“One half million dollars,” Rufus said proudly.
“—that he can outrun a former Kentucky Derby hopeful named Greased Lightning in the hundred-yard dash. Rufus, how are you feeling?”
“Like a spring chicken,” the old cowboy said.
“I must tell you that in all my years reporting sports, I’ve never seen a matchup as intriguing as this one.”
Rufus was about to reply when Greased Lightning bounded up behind them, the jockey pulling back on the horse with his reins.
“What do you say we get this started?” the jockey asked them. “This isn’t a pleasure horse I’m riding, folks.”
“Right,” Rufus said. “Just give me a second to set up our course.”
Rufus walked over to a large beach towel lying on the ground. On the towel sat a jug of drinking water and a brown paper bag. Rufus picked up the bag and removed a plastic traffic cone painted in orange Day-Glo paint. He tossed it to Valentine.
“Tony, do me a favor, and go put that cone on the center of the fifty-yard line.”
Valentine marched out to the middle of the football field, and placed the cone in the center of the fifty-yard line. When he returned to the sidelines, the Greek was shouting and wagging an angry finger in Rufus’s face.
“That’s cheating!” the Greek shouted.
Rufus flashed his best aw-shucks grin. “No, it’s not. I said we’d be running the hundred-yard dash. I never said those hundred yards would be in a straight line.” He turned to Valentine. “Did I, Tony?”
Before Valentine could answer, Rufus turned to Gloria. “Did I, Miss Curtis?”
“No, you didn’t,” they both answered.
Rufus pointed at the end zone. “We start the race from there, and when we reach the cone, we turn around, and run back to the end zone. Plain and simple.”
A hush fell over the crowd of gamblers. The Greek had balled his hands into fists and his face resembled a pressure cooker ready to explode. He stormed across the field to where Greased Lightning and the jockey were standing. The horse was kicking at the ground and seemed to know that it was about to be asked to perform. The Greek had a short conversation with the jockey, then returned to the sidelines.
“You’re on,” he told Rufus.
There was too much artificial light in Las Vegas for any stars to be visible. Only the moon could be seen in the pitch dark sky, and it appeared to be slyly winking at them. Valentine followed Rufus to the end zone from where the race would start.
“The Greek sounds pretty confidant,” he said.
“That’s because the jockey thinks he can make the turn, and still beat me,” Rufus replied, doing windmills with his arms to loosen up. “If the horse was a rodeo pony, I’d be in trouble. But not a racehorse.”
“You sure?”
“Positive, pardner.”
Greased Lightning came into the end zone kicking up a storm. The jockey had his riding crop out and was sitting high in the saddle. Valentine guessed the jockey was planning to take the horse down the field at half-speed, make the turn at the fifty-yard line, and come back at a full gallop.
“I don’t know, Rufus,” Valentine said.
From the paper bag Rufus removed a starting gun, which he handed to Valentine.
“Make sure you pull the trigger when the race starts,” Rufus said.
The crowd of gamblers followed them into the end zone and stood behind the two participants. Rufus and Greased Lightning toed the starting line, the jockey practically standing up in his stirrups, the old cowboy in classic sprinter’s pose.
“Tony, be our starter,” Rufus called out.
Valentine walked over to where they stood. He paused to make sure Zack was filming them, then pointed the starting pistol into the air.
“Gentlemen, take your marks.”
The wind blowing off the desert had died and the air was remarkably still. A jet passed overhead, the whir of its landing gear coming down shattering the stillness. Greased Lightning emitted a loud whinny.
“Get ready — go!”
Valentine fired the starter into the air. The cap in the gun made a loud bang! and the horse screamed like it had been shot. It fled ahead and went down the field at supersonic speed. Rufus appeared to be frozen, his legs stuck to the ground, as the animal passed him.
The gamblers let out a collective roar, with the Greek shouting the loudest. Rufus was huffing and puffing, running about as well as someone his age could run, which was to say not particularly fast. Before he’d reached the fifteen-yard line, Greased Lightning had reached the fifty and was still running.
“Come on, Rufus,” Valentine yelled. “Come on!”
The jockey was pulling back on his reins with all his might. The horse started to break, its back legs tearing up the ground like hoes. When it finally came to a stop, it was near the opposing side’s twenty-yard line. The jockey jerked the horse’s head, trying to turn the animal around. The horse obeyed, and when it was turned around, came to a dead stop, as if the race was over. The jockey slapped its side with his crop while digging his heels into its side.
By now, Rufus had reached the cone in the center of the field, done a nifty spin, and taken off back for the finish line. The old cowboy still had some run in him, his long legs covering the ground with amazing agility. Sensing disaster, the Greek and his cronies stood at the finish line, jumping wildly up and down.
“Run!” Valentine yelled through cupped hands.
Rufus hit the ten-yard line as Greased Lightning crossed the thirty. It was a contest now, and Rufus took a half dozen giant steps, and then fell face-forward with his arms outstretched as the horse raced past him.
“I win! I win!” the Greek shouted while doing a juvenile victory dance.
Valentine hurried over to where Rufus lay and helped him to his feet. The old cowboy was covered in grass and dirt and took a moment to get his bearings.
“Did I lose?” he asked under his breath.
“It was mighty close,” Valentine said. “Let’s look at the tape.”
Zack stood on the sideline with his camera pointed at the finish line. He rewound the tape, and let Valentine and Rufus watch the race on the tiny screen on the back of the camera. The ending was close, but the outcome was perfectly clear. Before Greased Lightning reached the end zone, Rufus’s hand had broken the plane of the finish line.
Rufus called the Greek over, and let him watch the tape. When it was over, the Greek was crying. Rufus raised his arms triumphantly into the air.
“I win,” he declared.
Poker Protection Tips
Poker is an amazing game. It requires aggression, bluffing, money management, the ability to read tells, and knowing how to play hundreds of different hands. It also requires luck and lots of hard work. Anyone can play, and practically everyone does.
But poker also has a dirty little secret and it’s called cheating. Of the more than fifty books on poker in my library, all contain chapters on the subject. Cheating happens in friendly games, casino card rooms, and tournaments. It continues to be one of the largest unchecked crimes in America.
If you play poker on a frequent basis, it’s safe to assume that you’ve been swindled at least a couple of times. It’s part of the game, and something every player needs to guard against. There are a number of universal poker scams that are used to separate honest players from their money (unless you play in high-stakes games, the chances of running up against a skilled mechanic are slim). The following pages deal with those scams, while also explaining ways to protect yourself against them.