Ride the Lucky

by Kendric Neal

  He visited the men's room and there was an attendant inside; he hadn't seen one of those in years. The man was European, in his late 50s, and looked more like a university professor than a men's room attendant. He wore a tux and expensive shoes polished to a high luster. Neely nodded thanks as he handed him a fresh linen towel to dry his hands. This was an atmosphere where everyone conducted themselves with quiet reserve, even the washroom attendant. “Good luck, monsieur,” the man said as he left.

  Neely went back to the room and felt a wave of nervous energy, suddenly worried he didn't know what he was doing and they'd soon find out. He didn't belong here, he was just a web exec from North Carolina—he had no family fortune, no company percentages, no windfall from Aunt May, no anthracite mines, no company patents, no skyrocketing stock options, no bevy of mistresses or exotic sports cars gathering dust in his garage. He calmed himself and focused on the poker table across the room. It'd been the first thing he'd looked for when Cara had introduced him, he knew some high-end casinos felt the game too working class for their clientele and preferred Baccarat and Trente et Quarante. He was gratified to find what he was looking for, though there was no Hold'Em. It wasn't a surprise, that was an upstart in the poker world and this place wouldn't have a game that hadn't been around at least a century. Stud would be fine with him, though, the rest was just window dressing. He strode to where a few guests were watching. There was an empty chair and he wondered at the protocol for claiming it when the croupier motioned to him with a raised eyebrow and he nodded. He sensed the man knew who he was already, which was both gratifying and unsettling. Of course he knew, how else to provide impeccable service? But it also meant the quiet anonymity of the room was just an illusion.

  “Hello there. Where you from?”

  Neely looked up at the friendly face across from him. Ruddy complexion, ginger mustache, thinning red hair and twinkling blue eyes. Even encased in a tux, he looked like a formidable physical presence, used to hard work and struggle. He was Australian by accent, but there was a trace of another accent lurking underneath which Neely couldn't identify.

  “North Carolina,” Neely answered, emphasizing his soft-spoken Southernness, something he automatically did when he met new competitors.

  “Oh, really? Whereabouts?”

  “Charlotte.”

  “Beautiful town, beautiful town.”

  Neely figured he'd never been. “And you, sir?”

  “Oh, Johannesberg, Manila, Taipei and Hong Kong, but always back to Perth.”

  “All roads lead to Perth, I take it?”

  “No, that's just the trouble. No roads lead to Perth,” he said with a wink. “Damnedest out of the way place in the world.”

  The others around the table listened, mainly watching Neely since he was the unknown. He felt good, this was familiar to him now. The bit of conversation in the beginning was a common gambit, meant to distract, draw out, assess… Neely's first hand was a bust, junk on top of junk. He bet the first two rounds anyway, wanting to watch how things went. He was curious how a game with no limits would proceed. It didn't take long to see that players didn't take undue advantage. There was clearly a code to be followed to maintain a valued membership in the Emerald Room.

  “You play in them Indian casinos down your neck of the woods?” the Australian asked.

  Neely gave him a smile, recognizing the escalation in engagement. “I do, they run a good show down there, the Naccahaw. And you, sir? I take it you learned to play in the outback?”

  The gentleman smiled. “No, it's a racket down there, son. I learned in the casinos at Monaco. Daddy was fond of traveling.”

  “He must have taught you well.”

  “He taught me how to lose. Winning I had to learn on my own.”

  Neely drew the beginnings of a straight on the next hand. He bet $1500 and called at $4000. Three players dropped out as Neely noted their faces. The second round was too early to drop, he thought, it marked them as conservative, an admirable strategy until it became predictable. After two more rounds, Neely was nursing a possible outside straight. Not a strong position, but not a weak one either. He had to get used to the higher stakes and he was still taking his measure of the Aussie. Neely opened the penultimate round with $5000 and two more players dropped out.

  “Well now, look at this, drawing dead and still raising,” the Aussie said. “How do you expect to beat a set with the dream you're chasing?”

  “I remain at heart, sir, an optimist.”

  “So was Robert E. Lee.”

  “Are you familiar with the words of Mahatma Gandhi?”

  “Little brown man? Wore a diaper? Think I know him.”

  “'Speak only if it improves upon the silence.' Wise words from a wise man. Freed India, you know…”

  The Aussie grinned, while the others around the table smiled. “Why, I believe I've been insulted.”

  “No, sir, I'm just sharing a philosophy with which you may be unacquainted.”

  “Tell me, do they still have duels down there in the South?”

  “Why don't you come see us and find out?”

  The Aussie grinned again and took half his drink in one gulp. Neely felt his usual martini too obvious for current surroundings and ordered a Blanton's Gold bourbon neat. He carried his genteel act as a gambit, as there were always players who couldn't help but associate Southern manners with those of a dignified loser. At this point in a game, the psychological warfare was at its most intense and every advantage mattered. “Well, now, our Southern friend has displayed boldness. Here to teach all of us a lesson, are you?”

  “No, sir, just meaning to enjoy a pleasant diversion among friends.”

  “Spoken by a man whose great-grandpappy owned slaves.”

  “You're misinformed, sir. My great-grandpappy was a barber.”

  The dealer slipped their last up card in place. It was obvious to all the Queen Neely drew wasn't any help to his straight. Still he had high card and opened at $13,000.

  “Well, now! You're a brash Southerner is what you are. Look at that, you've driven everyone off. What shall I do with you?”

  “I'd say it hardly makes a difference.”

  “Well, well, the gentleman comes girded for battle, I like that. You know, America, Australia, we're all descended from England's failed nobility. And we're still a bit prickly about it, hm?”

  “A Southerner never forgets.”

  “No, I suppose he doesn't. An Aussie just gets drunk. In.” The man called and the last card was dealt face-down. A deuce. No help to Neely whatsoever. He had nothing. The table looked to him to bet and without hesitating he called out $16,000.

  The Aussie eyed him shrewdly. “Suh, all gentility aside, I'd say you just tipped your hand. If you'd hit your straight you would have bet more, so you're sitting on nothing.”

  “Then by all means, call me on it,” Neely said, holding his stare.

  The Aussie sized him up a moment longer, “Being a Southerner, you're used to losing, but you prefer to do it grandly, do you?” Neely looked at him, saying nothing. The man was hoping for a response, Neely knew, that would tell him whether to raise or not. When he didn't get it, he called and laid out his cards. Nothing, Ace high. Neely had nothing, King high. The Aussie won. “Well, I guess I got lucky you didn't get that 5 you wanted so badly.”

  “My compliments to your play, sir. Taking a pot with nothing is a sign of great fortitude.” A few other players reacted to their sparring, but Neely chastised himself for falling back on familiar strategies when he'd meant to be unpredictable. He'd let his own nervousness and urgency, and perhaps the Aussie's bluster, drive him into bluffing big when he'd intended to do just the opposite. It required a change of plan, he'd make it look like it was last night all over again, that bluffing was his forte, that he was unlikely to change his strategy, and then he would wait for the right opportunity to run against the grain.

  Neely lost steadily over the next hour.

  He was still tak
ing his measure of the competition and it became clear that his usual method of winning wasn't unusual among this crowd. The stakes were high, with pots often going to $100,000 or more, and yet there were several players who continued to stay when they should have folded. Neely stole glances at them when he could, he knew such play was something he usually saw only in the truly addicted or the truly desperate. He remembered one man he'd played with once in an L.A. card club—Neely would have bet the guy was having his last fling on Earth before killing himself, it was the only way to explain his mercurial play. Neely found out the next day he was right and was curious why he felt no responsibility. Probably out of a sense of envy, the man had had a great night.

  This time, though, the faces he looked at revealed a different emotion driving them. They were wealthy, Neely knew, extremely wealthy, but it wasn't the kind of wealth they'd earned. They'd either lucked out or inherited it, and they threw it around, hoping something would happen, wondering if they could get rid of it, but most of it returned, that was their problem. They were deathly tired of it. Tired of it and addicted to it both, the way Neely was with gambling. He knew he was looking at different shades of himself, but it still captivated him. He'd never met people addicted to money before, he was surprised to find he felt sorry for them.

  As for his own diminishing fortunes, he knew he was down $140K. That was just the tally he kept in his head, he had no intention of checking. It didn't worry him, as he was in an enviable position. He secretly hoped he'd lose out and go home, bankrupt but luck run out and ready to make amends and start again. He had less to lose than anyone there. He had a family to return to and he'd begun to miss Hope more and more; he thought about her in idle moments of play and had to drive those thoughts away as he knew she was suffering. It was a different world than this one, and he had to keep his wits about him to traverse this one. He couldn't afford distraction.

  The Aussie kept up his banter, no longer focused on him, but on other new players and some players who'd been in the game before. The more he talked, the less Neely liked him, as he was obviously one of those people who thought their words could effect any change they wanted. He used them like weapons, drawing blood here, lashing knuckles there, all to keep the opposition off-guard and reeling. Neely had no idea if it worked with weaker players, but he knew it was wasted breath with the stronger ones. There was a Belgian guy across the table, somewhere in his late 40s, whom Neely came to regard as the best player of the bunch. He spoke little, bet rarely, and sipped gently at a cream-colored drink Neely didn't recognize. He had a goatee and it blended in an attractive mix of black and gray with his close-cropped hair. He looked like an educated man and had an elegance of movement that Neely admired. His nails were polished, his manners impeccable, and he even took a moment to exchange a fond greeting to a woman Neely took to be his wife. She was of similar age, beautiful, elegant, and composed. Neely watched the gentleman pull her close and whisper something in her ear that made her smile. Neely would have given anything to know what it was.

  The Aussie, meanwhile, just got louder and drunker. Neely no longer answered his queries—he knew he was safe now in ignoring them. Neely had a dozen comebacks to the man's brusque parries, but felt he'd do better by not using them. Besides, the Aussie's fortunes had taken a turn for the worse while Neely's had recently begun to improve. Neely figured the man was down around $200,000, while Neely was steadily winning now. He was going make or break in The Emerald Room, this was his chosen crucible, he wasn't concerned with the details. He was there to test his luck, and he was going to ride it all the way this time, no matter which direction. If he ended too deep in the hole, well, so be it…he'd beg, he'd go to therapy, he'd work overtime, maybe it'd be a cause to rally behind. It probably wouldn't work, but at least the crazy ride would be over and he could find his pride again. But if he won, well…he had vague notions of leaving his family something on top of recovering the funds he'd squandered, giving them some cushion to ease their transition into a Neely-less world. Because he was recognizing his view of a future beyond tonight had taken on a fatalistic hue—that if the lucky streak was real, his problems, his real problems, were just beginning, as he had a feeling in his gut The Neely Thomas Goodbye and Good Luck! Tour was a one-off situation and he was on the final leg.

  Neely looked up as he felt someone brush his elbow. The seat next to him had been recently vacated and he was surprised to see Cara sit down in it now. She gave him her warmest smile and whispered in his ear, “How are you doing?”

  He wasn't sure if she meant in the game or in life. Maybe the thoughts he'd just been having played on his face. “Pretty good. I'm up for the evening.”

  “Carpe Diem.”

  “The hell with the day. Carpe Noctem…”

  She smiled and nudged one of his stacks of plaques. “I'll say.”

  “Are you working or playing?”

  She rolled her eyes. “In a casino you're always working.”

  Neely looked up and saw the Aussie watching his talk with Cara. Neely had hardly spoken to anyone in the last half-hour while the Aussie had talked to everyone. “Got your little helper now, do you?” the Aussie said. “Let's see if she's good luck.” With that, the Aussie raised the current bet by $25,000. Neely didn't hesitate before matching and raising another $50,000. He knew the guy by now, the man would throw in on a whim and Neely was holding a diamond flush.

  The dealer passed the last card out—two other players remained besides them, it was going to be a rich pot. Cara nudged him in the ribs and he let her see the new card. He hadn't shown her the hole card, so she didn't know what he had for sure. The table didn't either, as he had established a firm reputation, at great expense it's true, of being a serious bluffer. He'd set things up with the Aussie, and to him this was the greatest joy of poker, taking down the big game after a long and slow pursuit. There were many different styles of playing, and the Aussie's brash and confrontational approach was a common one. Jokes, jibes, jeers, whatever it took to provoke someone into playing along when they shouldn't. Even here it worked, the guy had coerced the Singapore couple into a showdown that had cost them over two hundred. They left the table shortly after that, not looking too upset, probably not something they'd lose any sleep over.

  Neely had paid attention though. He'd rebuffed the Aussie's attempts to goad him, but had started playing spontaneously and erratically to give the opposite impression. He'd slipped the waitress a note with her last $100 tip to serve him iced tea in his bourbon glass, and he'd loosened his collar a bit. He'd developed the ability from nights at the Naccahaw poker tables of making himself overheat when he wanted to. He could hold his leg a certain way to cause pain, concentrate on the pain, and cause a sheen of sweat to appear on his face. It worked well, other players were always on the lookout for such things and it made them play bolder. He'd spent the last hour working the Aussie up for this, knocking back iced tea, showing himself to be risk-taker, a bluffer, and a small town businessman who might just be in over his head. Cara sitting by his side had concerned him at first, that hadn't been part of his plan, but he could tell the Aussie felt some jealousy and that would work in his favor.

  Neely's only concern was that most of his flush was out there for the table to see. Of course, with a flush, like a straight, you either had it or you didn't, but his track record of bluffing had stood him good stead and he could tell that was the Aussie's suspicion now. Cara had come at the perfect time, he hadn't committed yet and her arrival may have been the deciding factor in Neely's appearing to go for another big bluff. Wanting to impress a girl, the world's oldest motivator. Maybe the Aussie wanted to impress her more, he bet $80,000 on the next and final card, which Neely took his time fretting over. One other player remained, a Spanish woman who seemed to take the game more seriously than anybody despite the million dollar's worth of jewels she wore. Neely went in, then raised $100,000, which caused the first involuntary gasp he'd heard in the Emerald Room. The Aussie beamed, as Ne
ely knew he would, while the Spanish woman dropped out angrily. The Aussie called and raised $150,000, and that caused Neely his first moment of nerves. He stared at the man's bright blue eyes, dancing in the challenge, daring Neely to go on. He had no choice now, but for the first time he had to consider whether he'd miscalculated and the Aussie might have the stronger hand. It was possible, he had three Hearts showing and one was a 10. If he had a flush, he'd win on high card. Neely had to call, he knew he had to call, and he tried to remind himself he'd set the Aussie up to do just exactly this. If the man had nothing he'd behave the same way, that was just part of it. He'd used the Aussie's ego against him, letting him develop a flawed impression of Neely's strategy and letting it give him false confidence. You never knew with cards, though. Neely might have simply chosen the wrong moment to push back.

  Neely called and raised what was left on his account, $67,000. He'd had no idea he still had that much. That would clean him out and be the end of his Emerald Room days. He didn't care, he'd gone this far and would take it to the end. He was sick of the Aussie and if their showdown had to come now, so be it. Only one of them was walking away from the table and he was fine either way. The Aussie scrutinized him and Neely knew he'd won. It was the first time the Aussie had considered the possibility Neely wasn't bluffing, that's how sure he'd been. Underneath all the bluster, he was a shrewd man, and Neely guessed he wasn't a man who'd inherited most of his wealth but had won it through hard work and risk-taking. Clearly he was used to winning and that confidence had multiplied, but he was looking at an unassuming man now who might not be quite as unassuming as he thought. Always the biggest mistake of the great and powerful was underestimating a rival. The Aussie called, thankfully silent for the first time, and waited for Neely to turn up his cards.

  The table reacted again, Cara letting out an actual squeal, as Neely revealed his flush. Neely was matter-of-fact, knowing he had him, not wanting to gloat, not wanting to make the scene any bigger than it was. He let the cards do the dirty work. They were objective, and there was nothing to be gained in pushing a man with his back against a wall. The Aussie flipped over three Aces and laughed good-naturedly. “Great fun! Great fun! Thought you were having a go with me. Turned out you really had something. Wonderful,” the man said, then turned to Cara. “Stick around, darling. You seem to be good luck for him.”