"What are we doing tonight?" Hobby asked. We usually set aside Saturday nights for the ladies in our otherwise self-indulgent lives, but it so happened that both of them had other commitments.
"I'm always up for poker. How about you?"
"Suits me. Looking for some heavy action, Joe?"
For Hobby, who has more money than he can burn in a lifetime, stakes of ten or more big ones are mere pin money. I do all right, but I'm far from being in his league. "No, a modest game would suit me." I suggested we go to the Commerce Casino; that place is so huge you can always get a game without much waiting.
The poker floor manager recognized us and said, "Good evening Mr. Newton and Mr. Crest, what's your pleasure?"
"Hold 'Em, 20-40," I answered. He checked a computer screen and said, "We've had a lot of calls for those tables tonight, but we'll have seats before long. How about dinner on us while you're waiting?"
"What do you think, Joe?" Hobby asked.
I told the establishment's man, "We were planning to eat later, but on-the-house now works."
"Very good, Mr. Crest. I'll call Mario and tell him you're coming. I'll have seats in about an hour." Their steak house is a cut above-to make a poor pun-your typical boeuf cookery. I had a succulent New York strip with the usual sides, and a superb Merlot. We were licking our chops and savoring brandies when the message came that seats were available. Since there were just two open, side-by-side, Hobby and I had no choice.
We normally prefer to sit apart or at different tables. All things considered the group at the table looked like the usual suspects: a woman, two Orientals, three mature males, and two kids that looked like they barely made the age limit.
I typically hold back at a fresh table, playing conservatively while I try to read the other players. Hobby is totally spontaneous. As much as I've watched him, I've never divined his strategy, which is not to criticize his play. With a little luck he's a most formidable opponent. I wouldn't rate him with Gus Hanson, but they have a similar style. In case anyone cares who I might favor, I would say, The Professor, Howard Lederer.
Except for the two young Turks, who played aggressively and poorly, the game was tres-ordinaire, especially boring for me since I had a long run of poor cards. Other than activating my blind bets, after two hours I had only played four or five flops and won only one small pot.
"How's it going, Joe?" Hobby asked. He was just being polite. He knew I hadn't seen any good action.
"The cards are so bad, they're good"
"Huh," Hobby said.
I explained, "Think about it. The only thing worse than bad cards are mediocre cards that tempt you into making dumb plays."
In an unusual display of erudition Hobby said, "I don't believe there's any such thing as bad cards, it's all the way you play them."
"True enough," I rightfully concurred.
A couple players at our table were beating up on the luckless ones. An older guy across from me belied the notion that booze and poker don't mix. He was tossing down a drink about every other hand; even from across the table I could smell the Bourbon. No matter, he was the big winner thus far. After he knocked out the guy next to him, we got a new player.
I noticed him earlier, walking among the tables checking out the action. He was a tall, shifty-eyed skinny man in his midforties, I guessed. Not a dresser, his drab sports jacket was about two sizes too big. He was also very fidgety, continually moving his forearms and hands as he shuffled his chips about.
By the time everyone got used to the newcomer's antics, a big loudmouth nearby shouted, "What do you have to do to get a seat here!" We all looked up as security guys moved in to remove the jerk.
When I looked across the table I noticed something that didn't quite compute. I wasn't sure, but thought our big winner had more chips. I said quietly to Hobby, "I think the new guy's a chip cupper. If there's another distraction keep your eye on him."
About a half-hour later when a cocktail waitress served drinks to our table she was jostled, by guess who, and spilled drinks.
Out of the corner of my eye I saw the chip snitch in action. Hobby gave me a nod, confirming he had witnessed it too.
I took a break and signaled the pit boss to meet me out of sight of the table where I explained the situation. He said they would check the videotape. A while later he whispered in my ear, "We can't tell from the tape." The cupper, however, perhaps aware of the scrutiny, picked up his chips and left the table. I nudged Hobby and we did the same, discretely trailing behind him.
After a detour to a restroom, he made a beeline to the parking lot. He stopped the rear of the lot and said to the driver, "Let's get out of here. I was made."
"Not so fast," Hobby shouted as he rushed from behind the camper.
I hung back to see what would happen. As I said before, Hobby's the spontaneous one; I'm more of a strategist and planner. Immediately the driver jumped out and stood squarely in front of Hobby. He was the loudmouth who created the first diversion.
The cupper said, "He was at the table."
"Okay, Sonny," the driver said to Hobby. "I don't know what you have in mind, but I suggest you get out of here before you get hurt."
"Oh my," I almost said out loud. Hobby's small stature and baby face snared another unwitting bully-and I had a ringside seat.
In his high-pitched voice Hobby said, "This guy's been stealing chips. I'm taking him back to apologize and return the chips to their rightful owner."
The burly driver laughed and said, "Did you hear that Charlie? He thinks he's going to take you back inside. And how about me? You gonna take me too?"
"Yes, since you asked, I will."
"That's enough of the bullshit," he said as he swiped a fast backhand at Hobby's head. Hobby ducked, grabbed the hand, and faster than I could see what happen, he had the big guy facedown on the pavement with his arm sticking up behind him like a mast pole.
Hobby released him and said, "Are you going to walk in peacefully, or would you like me to break the other arm."
As soon as the guy got to his feet he swore and charged Hobby, who sidestepped and delivered a sharp kick to the man's knee. He squealed like a stuck pig and dropped in a heap, whimpering.
Charlie had seen enough and took off running, unfortunately for him, past me. I stuck out my leg and he went sprawling. Before he could get up I stood on his back and said, "Do you want to come peacefully, or would you like my friend to break your legs?"
We were a sight to behold walking through the casino. I was helping the injured guy hobble on his one good leg and Hobby had a pinch hold on Charlie. When we got to the table Hobby pushed him forward and said, "Speak your piece."
Charlie hesitated until he got another prod then grimaced saying, "I'm sorry I stole your chips." He took a stack from his pocket and put them on the table.
"All of them," Hobby said.
"But some of them were mine," Charlie pleaded. "That's the price you pay for being a crook," Hobby answered. After Charlie emptied his pockets of chips we turned the culprits over to Security.
After the excitement we were too buzzed to play poker and went to the lounge for a drink. "How'd I do Joe?" Hobby asked with an ear-to-ear grin.
"You were great, buddy. But don't forget, if not for my nimble footwork the real culprit would have escaped."
"Beans, Joe. I could have run him down in a heartbeat."
I just nodded. He was indubitably correct.
