Deadman's Bluff

by James Swain

  “Where are you?” his son asked.

  “In the middle of nowhere,” Valentine said. “Scalzo is out of the picture. Case closed.”

  “No, it’s not,” Gerry said.

  Valentine put his coffee cup down. He sensed his son knew something that he didn’t. “What do you mean? Why isn’t the case over?”

  “Because DeMarco just won the World Poker Showdown,” Gerry said.

  “You’re kidding me, right?”

  “Afraid not. He started out losing a few hands, and everyone at the table was equal in chips. DeMarco looked beatable. Then he came back strong and wiped his opponents out.”

  “Was he cheating?”

  “No, Pop. There was a new dealer at the table and a new deck of cards. DeMarco played the final table on the square. It was really something to watch.”

  Gloria came out of the ladies’ room looking pale. She sat next to him at the bar and ordered a sparkling water. Valentine asked, “What do you mean, Gerry?”

  “DeMarco took a lot of chances, even bluffed a couple of times. I hate to say it, Pop, but he’s a helluva poker player.”

  “You think so? He didn’t just get lucky?”

  “Luck had nothing to do with it,” Gerry said. “Pop, I need to beat it. They’re about to give DeMarco his prize, and I want to hear what he has to say.”

  Valentine said good-bye and folded the phone. On the TV, the commercial was over, the tournament back on. DeMarco sat at a table surrounded by his ten-million-dollar prize. Dangling off his wrist was the sparkling diamond and platinum bracelet that came with winning the event. Beside him sat the CEO of Celebrity, a ham-faced guy with a loose smile and a loud tie. Clutched in the CEO’s hand was a microphone.

  “So, champ,” the CEO said, “how does it feel to beat the best poker players in the world?”

  “It feels pretty good,” DeMarco admitted.

  “You predicted you’d win the tournament, and you did. Did you come here believing you were the favorite?”

  “If I did, I was mistaken,” DeMarco said.

  The CEO lifted his eyebrows in mock surprise.

  “Really?”

  “There were plenty of players in the event who could have won.”

  “Sounds like winning has humbled you.”

  DeMarco tilted his head almost imperceptibly.

  “One of the players you knocked out called you a cheater and challenged you to play heads up,” the CEO said. “His name is Rufus Steele, and you agreed to play Steele if he could raise a million dollars. I’m told that Steele has raised the money and is itching to take you on. Are you still up for playing him?”

  DeMarco straightened in his chair and his face turned expressionless. He’d just beaten the best players in the world, and adrenaline was pumping through his veins. But Steele was a different animal. Steele didn’t want his money. He wanted revenge.

  “Bring him on,” DeMarco said, the swagger returning to his voice.

  “When?”

  “How about right now?”

  “You sound ready for a fight,” the CEO said.

  “No disrespect, but Rufus Steele is past his prime, and I’m entering mine,” DeMarco said. “I’ll play him anytime, anywhere.”

  “Eieee!” Gloria said, jumping up from her chair at the bar. The color had returned to her cheeks and her eyes were blazing. “This is my story! Come on!”

  They were speeding down the highway toward Celebrity when Valentine’s cell phone started vibrating. He’d been the last person he knew to buy a cell phone, and now he couldn’t live without one. He stared at the phone’s face. CALLER UNKNOWN.

  “Valentine here,” he answered.

  “Hey pardner,” Rufus Steele’s voice rang out. “You anywhere near the hotel?”

  “I’m about five minutes away.”

  “Good,” Steele said. “I just agreed to play that punk DeMarco. I threw in a little stipulation, just to keep things honest.”

  “What kind of stipulation?”

  “You’re the dealer,” Steele said.

  49

  Gloria Curtis hadn’t lasted twenty-five years as a newscaster by being a wallflower. Upon reaching the hotel, she cornered the tournament director and convinced him to let her announce DeMarco and Steele’s showdown, then persuaded the hotel’s general manager to let the event be played in the poker room. Once that was arranged, she hit every bar and restaurant in the hotel, rustled up a few dozen well-known players still hanging around, and talked them into sitting ringside.

  “You really know how to set a stage,” Valentine said, shuffling the cards at the table where the match was to be held.

  Gloria stood beside him with a pencil stuck between her teeth, studying the room. Removing the pencil, she said, “There’s something still missing.”

  “What’s that?”

  “Steele will be dressed up, and so will DeMarco. I think you need to be dressed up as well.”

  With the tournament now over, he’d switched out of his geezer disguise and was wearing his last clean shirt and sports jacket. “What do you want me to change into?”

  “A dealer’s uniform,” she said.

  A dealer’s uniform consisted of a white ruffled tuxedo shirt, a black bow tie, and a black vest. It was a monkey suit, sans the jacket.

  “You’re going to be on television and need to look the part,” she added.

  “You’re the boss,” he said.

  He left the table and found the tournament director, and got directions to the employee dressing rooms, which were at the far end of the lobby behind an unmarked door. He knocked loudly, and a male dealer opened the door. The dealer was about his size but heavier, and Valentine asked him if he’d be interested in renting his uniform. The dealer seemed amused by his request.

  “You doing this on a bet?” the dealer asked.

  “To impress a woman,” Valentine said.

  “I figured it was one or the other. Sure, I’ll rent you my uniform.”

  Valentine paid the dealer a hundred bucks, and the dealer took him to his locker, where a fresh set of clothes hung. Valentine stripped and put the dealer’s clothes on, then looked at himself in a mirror. The vest was too large, the shirt too tight, and the bow tie made him look silly. Otherwise, it was perfect.

  “Thanks a lot,” he told the dealer.

  He returned to the poker room tugging at his collar. Gerry was standing by the doorway waiting for him, and appraised his new wardrobe.

  “Table for two, please,” his son said.

  “Very funny,” Valentine said.

  “You’d better hurry. They’re ready to start.”

  Valentine went to the table and stood behind his chair. Close to fifty spectators had ringed the table with chairs, and he spied the Greek, Marcy Baldwin, and several suckers whom Rufus had fleeced sitting front row. The rest of the crowd consisted primarily of old-timers with chiseled faces who’d come to cheer Rufus on.

  Steele stood at one end of the table, puffing away on a cigarette. He wore a scarlet United States Cavalry shirt buttoned diagonally from waist to shoulder, and his Stetson sported an ostrich feather in its band.

  “Hey pardner,” he said. “Glad you could make it.”

  “Wouldn’t miss it for the world,” Valentine replied.

  DeMarco stood at the other end of the table dressed in a bilious gold shirt, opened to the middle of his hairless chest, and black designer slacks. He’d rolled back his right sleeve, exposing his champion bracelet.

  Gloria stood directly between the two participants, mike in hand. She did a sound check with Zack, then began. “Good afternoon, everyone. This is Gloria Curtis, coming to you from the poker room in Celebrity Hotel and Casino in Las Vegas. To my right stands Skip DeMarco, newly crowned champion of the World Poker Showdown. To my left, Rufus Steele, one of the greatest players in the history of the sport. These two gentlemen are about to play for two million dollars. Before we start, I’d like to ask each participant to give us a few word
s.”

  Gloria moved toward DeMarco, shoving the mike beneath his chin. “Skip? Would you care to say something?”

  “Age before beauty,” DeMarco said.

  Everyone in the room laughed, including Steele, the smoke billowing out of his nostrils like dragon’s breath. Gloria moved down to his end of the table and stuck the mike in the old cowboy’s face. “Rufus? How about a few words?”

  “I’ve been playing poker for my entire life,” Rufus said. “I believe the game exemplifies the worst aspects of capitalism which have made our country so great. I am looking forward to beating my opponent like an ugly stepchild.”

  More laughter from the crowd. DeMarco appeared to bristle. When Gloria returned to his end of the table, he said, “Rufus, how much money do you have?”

  “ ’Bout a million and a half,” Rufus replied.

  “Let’s play for that,” DeMarco suggested.

  “Winner-take-all?”

  “Winner-take-all,” DeMarco said.

  “You’re on, son.”

  Gloria faced the camera and flashed a brilliant smile.

  “There you have it, folks. Skip DeMarco has upped the ante against Rufus Steele. Three million dollars, winner-take-all, the new kid versus the old warrior. This is one you’re not going to want to miss.” Then she stepped away from the table, and the contest began.

  The two participants took their chairs, and Valentine explained the rules. The game was No Limit Texas Hold ‘Em, and would be played until one man had the other’s money. The blinds would be $20,000 and $40,000, which guaranteed that each starting pot had a minimum of $60,000. After a player bet or called or raised, his opponent had thirty seconds to respond, or would automatically fold his hand. Valentine would be the timekeeper.

  “Agreed?” he asked.

  “Sounds good to me,” Rufus said.

  “Me, too,” DeMarco said.

  Valentine then riffle-shuffled the cards seven times. A famous mathematician had proven that a true random order could only be obtained after seven shuffles. It was work, but he wanted the contest to be as fair as possible. Finished, he cut the cards, burned one, then dealt two cards to each man.

  “Good luck,” Valentine said.

  After ten hands, Rufus was up $540,000.

  Valentine had never seen anyone play Texas Hold ‘Em the way Rufus played it. In a normal game of Hold ‘Em, each player received two cards, then there was a round of betting, followed by three community cards, called the flop, being dealt face up on the table, followed by another round of betting. Then two more cards, called Fourth Street, or the turn, and Fifth Street, or the river, were dealt face up, with a round of betting after each. The five community cards were common to both players, who used them in combination with their own cards to form the strongest possible hand.

  That was how Hold ‘Em was usually played. But it wasn’t how Rufus played it. He beat aggressively before any community cards were dealt, putting DeMarco into a corner. It was an unusual ploy, and it forced DeMarco to make an immediate decision. Eight times DeMarco had folded. The other two times he’d called Rufus’s bet only to have Rufus go over the top and go “all in,” pushing every chip he had into the pot. Both times, DeMarco had wilted and dropped out of the hand.

  “Having fun?” Rufus asked as the eleventh hand was dealt.

  “It isn’t over yet,” DeMarco shot back.

  Rufus looked at the crowd. “I love these kids.”

  DeMarco brought his two cards up to his face and studied them. Placing the cards down, he paused for a few moments then pushed two hundred thousand in chips into the pot. His body language had changed, and Valentine sensed that he’d gotten good cards. Rufus glanced at his own two cards, his face as tight as a bank vault.

  “I’m going to raise,” Rufus said.

  DeMarco leaned back in his chair. Valentine sensed that DeMarco had set a trap he was about to spring.

  “How much are you raising?” DeMarco asked.

  Rufus played with his stacks of chips. “Half a million.”

  “I’m all in,” DeMarco fired back.

  Rufus peeked at his cards stonily. “How much you got left, son?”

  DeMarco counted his chips. “Nine hundred and eighty thousand.”

  Rufus pushed back his Stetson and rubbed his face, then stood up from the table. He shifted from foot to foot like a horse sensing bad weather. “What the heck. I’ll call you.”

  DeMarco jumped out of his chair. Picking up his two cards, he slapped them face up decisively on the felt. He had a pair of aces, the strongest starting hand.

  “What have you got?” DeMarco asked.

  Rufus flipped over his two cards. There was a mass sigh from the crowd.

  “What does he have?” DeMarco asked again.

  “The ten of diamonds and six of diamonds,” Valentine told him.

  “You called my bet with that?” DeMarco asked incredulously.

  “Sure,” Rufus said.

  “But those are lousy cards.”

  “Son, I came here to gamble.”

  Valentine burned the top card, then dealt the flop, calling the values aloud for DeMarco’s benefit. The three community cards were the four of diamonds, ace of clubs, jack of diamonds. DeMarco had flopped three of a kind, Rufus four cards to a flush. DeMarco was the odds-on favorite to win and let out a war whoop.

  “No diamonds,” he begged.

  Valentine burned the top card and dealt Fourth Street. The card was the queen of spades, which helped neither player. DeMarco was jumping up and down. He was one card away from winning. It didn’t seem right, but gambling rarely was. Out of the corner of his eye, Valentine glanced at Rufus. The old cowboy looked like he was enjoying himself.

  Valentine burned the top card, then paused dramatically before turning over Fifth Street, and calling out its value.

  “Two of diamonds,” he said.

  DeMarco stopped jumping. Valentine slid the two of diamonds down to his end of the table, and DeMarco picked the card up, and held it in front of his face.

  “Jesus Christ,” he whispered.

  Rufus had made his diamond flush and beaten DeMarco’s three of a kind. A hush had fallen over the room. Facing the crowd, Rufus took off his Stetson and bowed deeply from the waist. Then everyone in the room, including the Greek, Marcy Baldwin, and the suckers, gave him his due, and broke into long and hearty applause.

  DeMarco stood frozen in place, his face pained and astonished. Gloria appeared by his side, and with Zack’s camera whirring, asked, “Skip, what happened?”

  DeMarco spent a moment regaining his composure, and the crowd grew quiet. Even Rufus seemed interested in what he had to say.

  “Mr. Steele was the better man today,” he said quietly.

  “Were you surprised by how aggressively he played?” Gloria asked.

  “Yes. I’ve never played anyone like him. He’s really good.”

  “So the old man taught you a few things,” Gloria said.

  DeMarco winced. When he spoke again, his voice was subdued. “I’m sorry for the disparaging remarks I made about him earlier in the tournament. I was out of line.”

  “Apology accepted,” Rufus called out.

  DeMarco nodded solemnly, then placed his hand on the table edge, and used it to guide him to Rufus’s end. Stopping, he stuck his hand out, which Rufus warmly shook. It was the way contests were supposed to end, and Valentine rose from his chair, and joined in the applause. As it subsided, Gloria edged up beside him and squeezed his hand.

  “You see,” she said. “Sometimes the good guys do win.”

  Also by James Swain

  GRIFT SENSE

  FUNNY MONEY SUCKER BET

  LOADED DICE

  MR. LUCKY

  DEADMAN’S POKER

  Poker Protection Tips

  Cheating at poker may well be the largest unchecked crime in the United States. It takes place on all levelsprivate games, tournaments, the Internet, and in casino card rooms. A
s any pro will tell you, the best protection is to understand the various forms of cheating so you can look out for them when you play. Here are some of the most common forms of cheating taking place today, and what you can do to stop them.

  MARKED CARDS

  Recently, a poker book appeared on the market stating that marked cards are rarely used by cheaters. The author claimed that cheaters don’t use marked cards because it was too easy for players to spot them. Nothing could be further from the truth. Marked cards (also called paper or paint) are a favorite weapon among poker cheaters. Magic shops and gambling supply houses sell tens of thousands of marked decks a year for “amusement purposes only.” They are easy to obtain. And they are easy to use.

  Marked cards give cheaters an unbeatable edge. They can be used in a variety of different games, especially those where cards are dealt face down on the table, then turned over one at a time. Here’s what you need to look for.

  Professionally Marked Cards

  Cheaters know dozens of different ways to mark cards, many of which are undetectable to the untrained eye. Some favored methods are called juice, block out, humps, white ink, shade, flash, white-on-white, and sorts. Sounds confusing? It is. I’ve been shown cards marked by all of these methods, and I could not spot the marks until they were pointed out to me. The only surefire way to prevent marked cards from showing up in your game is by doing the following:

  • Bring new decks to the game every time you play. Use established brands from the U.S. Playing Card Company. Do not use promotional cards. They are often inadvertently marked by the manufacturer.

  • Make it a different player’s responsibility to bring the cards for each game. This rotation will ensure that one player doesn’t continually cheat the game by bringing marked cards.

  • Open the cards in front of the other players. The cards should still be in the box, and have the plastic wrapping and seal on them.

  • Spread the cards face up on the table after they’re opened. Make sure they’re all there, then check the pip configuration on the ace of spades, ace of clubs, and ace of hearts, plus the center pips on the threes and fives of the same suits. The pips should all be pointing in the same direction (top of the box when first removed). If not, someone has tampered with them.