Deadman's Bluff - James Swain [107]
That was how Hold ‘Em was usually played. But it wasn’t how Rufus played it. He beat aggressively before any community cards were dealt, putting DeMarco into a corner. It was an unusual ploy, and it forced DeMarco to make an immediate decision. Eight times DeMarco had folded. The other two times he’d called Rufus’s bet only to have Rufus go over the top and go “all in,” pushing every chip he had into the pot. Both times, DeMarco had wilted and dropped out of the hand.
“Having fun?” Rufus asked as the eleventh hand was dealt.
“It isn’t over yet,” DeMarco shot back.
Rufus looked at the crowd. “I love these kids.”
DeMarco brought his two cards up to his face and studied them. Placing the cards down, he paused for a few moments then pushed two hundred thousand in chips into the pot. His body language had changed, and Valentine sensed that he’d gotten good cards. Rufus glanced at his own two cards, his face as tight as a bank vault.
“I’m going to raise,” Rufus said.
DeMarco leaned back in his chair. Valentine sensed that DeMarco had set a trap he was about to spring.
“How much are you raising?” DeMarco asked.
Rufus played with his stacks of chips. “Half a million.”
“I’m all in,” DeMarco fired back.
Rufus peeked at his cards stonily. “How much you got left, son?”
DeMarco counted his chips. “Nine hundred and eighty thousand.”
Rufus pushed back his Stetson and rubbed his face, then stood up from the table. He shifted from foot to foot like a horse sensing bad weather. “What the heck. I’ll call you.”
DeMarco jumped out of his chair. Picking up his two cards, he slapped them face up decisively on the felt. He had a pair of aces, the strongest starting hand.
“What have you got?” DeMarco asked.
Rufus flipped over his two cards. There was a mass sigh from the crowd.
“What does he have?” DeMarco asked again.
“The ten of diamonds and six of diamonds,” Valentine told him.
“You called my bet with that?” DeMarco asked incredulously.
“Sure,” Rufus said.
“But those are lousy cards.”
“Son, I came here to gamble.”
Valentine burned the top card, then dealt the flop, calling the values aloud for DeMarco’s benefit. The three community cards were the four of diamonds, ace of clubs, jack of diamonds. DeMarco had flopped three of a kind, Rufus four cards to a flush. DeMarco was the odds-on favorite to win and let out a war whoop.
“No diamonds,” he begged.
Valentine burned the top card and dealt Fourth Street. The card was the queen of spades, which helped neither player. DeMarco was jumping up and down. He was one card away from winning. It didn’t seem right, but gambling rarely was. Out of the corner of his eye, Valentine glanced at Rufus. The old cowboy looked like he was enjoying himself.
Valentine burned the top card, then paused dramatically before turning over Fifth Street, and calling out its value.
“Two of diamonds,” he said.
DeMarco stopped jumping. Valentine slid the two of diamonds down to his end of the table, and DeMarco picked the card up, and held it in front of his face.
“Jesus Christ,” he whispered.
Rufus had made his diamond flush and beaten DeMarco’s three of a kind. A hush had fallen over the room. Facing the crowd, Rufus took off his Stetson and bowed deeply from the waist. Then everyone in the room, including the Greek, Marcy Baldwin, and the suckers, gave him his due, and broke into long and hearty applause.
DeMarco stood frozen in place, his face pained and astonished. Gloria appeared by his side, and with Zack’s camera whirring, asked, “Skip, what happened?”
DeMarco spent a moment regaining his composure, and the crowd grew quiet. Even Rufus seemed interested in what he had to say.
“Mr. Steele was the