[Brainrush 01.0] Brainrush

by Richard Bard

  Jake didn’t have time for this asshole. The guy had over forty thousand on the pass line, and Jake didn’t want to help him win any more. He ignored the dice this time, letting them fall naturally.

  “Seven, winner seven!”

  Damn.

  The crowd erupted.

  The croupier slid a large stack of chips in front of the Texan.

  Jake didn’t like this dude, but at least his own pile had doubled to thirty-two hundred with the roll.

  The Texan continued to press into Jake as his eyes gleamed at Lacey. “Hot damn, I’m on a roll. Honey, how’d you like to go home with a real man? I’ll bet you’re the kinda girl that knows how to grab the bull by the horn, am I right?”

  The crowd quieted.

  The croupier watched the interaction carefully, his hand slipping out of view beneath the table. Probably a security call, Jake thought. He noticed two burly guys with crew cuts, maroon blazers, and gold name tags step out of the shadows and move toward the table.

  Jake turned sideways to stare into the face of the blustery Texan. The guy puffed out his fifty-inch chest with a smirk and took Jake’s stare head-on.

  “You got something to say, pretty boy?” the guy asked, a bit of spittle spraying onto Jake’s chin.

  Jake casually pulled a handkerchief from his breast pocket and wiped his face. He folded the cloth back into his pocket and said, “Yeah, I’ve got something to say. Three things, actually. First, you’ve got really bad breath.”

  The noise level around the table dropped to a hush.

  The guy’s eyes widened in anger, but before he could say anything, Jake continued, this time in a mocking version of the man’s drawl. “Second, y’all got worse manners than a hog at suppertime.”

  The Texan’s fists clenched, and his shoulders bunched. He leaned forward like a huge oak tree threatening to topple over.

  Jake didn’t waver under the man’s looming bulk. He just smiled. “And third, if you ever expect to find yourself in the company of a lady as classy as this, you’re going to have to learn to be a much better gambler.”

  The Texan hesitated, confused. “Huh? What are you talking about?” He pointed at the stack of chips in front of him. “I’m up over a hundred grand.”

  “Actually, you haven’t won anything until you count what’s left when you go home. And you’re going home flat broke tonight, partner.”

  “Screw you, asshole. I’m hotter than a Texas summer.” He pointed to Jake’s small stack of chips. “What the hell do you know?”

  “I’ll tell you what I know.” He pointed to the Texan’s big stack of chips on the pass line. “All that money sitting in front of you is about to be sitting in front of me.” He then gestured to Lacey. “This gorgeous young lady will still be on my arm, and you’re going to be escorted out of here with absolutely nothing.”

  Everyone around the table listened in rapt attention. In silent answer to the two security men waiting nearby, the croupier shook his head. He appeared as intrigued as everyone else as to where this was going.

  More confused than ever, the Texan looked from side to side, as if wondering whether he was being punked on hidden camera.

  “You’re going to crap out on your next roll,” Jake said. “In fact, I’m so sure you’re going to crap out that I’m going to place all my money on it.”

  Jake combined his thirty-two hundred from the pass line and the eight hundred in front of him and placed it all on the 2 or 12 betting square. If either number was rolled, the payout was thirty to one.

  “Big deal. So you’re betting against me with chump change. Am I supposed to be impressed?”

  Jake reached into his pants pocket and pulled out his hotel key. He placed it on the table between him and the Texan. Motioning toward Lacey behind him, he slid the key forward another inch. “I’m all in. What about you?”

  The Texan’s eyes widened in understanding. A lascivious grin spread across his face. He reached for the dice.

  “Not so fast,” Jake said, pointing at the row of chips still sitting in the Texan’s tray. “You’ve either got the balls to go all in or you don’t.”

  Jake moved to the side so the Texan could get a good look at Lacey.

  The Texan immediately grabbed the rest of his chips and placed them on the pass line with his previous winnings. His total bet was over one hundred ten thousand euros.

  Jake lifted his hand from the hotel key and nodded toward the croupier.

  “Mesdames et messieurs, please place your bets. The roller is coming out.”

  The pent-up tension around the table snapped and players around the table exploded with bets, all but a few betting against the roller. The Texan picked up the dice, gave Lacey a nasty wink, and flung them across the table. “Read ’em and weep, sucker!”

  Jake embraced the dice in his mind, adjusting their final tumbles just so…

  “Two, craps. The shooter loses.”

  A thunderous cheer and applause erupted around the table. Several people clapped Jake on the back. Lacey giggled and hugged him.

  Jake gave her a wink as he picked up the key and slid it back into his pocket.

  Several people laughed at the astonished Texan. His face flushed crimson. His clenched fists trembled as he watched his entire bet being whisked away by the banker and an equally large stack was slid in front of Jake.

  Jake turned to face the man. People nearby backed away.

  Even without his enhanced reaction speed, Jake would have seen the punch coming. The Texan’s right shoulder twitched backward, telegraphing his swing.

  Instinct took over.

  Jake sidestepped the meaty fist and brought his own right hand up and out, striking the forearm with his wrist to redirect the blow. In the same movement he double-gripped the Texan’s raised wrist, twisted under and around the Texan’s levered arm, and snapped it down with a force that spun the man into an agonizing forward somersault. He landed flat on his back with a sickening thud. Jake towered over him with his foot crammed into the Texan’s thick neck, the man’s wrist still grasped in Jake’s hands.

  It was over in two seconds.

  The crowd was stunned, but no more so than Jake. Sure, he remembered the moves from his training, but he’d never even been close to this good at it. His enhanced speed made all the difference. The two security guards rushed over, hesitating as they waited for Jake to release the big man.

  Jake wasn’t ready to let go, but he also didn’t want to seriously hurt the guy. He hoped to use this situation to ingratiate himself with the casino, not get thrown out. He looked down at the shaking, helpless man under his foot. The sudden flip must have cut through the alcohol and knocked some sense into him. His blustering façade was replaced with genuine fear.

  Jake stepped off his neck, bent over, and helped the man up. “You’re going to be okay, pal. Isn’t there something you’d like to say to the lady before you leave?” The two security guards moved in from behind and grabbed the man’s arms.

  The man cowed his head. “I’m real damn sorry, miss. I was way outta line.”

  Lacey gave him a slight nod and sidled back up to Jake.

  As soon as the Texan and his hulking escorts left the pit area, a round of applause erupted around Jake. He smiled at the crowd, adjusted the cuffs of his shirt, and stepped back to the table. Lacey gave him a shy kiss on the cheek and clung to his arm. The croupier offered an admiring smile. Jake now had a stack of chips worth one hundred twenty thousand euros next to his original bet.

  A distinguished-looking man in a tailored black suit and thin black mustache stood behind the croupier. From his bearing, Jake guessed he was upper management. The man tilted his head in a gesture of appreciation toward Jake. Jake nodded back.

  The croupier slid the dice in front of Jake and announced, “We have a new roller. Mesdames et messieurs, please place your bets.”

  Jake took in the crowd. All eyes were on him now. Too many eyes. He needed to switch tables, maybe switch games
.

  He announced, “Well, I’m not much of a roller. But I’ll try it just once.” He slid all his money over to the pass line, and an electric murmur spread through the crowd. Every better on the table rushed to join in the betting. There wasn’t a single bet against the roller.

  Jake picked up the dice, toyed with them a few times in his fingers to savor the growing tension around the table, and then threw them down the table.

  “Eleven, winner eleven!”

  The cheer was deafening. Every bet on the table was a winner. Jake couldn’t hide his smile. Lacey jumped up and down. In spite of the loss to the house, the manager grinned.

  “Cash me out, please,” Jake said to the groan of the crowd.

  The banker exchanged Jake’s chips for higher denominations and stacked them in a portable tray. The total was two hundred forty-eight thousand euros. Jake slid a chunk of chips back as a tip before he and Lacey stepped away from the table to a round of applause from the crowd. Lacey beamed under the attention.

  As they walked toward the bar to discuss their next move, the manager approached. “Monsieur, please allow me to introduce myself.” He presented Jake with a business card confirming his position as floor manager. They shook hands, and Jake offered introductions.

  “On behalf of the casino, I would very much like to thank you for the manner in which you handled the situation with your…countryman. We are quite grateful. May we show our appreciation? Is there anything that we might offer you and your lovely guest?”

  Jake sized him up. The Frenchman’s gracious offer seemed sincere. “Actually, I’d be pleased if you could point us in the direction of the roulette tables. I promised Ms. Laurence that we would try our hand at the wheel before we left.”

  The manager smiled, at least a part of him thankful at the prospect of getting some of their winnings back. “Fantastic, monsieur. With your permission, let me escort you to one of our VIP pavilions, reserved for special guests only. It would be my pleasure if you would join us there.”

  Jake smiled and gave Lacey a knowing squeeze.

  The private salon was located in the east wing of the casino. The manager gave them a walking tour along the way, describing the elaborate Renaissance artwork and décor that covered the walls in each of the salons they passed through.

  Glittering chandeliers lit the rooms. Everything seemed more suited to a castle than a casino. Even the noise level was subdued. This was definitely not Vegas. Lacey enjoyed the ceiling mural in the Salon Rose smoking room. It was decorated with voluptuous, cigar-smoking female nudes whose gazes, according to legend, follow you around the room. Jake smiled at the scene, thinking how Tony would have enjoyed it.

  The VIP Salon Medecin had large picture windows looking over the harbor. It was luxury at its finest, with rich mahogany walls featuring stylized inlays and covered with exquisite wall hangings. There were several different tables in the room, most offering games that Jake had never even heard of: trente-et-quarante, chemin de fer, banque à deux tableaux, and punto banco. There were also two roulette tables in the room, but both of them were packed full with players.

  While the manager described the history of the casino’s renovations to Lacey, Jake walked to an open-arched entrance that led to a small, private salon. The doorway was blocked by a triple braid of red rope suspended between two polished brass posts. A security guard in a maroon blazer stood by the entrance.

  A lone player sat at a roulette table in the center of the private room. He reminded Jake of a young Omar Sharif, with smooth olive skin and penetrating dark eyes full of curiosity, dressed in a floor-length white shirtdress that Ahmed had told Jake was called a dishdashah. His head was covered by a red-and-white-checkered scarf, or keffiyeh, which was held in place by a braided black rope gilded with shimmering strands of gold. He had a regal bearing and an entourage of similarly dressed men standing protectively around him. Jake guessed he was in his early twenties.

  The poor guy looked bored and miserable. After the last spin of the roulette wheel, the croupier placed the marker down on the number three, red. None of the young man’s bets scattered across the felt were winners. He shook his head and sighed, no more chips left in front of him.

  He motioned to a pit manager standing nearby. The manager brought a small tablet over, and the young man scrawled his signature across the page. The croupier slid four tall stacks of chips over to him.

  Taking one of the stacks in each hand, he paused before placing his next bets. He turned to the men around him. “I have lost more money in the past three hours than most men make in several lifetimes! My father would not be pleased, Allah rest his soul.” The man’s English was laced with an upper-crust British accent. He gestured to the oldest man. “Muhammad, what is your advice? Upon which number shall I place this next wager?”

  “My prince,” the older man replied, his English less sure, “surely Allah’s hand will guide you far better than I. But if you insist on my advice, then I suggest you might consider focusing your attention on more urgent matters at home and forget this foolishness.”

  A chuckle escaped Jake’s lips.

  The young man bristled. He glared at Jake. “You there, you find humor in my misfortune?”

  Jake gave a short, deferential bow while he considered how he might spin this opportunity.

  He chose to answer in Dari. “Please accept my apologies, Your Highness. I was certainly not laughing at you. To the contrary, my mirth was born of the unwillingness of your trusted advisor to provide you with a simple answer to your question, especially when the answer is so plain to see.”

  The prince looked surprised and not a little intrigued at Jake’s command of Persian. Ahmed had told Jake that many Arabic aristocrats were fluent in several languages.

  Lacey sauntered up and looped her hands around Jake’s arm. The prince seemed to sit up a little straighter. He answered Jake in English. “Is the answer so obvious? Would you and your guest care to join me and let me in on your secret?”

  “It would be my pleasure, Your Highness.”

  After introductions, Jake and Lacey sat down at the table next to the prince. Jake learned that the prince was a distant cousin to the crown prince in Kuwait. He had just graduated cum laude from Oxford University and was on his way back home to assume the reins of his recently deceased father’s holdings. He had stopped in Monaco for a bit of excitement before surrendering to the regimented routine that awaited him. He had an easy way about him, and Jake found him immediately likable.

  “I have been here for two days,” the prince said. “All I have done is gamble and lose a considerable amount of money. I had hoped for a little more fun in the process.”

  Jake could only imagine what a “considerable amount” was to the prince. The denomination of each of his chips was ten thousand euros, and he had been playing nine or ten at a time.

  “It sounds to me like maybe you should have stopped in Vegas instead of Monte Carlo, Your Highness. The ambience is a bit thin here, if you know what I mean. After all, I’ll bet you’ve never heard the phrase, ‘What happens in Monaco, stays in Monaco.’ Am I right?”

  “Right you are, indeed, Mr. Bronson. And please call me Phillip. It was my nickname at Oxford.” He motioned warily toward his entourage. “When I get home, the nickname will be buried once and for all, for appearances’ sake. But I am not home yet.”

  “Phillip, it is. And I’m Jake.”

  “Don’t forget me!” Lacey said.

  The prince blushed noticeably. “Miss Laurence, there is little chance that I will ever forget you!”

  They all laughed.

  “So you want to have a little fun, Phillip? Why don’t we liven this place up a bit, Vegas style? You game?”

  “Absolutely!” The prince grinned.

  Jake called in his favor with the casino manager, and ten minutes later the room was filled with energy.

  The rope barricade was removed from the doorway, and a deep, thrumming beat of dance music w
as streamed into the hidden speakers throughout the room. Extra bartenders and cocktail waitresses were brought in, and word was spread that free drinks were flowing in celebration of the prince’s graduation. The room filled quickly with revelers from the main casino.

  The prince’s bodyguards couldn’t hide the panic they felt as the crowd grew. Although they still hovered nearby, they were under strict instructions not to interfere. The prince’s elderly advisor was slumped in a chair in the corner, a look of utter defeat on his face.

  Jake, Lacey, and the prince had just downed their second shots of top-shelf Herradura Seleccion Suprema Anejo tequila, another treat that the prince would have to forego when he returned to the strict traditions of his Muslim home. Jake had sampled more than his share of tequila over the years, but nothing came close to the smoothness of the forty-euro-per-shot Herradura. The prince agreed as he ordered another round. He was beaming. Seventy virgins with scrub brushes wouldn’t be able to wipe the smile off his face.

  Jake was ready to make his move. He unloaded his chips from the portable tray and placed them on the felt. “So, shall we see if we can win some of your money back?”

  Jake placed a fifty-thousand-euro bet on black. The prince smiled and matched the bet.

  The croupier snapped the ball around the rim of the wheel.

  Jake blocked out the energy of the room and watched the spinning wheel. He snickered to himself as an old rhyme popped into his head: Round and round it goes and where it stops nobody knows. Hah!

  The ball started its sloping descent into the rows of numbers. Jake focused as it bounced and skipped from number to number. When its momentum was nearly spent, he gave it a nudge, settling it onto four black.

  The croupier placed a crystal marker resembling a chess piece onto the number. “Four black.”

  The prince grinned as the bank matched their bets.

  Lacey clapped and several people moved closer to the table to watch.

  “You see, Phillip, it’s all about having a positive mind-set and following your instincts. You ready to try again?”