Deadman’s Poker

“Listen, about what happened in the lobby,” his uncle said. “I’m sorry.”

“There’s no need to apologize, Uncle George.”

“I called the local hospital. They’re sending replacements. We’re covered.”

“Thanks, Uncle George.”

His uncle snorted contemptuously under his breath. “Those motherfuckers are going to pay for stealing that bag, mark my words.”

The bodyguard had told DeMarco how his uncle had been made to look like a fool, the bag being taken from his hands without his uncle putting up a fight, and that his uncle was going to have those responsible killed if it was the last thing he did.

“You know who did it?” DeMarco asked.

“Yeah,” his uncle said. “I know.”

“How did you find out?”

“A local mob guy fingered them for me.”

“They from New Jersey?”

“Don’t ask so many questions.”

DeMarco turned from the window so he was facing his uncle. He hated it when his uncle addressed him like a child. “I have a right to know, Uncle George.”

“According to who?”

“According to me. I want to know who’s after me.”

“Yeah, they’re from Jersey.”

“Atlantic City?”

There was a long pause.

“Yeah,” his uncle finally said.

DeMarco felt himself shudder. There was only one good reason why four guys from Atlantic City would come to Las Vegas to rob them, and he found himself wishing he’d never allowed his uncle to talk him into playing in the World Poker Showdown. He felt his uncle put a reassuring hand on his shoulder, and leave it there.

“There ain’t nothing to worry about, Skipper,” his uncle said.

“You sure, Uncle George?”

“Yeah. Those guys will pay. Just leave everything to me.”

23

While Vi

“What do you say we get this over with?” Gerry asked.

Vi

“I’m ready to go home. Let’s take a look at Jack’s secret, then split up. I’ll fly up to Atlantic City next week, collect the money you owe Jack, and give it to Jack’s mom.”

“You want to scram, huh?” Vi

“Let’s just say I’ve had enough of this town. How about you?”

Vi

“What do you guys say?”

Nunzie and Frank nodded vigorously. The scene at the Voodoo Lounge had put the fear of God into them, and they’d hardly spoken a word since leaving.

“Then I guess it’s unanimous,” Vi

They were on Tropicana Avenue heading into town, and Vi

“Why are you going there?” Gerry asked.

“There’s a blackjack dealer on the afternoon shift that flashes her hole card,” Vi

“Who told you about the dealer?”

“The albino at the Laughing Jackalope,” Vi

The notebook was the holy grail for Nevada hustlers, and contained the names of blackjack dealers who flashed their hole card during the deal. By knowing the dealer’s hole card, the player had a 15 percent edge over the house. Gerry didn’t like it, and shook his head. He wanted to get out of Vegas, not scam a BJ dealer.

“Come on, it’s easy pickings,” Vi

“I’m out of the rackets, remember?”

“Then have a beer. Come on.”

The car was drifting across the lanes, heading toward Lucky Lou’s on its own. There was no stopping Vi

“All right,” he said.

Like many off-the-strip casinos, Lucky Lou’s gave gamblers good value, with slot machines that paid out more regularly, and table games that offered better rules. Gerry had always thought it wrong that Las Vegas casinos were allowed to control the odds they offered gamblers, but that was the way the town worked.

Lucky Lou’s was busy, and they passed through a sea of denim and polyester to reach the bar. Gerry ordered draft beers all the way around, and when they were delivered, found a table in the corner of the room. When he was sure no one was watching, he put the canvas bag on the table, and opened it. Inside was a white plastic box wrapped in see-through plastic. Gerry undid the plastic, which was cold to the touch, and handed the box to Vi

“For me?” Vi

“You paid for it,” Gerry said.

Vi

“Maybe I should wait and open it later,” he said teasingly.

“Come on, open the box,” Frank said impatiently.

“Yeah, dickhead, open it,” Nunzie chorused.

The box had a plastic clasp, which Vi

“We stole the guy’s insulin,” he said.

Gerry grabbed the bottle from Vi

“Insulin?” Vi

“Jack said he came up with the scam while getting radiation treatment in the hospital,” Gerry said. “Maybe he found a way to mark playing cards with insulin.”

Gerry poured some insulin onto a white cocktail napkin. It had no color, and when he wiped it away a moment later, there was no stain. Substances used to mark playing cards were usually derived from ink, and almost always left marks on white surfaces.

“I don’t think so,” Vi

A minute passed with no one saying anything. For Vi

“What do you say we go make some easy money?”

“Yeah,” they both said.

The three men rose from the table. Without a word they left the bar and went into the casino. The bar’s walls were made of tinted glass, and Gerry watched them roam the blackjack pit in search of their easy dealer. Then he stared at the box of insulin and felt his spirits drop. He felt like he’d dug himself a hole, and it was growing deeper by the minute. He needed to fix things, and then he needed to get the hell out of Las Vegas.

He spied a cute waitress circling the table. She wore a spandex outfit that was several sizes too small for her, and seemed embarrassed by all the skin she was showing. He motioned her over to the table.

“I need a bag of ice,” he said.

She scurried away. From his pocket he removed the pages he’d lifted from the Voodoo Lounge showing the odds of each player wi

“As I live and breathe,” Big Dave said. “I heard you’d gone legit.”

“I have,” Gerry said. “I need a favor.”