Deadman’s Poker

Player two has the king and eight of hearts (a possible flush).

Player three has pocket twos.

Player four has the five and six of hearts, co

Player five (the cheater) has the nine of diamonds and three of clubs (a bad hand).

Based on this information, the cheater would drop out of the hand.

Shiners come in many shapes and sizes. Pros use small, coin-shaped mirrors tucked in their hands to spot cards during the deal; amateurs tend to favor mirrors stuck in pipe bowls or shiny rings to do the dirty work. Another favorite shiner is a common Zippo lighter, which sits on the table next to the dealer. As the cards are dealt, the deck is brought directly over the lighter, allowing the cheater to spot their values in the Zippo’s reflection.

Protection Tip:Keep the playing area for your games clear of any foreign objects, no matter how i

For a peek at James Swain’s next exciting novel,

DEADMAN’S BLUFF,

read on…

Coming soon from Ballantine Books

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 Showdown, which was generating the highest ratings of any sporting event outside the Super Bowl. His nephew, Skip DeMarco, was wi

“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. Skip 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, ‘Mad Dog’ McCoy, ‘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 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 cha

“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 wants to play me.”

The suite fell silent. Ever since they’d arrived in Las Vegas, his nephew had been challenging him.

“You’re not going to play that son-of-a-bitch,” Scalzo declared.

“If he has the money, I don’t have a choice, Uncle George. This is poker. If I don’t accept his challenge, he wins.”

Scalzo did not like the direction the conversation was taking. He clicked his fingers, and Guido rose from his chair.

“Yes, Mr. Scalzo.”

“A glass of cognac for me. What would you like, Skipper?”

“For you not to drink while we have this conversation,” his nephew said.

Scalzo balled his hands into fists and stared at his nephew’s profile. If someone who worked for him had said that, he would have had him killed.

“You don’t like when I drink?”

“You get mean. Doesn’t he, Guido?”

Swallowing hard, the bodyguard said nothing. Scalzo made a twirling motion with his finger. Guido walked into the next room, and shut the door behind him.

“This cowboy is the real thing,” his nephew said.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Scalzo snapped.

“He’s an old-time hustler, Uncle George. I can’t scam him the way we’re scamming the tournament. It won’t work.”

Skipper had won dozens of poker tournaments on the Internet, and was a feared player in cyberspace. Live games were a different matter, with other players ganging up on him because of his handicap. Scalzo had found a way to level the playing field, and Skipper had gone along, wanting the recognition that he believed he deserved.

“But no one has figured out the scam so far,” Scalzo said.

“Steele will. He’ll feel a breeze.”

“So let him put a sweater on.”

“It’s a gambler’s expression, Uncle George. Steele will know somethingis wrong. Even if he doesn’t know what it is at first, he’ll figure it out eventually. I have to play him on the square. If I’m as good as I keep telling myself I am, then I should beat him.”

“You want to play the cowboy legitimately?”

“Yes.”

Scalzo scowled. Skipper was letting his mouth overload his ass. He wasn’t going to play Steele head-to-head. The old cowboy knew too many damn tricks. Scalzo dropped the remote in his nephew’s lap.

“I’m going to bed,” Scalzo said. “Let’s talk again in the morning.”

His nephew stared absently into space as if disappointed with his uncle.

“Good night, Uncle George,” he said.

Going into the next room, Scalzo was greeted by an unexpected guest. Karl Jasper, founder and president of the World Poker Showdown, was at the bar, talking with Guido while drinking a beer. The face of the WPS, Jasper had dyed hair, whitened teeth, and shoulder pads in his jackets that made him look trimmer than he really was.

“Nice place,” Jasper said.

Scalzo and his nephew were staying in a high-roller suite, compliments of the hotel. It had a fully stocked bar, pool table, Jacuzzi, and private theater with reclining leather chairs. It was the best digs in town, and it wasn’t costing them a dime.

A snifter of cognac awaited Scalzo on the bar. They clinked glasses, and Scalzo raised the drink to his lips.

“Did you see Rufus Steele on TV?” Jasper asked. “The man is becoming a menace.”

Scalzo let the cognac swirl around in his mouth. It felt good and strong and made him wake up. He liked how Jasper addressed things. He was a product of Madison Avenue, and had gone from account executive to founder of the WPS in the blink of an eye. He was a smart guy who suffered from the same problem a lot of smart guys suffered from: He didn’t know how to run a business. Within six months of starting, he’d run out of cash. In desperation he’d gone to the mob, and Scalzo became his partner.