Deadman's Bluff - James Swain [37]
“You’re cool with my decision?”
“Yes. Just promise you’ll watch your back.”
“Love you, too, Pop,” his son said.
Valentine stuck the last strip of bacon into his mouth as he went to the door. He still ate bacon and eggs and lots of other food that wasn’t considered healthy, having decided that he’d rather exercise every day than not eat those foods. It was called living, and he was going to do it until the day he died.
He stuck his eye to the peephole. Rufus stood in the hallway dressed in a purple velour running suit and black high-top sneakers. He ushered the old cowboy in.
“How did you know where to find me?” Valentine asked.
“I had you paged in the casino and the restaurants,” Rufus said. “Then I checked with the valet, and they said your car was still here. Since you and Ms. Curtis have been getting along so famously, I figured I’d find you here.”
Valentine’s cheeks burned. Hearing Rufus had found him so easily was unsettling.
“It’s not what you think,” he said.
Rufus flashed his best aw-shucks smile. His teeth, stained the color of mahogany from years of chewing tobacco, looked like pieces of antique furniture.
“Maybe not, but I bet it will be soon,” Rufus said.
Valentine’s cheeks burned some more. “So what can I do for you?”
“The Greek is taking me up on my Ping-Pong bet,” Rufus said. “He paid the hotel to put a Ping-Pong table in the poker room, then talked some sucker into playing me during the break. They’re waiting downstairs. I was hoping you’d act as my second.”
“Sure,” Valentine said.
Rufus removed a pack of cigarettes from his jacket pocket, banged one out, and tossed it into the air. The cigarette did a complete revolution, then landed on his outstretched tongue. He fired it up with a lighter.
“Who’s the sucker?” Valentine asked.
“Some Japanese guy named Takarama.”
Valentine had wanted to warn Rufus about Takarama the night before, but in all the excitement it had slipped his mind. “I hate to tell you this, but Takarama was the world table tennis champion a few years ago.”
Rufus took off his Stetson and scratched his skull. “Is he still in the tournament? The deal was, I’d only play someone still in the tournament.”
“Afraid so. Takarama’s a helluva poker player, too.”
Rufus smoothed the remains of his hair, covered it with his hat. “Let me ask you something, Tony. Would you bet against me? Hypothetically speaking, of course.”
“I’d have to say yes,” Valentine said.
“What kind of odds would you give me against Takarama?”
Valentine thought it over. He’d seen Takarama walking around the poker room the day before. The guy looked to be in tremendous shape.
“Twenty to one.”
“Think I can get that downstairs with any of the hairy legs?”
Hairy legs were the money men who backed poker players, and often could be spotted in the audience during tournaments, gnashing their teeth like berserk fathers at a Little League game. Takarama could always fall down and break his ankle, and he said, “Maybe ten to one.”
Rufus exhaled two purple plumes of smoke through his nostrils. It made him look like a fire-breathing dragon, and his eyes sparkled mischievously.
“Good,” Rufus said. “Let’s go downstairs and reel in some suckers.”
18
Suckers made the gambling world go round.
They came from all walks of life. Some were smart, while others had not graduated high school. Some were wealthy, some poor. What they shared in common was a complete misunderstanding of the law of averages, and an unflappable belief in the laws of chance. Chance, suckers believed, was the god of gambling, and if they were in the right place at the right time, Chance would smile down on them, and they’d win.
Suckers made up 99 percent of the people who gambled. Each year, they invested billions of dollars in the lottery and at casinos, and had nothing to show for it. They also kept dog and horse tracks alive, and paid for thousands of bookies to run their businesses. They were the bottom line of every gambling operation’s financial success.
And suckers