I'm a Card Thief. Tonight, in an underground card room called The All Inn, I cheated a flock of dead money ducks by slight-of-handing out a check-and fold [7d][2h], and switching in a flop-fitting [6d][4c], hitting the nut straight and leaving my opponents badly beaten. I had stood up to leave when Daffy Duck yelled, "Wait! I folded a pair of black fours! How could you show down the [4c]?"
"You know," says Donald, "I'm sure I folded an [Ad][6d]."
I take one step back. Huey, Dewey, and Louie eye me suspiciously. Daffy says, "Let's check the muck."
"Good idea!" says Donald.
I take a second step back. The Ugly Ducklings stand up. They now look like Mighty Mad Ducks. I watch their eyes. Donald yells, "Here it is! I've found the [6d]! Look!"
As they all look at the red six, I quickly back out of the emergency exit and slam the door behind me.
The bomb's countdown clock ticks down :00. The explosion blows the door off its hinges and me off my feet. My last conscious thought is that we're all dead ducks.
I come to in the rubble. I call out, Help! No reply. I get to my feet and stumble into the street. The explosion has totally mucked The All Inn. Tomorrow's headline is going to read, "No One Gets Out Of Poker Club Alive." I call out again, Help! A cop comes running towards me. I think to myself, "Finally!"
He draws his gun and yells, "Freeze! You're under arrest."
"What for?" I ask.
I don't like the answer. I'm read my rights. Cuffed. Strip searched. Booked. Strip searched. Held on $1,000,000 bail, and, you guessed it, strip searched. Homicide Detective Sweeny rekindles our old friendship with the words, "Why'd you do it, Jack?
Why'd you kill all those poker players?"
"I didn't kill...."
Sweeny ignores my denial. He reads from my Police Jacket, "Thayer, Jack. Professional Card Cheat. In Atlantic City, where you "double discarded," they called you Boardwalk Jack. In Las Vegas, where you "hand mucked," they called you Magic Jack. In Los Angeles, where you "cold stacked," they called you Ram-Jam Jack. Sweeney stops reading, says, "If I knew what any of these card scams were, I'd probably be impressed. I wouldn't try to cheat when you get to Death Row."
I try again, "I didn't kill...."
The Detective, continuing to ignore my denial, asks, "Where were you tonight?"
I tell him, "Where I am every night. In and out of bust out joints playing cheat-and-run." "At 7:30 tonight," says the Detective, "a surveillance camera caught you leaving The Chop Shop."
"I was painting cards, not killing players."
"At 9:10 witnesses place you leaving The Belly Buster Bar."
"No foul play, just fast play."
"At 11:50 the police found you outside The All Inn."
"I was playing hold-out. That's stealing, not murder."
"So you admit that tonight you were in all three card rooms?"
"Yes. I was there. So what? All you can charge me with is misdemeanor gambling."
"No," says the Detective, "I can charge you with multiple counts of first-degree murder."
I try one more time, "I didn't kill...."
"All three of those card rooms were destroyed tonight-just minutes after you left them-by powerful bombs. There were no survivors. You are the one-and-only suspect in the mass murder of poker players."
