Deadman's Bluff - James Swain [2]
Rufus pounded the Greek on the back.
“I win,” Rufus said.
Professional gamblers did not take IOUs or personal checks. They dealt in cold hard cash, and the Greek had brought an enormous bag of money with him to the football field. As the Greek paid Rufus off, he looked at him pleadingly.
“I want another chance,” the Greek said.
There was weakness in his voice. Rufus glanced up from his counting.
“Want to win your money back, huh?”
The Greek nodded.
“I didn’t bust you, did I?”
The Greek shook his head. “I have more,” he said.
Rufus pulled the drawstring tight on the bag and gave it some thought. Sweat had started pouring off his body right after the race had ended. Valentine had tried to get him to drink water, but he’d refused.
“Well, I used to be pretty good at Ping-Pong,” Rufus said. “How about this. I’ll challenge anyone still playing in the tournament to a game of Ping-Pong, winner to reach twenty-one.”
“How much money are we talking about?” the Greek asked.
Rufus pointed at the sack of money lying on the grass. “That much. Interested?”
The Greek smiled like he’d found sunken treasure. “Yeah, I’m interested.”
“I’ve got one stipulation,” Rufus said. “I supply the paddles. Your man can choose either one. If he wants to switch during the match, he can. I just don’t want some guy showing up with one of those crazy rubber paddles that put so much spin on the ball that it’s impossible to hit back.”
“I’m agreeable to that,” the Greek said.
“Tell Rufus not to go through with this,” Gloria whispered in Valentine’s ear.
“Why not?”
“Takarama is still playing in the tournament. I profiled him for my show the other day. He still practices table tennis three hours a day.”
Shiego Takarama was a world table tennis champion who’d retired to play tournament poker. He was still in tremendous shape, and Valentine envisioned him wiping up the floor with Rufus. He went over to Rufus and pulled him aside.
“You don’t want to go through with this,” Valentine said.
“Of course I do,” Rufus replied.
“But you’re going to lose.”
“Tony, I can play Ping-Pong as good as the next fellow. I’ve got a table in my basement that I play my granddaughters on.”
“But…”
“Did you hear what the Greek said? He has money. That’s my money, Tony. The Greek is just holding it for me. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have some business to take care of.”
There was no stopping a man when he wanted to gamble. Rufus went up to the Greek and shook hands, sealing the deal. Shaking his head, Valentine returned to where Gloria stood with her cameraman. “He’ll never beat Takarama,” he said.
A twinkle appeared in Gloria’s eye. “So, you want to make a bet on that?”
“You mean bet against Rufus?”
“Yes.”
Betting against a grifter was like betting against the sun rising. No matter how outlandish the proposition, the grifter was going to come out ahead.
“Never,” he said.
2
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 Show down, which was generating the highest ratings of any sporting event outside of the Super Bowl. His nephew, Skip DeMarco, was winning the tournament and had become an overnight sensation.
“Tell me what you’re seeing, Uncle George,” DeMarco said.
His nephew faced the TV, his handsome face