Deadman's Bluff - James Swain [14]
Rufus killed the power with the remote. “Watching this kid reminds me of the time I got cheated in jolly old England.”
“You got cheated?”
Rufus nodded. Valentine had learned that hustlers didn’t like to talk about scams they’d pulled, but loved to talk about the times they’d gotten swindled. He supposed it was their way of explaining their own behavior.
“What happened?”
“One day I got a phone call asking me to fly to London to play cards with some British aristocrats, Sir This and Lord That. They sounded like suckers, so I hopped on a plane.
“When I arrived, they rolled out the red carpet. I stayed at a four-star hotel with a uniformed doorman and a suite with all the trimmings. Everyone I bumped into knew my name. Let me tell you, Tony, they buttered me up real good.
“That night, I went across the street to play cards. It was a private club, lots of polished brass and mahogany. I met my opponents, and we retired to the card room for a little action.
“There’s three of them, and one of me. One of them says, ‘How about a game of Texas Hold ‘Em, Mr. Steele?’ Right then, I knew I was in trouble.”
“Why?”
“At the time, I was the best Texas Hold ‘Em player in the world. When some hoity-toity aristocrat says he wants to challenge me, my radar went up.”
“So you left.”
“Naw. If I’d quit every time someone was trying to cheat me, I’d have missed some great opportunities. I threw my money in the pot, and let them deal the cards.
“Now, I’m familiar with most methods of card cheating. I guessed these boys were going to signal each other, what most amateurs do. So I studied them real good.” Rufus stretched his legs and yawned prodigiously. “Come to find out, they weren’t signaling. So, I played.”
“Did you lose?”
“Oh yeah. They bled me real good. Whenever I had good cards, they dropped out like they had a train to catch. When I tried to bluff, one of them would call me, and I’d get beat. Finally, I figured out what was going on.”
“Let me guess,” Valentine said. “There was a hole in the ceiling.”
Rufus pulled his cowboy boots off and massaged the soles of his feet, which were rubbed raw from his footrace with Greased Lightning. “You got it. Someone was using a telescope to spot my cards, then relaying the information to a waiter, who passed the information to my opponents. It was a fancy setup.
“Then I got an idea. I excused myself and went to the coat check. I borrowed an umbrella, and went back to the card room. When I sat down, I opened the umbrella and held it over my head. Then I told them to shuffle up and deal.”
“What did they say?”
“They summoned the club manager. He told me it was against house rules to play with an open umbrella. I told him it was raining outside, and I was afraid I’d get wet being there was a hole in the ceiling. I told him that if their doctors were as bad as their dentists, I’d just as soon not get sick.”
Valentine slapped his hand on his leg. “Is that when the game stopped?”
Rufus shook his head. “That’s when it got started.”
“What do you mean?”
“That’s when I really got cheated,” Rufus said.
Rufus took out his wallet. It was a hand-stitched piece of rawhide he’d been carrying in his pocket for decades. From it, he produced a faded snapshot and passed it Valentine’s way. It showed Rufus wearing a snappy brown jacket with suede shoulders, the crown of his Stetson encircled by dead rattlesnake. To round out the bizarre picture, he was holding an umbrella over his head.
“Who took the picture?” Valentine asked.
“One of my opponents. I should have realized I was about to get greased, but I was so full of myself, it just blew right by me.”
He handed the snapshot back. “What happened?”
“I won a few hands, and pulled even. Then I got a monster hand. Pocket kings. The best cards I’d had all night, so I bet twenty grand. Two of the Brits dropped out. The flop comes ace, king, four. I’ve got three kings, a set. I bet fifty grand,