"Joe, remember last year I invited you to my poker club?"
"Hobby, how could I forget? You needed a new poker game and gave me two hours to invent one."
"It was more time than that, but anyway, it's guest night tomorrow. You wanna come?"
"Not if you need a new game."
"No game, Joe. Just come for the fun of it." I remembered that many of Hobby's friends were lousy poker players-and since I didn't have anything better to do...
"Okay, buddy, I'll come." There were about fifty of us who met at the Bentwood Country Club. We bought in for $500 in chips. I joined a $5/$10 pot limit Hold 'Em table.
Hobby took a seat at another table. My tablemates were middle-aged and from what Hobby had told me, they were all well heeled. We took turns dealing. The play moved along at a good pace. I was playing conservatively while I got a read on the competition.
There were a few guys at the table who were in for every flop, and most often they were losers. I also noticed a couple guys who were quick to fold on the turn or river whenever a pot limit bet was made, usually by the same player who was probably bluffing a lot. I picked up a tell on him but I wasn't sure what it meant.
Sometimes he would check his hole cards several times, other times he looked only once. He finally gave away the single look tell when he lost to a pair of fours. Later, I used that info to win a big pot from him. After two hours I had doubled my stake. I'd like to think it was by skill and astute observations, but I also had good run of cards.
I became increasingly interested in a player named Phil who was seated opposite me. He kept looking at his watch and although it was cool in the room he was heavily perspiring. That, coupled with some nose twisting and sniffing, made me suspect he was a coke addict.
My speculations were interrupted when two men dressed as waiters burst into the room. Their automatic weapons convinced me this was no charade. While one of the men went directly to the cabinet where the cash box resided, the other waived his Uzi around and said, "Put your wallets on the table and take out all your cash. No tricks or you'll be sorry." A player at an adjoining table stood and said, "This is ridiculous! You'll never get away with this." The outburst earned him a rap on the noggin with the butt end of the pistol, which laid him out cold. I was hoping Hobby wouldn't try anything heroic.
It could be a bloodbath if the robbers cut loose with their weapons. We were greatly relieved when they grabbed up the cash from the tables and ran out the door.
The next two hours we told the cops what happened. It was a bit dicey. Since our poker game is illegal, we had agreed to say we were just playing a social card game when the perps broke in and took our cash. Of course, we didn't fool anyone, but it looks better on the record.
I took Hobby aside. "I've got my suspicions about this guy, Phil, who was sitting opposite me."
"Really, he's Doctor Phil Connor, a plastic surgeon. What makes you..."
"Later, Hobby. He's leaving. I'll tell you in the car." As we trailed Phil out of the parking lot and onto southbound I-405 toward L.A., I told Hobby how Phil looked nervous and kept looking at his watch just before the robbery. "Someone had to tip off these guys. Did you notice one guy headed directly to the cabinet where the cash box was stashed? Also, I'm pretty certain Dr. Phil has a coke habit."
"Wow. That would be terrible if one of our club members was involved." We were headed east on Santa Monica Boulevard when our suspect turned into a small side street and parked alongside a joint called the Blue Moon.
"We'll go in one at a time so we don't alert anyone. I'll go first."
I had just stepped inside when I saw Phil duck into a booth near the back. I got a beer and took it to a table where I could see him. I signaled to Hobby when he came in.
"I think there are two guys besides Phil in the booth, but I can only see one of them. Guess what happened already? Phil got a packet and snorkeled a line."
Hobby said, "I can just barely see Phil, but it looks like he's slipping an envelope into his pocket."
"Yeah, I saw it, too. I'll bet it's his share of the take."
"What do we do now, Joe?"
"We got to see if they're the ones who held us up." "How about this, Joe? I'll walk by their booth to the head and act real surprised to see Phil. I'll check 'em out."
"Don't forget, Hobby, these guys have guns; I hope they don't recognize you."
I stayed out of sight while Hobby walked by the booth.
"Hey, Phil," Hobby said. "What a surprise to see you here. Who're your friends?"
"Hobby! I aah; I aah... I'm sorry. I'm not feeling good. I've got to get out of here," Phil muttered as he jumped out of the booth and ran for the front door. "So whatchu want?" One of the mugs said to Hobby. "You looking for trouble." "No, I just wanted to say hello to my friend," Hobby answered.
"Well your friend just split. You better do the same."
"Sure, no problem." We watched the mugs for a few minutes and then went outside.
"We'll wait for them to leave and see where they go. If they're not using a hot car, maybe we can ID them from their plate."
I turned the car around so we could watch the parking lot and be ready to roll. It was only a few minutes before the mugs came out and jumped into a late model Mustang. We came close enough when they stopped at the light to read the license plate. "You got it, Hobby?"
"Yeah, I'll write it down, but let them get some distance ahead so they don't spot us."
"Hey, Hobby, cool it. I'm good at this surveillance stuff."
While we followed them onto the eastbound I-10 freeway I called my friend, an L.A. detective, and told him we were trailing the perps from the Bentwood robbery.
"Are you crazy, Joe," he responded. "Why are you...?"
"The bastards robbed us. It's a long story but right now you may want to get us some local backup. They just pulled into the Palm Court Motel in Montebello. They're going into one of the rooms. We'll watch, but get someone over here."
"I'll try to send a squad car. In the meantime, don't do anything stupid."
I had just finished my call when Hobby said. "Look, Joe. One guy came out. He's putting bags into the car. I've got to stop them."
Hobby was out of the car like a shot before I could say anything.
I couldn't make out what Hobby was saying; but the guy turned and reached inside his jacket. With a flying tackle, Hobby was on top of him and cut loose a flurry of punches.
The other perp came out of the room, saw what was happening and drew his weapon, but he couldn't get off a shot without hitting his partner. I accelerated the car across the parking lot, pinned the bastard against the wall, and ducked below the dashboard. An eruption of bullets raked through the windshield. When they stopped I heard someone screaming, but I wasn't about to stick my head outside. Next thing I heard was the boom of a shotgun and, "This is the police. Drop your weapons."
I peeked out the window and saw Hobby sitting on one of the perps while holding his own hands over his head. The guy I had pinned had collapsed across my car's hood. Two police officers had guns pointed at me. I raised my hands and they pulled me out onto the pavement.
Three hours later Hobby and I were in a rental car on our way back to Marina del Rey. The sun was beginning to rise behind us. "You know, Joe, it's getting so a guy can't have a peaceful game of poker anymore."
"Well, Hobby, part of the problem is us. We just can't stand losing."
