by James Swain
“We want to make a wager,” the Greek announced.
Rufus ground his cigarette into the grass. “How much?”
“First we want to settle the odds,” the Greek said. “We want three-to-one on Greased Lightning. Take it, or leave it.”
Rufus held his chin and gave it some thought. Of all the gamblers assembled on the field, the Greek had the biggest bankroll, and his action would dominate the wagering. He said, “I’ll do it, with one stipulation. You get in front of the TV camera, and say what you just said into a mike. That you want three-to-one odds on a champion racehorse beating a seventy-two-year-old broken-down cowboy in the hundred-yard dash. Say that, and it’s a deal.”
The Greek looked crushed. He had won a TV poker tournament recently, and was a celebrity in the poker world. He liked being famous, and was what gamblers called a trophy hunter. Using the palms of his hands, he smoothed out the creases in his bowling shirt, and let the appropriate amount of time pass before speaking again.
“Even money it is,” the Greek said.
“How much?”
“I’ll bet you a half-million that you can’t beat Greased Lightning in the hundred-yard dash.”
“Five hundred thousand dollars?” Rufus asked.
“That’s right,” the Greek said.
“Tony, you hear that?” Rufus asked.
It was more money than most people made in an entire lifetime, and Valentine slowly nodded.
“I heard,” he said.
The Greek and Rufus shook hands, and the deal was struck.
“Good evening and welcome to the playing field of the University of Nevada,” Gloria Curtis said, staring into the camera. “This is Gloria Curtis, reporting to you from Las Vegas, the city that never sleeps. Standing beside me is a man who never sleeps, Rufus Steele, legendary poker player and gambler. Tonight, Rufus is betting a sizable sum—”
“One half million dollars,” Rufus said proudly.
“—that he can outrun a former Kentucky Derby hopeful named Greased Lightning in the hundred-yard dash. Rufus, how are you feeling?”
“Like a spring chicken,” the old cowboy said.
“I must tell you that in all my years reporting sports, I’ve never seen a matchup as intriguing as this one.”
Rufus was about to reply when Greased Lightning bounded up behind them, the jockey pulling back on the horse with his reins.
“What do you say we get this started?” the jockey asked them. “This isn’t a pleasure horse I’m riding, folks.”
“Right,” Rufus said. “Just give me a second to set up our course.”
Rufus walked over to a large beach towel lying on the ground. On the towel sat a jug of drinking water and a brown paper bag. Rufus picked up the bag and removed a plastic traffic cone painted in orange Day-Glo paint. He tossed it to Valentine.
“Tony, do me a favor, and go put that cone on the center of the fifty-yard line.”
Valentine marched out to the middle of the football field, and placed the cone in the center of the fifty-yard line. When he returned to the sidelines, the Greek was shouting and wagging an angry finger in Rufus’s face.
“That’s cheating!” the Greek shouted.
Rufus flashed his best aw-shucks grin. “No, it’s not. I said we’d be running the hundred-yard dash. I never said those hundred yards would be in a straight line.” He turned to Valentine. “Did I, Tony?”
Before Valentine could answer, Rufus turned to Gloria. “Did I, Miss Curtis?”
“No, you didn’t,” they both answered.
Rufus pointed at the end zone. “We start the race from there, and when we reach the cone, we turn around, and run back to the end zone. Plain and simple.”
A hush fell over the crowd of gamblers. The Greek had balled his hands into fists and his face resembled a pressure cooker ready to explode. He stormed across the field to where Greased Lightning and the jockey were standing. The horse was kicking at the ground and seemed to know that it was about to be asked to perform. The Greek had a short conversation with the jockey, then returned to the sidelines.
“You’re on,” he told Rufus.
There was too much artificial light in Las Vegas for any stars to be visible. Only the moon could be seen in the pitch dark sky, and it appeared to be slyly winking at them. Valentine followed Rufus to the end zone from where the race would start.
“The Greek sounds pretty confidant,” he said.
“That’s because the jockey thinks he can make the turn, and still beat me,” Rufus replied, doing windmills with his arms to loosen up. “If the horse was a rodeo pony, I’d be in trouble. But not a racehorse.”
“You sure?”
“Positive, pardner.”
Greased Lightning came into the end zone kicking up a storm. The jockey had his riding crop out and was sitting high in the saddle. Valentine guessed the jockey was planning to take the horse down the field at half-speed, make the turn at the fifty-yard line, and come back at a full gallop.
“I don’t know, Rufus,” Valentine said.
From the paper bag Rufus removed a starting gun, which he handed to Valentine.
“Make sure you pull the trigger when the race starts,” Rufus said.
The crowd of gamblers followed them into the end zone and stood behind the two participants. Rufus and Greased Lightning toed the starting line, the jockey practically standing up in his stirrups, the old cowboy in classic sprinter’s pose.
“Tony, be our starter,” Rufus called out.
Valentine walked over to where they stood. He paused to make sure Zack was filming them, then pointed the starting pistol into the air.
“Gentlemen, take your marks.”
The wind blowing off the desert had died and the air was remarkably still. A jet passed overhead, the whir of its landing gear coming down shattering the stillness. Greased Lightning emitted a loud whinny.
“Get ready—go!”
Valentine fired the starter into the air. The cap in the gun made a loud bang! and the horse screamed like it had been shot. It fled ahead and went down the field at supersonic speed. Rufus appeared to be frozen, his legs stuck to the ground, as the animal passed him.
The gamblers let out a collective roar, with the Greek shouting the loudest. Rufus was huffing and puffing, running about as well as someone his age could run, which was to say not particularly fast. Before he’d reached the fifteen-yard line, Greased Lightning had reached the fifty and was still running.
“Come on, Rufus,” Valentine yelled. “Come on!”
The jockey was pulling back on his reins with all his might. The horse started to break, its back legs tearing up the ground like hoes. When it finally came to a stop, it was near the opposing side’s twenty-yard line. The jockey jerked the horse’s head, trying to turn the animal around. The horse obeyed, and when it was turned around, came to a dead stop, as if the race was over. The jockey slapped its side with his crop while digging his heels into its side.
By now, Rufus had reached the cone in the center of the field, done a nifty spin, and taken off back for the finish line. The old cowboy still had some run in him, his long legs covering the ground with amazing agility. Sensing disaster, the Greek and his cronies stood at the finish line, jumping wildly up and down.
“Run!” Valentine yelled through cupped hands.
Rufus hit the ten-yard line as Greased Lightning crossed the thirty. It was a contest now, and Rufus took a half dozen giant steps, and then fell face-forward with his arms outstretched as the horse raced past him.
“I win! I win!” the Greek shouted while doing a juvenile victory dance.
Valentine hurried over to where Rufus lay and helped him to his feet. The old cowboy was covered in grass and dirt and took a moment to get his bearings.
“Did I lose?” he asked under his breath.
“It was mighty close,” Valentine said. “Let’s look at the tape.”
Zack stood on the sideline with his camera pointed at the finis
h line. He rewound the tape, and let Valentine and Rufus watch the race on the tiny screen on the back of the camera. The ending was close, but the outcome was perfectly clear. Before Greased Lightning reached the end zone, Rufus’s hand had broken the plane of the finish line.
Rufus called the Greek over, and let him watch the tape. When it was over, the Greek was crying. Rufus raised his arms triumphantly into the air.
“I win,” he declared.
Also by James Swain
GRIFT SENSE
FUNNY MONEY
SUCKER BET
LOADED DICE
MR. LUCKY
Praise for James Swain’s
Tony Valentine novels
“In this series about gambling, the main character is a big winner.”
—JANET MASLIN, The New York Times
“Swain’s mysteries…are a sure bet.”
—Chicago Tribune
“James Swain is the real thing, a writer of pure, athletic prose, capable of bringing alive characters as original and three-dimensional as our best novelists.”
—JAMES W. HALL
“This smooth, funny series has got to be one of the finds of the decade.”
—Kirkus
“An expert on casino swindles, the author packs his books with mind-boggling cons and scams…along with entertaining dialogue and vivid characters.”
—Publishers Weekly
MR. LUCKY
“Bask in Swain’s Las Vegas without having to set foot in the place and risk being skinned alive.”
—Washington Post Book World
“The momentum is great, the writing nimble, the action intricate. If you like Swain’s formula, as I do, you’ll get a lot of what you expect and love it.”
—Los Angeles Times
“Hits the jackpot. Impossible to put down.”
—MICHAEL CONNELLY
LOADED DICE
“Leaves us wanting more of this pulsing buoyant book.”
—Los Angeles Times
“A poker novel with the punch of a royal flush…ought to be required reading.”
—Chicago Sun-Times
“Pure entertainment, building to a slam-bang ending.”
—San Jose Mercury News
“Great fun with just the right amount of edge—sort of like a night out at the blackjack table.”
—Booklist
SUCKER BET
“Ingenious entertainment.”
—The New York Times Book Review
“Great fun…Swain, an expert on card trickery and casino cheating, is an entertaining writer whose breezy style and flair for wise-guy dialogue make the story zoom by.”
—Boston Globe
“A vivid insider’s look at casinos [that] hits the jackpot…Sucker Bet is a sure thing.”
—Chicago Tribune
“Swain has come up with a doozy…. The gambling details are a treat [and] the banter is worthy of a place at Elmore Leonard’s table.”
—Booklist
FUNNY MONEY
“Fascinating…dazzling…entertaining…I can’t think of a novel I’ve enjoyed more this year.”
—Los Angeles Times
“There’s a certain intelligence to a book that teaches you something—even something as esoteric as how to spot a casino cheat—and Swain juggles that mix of learning and adventure perfectly.”
—Houston Chronicle
“Smart, snappy…tremendously infectious.”
—St. Petersburg Times
“Great fun—with oddball characters, a twisted plot, and scheming dreamers out for the big score.”
—Lansing State Journal
GRIFT SENSE
“A well-plotted debut mystery that pays off handsomely…Grift Sense delivers a vivid and credible look at the gaming industry through eccentric yet believable characters.”
—Chicago Tribune
“Grift Sense is one of the best debuts I’ve read in years. It has a great plot, wonderful characters, and a slick, subtle wit.”
—The Toronto Globe and Mail
“The hard-nosed dialogue and the fast-paced, serpentine plot deliver a page-turner of a mystery. Just when readers start to relax, thinking it’s clear sailing to the end, Swain throws yet another curve.”
—Canadian Press
Poker Protection Tips
Poker is an amazing game. It requires aggression, bluffing, money management, the ability to read tells, and knowing how to play hundreds of different hands. It also requires luck and lots of hard work. Anyone can play, and practically everyone does.
But poker also has a dirty little secret and it’s called cheating. Of the more than fifty books on poker in my library, all contain chapters on the subject. Cheating happens in friendly games, casino card rooms, and tournaments. It continues to be one of the largest unchecked crimes in America.
If you play poker on a frequent basis, it’s safe to assume that you’ve been swindled at least a couple of times. It’s part of the game, and something every player needs to guard against. There are a number of universal poker scams that are used to separate honest players from their money (unless you play in high-stakes games, the chances of running up against a skilled mechanic are slim). The following pages deal with those scams, while also explaining ways to protect yourself against them.
PEEKING
Ever notice when watching the World Series of Poker how zealously the players guard their cards when they look to see what they’ve been dealt? Ever wonder why? The obvious answer is that the players don’t want their opponents to see their cards. But the chances of that happening are slim. The other opponents are looking at their cards at the same time. So why do players do it? The answer is simple: They don’t want to be “peeked” by someone standing behind them. This person is called a confederate or an agent. Their job is to peek the cards, then signal their value to another player at the table. Peeking is a favorite method of cheating among professional card hustlers. Many great players (including world champions) have been scammed by peeking. Here are the card hustler’s favorite methods, and how to protect yourself against them.
The Friendly Host
There is a card hustler from New England who holds weekly games in the recreation room of his house. He’s very accommodating to his guests. During the game, his wife will enter the room, and ask if anyone would like a drink. She takes everyone’s order, then reappears five minutes later balancing a tray, and serves everyone at the table.
The wife is the confederate. She spots the cards while taking the orders, then signals them to her husband while serving the drinks. She does this twice a night. It usually generates enough money to pay their mortgage each month.
Protection Tip: You can’t stop people from coming into the room when you play (especially if you’re a guest in their home). But you can stop showing them your cards. Whenever someone enters the room, put your cards facedown on the table and leave them there. If possible, look at your hand as infrequently as possible. Most pros look at their cards once or twice during a game.
The Friendly Player
Sometimes a player sitting beside you will drop out of a hand. This player might ask you to show him what you’re holding. Most players will reveal their cards (especially in a friendly game). This is a huge mistake for two reasons. First, if the player is working with someone at the table, he can signal what you have. But even if the player isn’t a cheater, he can still inadvertently signal to the other players if your hand is weak, or strong.
Protection Tip: The smart thing to do is shake your head no. If the player puts up a beef, tell him to sit next to someone else.
The Man with the Newspaper
People play poker everywhere—airplanes, hotel lobbies, trains, and anywhere else where people gather. One of the more subtle forms of peeking used in such settings involves a man sitting reading a newspaper.
Let’s say the game is being played in the lobby of a swank hotel. There are four players. Three are cheaters, t
he fourth a well-oiled sucker. The cheaters position the sucker so he is sitting in a certain chair. Behind the chair sits a person reading a newspaper. This person is the cheaters’ confederate. The newspaper the confederate is reading has a razor slit in its center. By peeking through the slit, the confederate is able to peek the sucker’s cards. If the sucker were to turn around, he wouldn’t see anything wrong.
Now comes the clever part. The confederate signals the sucker’s cards to the cheaters by breathing through his nostrils. Short breaths indicate low cards, long breaths high cards. Hustlers call this The Sniff. It’s one of the most deceiving ways to signal I know of. For all the sucker knows, the guy behind him has a cold.
Protection Tip: Avoid situations where people are sitting behind you, even if you think these people can’t see your cards.
Binoculars
