“Believe what?”
I leaned forward and said quietly, “I can count cards.”
I was surprised in that neither of the guys knew what I was talking about. “What’s that?” asked Marty.
“Yeah, not following you either,” agreed Ricky.
“I’m surprised. I’d have figured that at a science and engineering school like the ‘Tute everybody would’ve known about it.” I shrugged my shoulders. “Okay, lesson time in applied probability and statistics. Most of what goes on in a casino has fixed probabilities of outcomes. For instance, at the roulette table, you have a wheel with 38 slots, numbers 1 thru 36, alternating in red and black, and the numbers 0 and 00 in green. Following me so far?”
“Sure,” said Marty. Ricky nodded.
“So, pure probability theory states that the odds of hitting any given value is 1 in 38. In a perfectly even payout, if you hit that number, they should pay you 38 to 1.” Again, more nods. “But they don’t, they only pay at 36 to 1. They keep the percentage from hitting the 0 and 00. The only way to play those two numbers is to bet directly on them, and they still only pay 36 to 1. The house keeps that fraction, roughly 2 in 38, as the house cut. That’s their profit.”
“What’s that got to do with blackjack?”, asked Ricky.
“I’m getting there. The thing to remember is that most of the games, the slots and wheels and dice and everything, they are based on totally random events. You can’t control what number shows up on the roulette wheel or how the dice turn up. The casinos know that and have it manipulated so that they always get a piece of the action. There’s only two games where you can beat the house, poker and blackjack.”
“What?”
I nodded some more. “Poker is actually skillful, reading the other players and not the cards. A lot of casinos simply allow games to be held, and take a cut out of each pot. It’s not even their money. Blackjack is more complicated. Over the course of a game, going through the cards, the house has the edge, but during the game, there will be moments when the house has the advantage and moments when the player has the advantage. When you have the advantage, you bet big, and when you don’t, you bet small. That shifts the game’s odds from the house to the player. That’s what I was doing in there.”
“And you can do this? You’ve done this before? How hard is it?” asked Ricky excitedly.
“Whoa, hold on! Don’t get too excited. This is the first time I’ve ever tried it, more to see if I could do it than anything else. I can, but it is not easy. It requires a lot of concentration. That’s why I had to be by myself. I have to watch every card as it’s dealt and keep a running total in my head. Somebody talking to me, drinking, smoking, girls, anything and my concentration is shot and I start losing money.”
“And it’s legal?” asked Marty.
I waggled my hand in an iffy fashion. “Eh, yes and no. I’m not doing anything illegal. However, it shifts the odds away from the house, and the house doesn’t like it. If they catch on, they can throw me out and ban me for life.”
“What’s with the money? Are you giving that to us?” asked Ricky.
“Sure, why not. Like I said, it pays for the trip. Fuck it.”
We kept talking through another round of beer, and later that evening, in the basement at Kegs, I borrowed a pack of cards and showed them how it worked. The local brothers had all heard about it before. They knew what was involved, and every year somebody would try and find it was harder than they expected, and lose their shirt. They were amazed I had actually pulled it off, and wanted me to teach them. I demurred. No way did I want to become a professional gambler.
I went over to Circus Circus the next day and repeated my winnings, picking up another four grand. That ended my lust for gambling. I knew I could do it, but I just don’t have the drive.
We drove from Vegas over to the Grand Canyon (that’s one motherfucking hole in the ground!) and then drove down to Phoenix (Arizona State.) We spent a couple of days there and then moved on to El Paso (UTEP) and then on to Austin (University of Texas.) Big damn state, hotter than blazes, dry as dust. Nice people, though, and they sure know their barbecue.
The place we all really wanted to visit we got to in July, and that was the Big Easy, New Orleans. We would stay at the chapter house at Tulane for a few days before heading on east to Florida. Those guys were simply insane! There were only three guys staying there, but they took it upon themselves to introduce us to the depths of moral turpitude and degradation. We spent a very long night on Bourbon Street with them, eating and drinking, and then they took us out into a swamp the next night chasing down snakes! Poisonous snakes! I was so scared I damn near crapped my pants! Even garter snakes give me the willies, and these jokers caught some rattlers (only rattlers, they threw the other poisonous snakes back! I kept waiting for one of the little bastards to get pissed at us and come back for us!) I think I turned green when it was held up for my inspection and the sucker hissed at me. Bubba Ray just laughed and cut off the head with a machete. The next day we had rattlesnake steaks. Tastes just like chicken, only chickens don’t bite you with venomous fangs. Remind me not to do that again!
From New Orleans we drove east. The road trip was starting to get old, and I told the guys we needed to get back by the first week of August. My reservations at the Hilton in Ocean City were for the second and third weeks of August. They agreed with me. We would hit Jacksonville for a few days, see what there was to see, and head home up I-95.
Well, that was the plan. It didn’t quite work out that way, though. We found the college easily enough, along with the chapter house. The problem was that nobody was home! The place was locked up tighter than Marilyn’s you-know-what!
“Nobody’s home?” I asked.
Ricky kept knocking on the door. “I can’t believe it. I’ve never heard of a house where everybody leaves.”
Marty commented, “I’m not even sure the locks on our house even work! There’s always somebody around.”
“Ricky, I don’t think anybody’s here,” I told him.
“Shit! Now what?”
I shrugged and looked at Marty. “I have no idea. I am too beat to do anything. Let’s find something to eat and head east. I hear there’s an ocean somewhere in that direction.”
We got back in the Buick and headed east towards the supposed Atlantic Ocean. We eventually found it in a place called Jacksonville Beach, so named because it was next to Jacksonville and had a beach. Go figure! We parked down at the beach and found a pizza place that was open. We ordered a large pepperoni pizza and a pitcher of beer. Then, when we had finished the pizza, we had another pitcher of beer. At that point we ordered a third pitcher, worked our way through it, and then decided to walk around on the beach. It was starting to get dark by then, but we didn’t care. I had the Kodak and we took a few pictures of each other, and then I took off my shoes and waded knee deep into the surf.
Eventually we got tired of fucking around and started to wonder where we had parked the car. It was at that point we made a mistake, by sitting down to take a rest. Marty stretched out in the sand. It was a nice night, warm and breezy. I lay back, too, and so did Ricky. The car would wait for us.
I woke up around midnight, when I heard Ricky protesting a few feet away. Then a bright light hit my eyes and I reflexively brought my hands up to protect them. “Wha… what’s going on?” I muttered.
Just then I felt something hit my foot. “Come on boys, time to wake up,” said a voice I couldn’t place. The light left my eyes and then I heard Marty grumbling and stirring. There was another nudge to my feet and I sat upright.
“What’s going on?” I mumbled. I started to rub my eyes, and then looked around. There were two cops standing there on the sand at our feet. One of them had a Maglite on us and was nudging our feet, while the other was multitasking — chewing gum, shining his own Maglite at us, and flipping an old style billy club by the leather strap.