“An edge?”
“An advantage. The Greek’s advantage was that no human being can outrun a horse. The Greek hadto know that Rufus would level the playing field to make the race competitive. And that’s exactly what Rufus did.”
“You still didn’t answer my question. Did you know what Rufus was up to?”
“No.” Valentine sensed Gloria didn’t quite believe him. Normally it wouldn’t have mattered, only she’d been in his thoughts these last few days. So he added, “Scout’s honor.”
She kissed him on the cheek. “Good.”
“Here we go,” said Zack.
The tiny screen on Zack’s camera showed Rufus and Greased Lightning about to start their race. The horse’s jockey stood in his saddle, clutching his crop. Valentine had been the starter, and the audio on the camera played back his voice intoning, “Take your marks…Get ready—go!” and the shot of the starter pistol.
Greased Lightning bolted, the jockey gripping the reins for dear life. The horse was out of control, and by the time the jockey managed to stop and turn around, he was ninety yards down the field. By then, Rufus had reached the cone, spun around, and was heading for the finish line.
“For the love of Christ,” Valentine now said under his breath.
“What’s wrong?” Gloria asked.
“Rufus tricked me.”
“But I didn’t think anyonecould trick you,” Gloria said.
Valentine shook his head, realizing what Rufus had done. The sound of the starter pistol had put Greased Lightning into a frenzy, and prevented the jockey from trotting to the cone, turning around, and galloping back.
“It happens,” he said.
On the tiny screen, Rufus was huffing and puffing, his arms and legs working in unison, the horse coming up from behind like a runaway train. The ending was decided by inches, with Rufus throwing himself over the finish line as Greased Lightning thundered past. Zack froze the frame, and everyone leaned forward to see Rufus’s hand break the plane of the end zone before the horse’s nose did.
Rufus pounded the Greek on the back.
“I win,” Rufus said.
Professional gamblers did not take IOUs or personal checks. They dealt in cold hard cash, and the Greek had brought an enormous bag of money with him to the football field. As the Greek paid Rufus off, he looked at him pleadingly.
“I want another chance,” the Greek said.
There was weakness in his voice. Rufus glanced up from his counting.
“Want to win your money back, huh?”
The Greek nodded.
“I didn’t bust you, did I?”
The Greek shook his head. “I have more,” he said.
Rufus pulled the drawstring tight on the bag and gave it some thought. Sweat had started pouring off his body right after the race had ended. Valentine had tried to get him to drink water, but he’d refused.
“Well, I used to be pretty good at Ping-Pong,” Rufus said. “How about this. I’ll challenge anyone still playing in the tournament to a game of Ping-Pong, winner to reach twenty-one.”
“How much money are we talking about?” the Greek asked.
Rufus pointed at the sack of money lying on the grass. “That much. Interested?”
The Greek smiled like he’d found sunken treasure. “Yeah, I’m interested.”
“I’ve got one stipulation,” Rufus said. “I supply the paddles. Your man can choose either one. If he wants to switch during the match, he can. I just don’t want some guy showing up with one of those crazy rubber paddles that put so much spin on the ball that it’s impossible to hit back.”
“I’m agreeable to that,” the Greek said.
“Tell Rufus not to go through with this,” Gloria whispered in Valentine’s ear.
“Why not?”
“Takarama is still playing in the tournament. I profiled him for my show the other day. He still practices table tennis three hours a day.”
Shiego Takarama was a world table tennis champion who’d retired to play tournament poker. He was still in tremendous shape, and Valentine envisioned him wiping up the floor with Rufus. He went over to Rufus and pulled him aside.
“You don’t want to go through with this,” Valentine said.
“Of course I do,” Rufus replied.
“But you’re going to lose.”
“Tony, I can play Ping-Pong as good as the next fellow. I’ve got a table in my basement that I play my granddaughters on.”
“But…”
“Did you hear what the Greek said? He has money.That’s my money, Tony. The Greek is just holding it for me. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have some business to take care of.”
There was no stopping a man when he wanted to gamble. Rufus went up to the Greek and shook hands, sealing the deal. Shaking his head, Valentine returned to where Gloria stood with her cameraman. “He’ll never beat Takarama,” he said.
A twinkle appeared in Gloria’s eye. “So, you want to make a bet on that?”
“You mean bet againstRufus?”
“Yes.”
Betting against a grifter was like betting against the sun rising. No matter how outlandish the proposition, the grifter was going to come out ahead.
“Never,” he said.
2
Big Julie, a famous New York gambler, once said that the person who invented gambling was smart, but the person who invented chips was a genius.
Poker had a similar truism. The person who’d invented poker may have been smart, but the person who’d invented the hidden camera that allowed a television audience to see the players’ hands was a genius.
George “the Tuna” Scalzo sat on his hotel suite’s couch with his nephew beside him. It was ten o’clock in the evening, and the big-screen TV was on. They were watching the action from that day’s World Poker Show down, which was generating the highest ratings of any sporting event outside of the Super Bowl. His nephew, Skip DeMarco, was winning the tournament and had become an overnight sensation.
“Tell me what you’re seeing, Uncle George,” DeMarco said.
His nephew faced the TV, his handsome face bathed in the screen’s artificial light. Skipper suffered from a degenerative eye disease that he’d had since birth. He could not see two inches past his nose, and so his uncle described the action.
“They’re showing the different players you knocked out of the tournament today,” Scalzo said. “Treetop Strauss, Mike ‘Mad Dog’ McCoy, Johnny ‘the Wizard’ Wang, and a bunch of other guys. It’s beautiful, especially when you call their bluffs. They don’t know what hit them.”
Bluffing was what made poker exciting. A man could have worthless cards, yet if he bet aggressively, he’d win hand after hand. DeMarco had made a specialty of calling his opponents’ bluffs, and had become the most feared player in the tournament.
“Is the camera showing me a lot?” DeMarco asked.
“All the time. You’re the star.”
“Do I look arrogant?”
Scalzo didn’t know what arrogant meant. Proud?That word he understood. He glanced across the suite at Guido, who leaned against the wall. His bodyguard had a zipper scar down the side of his face and never smiled. Guido came from the streets of Newark, New Jersey, as did all the men who worked for Scalzo.
“Guido, how does Skipper look?”
“Calm, cool, and collected,” Guido said, puffing on a cigarette.
“Is he a star?”
“Big star,” Guido said.
“There you go.” Scalzo elbowed his nephew in the ribs.
The show ended, and was followed by the local news. The broadcasters covered the day’s headlines, then a story from the University of Nevada’s football field came on.
“What’s this?” his nephew asked.
Scalzo squinted at the screen. The story was about Rufus Steele challenging a racehorse to the hundred-yard dash. Rufus appeared on the screen dressed in track shorts. Beside him was Tony Valentine, the casino consultant who’d caused them so much trouble. Scalzo grabbed the remote and changed the channel.
“Put it back on, Uncle George,” his nephew said.
“Why? He can’t beat no fucking racehorse,” Scalzo protested.
“I want to see it anyway. This is the old guy who challenged me to play him. I said I’d play him after the tournament was over if he could raise a million bucks.”