Deadman's Bluff - James Swain [106]
“Thanks a lot,” he told the dealer.
He returned to the poker room tugging at his collar. Gerry was standing by the doorway waiting for him, and appraised his new wardrobe.
“Table for two, please,” his son said.
“Very funny,” Valentine said.
“You’d better hurry. They’re ready to start.”
Valentine went to the table and stood behind his chair. Close to fifty spectators had ringed the table with chairs, and he spied the Greek, Marcy Baldwin, and several suckers whom Rufus had fleeced sitting front row. The rest of the crowd consisted primarily of old-timers with chiseled faces who’d come to cheer Rufus on.
Steele stood at one end of the table, puffing away on a cigarette. He wore a scarlet United States Cavalry shirt buttoned diagonally from waist to shoulder, and his Stetson sported an ostrich feather in its band.
“Hey pardner,” he said. “Glad you could make it.”
“Wouldn’t miss it for the world,” Valentine replied.
DeMarco stood at the other end of the table dressed in a bilious gold shirt, opened to the middle of his hairless chest, and black designer slacks. He’d rolled back his right sleeve, exposing his champion bracelet.
Gloria stood directly between the two participants, mike in hand. She did a sound check with Zack, then began. “Good afternoon, everyone. This is Gloria Curtis, coming to you from the poker room in Celebrity Hotel and Casino in Las Vegas. To my right stands Skip DeMarco, newly crowned champion of the World Poker Showdown. To my left, Rufus Steele, one of the greatest players in the history of the sport. These two gentlemen are about to play for two million dollars. Before we start, I’d like to ask each participant to give us a few words.”
Gloria moved toward DeMarco, shoving the mike beneath his chin. “Skip? Would you care to say something?”
“Age before beauty,” DeMarco said.
Everyone in the room laughed, including Steele, the smoke billowing out of his nostrils like dragon’s breath. Gloria moved down to his end of the table and stuck the mike in the old cowboy’s face. “Rufus? How about a few words?”
“I’ve been playing poker for my entire life,” Rufus said. “I believe the game exemplifies the worst aspects of capitalism which have made our country so great. I am looking forward to beating my opponent like an ugly stepchild.”
More laughter from the crowd. DeMarco appeared to bristle. When Gloria returned to his end of the table, he said, “Rufus, how much money do you have?”
“ ’Bout a million and a half,” Rufus replied.
“Let’s play for that,” DeMarco suggested.
“Winner-take-all?”
“Winner-take-all,” DeMarco said.
“You’re on, son.”
Gloria faced the camera and flashed a brilliant smile.
“There you have it, folks. Skip DeMarco has upped the ante against Rufus Steele. Three million dollars, winner-take-all, the new kid versus the old warrior. This is one you’re not going to want to miss.” Then she stepped away from the table, and the contest began.
The two participants took their chairs, and Valentine explained the rules. The game was No Limit Texas Hold ‘Em, and would be played until one man had the other’s money. The blinds would be $20,000 and $40,000, which guaranteed that each starting pot had a minimum of $60,000. After a player bet or called or raised, his opponent had thirty seconds to respond, or would automatically fold his hand. Valentine would be the timekeeper.
“Agreed?” he asked.
“Sounds good to me,” Rufus said.
“Me, too,” DeMarco said.
Valentine then riffle-shuffled the cards seven times. A famous mathematician had proven that a true random order could only be obtained after seven shuffles. It was work, but he wanted the contest to be as fair as possible. Finished, he cut the cards, burned one, then dealt two cards to each man.
“Good luck,” Valentine said.
After ten hands, Rufus was up $540,000.
Valentine had never seen anyone play Texas Hold ‘Em the way Rufus played it. In a normal game of Hold ‘Em, each player received two cards, then there was a round of betting, followed by