dollars. When it stopped it read 55.00. Fifty-five dollars. I should have been surprised but I wasn’t. I felt Jen next to me, poking me in the ribs. The woman in the cage gave me two twenties, a ten, a five, and a card for a complimentary drink at The Crusaders Bar. I’m sure the card was meant to encourage me to reconsider my decision to quit.
“Congratulations again, sir, and thank you for patronizing The Knights Templar.”
I folded my four bills of winnings into my money clip and put the drink ticket d
own in front of Hazel, sneering and still losing at my machine. She never even looked up.
I went back to my room, pulled a beer from the minibar, and sat down on the bed. I turned on the Yankees–Twins game, which was in the ninth inning. I never opened the beer and didn’t watch the game. I just sat there and cried.
~~~
At 9:03 the next morning I walked into the dining area. Ronnie was already seated (punctual, remember?). She looked up, smiled, and waved to me. She was sipping tea and had ordered.
“You’re late, Detective Deckler.”
“And good morning to you.” I slid into her booth and nodded to the waitress for black coffee. “Retired detectives are allowed to be late. Besides, I’m only three minutes late. In most cases that’s considered early, or at least on time.”
She grinned. “How are you? Sleep okay?”
“Yeah, sure. Fine.” I wasn’t too convincing but she didn’t pursue. She knew me well enough and also knew that it would be some time before I would be sleeping well again. “When did you roll in? Did you continue your winning ways? Win any more Monopoly money?”
