When I finally ran out of money and had to leave my machine, I hooked up with the professor, who explained it to me: “The doctor runs a syndicate. When the jackpot gets up to like $150,000, he gets his team to come play the machines. He keeps them supplied with money until one of the machines hits. Then he gets 50 percent of the payoff. It costs him like 20 grand, but he stands to make 80 to a 100 grand when he wins—and he will win if everyone on that bank is on his team. But if there are other people playing that bank, even one other person, then his money is not guaranteed. The poor bastard just spent 20 grand for nothing. Be careful, the syndicates’ll hurt you.”
“Is this legal?” I asked. “Does the casino know about it?”
The professor said, “They sure don’t do anything about it. There are at least four syndicates that work this casino. The doctor, the dentist, the plumber, and the Russian.”
“The Russian?”
“That one owns a car dealership. You play here long enough and you’ll see them all. Just be careful.”
Whatever.
I don’t have time to worry about that when I’m gambling. I am the bus driver. I am a syndicate of one. If the doctor, the dentist, the plumber, or even the Russian wants a piece of me, they know where to find me.
If I can brave a hurricane, I can brave some damned syndicate.
I’m from Carol City.
When I finally left the casino, I found that someone had spray painted a giant black X on my car door. When I looked at it carefully, I made out a smaller letter in front of it, R.
Rx.
With all the security cameras here, how could this happen?
At any rate, I got the message. This was my “medicine” from the doctor.
It really pissed me off, but after that I paid the proper respect to the syndicates. I would get up when they told me to get up and go to another bank of machines. Carol City boy or not, I didn’t need that kind of trouble.
I just wanted to gamble.
A GAMBLER’S PRAYER IS ANSWERED
13.
You want to be a gambler? Here’s what you’ve got to learn: Cards have no value and no memory.
And yet I kept on getting the stinking unsuited 3-7 in Texas Hold’em. Like the good, patient player that I am, I would toss that garbage away as soon as I caught it.
But the thing is … see, the flop kept turning up 7s and 3s.
One time it hit 3-3-7-7, and people are winning with ace high, or ace-king, and I was kicking myself, thinking that was my freaking hand and I folded it. If I had just played the 3-7, I would have won that hand with a full house. Sevens full of 3s. It was really starting to bother me.
But you can’t give in to that kind of erratic thinking.
So, disciplined player that I am, I got up from the table and got a hot dog from the café. Cleared my head. When I came back to the table, I’m catching these 3-7s again, tossing them, and they would have won if I had kept them. Frustrating. So I said to myself, Screw discipline, let’s go with instinct.
The next time I caught a 3-7, I kept it. I got beat.
I caught it again, kept it, and got beat again.
In the next hour, I was dealt 3-7 like six more times, and I kept it every time, and I got beat every time, which is what is supposed to happen when you play with crap like that. You’re supposed to get beat. The odds of winning with crap like that are freaking impossible. So I went back to my disciplined card playing. I tossed every crappy 3-7 that I caught.
And every time I tossed it, I would have won had I kept it.
Like I said, it’s frustrating. There are days like that.
There are too many days like that.
Then there are days when you keep catching ace-king or ace-ace, and you bang the board, raising like crazy, and you lose every time. You know how it is when you play against chasers. They don’t understand the game. They don’t know that they should fold. You’ve got aces, so you’re beating them on the flop. You’re beating them on the turn. But they catch you on the river. Then they’re so apologetic when they see what you had. They tell you that had they known how good your hand was, they would have folded. They tell you all this as they rake in the big pot they caught with the weaker hand (a 3-7, for example) that improved enough to beat your ace-ace or ace-king. Damn chasers. You just want to strangle them. They ruin the game with their erratic, inelegant play.
In Texas Hold’em, ace-ace is what you pray to have in your hand. Pocket aces. Pocket rockets. Bullets. Give them to me all day long, brother! I’ll take them. You’re probably going to win if you have the aces in your hand. But if you can’t get pocket aces, then you want aceking. In Texas Hold’em, we have a special name for ace-king. Big Slick we call it. It is big and it is slick, and it wins most of the hands that it is in, especially if it is suited. But there are those days when it doesn’t win at all. There are those days when the chasers keep killing you.
There are too many of those days.
You begin to question God. How can there be a God if a hand like this can lose?
Like I said, cards have no value—until the last card is dealt.
And cards have no memory; just because some chaser got lucky with a crappy hand ten times in a row does not mean that it will happen for you. Cards can’t remember that far back.
Cards can’t remember at all.
Only gamblers can.
Gamblers remember every good hand they had that lost. Gamblers remember every penny they’ve lost. Gamblers remember every penny they could have had if they’d never started gambling in the first place.
14.
You get to seeing that certain numbers are linked.
For instance, in the build-your-own-lotto machines, 7s seem to come with 3s or 9s. And 9s come with 8s or 7s. Threes come with 7s or 2s. Twos come with 6s or 3s. Fours come with 6s. Fives come with 8s and sometimes 0s and 1s, but not often enough to invest your money in it; don’t play 5s with 0s or 1s unless you’re eager to lose your money.
If you play these machines long enough, you will see that I’m right about these pairings. This “coincidence” occurs on every machine in every Indian casino in South Florida. The same pairings. The problem is trying to figure out when to play them.
I’m sitting there playing 9s and 8s and suddenly it comes up 9s and 7s. That’s not nice.
Then I move to 6s and 4s and it comes 6s and 2s. I hate when they tease me with the Off Pair like that.
One strategy is to ignore the machine and keep on playing the numbers you have. Sometimes when you do that, they send the Off Pair at you like five or six times. It will come 6-2, then 6-2-6-2, then 6-2-6. Then sometimes 6-2-6-2-6, which is a bummer because if you had been playing it, you would have made a minimum of $450 on a quarter play.
One day, the Off Pair kept coming and I ignored it and then it came, 6-2-6-2-6-2—a coverall—minimum payout is $5,000 for a quarter play. That is not nice. Not nice at all. That has happened to me too many times to count. That is the only thing that will send me home, or to another casino. When they do that to you, you know that the camera is on you and they’re up there in the control room sending you the Off Pair just to make you miserable.
I’m not being paranoid. Think about it. I’m playing 6-4-6-4-6-4 and the machine hits 6-2-6-2-6-2?
They’re watching me and laughing their asses off upstairs.
The other strategy works sometimes, but be careful because it can drive you crazy. The other strategy is to switch to the Off Pair when they keep teasing you with it. The problem here, of course, is that as soon as you switch to 6-2, they will send the Old Pair, 6-4, at you. Sometimes they’ll send it in big like 6-4-6, or even 6-4-6-4. Now you’re thinking of how much money you could have had if you had not switched your number. Now what do you do? Switch back? If you do, then they’ll send the Off Pair at you again … 6-2-6. The bastards. Oh, they are up there laughing at you now.
The only real good option when they’re upstairs playing the Off Pair/Old Pair prank on you is t
o stop playing. Take your money out. Switch to a new machine. Or even better, take a break for a few minutes. Go eat something. Go play poker. Go take a pee. Then come back later and throw the Old Pair at them. But some nights, when the casino is crowded, it’s difficult to find an unoccupied machine. If you leave your machine, you’re stuck not playing at all for the rest of the night. So you’re left with the choice of playing with a prank machine or not playing at all. If you’re a gambler, you have no real choice. You have to play. You have to do it. You have to put every penny you have into a machine that you know is going to drive you crazy as it picks your pockets clean.
You sit there thinking about your empty pockets. Your empty bank account. The lie you are going to tell your wife. You think about where you can get more money to gamble so you can get some of the lost money back.
If you are going to be a gambler, here is what you have to learn: Gambling is the most addictive addiction of them all because there is never a reason to stop.
If you are winning, then you want to win more. Your seat is hot. Who wants to leave money on the table?
If you are losing, you have to get your money back. You can’t leave. You can’t.
If you leave, it’s only to get more money and return.
If you have enough money, let’s say infinity gazillion dollars squared, you will stay at the machine forever. They will find you a week later, dead from starvation, facedown on the machine. Your finger will be glued to the PLAY button.
This is not a bad thing.
This is every gambler’s dream.
What a great way to go.
15.
Some people are crazy. They play the quick pick.
They don’t believe that numbers are linked.
These are the same people who probably believe that there’s no one upstairs controlling the numbers. Teasing you. Taunting you. These are the ones who just hit the QUICKPICK button and let her rip. Sometimes they hit jackpots, and I hear them say, “It was a quick pick. I just couldn’t think what number to play. Oh, it’s all random anyway. One number is as good as any other,” and I just want to kill them. Quick pick. You just go ahead and push the QUICKPICK button and see how fast you lose your money. Go ahead and play quick pick if you’re eager to go broke. Luck is not random. Luck can be studied and learned. You can make friends with luck.
There are the people who believe in playing solid numbers. All 6s or all 0s or all 9s. 6-6-6-6-6-6. 0-0-0-0-0-0. 9-9-9-9-9-9. You get the picture. I used to be one of them. They hit like that sometimes, too. They hit like that a lot, actually, but I don’t trust it. You play all 6s and it comes all 3s. You switch to 3s and it comes all 7s. They will drive you crazy like that.
No, I had to give that up. I was going crazy. I started watching the machines. I began to see the patterns. Sevens with 3s; 6s with 4s; 9s with 8s. Like that.
I noticed something else, too. No one, or scarcely anyone, was playing it like that.
I started thinking, Now see, 7-3-7-3-7-3 just came up on that guy’s machine and he’s playing all 7s, and that’s when it hit me. The game is rigged. The Indians can’t have people hitting the machines all the time. If they send out numbers like 6-6-6-6-6-6 and 5-5-5-5-5-5, the odds are pretty good that almost every time they launch it, someone somewhere in the casino will hit.
They have to send numbers that excite people in order to keep them playing, but at the same time they have to be numbers that almost no one is playing.
I watched the machines and I saw the patterns, not just at one casino but at four. It was the same thing no matter where I was. All the local ones are like that. Sevens with 3s or 9s. Nines with 8s or 7s, and so on.
The first time I hit, it was a coverall on 7s and 3s—$5,000 for a quarter play. The second time, I hit on 3s and 7s. $5,000 again for a quarter play. Then I hit countless First-Fives—9-8-9-8-9_, 7-3-7-3-7_, 7-9-7-9-7_, 6-2-6-2-6_—for a variety of amounts ranging from the minimum $450 quarter play to the big $3,600 two-dollar play.
My biggest hit ever was with 2s and 3s.
I’m sitting at the casino on a bad day. They have beat me until I’m the drum. My ATM receipts are thicker than my wallet. I put in my last $20 and she bumps it up to $100. So I play her big, 10 bucks a pop. The next thing I know I’m down to like $20. I say what the heck—they always do this to me. This is crap. I give up. I swear I will never gamble again (for the hundredth time). This casino is for the birds. Why do I do this? Why do I come here and spend a thousand dollars a day? If I have a thousand dollars, why not put it on Cash-3 or Play-4? If I put it on Play-4, I have a one-in-10,000 chance of winning $5,000. If I just randomly put it on Play-4, I have a one-in-10,000 chance? Then what am I doing here playing this one-in-ten million con job? At least the state lottery is legitimate. This place is run by Indians. This place is rigged. This place is a scam. These people are Indian givers.
By this time I am talking out loud, as we sometimes do. The lady next to me is banging her machine and nodding her head in agreement. “It’s a rip off,” she says. “Why do we do it?”
“Because we are sick,” I answer.
“Because we’s gamblaz.”
“You got that right.”
“Why not just mail the Injuns a check? It’ll save on gas comin’ up here.”
“Why not just burn our money? We can use it to cook when they turn off our electricity.”
“You still got electricity?”
“Yeah. But no water.”
She chuckles. “Why don’t the Injuns just set up direct deposit and take it straight out our paychecks?”
“Why don’t they use needles and suck it straight out of our veins?”
“All the money we dump in this place. They should give us somethin’.” “When are they gonna give some of it back?”
The lady looks at me and smiles. She’s an older lady with a dark, cheerful face. Late 60s. Gray hair in a bun. A simple dress. Plump like a church lady. She resembles my mother in that way. She has no business being in here, I’d like to think. Gamblers come in all forms, but only two types: the lucky and the broke. She looks like the broke kind. There’s a lot of that kind around here. Too many of that kind.
“Excuse me, sir,” the church lady says to me, freeing her finger from the PLAY button for a brief second to point out something on my screen. “Why you playing 2-3-2-3-2 … 4?”
She’s right. On my screen I have 6-2-6-2-6-2, 2-6-2-6-2-6, 3-2-3-2-3-2, and 2-3-2-3-2 … 4. Somehow I accidentally brushed the screen and changed the last digit. Gamblers are quick to notice patterns.
“Thank you,” I say to the observant lady, and I touch the screen, resetting my number to 2-3-2-3-2 … 3. Then, in resignation—because I am depressed, because I have been here too long, because I am tired of smelling like cigarette smoke, because it is time to go home and lick my wounds again—I hit the MAX BET button, $20 per push.
Then I press PLAY.
(Why not give it all back to them in one push? Love me or leave me. I’ll be sitting at Gamblers Anonymous tomorrow anyway. Goddamned Indians. Give some of it back!)
The balls roll across the screen one by one in magical brilliance.
2 … 3 … 2 … 3 … 2 … … … . 3!
“Nice.”
“Holy-holy-holy-Lord-God-Awmighty,” the lady next to me shouts above the joyous music of victory piping from my suddenly blinking machine. Ping-ping-ping-ping-ping! “The Injuns done paid you back!”
I feel my stress level fall for the first time in what seems like years, though it has only been two weeks. The truth is, two weeks ago I hit $6,998 in a royal flush. Since then I have sunk close to $8,000 into these machines. But this one is different. This one is a MAX PAY. This one is a hundred grand. One hundred thousand dollars. Say it with me, brothers! This one is the big payday I have prayed for. Thank you, Lord. Not even a gambler like me can blow this one. “To hell with the Indians,” I say, pumping the air with my fist. “I’m rich!”
Ping-ping-ping-ping-ping!
I push the beggars away (gamblers are such beggars, always asking for “lucky” money when you win), but I tip $500 to the floor person who cashes me out then brings me the IRS form and the money ($98,000 in check, $2,000 in cash), and I lay $500 on the church lady because if she hadn’t caught my mistake when she did … I hate to think about it. I tip $50 to the bathroom attendant, who warns, “Now sneak out of here before someone tries to rob you.” I tip $50 to security for walking me out to my car. I’m rich. I’m rich. I can’t believe how rich I am. This is more than triple what I make in a year even with seniority, working permanent overtime duty, working field trip duty, and my two permanent part-time jobs driving tour buses on weekends and doing security every other night at the nuclear power plant—all of which I have done and still do to make enough extra money to fund my gambling.
I’m rich. I’m rich. I’m rich. See? I told you these numbers are paired. Threes with 7s; 9s with 8s; 6s with 4s; 2s with 6s; and good-God-Awmighty, 2s with freaking 3s!!!
I’m rich. I’m rich.
Now I can pay all of my bills. Now I can pay all of the people I owe. My big sisters. My pastor. My supervisor. The eighth-graders from the afternoon bus. Now my wife can be treated the way she deserves to be treated. Like a queen. Now I can take care of my ailing mother. Now I can come to the casino anytime I like and play for as long as I like. Oh, what fun I’m going to have. I’m rich. I’m rich. I can gamble without guilt. I can spend days at the machines if I like. I can run my own syndicate if I want. I’m rich.
I have so much money they can never take it away.
HORSE SENSE
Horse sense is the thing a horse has which keeps it from betting on people.
—W.C. Fields
16.
(A Joke)
A shabbily dressed guy walked up to a casino entrance one morning and greeted a dealer just getting off the night shift. He said to the dealer: “Brother, could you spare a 20? Things are tough. I need money for food and gas.”
The dealer was a compassionate guy, and he was about to reach into his wallet and give the guy the money, but then he said: “Wait. I recognize you from in there. You’re a gambler. If I give you this 20, you’re just gonna go inside the casino and blow it all gambling.”
All or Nothing Page 4