The Investment Club

by Cooper, Doug

  I asked Les. “Where’d you learn to play?”

  “Church,” he said, waving off a hit to stand on his fourteen against my three. He had become quite the regular, often playing twice a day, once in the afternoon from about three to five and again in the evening from nine to eleven or so depending on his luck.

  Crystal looked up from her sixteen. “That’s my kind of church.” She played every night without fail, always sitting at first base if she could, wearing her green cap and some baggy casual outfit similar to the navy plaid flannel with oversized white V-neck and black wide leg poplin pants she was wearing on this occasion.

  Les nodded encouragingly at her comment and the sight of the ten under my three and the following nine from the shoe for a twenty-two. He said, “Actually, I perfected it at church. Learned it in college on the riverboats in New Orleans. At the church we used to have an annual casino night every year as a fundraiser, and I was the blackjack dealer.”

  I paid them both for their wins. “Ah so you been on my side of the table. Not as glamorous as it seems, is it?”

  “To be honest, it was one of my favorite nights of the year,” Les said. “I enjoyed interacting with parishioners in a casual setting when they let their guards down. Wish there had been more opportunities like that.” Wistfulness replaced his usual reticent demeanor. “There was one little old lady, Mrs. Simmons. Eighty-seven, I believe she was. Her husband had passed many years before. She came to mass every day. On casino night, she would sit at my table the entire time and tell stories about being a child during the depression, working in the factories during WWII, meeting her husband when she hit him on his bicycle with her car, just all kinds of rich, slice-of-life stuff. The woman could really spin a yarn. I think I learned more in one night than I would seeing her every other day of the year.”

  “Those old birds do love their gambling,” I said, dealing Crystal an ace-seven and Les two fives against my six. “We get a few bus loads a week from various senior centers. Gets quite lively.”

  “Maybe I need to start hanging out during the day more,” Crystal said. Staring at her hand and her bet of fifty dollars, she tapped one of the three stacks of eight green chips in front of her. She peered up from the table. “How would you guys play this? I always get a bit confused on these soft hands. I feel like I should double, but eighteen is a good hand.”

  I offered my opinion. “This is one of those hands that separate the serious players from the recreational. Easiest way to remember what to do on the soft hands is never soft double against a deuce, always soft double eighteen or less against a five or six, and when the dealer has a three or four, add the dealer card to your non-ace. If they total nine or more, double. Only exception is always double A-4 against a dealer four. That’s it.”

  Les went even deeper. “Against a six on soft eighteen, you profit about twenty-eight cents on every dollar bet for standing, nineteen cents for hitting, and thirty-eight cents for doubling. When you’re feeling weak with a fifty bet in front you, just ask yourself, would you rather net fourteen, nine-point-five, or nineteen dollars over the long haul?”

  Crystal stacked two green chips next to her bet. “Let’s gamble.”

  Next card was another ace. “Nineteen,” I said. “Improved by one.” Les already had three red pushed into the circle for his two fives. “Split or double?” I asked. Again demonstrating his prowess, he extended a single finger. “Doubling fives,” I said, pulling a seven from the shoe for him.

  Crystal groaned. “Ooh, sorry. You would’ve had twenty-one if I hadn’t hit.”

  “Still in good shape,” Les said. “Dealer busts forty two percent of the time with a six showing.”

  I turn over my downcard and reveal a queen. “Sixteen.”

  Crystal, still not convinced in her play, said, “Dealer would’ve busted with that seven.” She held her hand over her eyes. “I can’t watch.”

  Next card was another ace. “Seventeen,” I said. “Player wins on the double with nineteen.” I combined her four green in a single stack and awarded four green from the house tray, then replaced both stacks with two black chips. “Two black going out,” I called out to the pit boss. Crystal scraped the $200 toward her. I moved over to Les, bouncing my fist twice in front of his hand. “Seventeen’s a push.” Les pulled back his double bet, leaving the other three red in the circle for the next hand.

  “See, I cost you money,” Crystal said. “My bad.”

  “Not like I lost,” Les said, wrapping his hand around his chin and stroking his beard. “Better for you to win a hundred than me thirty.”

  “How about you?” I said to Crystal. “How’d this godforsaken game get its hooks into you?”

  “Pretty much out of boredom,” Crystal said, pushing three green into the bet circle. “Started playing video blackjack at work to kill time and realized odds were probably better playing at the tables than on a computer that shuffles every hand. Also it’s something I can do by myself to get out of the house without people harassing me like in a bar.”

  Penny plodded down the aisle stopping upon seeing Crystal and Les. She wore a baggy gray cashmere tunic that extended down to mid-thigh of her tight, black leather pants. The neckline had slid down her left arm exposing her shoulder and a thin, black bra strap. On her head, cocked slightly to the right, rested a black stovepipe baseball cap with “Life Is Beautiful” printed on the front in white, block lettering. A lean, twenty-something guy with a steel blue eight-pointed star tattooed on his neck and a man bun knotted on his head trailed behind her. She leaned on the table in the open spot between Les and Crystal. “Well hellooooo.” Her eyes were glassy and her speech loud and slurred.

  Not in much better shape, Neck Tattoo stumbled behind her, speaking with an Australian accent. “Babe, I thought we were doing shots.”

  Penny plopped her black leather tote on the chair and opened it. A mixture of fives, tens, twenties, and a few hundreds covered everything underneath. She swiped one of the hundreds, sending a twenty and five to the carpet without her noticing. Giving him the hundred, she said, “Go to the bar and order us drinks. I’ll be there in a second.” Neck Tattoo snagged the hundred and charged off without saying anything. Penny watched him walk away. “Doesn’t he have the cutest bum? That’s what he calls it: a bum.”

  “Nice hat,” Crystal said. “Let me guess, that’s his, too?”

  Penny adjusted the hat. “Isn’t it great? Met him over at Commonwealth. He said I should wear it since I’m so beautiful.” She giggled. “Don’t you just love these young guys? So cheesy and predictable, and best of all, they do whatever I tell them.”

  Les pointed to the ground. “You dropped some money.”

  “Oopsie,” Penny said, giggling again. “Guess I need to watch what I’m doing.” She picked up the money and threw it on the table. “Deal me in.” Moving her tote to the open chair next to Crystal, she sat down beside Les.

  “You all right tonight?” Crystal pushed the money down in Penny’s purse and fastened the clasp.

  “Red or green?” I asked, flattening her bills on the table.

  “Never better,” Penny said, swaying side to side as she focused on the table. “Green, please.” I slid one green chip to her. She pushed it toward the circle, leaving it on the edge. I moved it to the center. She closed one eye, touching her bet with her finger. “Sorry, my aim is a little off.”

  Around the horn I went: ten for Crystal, ace for Penny, nine for Les.

  Penny chanted, “Come on, ten, ten, ten, ten, ten.”

  Next cards off the top were eight for Crystal, another ace for Penny, a king for Les, and two on top for me. Crystal stayed on her eighteen. I moved to Penny. “You got two or twelve or you can split.”

  She scrunched her perfect nose and pushed out her lips. “Ugh, too many choices. What should I do?”

  In unison, Crystal and Max said, “Split.�
��

  Penny dug down in her tote and pulled out forty more dollars. “I guess I’m splitting ’em.”

  I changed the cash for a green and three red and separated the two aces, putting her original twenty-five-dollar bet behind one and the new green chip behind the other and sliding the remaining red to her. First card was a jack. “Twenty-one,” I said. Penny thrust her arms in the air and cheered, knocking her hat off. I dropped the next card. A queen. “Twenty-one again. Can’t get any better than that.”

  Penny stretched her arms toward me, palms up, flapping her fingers toward her. “Gimmee, gimmee, gimmee.”

  “Doesn’t count as blackjack when splitting aces. Got to wait to see what I get.” Les stayed with his nineteen. I turned over a four underneath my two. “Power six for the house,” I said. Next card was a five. Eleven. “Six or less,” I said, pulling the next card from the shoe. A five. “Reverse that. Need a six or higher now.” I peeled the next card off the top. It was an eight. I said, “Twenty-four. Too many. Everybody wins.”

  Penny pumped her fist in the air, barking. “Woo woo woo.”

  “Aren’t you supposed to go meet your friend?” Crystal reminded her.

  “He’ll wait, or he’ll come back. Either way, don’t care.”

  Crystal, always the eternal pessimist about people, said, “Or he left out the back with your money.”

  Max walked up and hung his blue blazer on the back of the chair at third base. Removing his wallet from the jacket, he climbed up in the chair and counted out ten one hundred dollar bills. “This table looks hot. Mind if I jump in?”

  Penny squinted at him. “Hey, we know you.”

  The previous light and friendly energy dissipated. Crystal rolled her eyes, pushing her chips to the center of the table. “Well that’s it for me.”

  “Don’t leave on my account,” Max said. “Let’s make some money.”

  Crystal glared at Max. “Don’t flatter yourself. I wouldn’t do anything because of you. I’m just tired of playing. Going to take my winnings and walk.”

  Les counted through his money, up ninety-five. “Yeah, I think I’ve had enough, too.”

  Penny cupped her hands around her mouth and spoke in a loud whisper toward Max. “I don’t think they like you too much.”

  Max looked at Crystal. “Come on, you’re not still mad about that one night, are you?” he said, picking up his money. “I don’t want to break up the party. I’ll go to another table.”

  “Too late for that,” Crystal said. “I’m done. I work too hard for my money to piss it away.” Picking up the $625 in chips I colored up for her, she pushed back from the table and walked toward the cage.

  Les said, “I got to get back and close up shop anyway. Catch you all later. Penny, you good to get home?”

  Neck Tattoo strolled up holding a drink in each hand. Penny said, “Think I’ll be just fine.” She held up two of the green chips she had won in each hand and pressed them against her eyes, turning toward Neck Tattoo. “Look, babe. I only have eyes for you.”

  Dow Jones Close: 16,302.77

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Date: Tuesday, January 18, 2011

  Dow Jones Open: 11,783.82

  Max stared at the job description. He had done tough jobs before, ones in which he didn’t have any training or experience, that he had lied about his qualifications to get. But this was the first time an employer had sought him out and offered him more, and that made him uncomfortable. He was used to being on the hunt, seeing what he wanted, devising a plan, and going after it. This time it wasn’t like he felt pressured to accept. He knew he could always say no. His boss made that very clear to him. She didn’t even use the word promotion. She told him to consider it “a change of pace, a growth opportunity that could lead to much more.”

  His eyes just kept scanning the words, attempting to pull the answer of what he should do from the words on the page.

  A casino marketing specialist plans and manages customer events by performing the following duties:

  Develops, prioritizes, and implements tactical project plans, including customer promotion programs and event meetings.

  Compiles estimated cost models, submits final budget, and tracks budget statistics.

  Assists in theme, demo, and exhibit space layout development for events.

  Sets up sales-meeting and press-event schedules, organizes materials, reviews transportation itineraries, and reserves venues and services.

  Coordinates registration and payment procedures, promotional advertising and mailings, and corporate sponsorship activities.

  It sounded important, and also really hard. Maybe that was his apprehension. He wasn’t completely convinced he could do it. He didn’t consider himself the corporate type, never even worked in an office before, let alone in a job that required prioritizing project plans, compiling cost models, and coordinating corporate activities.

  His boss had sensed his reluctance. She had told him, “Don’t let the words intimidate you. All job descriptions sound that way. They’re meant to scare away the people afraid to work and to entice those with big enough egos not smart enough to run away to apply.”

  Max came clean. “But I haven’t done any of these things.”

  She said, “Don’t worry about what you have done. Focus on what you’re willing to do.”

  That made it easy for Max, because the answer to that was always: whatever it takes. From his arrival in Vegas ten years ago, he had always done whatever it took. When that meant dressing like a leprechaun and working as a barker in front of O’Sheas in 110-degree heat, he did it. When it meant painting himself green and flinging himself down a slicked-up alley in a game of human bowling on St. Patrick’s Day, he did it. And when he got the opportunity to dress in a tuxedo on New Year’s Eve and masquerade as Agent 003½ to run the Big Six Wheel, he did that, too. While pretty much all of the marketing promotions Max was involved with were popular, which meant profitable for the casino, it was the last one that really got him noticed by the upper management.

  Max had learned early in his time in Vegas that while egos drove the casino business, there really was no room for ego either. It was all about profit. Pride and vanity might be the fuel, but profitability was the destination. That was probably why he excelled. He had never had the luxury of having a big ego. For as long as he could remember, he had just been surviving. If sacrificing some of his dignity triggered a few laughs, then at least he was in control of what was happening. Better to hold the hose than have to sidestep the stream.

  Another early lesson Max learned was that the Big Six, also known as the Wheel of Fortune or Money Wheel, was a total sucker’s bet. While one could argue, since the house always had the advantage, all bets in a casino were sucker’s bets, The Big Six was more suckerish than any others. It stood by the front entrance of pretty much all casinos—red flag number one—and the dealer, usually an attractive, well-endowed female—red flag number two—spun a vertical wheel with a limited number of easy to understand bets—red flag number three. The more enticing and accessible the game and the easier to understand and bet, the deeper the casino already had its hand in your pocket. The spaces on the wheel were associated with one, two, five, ten, twenty dollars, or two special symbols, typically a joker and the casino logo. The number of spaces with each symbol determined the probability of winning and the odds. All of which were heavily slanted in the house favor ranging from 44 percent for the one dollar bet with only a one to one payout all the down to less than 2 percent for the casino logo with a forty to one return, and the house edge for those same bets starting at 11 percent and skyrocketing up to 24 percent. Just an absolute scam. Hence the positioning by the front and the babe doing the spinning. Blind them with beauty and beat them before they knew what hit them.

  But on New Year’s Eve, with Max at the wheel, no one seemed to care. They were
lining up five-deep. And for what? They could’ve walked another fifty feet and thrown their money down on red or black on roulette for close to one-to-one odds and increased their probability by almost two percent. But it didn’t matter. They waited; they pushed; they shoved. Just for a chance to throw their money down and let Agent 003½ decide their fate.

  Max had lobbied his boss for a month to give him the opportunity to run the Big Six on New Year’s Eve. She refused, saying people expected to see a beautiful woman running the wheel, and they weren’t about to break tradition on New Year’s Eve. Max easily shot that one down, citing example after example of how New Year’s was all about breaking tradition to gain an advantage over their competition. Every excuse she had, Max had convincing counters. In situations such as these, he could be very persuasive, because he knew just how far to push people without backing them into a corner. Just at the breaking point, he would back away and wait for the next opportunity to make another run.

  The conversation about New Year’s Eve with his boss went on for weeks. Max could sense her position shifting. He decided to press. He just needed to wait for his chance. It had to be perfect. It had to be a situation where they would be alone, so others wouldn’t view the boss as soft. He would need to have enough time to make his case; yet the meeting had to seem casual and not orchestrated. Any miscalculation or misstep could sabotage the ultimate goal.

  Max got his opportunity two weeks before New Year’s. He was in the break room by himself with ten minutes to go on his break when his boss came in. Max pretended to be distracted and not see her. She waved her hand in his line of sight. “Earth to Max, come in Max. Everything OK?”

  “Oh, hey. Sorry. Just thinking about New Year’s.”

  “Not this again. We’ve been over this.”

  Max stood up to make his final pitch. “Just hear me out. If you don’t like this, then I’ll never mention it again.”

  “OK. I’ll give you five minutes but that’s it. No more.” She sat down at the table.