“That’s impressive,” Billy said.
The deal rotated to Clete. Clete announced the game was five-card draw and sailed the cards around the table. Billy watched intently but saw no sleight of hand. There were only so many ways to cheat at poker. Peeking the victim’s cards through a wall was a common method, marking the backs another. Playing on a patio ruled out peeking, and Billy had done a riffle test while shuffling and had not spotted any marks. So how was Night Train going to fleece him?
Ten minutes later, he found out.
The deal was back to Night Train. Sammy gave the red deck a cut, and Night Train slid the deck off the table and squared it. For a fleeting instant, the red deck was out of sight. Then Night Train started to deal. The hair stood up on the back of Billy’s neck.
“Seven-card stud with a thousand-dollar ante,” Night Train announced. “Let’s see if I can win some of my money back.”
Despite the move’s invisibility, Billy knew what had occurred. Night Train had switched a stacked deck in his lap with the red deck on the table. Long hours of practice had gone into the move, most likely in front of a mirror. Hustlers called this a cooler because it was thought that the switched deck was cooler to the touch.
Billy threw a thousand bucks into the pot and checked his hand. His faceup card was a jack and his two facedown cards were also jacks. Three jacks was a powerful starting hand, and he guessed the deck was stacked for him to get a full house, while another player would get four of a kind or a straight flush and clean him out.
Assassin started the betting, Clete raised, and Night Train raised him. By the time the bet came to Billy, it was up to four thousand bucks.
“Call,” he said.
As his chips hit the pot, his elbow deliberately brushed his Corona. The bottle fell over and splashed beer on the player’s hands as well as the blue deck sitting to the side, ruining everything. Night Train’s eyes flared. Billy played stupid and apologized up a storm.
“I am so damn clumsy it isn’t funny. I’m sorry, guys.”
Nobody spoke. Without cards, there was no game. That was fine, except Billy had $15,000 of the football players’ money, most of which he’d won off Night Train. If they ended the game now, he’d leave with that money. Night Train was having none of that, and he placed a call to the concierge on his cell phone.
“I need two brand-new decks of cards brought to my villa. One red, one blue. Hurry up.”
Billy engaged in small talk while they waited for the cards. Night Train was quietly fuming and not happy with this change of events. He had been cheating other athletes since college and probably had never been cheated himself. That was about to change. There was a paddle for everyone’s ass, and the famous football player was about to get royally spanked.
Thirteen
A uniformed bellboy delivered two brand-new decks to the villa. The cards were in a plastic bag from the Emperor’s Emporium along with a receipt. Billy smiled to himself, feeling confident that at least one of the decks in the bag had his secret scuff marks on it.
Night Train paid the bellboy for the decks and generously tipped him.
“Can I get your autograph?” the bellboy asked.
Night Train scribbled his name on a napkin using the bellboy’s pen. Night Train was a different person around the bellboy, with a broad smile creasing his face and a friendly demeanor. He went back to being a prick when the bellboy was gone.
“Let’s get this game going,” Night Train said.
The new decks were removed from their boxes and shuffled. Billy assisted in this ritual and felt his secret scuff marks on the edges of both decks.
“My deal. Let’s change things up and play Texas Hold’em,” Night Train said. “Thousand-dollar ante, boys, no blinds.”
Earlier, Night Train had called Texas Hold’em a bullshit game. The fact that he’d chosen to play it now was an indication that he had a method of cheating specific to Texas Hold’em that he planned to use. Employing specific scams for different games was done to confuse victims and was common among hustlers who cheated at poker.
Night Train dealt the round. Billy got crummy cards but played them anyway. Night Train began toying with his chips. As if on cue, the others dropped out. Night Train kept raising and Billy kept calling. Night Train triumphantly revealed a pair of kings. Billy threw his cards into the muck without showing them.
“Good hand,” Billy said.
“What did you have?” Night Train asked.
“Rags.”
“Hah. I knew you were bluffing.”
The scam was called playing top hand. By toying with his chips, Night Train was telling the others his cards were strong. The others folded, letting Night Train play heads up against Billy. Over the course of the night, the player in the game with the best hand would go up against Billy and would drain Billy’s bankroll until he was flat broke.
The deal came to Billy. It was payback time.
“Texas Hold’em, thousand-dollar ante, no blinds.”
The football players tossed their chips into the pot, and Billy dealt the cards while feeling the edges. Of all poker scams, using touch cards was one of the strongest. The cheat didn’t have to stare at the cards while reading the marks but let his fingers do the work.
In Texas Hold’em, each player got two cards. By feeling the cards, Billy knew that his opponents had weak hands, except for Night Train, who’d been dealt an ace and king, known as Big Slick. Night Train again toyed with his chips and the others dropped out.
“Five thousand,” Night Train said.
Billy peeked at his two cards. He had a pair of sevens. He decided to call Night Train’s bet and threw chips into the pot. Picking up the deck, he burned the top card and dealt three community cards, called the flop. Ace, seven, king. Night Train had two pair, while he had three of a kind. He couldn’t have scripted it better and put on his best poker face.
“Ten thousand,” Night Train said.
“Call,” he said.
He threw more chips into the pot, picked up the deck, burned the top card, and dealt another community card, called the turn. It was a deuce. Nothing had changed.
“How much you got left?” Night Train asked.
He counted his remaining chips. “Twenty thousand, two hundred.”
“Twenty thousand, two hundred it is.”
He hesitated. Night Train had to believe his hand was best. He didn’t want to act too quickly and tip off his winning cards.
“What do you have, an ace in the hole?” he asked.
“Call me and find out,” Night Train said.
He made the call. He burned the top card and dealt the final community card, called the river. It was a four, another meaningless card. He’d won the hand.
“What have you got?” Night Train asked.
“Hold on. We’re not finished betting,” he said.
Night Train’s eyebrows arched suspiciously. “You’re out of chips. We don’t take checks or IOUs in this game, Mr. Real-Estate Man.”
The others laughed. Billy made a show of removing his wristwatch and tossing it into the pot. “That little baby is a Rolex Presidential eighteen-karat-gold watch with a retail value of twenty-five thousand bucks. Check it out if you don’t believe me.”
Night Train examined the watch, then passed it around the table. Assassin seemed to know a thing or two about jewelry and said, “It’s the real deal.”
Night Train tapped his fingertips on the table. Billy had tried to bluff him earlier and lost. This felt no different, and he flipped over his cards. “I call. Aces and kings.”
He showed his cards. “Three sevens. I win.”
Night Train stared in disbelief at the cards. Billy raked in the pot and counted his chips. He’d won $60,000 of the football players’ money.