by James Swain
Deadman's Bluff
( Tony Valentine - 7 )
James Swain
For Charles Swain
Luck aint never paid the bills.
PUG PEARSON, famous poker player
A Brief Glossary of Useful Cheating Terms
Action
Any gambling activity.
Agent
A cheater working with a casino employee while posing as a legitimate player.
BP
Big Player. The member of a cheating team who bets the big money. Also called the “take off man.”
Brush off
A signal that says it’s time to leave a casino.
Bug
A clip designed to secretly hold a card beneath the table. Also called a “thief.”
Cold deck
A prestacked deck of cards.
Crossroader
A cheater who specializes in ripping off casinos.
Deadman’s hand
Two black aces and two black eights. The poker hand held by Wild Bill Hickock the night he was murdered by a gang of cheaters in Deadwood, South Dakota.
Deal a deuce
To deal the second card from the top of the deck. Also called “dealing a blister.”
Deal a plank
To deal off the bottom of the deck.
Doing business
Cheating.
Double heat
Intense scrutiny from casino security.
Feel a breeze
To know when cheating is going on, even if you don’t know what it is.
Gaff
Any cheating device.
George
A signal among cheaters that everything is all right. Often done with an open hand on the chest or layout.
Giving the office
Signaling among cheaters.
Greed factor
Winning too much, too often.
Grift sense
An innate ability to spot a hustle or a scam. A compliment among hustlers.
Grind joint
A casino with low table minimums and small denomination slot machines.
Hairy leg
A moneyman who backs a game.
Herking and
Distracting your opponent while jerking cheating him.
Iggy
A cheater pretending to be a tourist.
Joint
A casino.
Kepplinger
A hidden device that secretly switches holdout playing cards.
Leaking
Exposing a secretly palmed card.
Local courtesy
An unwritten arrangement between local players in poker not to bet against each other.
Mechanic
A cheater skilled in sleight-of-hand.
Miracle move
A perfect cheating move. Also called a “million-dollar move.”
Mortal lock
A sure thing.
Old moustache
A mobster.
On the square
To play a game honestly, without cheating.
Punch
A device used to create tiny indentations in cards.
Put the heavy on
To use force when dealing with an unpleasant situation.
Subs
Various types of cloth bags worn inside the clothing to hold stolen chips.
Suckers
Ninety-nine percent of the people who gamble. Also known as chumps, marks, pigeons, rubes, and vics (victims).
Steam
Unwanted attention. Also called “heat.”
Swinging
To secretly switch cards during a game.
Texas
A variation of poker invented by a Hold ‘Em dozen ranch hands who had only a single deck of cards among them.
Tokes
Tips.
Tom
A signal among cheaters that things look bad. Often done with a clenched fist on the chest or layout.
Wake the dead
A scam that is blatantly obvious.
Who shot
A ridiculous conversation among John? people who know better.
Part I
Driving the White Line
1
“I win,” Rufus Steele said.
Tony Valentine could not believe his eyes. Steele, a seventy-year-old, whiskey-drinking Texas gambler, had just outrun a racehorse named Greased Lightning in the hundred-yard dash. The race had taken place on the manicured football field of the University of Nevada, the pulsating neon of the Las Vegas strip electrifying the night sky.
Valentine stood in the end zone with a mob of gamblers, many of whom had bet against Rufus. The gamblers were competing in the World Poker Showdown, the world’s richest poker tournament. Valentine was there for a different reason. He’d been hired by the Nevada Gaming Control Board to figure out how a seeing-impaired player could be cheating the tournament, and he was trying to help his son avenge the murder of a childhood friend. The fact that he’d solved neither case to his satisfaction had made for a long four days, and watching Rufus fleece some suckers had provided a welcome distraction.
“I want to see the tape,” declared a man known as the Greek.
The Greek had lost a half million bucks on the horse. He fancied himself a gambler, but had never swam with sharks as big as Rufus. The old cowboy sauntered over to where the Greek stood.
“Want to bet on the outcome again?” Rufus asked.
“Shut up!” the Greek roared.
Zack, the cameraman who’d filmed the event, rewound the tape, and the Greek and Rufus huddled behind him, staring at the camera’s tiny screen. Valentine wanted to see the race again as well, and stared over the two men’s shoulders.
Gloria Curtis brushed up beside him. In Vegas covering the poker tournament for a cable sports network, Gloria had filmed the race to be shown on her talk show. “Did you know Rufus was going to swindle the Greek like that?” she whispered to Valentine.
“Rufus didn’t swindle him,” he whispered back.
“He didn’t?”
“No. Rufus tricked him.”
“And how is that different?”
“Rufus told the Greek he could beat a horse in the hundred-yard dash. He never said the race would be run in a straight line.”
She chewed her lower lip, thinking it over. “But Rufus put a plastic cone on the fifty-yard line, so the horse had to stop, turn around, and run back.”
“It was a hundred-yard race, fair and square,” Valentine said.
She smiled at him with her eyes, which were the prettiest Valentine had seen in a long time. She’d interviewed him about the cheating at the tournament, and they’d immediately hit it off. He had no idea where the relationship was going, or even if it was going anywhere, but the ride so far was enjoyable.
“I know it looks like Rufus swindled the Greek,” he explained, “but the Greek went into the race with a gigantic edge, and he knew it.”
“An edge?”
“An advantage. The Greek’s advantage was that no human being can outrun a horse. The Greek had to know that Rufus would level the playing field to make the race competitive. And that’s exactly what Rufus did.”
“You still didn’t answer my question. Did you know what Rufus was up to?”
“No.” Valentine sensed Gloria didn’t quite believe him. Normally it wouldn’t have mattered, only she’d been in his thoughts these last few days. So he added, “Scout’s honor.”
She kissed him on the cheek. “Good.”
“Here we go,” said Zack.
The tiny screen on Zack’s camera showed Rufus and Greased Lightning about to start their race. The horse’s jockey stood in his saddle, clutching his crop. Valentine had been the sta
rter, and the audio on the camera played back his voice intoning, “Take your marks…Get ready—go!” and the shot of the starter pistol.
Greased Lightning bolted, the jockey gripping the reins for dear life. The horse was out of control, and by the time the jockey managed to stop and turn around, he was ninety yards down the field. By then, Rufus had reached the cone, spun around, and was heading for the finish line.
“For the love of Christ,” Valentine now said under his breath.
“What’s wrong?” Gloria asked.
“Rufus tricked me.”
“But I didn’t think anyone could trick you,” Gloria said.
Valentine shook his head, realizing what Rufus had done. The sound of the starter pistol had put Greased Lightning into a frenzy, and prevented the jockey from trotting to the cone, turning around, and galloping back.
“It happens,” he said.
On the tiny screen, Rufus was huffing and puffing, his arms and legs working in unison, the horse coming up from behind like a runaway train. The ending was decided by inches, with Rufus throwing himself over the finish line as Greased Lightning thundered past. Zack froze the frame, and everyone leaned forward to see Rufus’s hand break the plane of the end zone before the horse’s nose did.
Rufus pounded the Greek on the back.
“I win,” Rufus said.
Professional gamblers did not take IOUs or personal checks. They dealt in cold hard cash, and the Greek had brought an enormous bag of money with him to the football field. As the Greek paid Rufus off, he looked at him pleadingly.
“I want another chance,” the Greek said.
There was weakness in his voice. Rufus glanced up from his counting.
“Want to win your money back, huh?”
The Greek nodded.
“I didn’t bust you, did I?”
The Greek shook his head. “I have more,” he said.
Rufus pulled the drawstring tight on the bag and gave it some thought. Sweat had started pouring off his body right after the race had ended. Valentine had tried to get him to drink water, but he’d refused.
“Well, I used to be pretty good at Ping-Pong,” Rufus said. “How about this. I’ll challenge anyone still playing in the tournament to a game of Ping-Pong, winner to reach twenty-one.”
“How much money are we talking about?” the Greek asked.
Rufus pointed at the sack of money lying on the grass. “That much. Interested?”
The Greek smiled like he’d found sunken treasure. “Yeah, I’m interested.”
“I’ve got one stipulation,” Rufus said. “I supply the paddles. Your man can choose either one. If he wants to switch during the match, he can. I just don’t want some guy showing up with one of those crazy rubber paddles that put so much spin on the ball that it’s impossible to hit back.”
“I’m agreeable to that,” the Greek said.
“Tell Rufus not to go through with this,” Gloria whispered in Valentine’s ear.
“Why not?”
“Takarama is still playing in the tournament. I profiled him for my show the other day. He still practices table tennis three hours a day.”
Shiego Takarama was a world table tennis champion who’d retired to play tournament poker. He was still in tremendous shape, and Valentine envisioned him wiping up the floor with Rufus. He went over to Rufus and pulled him aside.
“You don’t want to go through with this,” Valentine said.
“Of course I do,” Rufus replied.
“But you’re going to lose.”
“Tony, I can play Ping-Pong as good as the next fellow. I’ve got a table in my basement that I play my granddaughters on.”
“But…”
“Did you hear what the Greek said? He has money. That’s my money, Tony. The Greek is just holding it for me. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have some business to take care of.”
There was no stopping a man when he wanted to gamble. Rufus went up to the Greek and shook hands, sealing the deal. Shaking his head, Valentine returned to where Gloria stood with her cameraman. “He’ll never beat Takarama,” he said.
A twinkle appeared in Gloria’s eye. “So, you want to make a bet on that?”
“You mean bet against Rufus?”
“Yes.”
Betting against a grifter was like betting against the sun rising. No matter how outlandish the proposition, the grifter was going to come out ahead.
“Never,” he said.
2
Big Julie, a famous New York gambler, once said that the person who invented gambling was smart, but the person who invented chips was a genius.
Poker had a similar truism. The person who’d invented poker may have been smart, but the person who’d invented the hidden camera that allowed a television audience to see the players’ hands was a genius.
George “the Tuna” Scalzo sat on his hotel suite’s couch with his nephew beside him. It was ten o’clock in the evening, and the big-screen TV was on. They were watching the action from that day’s World Poker Show down, which was generating the highest ratings of any sporting event outside of the Super Bowl. His nephew, Skip DeMarco, was winning the tournament and had become an overnight sensation.
“Tell me what you’re seeing, Uncle George,” DeMarco said.
His nephew faced the TV, his handsome face bathed in the screen’s artificial light. Skipper suffered from a degenerative eye disease that he’d had since birth. He could not see two inches past his nose, and so his uncle described the action.
“They’re showing the different players you knocked out of the tournament today,” Scalzo said. “Treetop Strauss, Mike ‘Mad Dog’ McCoy, Johnny ‘the Wizard’ Wang, and a bunch of other guys. It’s beautiful, especially when you call their bluffs. They don’t know what hit them.”
Bluffing was what made poker exciting. A man could have worthless cards, yet if he bet aggressively, he’d win hand after hand. DeMarco had made a specialty of calling his opponents’ bluffs, and had become the most feared player in the tournament.
“Is the camera showing me a lot?” DeMarco asked.
“All the time. You’re the star.”
“Do I look arrogant?”
Scalzo didn’t know what arrogant meant. Proud? That word he understood. He glanced across the suite at Guido, who leaned against the wall. His bodyguard had a zipper scar down the side of his face and never smiled. Guido came from the streets of Newark, New Jersey, as did all the men who worked for Scalzo.
“Guido, how does Skipper look?”
“Calm, cool, and collected,” Guido said, puffing on a cigarette.
“Is he a star?”
“Big star,” Guido said.
“There you go.” Scalzo elbowed his nephew in the ribs.
The show ended, and was followed by the local news. The broadcasters covered the day’s headlines, then a story from the University of Nevada’s football field came on.
“What’s this?” his nephew asked.
Scalzo squinted at the screen. The story was about Rufus Steele challenging a racehorse to the hundred-yard dash. Rufus appeared on the screen dressed in track shorts. Beside him was Tony Valentine, the casino consultant who’d caused them so much trouble. Scalzo grabbed the remote and changed the channel.
“Put it back on, Uncle George,” his nephew said.
“Why? He can’t beat no fucking racehorse,” Scalzo protested.
“I want to see it anyway. This is the old guy who challenged me to play him. I said I’d play him after the tournament was over if he could raise a million bucks.”
The suite fell silent. “You’re not going to play that son-of-a-bitch,” Scalzo declared.
“If he raises the money, I’ll have to, Uncle George,” DeMarco said.
“Why?”
“Because this is poker. If I don’t accept Rufus’s challenge, he wins.”
Scalzo did not like the direction the conversation was taking. He clicked his fingers, and Guido rose from his chair.<
br />
“Yes, Mr. Scalzo,” the bodyguard said.
“A glass of cognac for me. What would you like, Skipper?”
“For you not to drink while we have this conversation,” his nephew said.
Scalzo balled his hands into fists and stared at his nephew’s profile. If someone who worked for him had said that, he would have had him killed. “You don’t like when I drink?”
“You get mean. Doesn’t he, Guido?”
Swallowing hard, the bodyguard said nothing. Scalzo made a twirling motion with his finger. Guido walked into the next room, shutting the door behind him.
Scalzo changed the channel with the remote, and watched Rufus beat Greased Lightning in the hundred-yard-dash while explaining it to his nephew. Then he killed the power and the room fell silent.
“This cowboy is the real thing,” his nephew said.
“What’s that supposed to mean?” Scalzo snapped.
“He’s an old-time hustler, Uncle George. I can’t scam him the way we’re scamming the tournament. It won’t work.”
Skipper had won several dozen poker tournaments on the Internet. Live games were a different matter, with other players ganging up on him because of his handicap. Scalzo had wanted to level the playing field, and found a scammer in Atlantic City named Jack Donovan who’d invented a scam that would let Skipper win. Scalzo had Donovan murdered for the scam, then taught it to his nephew. Although Skipper had never cheated before, he’d gone along, wanting the recognition that winning brought, which he believed he deserved.
“But no one has figured out the scam so far,” Scalzo said.
“Steele will. He’ll feel a breeze.”
“So let him put a sweater on.”
“It’s a gambler’s expression, Uncle George. Steele will know something is wrong. Even if he doesn’t know what it is, he’ll figure it out eventually. I have to play him on the square. If I’m as good as I keep telling myself I am, then I should beat him.”
“You want to play the cowboy legitimately?”
“Yes.”
Scalzo scowled. Skipper was letting his mouth overload his ass. He wasn’t going to play Steele head-to-head. The old cowboy knew too many damn tricks. Scalzo dropped the remote in his nephew’s lap. “I’m going to bed,” Scalzo said. “Let’s talk again in the morning.”
