Double Deal, Page 3
Drew Beatty
table, and hoped for the best. Sheila sat next to me and closed her eyes. I could tell she was playing with her eyes, practicing. I nodded to the old man across from me, smiled sheepishly, and said “praying for a big win,” while nodding at Sheila. He smiled warmly. I would have to keep a close eye on that guy. Him and his oversized cowboy hat. There is always at least one in a casino.
My first few hands were garbage, absolute garbage. They were helpful, though, I was able to study the tells of the other players. Small, subtle cues made all the difference. When I was a kid I saw a goalie get interviewed after he played a perfect hockey game. He didn’t let in a single goal, stopping something like forty shots. “The puck just seemed as big and slow as a Frisbee tonight” was how he explained it. While there is no poker equivalent to flying Frisbees, I understood his meaning. The tells were bigger than life, and my cards, while not great, were perfect matches to the board. I was making small, steady gains. Sheila looked down at our pile of chips smiled up at me.
“I think I have to go to the ladies room,” she said. I nodded at her, finished my hand and collected my chips. I was ready for the big room.
“Thanks for a good game,” I told the table. Always the Canadian.
Although I was not a regular, the well muscled host took a look at my stack of chips and nodded me into the poker room. The table was covered mahogany, the chairs upholstered in leather. I took a seat, gave a drink order and arranged my chips. A mixed group tonight. One guy was obviously an Elvis impersonator, from the looks of his pompadour and beer gut. He introduced himself as Mauricio. One kid there couldn’t have been more than 21, looked like he practiced on internet games. There was only one woman at the table, older, sharp-faced, like she knew what was wrong with me just by looking. I played a few hands solo, not sinking, not making serious money. Holding steady, waiting for a sign from Sheila. Suddenly, I felt a pair of hands resting lightly on my back. I shifted slightly, feeling the tickle of invisible fingers. It was then that I realized we hadn’t actually set up any system for her to tell me what to do. I could feel her writing on my back, slowly spelling out a word. Win. I assumed that meant I had the winning hand.
I was right. We were on a roll, serious money now. We figured out codes through trial and error, words or arrows pointing up and down on my back, helping me along. At one point she had to lean into me as a waitress passed, and I was uncomfortably aware that a naked woman was pressing herself into me. I took a long swallow of my beer to cool myself off, held it against my forehead.
Throughout the game I amused myself trying to pinpoint her location, looking out for the tiny dots that would be her retinas, floating in the air. I caught a few glimpses of her, but nobody else noticed anything. I could tell she was having some difficulty checking the players’ pockets, but she always managed to give me the right advice.
I played smart, let a few hands go, didn’t win too much. People get suspicious if you never lose, and while Vegas looks more like Disneyland these days, it still has its share of men who will happily break the legs of suspected cheaters.
“You are doing pretty well for yourself tonight,” said the king of the table. Every serious poker game has at least one king. A high stakes player who knows everybody, has been playing professionally since the good old days. They play as much to hold court over the table as to win. Talking is the game for these guys, more so than the poker. The king of this table was the one and only Sal Demote. I knew him a little, probably every poker player did. “I think we played one another before. Have you been in Las Vegas for awhile?” he asked. I nodded.
“You knocked me out of the World Championship a few months back.” I had twin cowboys in my pocket, an almost unbeatable hand. Two kings, taken down by the pocket rockets held by the man across the table from me. Although the flop held a king as well, it was no help when the river was another ace. My nearly unbeatable hand was nothing compared to his. I had let it all ride on the strength of this hand, pushed the betting beyond reason. I was one of the first to wash out of the competition. No prize winnings, only a debt to the Galatis.
“Oh, you’re the Three Kings guy. That was a bad beat. A bad beat.” He looked almost wistful, remembering the hand. “Have you been playing since then?” he asked. “I haven’t seen you around.”
“I’ve been on a bit of a cold streak.”
“It seems to have turned around.”
Over his shoulder I noticed a couple of security guards heading towards us. They spoke briefly with the host, and started circling the table causally, like they were out for an evening stroll. I felt a prickling in the back of my neck. I must have pushed things too hard, won too much. I had raised suspicions. They couldn’t prove anything yet, so they were closing in, looking for the cheat, trying to figure the system I was using. I could see a tiny dot pressed up against the wall, Sheila trying to make herself as small as possible. The guard paused as he walked past her, maybe hearing her breathing, her heartbeat, I couldn’t be sure. A cold sweat broke out on my forehead, my hands went numb. The guard walked on, and Sheila slipped out. I picked up the cards that had just been dealt to me. A pair of ducks. Pretty weak. Twos were not going to win serious money. The action was minimal; no real money was being thrown around in this hand. I was going to fold, count my money and run, but that would have raised even more suspicions, maybe made it difficult for me to leave the casino on my own power. The guards strolled another lazy circle around the table, looking up at the cameras, down under the table, at me, the other players. I tried to focus on the game.
The two of hearts showed up in the flop. Three of a kind. Still weak, but things were getting interesting. I raised, put some money out there. A few players folded, my action was too much for them. No help in the turn, just an ace of clubs. Still sitting on my three of a kind. Betting was heavy again. I couldn’t see anything in the river that would get anyone too excited, but you can never tell.
And then came the river. The dealer flipped the two of clubs onto the board. I had four of a kind. I rolled my beer bottle back and forth in my hands, staring at the board. Fuck the suspicion, I was going for broke. Only three of us were left, the king, Elvis and me. I pushed my stack of chips onto the board. “All in,” I said. Sal looked at me with amusement in his eyes.
“What have you got in there, kid?” he asked, pointing at my cards.
“Only one way to find out,” I answered. He checked his pocket, scanned the board. Looked me in the eyes.
“No, to my reckoning, there is no way you have a strait, or a flush, or anything like that. Maybe you have another two, for three of a kind. What do you have there, thirty, forty thousand worth of chips?”
“About forty.”
“What the hell.” He pushed his chips into the middle of the table. Elvis folded. Sheila came in, smiled at the guards, took a seat beside me. She looked confused, looking for our chips. I pointed out the pile in the middle of the table. She stiffened, back tense with nervousness.
“All right, kid, lets see them.” I flipped over my pair of twos, making four of a kind. He burst out laughing. “You bet it all on twos?” he asked, tears streaming down his face. Kid, that takes guts.” He flipped over his cards, two aces. “My triplet aces taken down by a bunch of twos.” He smiled at me, no malice in his eyes.
“Sorry about that. That’s just a bad beat,” I said to him.
“No worries kid,” he said, shaking my hand. “That’s poker for you. Winning all the time would get dull. It’s karma, for taking down your three kings. Enjoy it”
I collected my chips, thanked everyone for the game. The guards watched me and Sheila the whole way out, but we left in one piece.
Splitting eighty thousand dollars is a lot of fun. Sheila insisted we split 50/50, which was fine with me. The Galatis were courteous in accepting their repayment, and I was able to check into a nicer motel for a few days.
“So, what are we going to do now?” I asked Sheila as I left the Oasis.
“I don’t know.�
She started unbuttoning her dress as she spoke, looking at me evenly. I could see she was not wearing a bra, the pale skin of her sternum glowed under the harsh fluorescent lights in the hotel. âThis money will keep me going for awhile. I might just go east, buy a little house and get a job as a waitress. Just exist, and be happy. That should be enough.â She shrugged out of her dress, stood naked before me. My pulse quickened for a second, but then she faded away before my eyes, leaving only her hand for a second, fingers waving a goodbye. I could see the dusty impressions her feet left, but only because I was looking for them.
I found an envelope, stuffed it with the rest of my winnings, and slid it under Jillyâs door. I had a life to go home to, family, and friends. I could get a job, maybe play a few games of poker here and there, Iâd be okay. I didnât really need a big score, getting out from under the thumbs of the Galatis was enough. Sheila was heading off to reinvent herself, armed with a serious wad of cash. But there needed to be at least one happy ending at the Desert Oasis, and I thought Jilly getting thirty grand would have to be it. I donât know if Jilly ever figured out who left her the money, but I hope she enjoyed it.
About the Author
Drew Beatty has been writing fiction
My first few hands were garbage, absolute garbage. They were helpful, though, I was able to study the tells of the other players. Small, subtle cues made all the difference. When I was a kid I saw a goalie get interviewed after he played a perfect hockey game. He didn’t let in a single goal, stopping something like forty shots. “The puck just seemed as big and slow as a Frisbee tonight” was how he explained it. While there is no poker equivalent to flying Frisbees, I understood his meaning. The tells were bigger than life, and my cards, while not great, were perfect matches to the board. I was making small, steady gains. Sheila looked down at our pile of chips smiled up at me.
“I think I have to go to the ladies room,” she said. I nodded at her, finished my hand and collected my chips. I was ready for the big room.
“Thanks for a good game,” I told the table. Always the Canadian.
Although I was not a regular, the well muscled host took a look at my stack of chips and nodded me into the poker room. The table was covered mahogany, the chairs upholstered in leather. I took a seat, gave a drink order and arranged my chips. A mixed group tonight. One guy was obviously an Elvis impersonator, from the looks of his pompadour and beer gut. He introduced himself as Mauricio. One kid there couldn’t have been more than 21, looked like he practiced on internet games. There was only one woman at the table, older, sharp-faced, like she knew what was wrong with me just by looking. I played a few hands solo, not sinking, not making serious money. Holding steady, waiting for a sign from Sheila. Suddenly, I felt a pair of hands resting lightly on my back. I shifted slightly, feeling the tickle of invisible fingers. It was then that I realized we hadn’t actually set up any system for her to tell me what to do. I could feel her writing on my back, slowly spelling out a word. Win. I assumed that meant I had the winning hand.
I was right. We were on a roll, serious money now. We figured out codes through trial and error, words or arrows pointing up and down on my back, helping me along. At one point she had to lean into me as a waitress passed, and I was uncomfortably aware that a naked woman was pressing herself into me. I took a long swallow of my beer to cool myself off, held it against my forehead.
Throughout the game I amused myself trying to pinpoint her location, looking out for the tiny dots that would be her retinas, floating in the air. I caught a few glimpses of her, but nobody else noticed anything. I could tell she was having some difficulty checking the players’ pockets, but she always managed to give me the right advice.
I played smart, let a few hands go, didn’t win too much. People get suspicious if you never lose, and while Vegas looks more like Disneyland these days, it still has its share of men who will happily break the legs of suspected cheaters.
“You are doing pretty well for yourself tonight,” said the king of the table. Every serious poker game has at least one king. A high stakes player who knows everybody, has been playing professionally since the good old days. They play as much to hold court over the table as to win. Talking is the game for these guys, more so than the poker. The king of this table was the one and only Sal Demote. I knew him a little, probably every poker player did. “I think we played one another before. Have you been in Las Vegas for awhile?” he asked. I nodded.
“You knocked me out of the World Championship a few months back.” I had twin cowboys in my pocket, an almost unbeatable hand. Two kings, taken down by the pocket rockets held by the man across the table from me. Although the flop held a king as well, it was no help when the river was another ace. My nearly unbeatable hand was nothing compared to his. I had let it all ride on the strength of this hand, pushed the betting beyond reason. I was one of the first to wash out of the competition. No prize winnings, only a debt to the Galatis.
“Oh, you’re the Three Kings guy. That was a bad beat. A bad beat.” He looked almost wistful, remembering the hand. “Have you been playing since then?” he asked. “I haven’t seen you around.”
“I’ve been on a bit of a cold streak.”
“It seems to have turned around.”
Over his shoulder I noticed a couple of security guards heading towards us. They spoke briefly with the host, and started circling the table causally, like they were out for an evening stroll. I felt a prickling in the back of my neck. I must have pushed things too hard, won too much. I had raised suspicions. They couldn’t prove anything yet, so they were closing in, looking for the cheat, trying to figure the system I was using. I could see a tiny dot pressed up against the wall, Sheila trying to make herself as small as possible. The guard paused as he walked past her, maybe hearing her breathing, her heartbeat, I couldn’t be sure. A cold sweat broke out on my forehead, my hands went numb. The guard walked on, and Sheila slipped out. I picked up the cards that had just been dealt to me. A pair of ducks. Pretty weak. Twos were not going to win serious money. The action was minimal; no real money was being thrown around in this hand. I was going to fold, count my money and run, but that would have raised even more suspicions, maybe made it difficult for me to leave the casino on my own power. The guards strolled another lazy circle around the table, looking up at the cameras, down under the table, at me, the other players. I tried to focus on the game.
The two of hearts showed up in the flop. Three of a kind. Still weak, but things were getting interesting. I raised, put some money out there. A few players folded, my action was too much for them. No help in the turn, just an ace of clubs. Still sitting on my three of a kind. Betting was heavy again. I couldn’t see anything in the river that would get anyone too excited, but you can never tell.
And then came the river. The dealer flipped the two of clubs onto the board. I had four of a kind. I rolled my beer bottle back and forth in my hands, staring at the board. Fuck the suspicion, I was going for broke. Only three of us were left, the king, Elvis and me. I pushed my stack of chips onto the board. “All in,” I said. Sal looked at me with amusement in his eyes.
“What have you got in there, kid?” he asked, pointing at my cards.
“Only one way to find out,” I answered. He checked his pocket, scanned the board. Looked me in the eyes.
“No, to my reckoning, there is no way you have a strait, or a flush, or anything like that. Maybe you have another two, for three of a kind. What do you have there, thirty, forty thousand worth of chips?”
“About forty.”
“What the hell.” He pushed his chips into the middle of the table. Elvis folded. Sheila came in, smiled at the guards, took a seat beside me. She looked confused, looking for our chips. I pointed out the pile in the middle of the table. She stiffened, back tense with nervousness.
“All right, kid, lets see them.” I flipped over my pair of twos, making four of a kind. He burst out laughing. “You bet it all on twos?” he asked, tears streaming down his face. Kid, that takes guts.” He flipped over his cards, two aces. “My triplet aces taken down by a bunch of twos.” He smiled at me, no malice in his eyes.
“Sorry about that. That’s just a bad beat,” I said to him.
“No worries kid,” he said, shaking my hand. “That’s poker for you. Winning all the time would get dull. It’s karma, for taking down your three kings. Enjoy it”
I collected my chips, thanked everyone for the game. The guards watched me and Sheila the whole way out, but we left in one piece.
Splitting eighty thousand dollars is a lot of fun. Sheila insisted we split 50/50, which was fine with me. The Galatis were courteous in accepting their repayment, and I was able to check into a nicer motel for a few days.
“So, what are we going to do now?” I asked Sheila as I left the Oasis.
“I don’t know.�
She started unbuttoning her dress as she spoke, looking at me evenly. I could see she was not wearing a bra, the pale skin of her sternum glowed under the harsh fluorescent lights in the hotel. âThis money will keep me going for awhile. I might just go east, buy a little house and get a job as a waitress. Just exist, and be happy. That should be enough.â She shrugged out of her dress, stood naked before me. My pulse quickened for a second, but then she faded away before my eyes, leaving only her hand for a second, fingers waving a goodbye. I could see the dusty impressions her feet left, but only because I was looking for them.
I found an envelope, stuffed it with the rest of my winnings, and slid it under Jillyâs door. I had a life to go home to, family, and friends. I could get a job, maybe play a few games of poker here and there, Iâd be okay. I didnât really need a big score, getting out from under the thumbs of the Galatis was enough. Sheila was heading off to reinvent herself, armed with a serious wad of cash. But there needed to be at least one happy ending at the Desert Oasis, and I thought Jilly getting thirty grand would have to be it. I donât know if Jilly ever figured out who left her the money, but I hope she enjoyed it.
About the Author
Drew Beatty has been writing fiction
