Clever Magazine, Summer '05 "Las Vegas: Beating the Odds " (www.clevermag.com)

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Las Vegas: beating the odds

by Martin Green

He caught my eye because he was consistently winning, not betting much, but winning about five out of every six hands. The blackjack dealer was using six decks and the guy didn’t seem to be counting, so how was he doing it? He looked to be about 30, was average looking, short sandy hair, an open face, candid blue eyes, glasses that made him look kind of nerdish. Wore khaki pants and a sports jacket with patches at the elbows. Could have been some young college professor…

I watched him for half an hour and he kept betting the minimum and kept on winning. Then he cashed in his chips, maybe a grand, nothing to make the house too nervous. I wasn’t the only one watching him. I’d seen these two g’moes exchanging looks and when he left the casino they moved quickly after him. I followed them.

It always seems like it’s night outside when you’re in a Las Vegas casino, but it was really night, past midnight, lots of light on the Strip, but still some dark streets when you turned off it. I caught a glimpse of the two punks hustling the nerd down one of these streets. The guy was in trouble.

When I got there one of the punks was on the ground, clutching his throat. Maybe this guy wasn’t such a nerd. Then I saw the other punk pull out a switchblade. Time to make my entrance. I got my arm around the punk’s neck and squeezed, chopping down on his hand. The knife clattered to the pavement. The punk on the ground had already gotten up and was running.

“You can let him go,” said the professor.

“You sure?”

“Yes. They’re really pretty harmless”

“Okay.” The second punk ran. I picked up the switchblade and pocketed it. “How’d you beat the blackjack game?” I asked.

“Let’s get some coffee and I’ll tell you all about it.”

* * * *

The coffee shop was about halfway filled up -- the usual characters, some unshaven guys taking a break from the tables, a few women of a certain age smoking their cigarettes and staring into their cups, two or three stunning but tired-looking chorus girls.

Alvin, he’d told me his name, was enthusiastically drawing diagrams on a table napkin, trying to show me how he knew the probability of which cards would come out. He’d mentioned something about a Universal Theorem, which was supposed to explain everything about everything and which, he said, he’d partially solved. Turned out I was right, he was a college professor, or anyway used to be one.

I looked at the mathematical symbols and shook my head. “Sorry, Professor, they don’t mean anything to me. But you said if those punks had just asked you for money you would have given it to them.”

“Sure. I’ve already made enough money to last me a lifetime. You see, the corollary to the Universal Theorem gave me probabilities about the stock market. I just happened to be passing through Las Vegas so thought I’d test it out on blackjack. I -- wait a minute.” He stood up and quickly moved over to the table where two muscular men in dark coats had confronted one of the chorus girls, the blonde, a Grace Kelly type. I’d recognized them when they came in, Gus and Tony, two of Big Ed’s boys. Here we go again.

Alvin was bending over the blonde and, so help me, delivering that hoary old line, “Are these men bothering you, Miss?”

“Yes,” she replied. “They want me to see a certain gentleman and I haven’t finished my coffee.”

“That’s very impolite,” said Alvin.

“Look, cookie,” said Gus, or maybe it was Tony, they looked pretty much alike, “we ain’t got all night. And you, bozo, keep out of it or you’ll wind up in the desert, under it.”

“Tsk, tsk,” said Alvin. “I didn’t think such things happened in Las Vegas anymore.”

“They don’t, but in your case we’ll make an exception.” Gus or Tony put his hand in his coat pocket and it wasn’t to keep it warm.

“Hi, guys,” I said, putting my hand in my own pocket, “How’s it going?”

“Hi, Jake. It’s going fine. Just keep out of this.”

“They want to take me to see Big Ed,” said the chorus girl. “By the way, I’m Amy.”

“I’m Alvin, Amy, and this is Jake. I don’t know the names of these two gentlemen.”

“Jeez! What is this, a frigging tea party? Let’s get going, Amy.”

“Wait a minute,” I said. “Big Ed’s the most powerful man in Las Vegas. He can have his pick of chorus girls. Why Amy?”

“All those other bimbos are dumb clucks. Big Ed wants somebody he can, uh, converse with. That’s what he told us.”

“I have a doctorate in literature,” said Amy, “with a minor in mathematics.”

“A chorus girl with a PhD? How’d that happen?” I asked.

“It’s a long story.” said Amy.

“Mathematics,” said Alvin. “I was just trying to explain to Jake here the basics of the Universal Theorem…”

“All right already,” broke in Gus/Tony. “We ain’t getting nowhere.”

“Double negative,” said Amy.

“Look, guys,” I said. “You don’t want a shoot-out in a coffee shop, especially since you know you’d lose. Why don’t we bring the lovely Amy to Big Ed’s office tomorrow morning, say, ten o’clock. Then we can talk things over.”

“Is that all right with you, Amy?” asked Alvin.

“I don’t see the point of a meeting, but I’ll hear what Big Ed has to say.”

“Okay, boys?” I asked.

“Big Ed’s not going to like it, but yeah, I guess so.”

Gus and Ed beat a retreat. I took my hand out of my pocket. “Let’s go back to my place,” said Alvin. As soon as we exited, a big Cadillac pulled up and Alvin told us to get in. The Cadillac sped away. “My driver and all-around man,” said Alvin, “Jeeves.”

“My name is George,” said the driver, in an English accent, “Mr. Oaks read too much P.G. Wodehouse when he was a young man.” George had a round face and a well-padded body, but there was plenty of muscle under the padding. I also noticed a slight bulge beneath his shoulder. He was more than just a butler.

* * *

I was a little surprised that Alvin wasn’t staying in one of the big casino/hotels, but in a modest hotel a good way from The Strip. “I like to keep a low profile,” he said, letting us in to what proved to be a large suite. “Jeeves,” let’s have some drinks.”

“George,” said Jeeves, moving to the bar like a cat and deftly setting out glasses and bottles. “What will everyone be having?” In a short while, we were all sitting around with our drinks, Alvin continuing his explanation of the Universal Theorem to Amy, who was listening with an enraptured look on her pretty face.

“I hate to interrupt,” I said, “but what are we going to do tomorrow?”

“I’d like to meet Big Ed,” said Alvin. “I’ve never met a mob boss before.”

“The thing about mob bosses is that they like to get what they’re after, and Big Ed is after Amy.”

“Oh, I think we can reach some accommodation.”

“Amy can just take off right now,” I suggested.

“But Big Ed would undoubtedly come after her. As you said, he wants to get what he’s after. And you noticed, of course, we were being followed.”

I had. “Okay,” I said, shrugging. “It’s your play. I’m hitting the sack.”

* * *

The next morning we were all up bright and early and had room service breakfasts. Alvin looked at me. “So, Jake, are you sure you want to go to this meeting with us? As you said, it’s my play.”

“I’m in it already, so I’ll stick around.”

“Jake Cairns, among other names, Special Forces, gambler, occasionally investigator of gambling scams for casinos, interesting resume.”

“I see you’ve been busy,” I said. “Not many people know about the Special Forces.”

“I have an extensive data base. You must have a talk with Jeeves sometime. Compare notes.”

“M-1, or one of those Brit outfits?” I guessed.

“Possibly. Well, we’d better be going.”

* * *

We were ushered into Big Ed’s office as soon as we arrived. “You can take off now,” he said to Gus and Tony, who’d been stationed like bookends at either end of the room. “Jake.” He nodded to me. “Amy, you’re looking lovelier than ever. And this, I take it, is Alvin Oaks, rescuer of damsels in distress.”

“Glad to meet you, Ed,” said Alvin.

“Big Ed.”

“Right. I’m sorry.”

Big Ed was big, at least six and a half feet and correspondingly broad. He was about 40 years old, had rough good looks, a great tan, manicured fingernails and wore an expensive suit. “Okay. Everybody sit down. Now, you understand Amy has a contract with me.”

“To dance,” said Amy. “Not be a consort.”

“A what?”

“A mistress.”

“See, that’s why I want her. I never had a chance to go to college.” Too busy breaking legs, I thought. “I need Amy to educate me.”

“There’s always community college,” said Alvin.

Big Ed looked ready to jump over his desk and wrap his large hands around Alvin’s throat. “Uh, just a joke,” said Alvin. “We understand why you want Amy, and who wouldn’t want her. But Amy doesn’t want you. An impasse. I suggest a way out. You’re a gambler, right?”

“Wrong. I’m not a sucker; I’m the house. That’s why I always win.”

“All right. So I’ll be the gambler, or sucker. I’ll bet you I can win nine out of ten hands of blackjack.”

“Impossible.”

“I’ll still bet you. If I win, you give up all claim to Amy.”

“That’s pretty long odds,” I said.

“That’s all right,” said Amy. “I have confidence in Alvin.”

Big Ed might not be a gambler but he took out a new deck of cards from his desk and shuffled them. He dealt. Alvin drew two tens. Big Ed had a jack showing. He turned over his second card, an ace, blackjack.

“Are you sure you want to go through with this?” I asked Amy.

“That was the one in ten,” she said.

Alvin won the next eight hands. “I can’t believe it,” said Big Ed. “You must have some gimmick.”

“No gimmick,” said Alvin. “Just the Universal Theorem.”

“What’s that?”

“It would take too long to explain. But it’s not a gimmick. Deal.”

Alvin, as in the first game, drew two tens; Ed again drew a jack. He turned over his second card. It was a five. He dealt himself a third card, an eight. He busted. Alvin had won nine out of ten. “Well, thank you, Ed, uh, Big Ed,” said Alvin, quickly standing up and shaking Big Ed’s hand. Amy also quickly stood up. They both evidently understood that we should get out as quickly as we could, while Big Ed was still in shock.

“Here’s a reading list I made for you,” said Amy. “It’ll be as good as having me around.” She tossed a piece of paper on the desk and we all headed for the door, but not before I saw Big Ed reaching for a button under his desk. Big Ed wasn’t being a good sport.

I was in the act of drawing my gun when we hit the outer office but Gus and Tony already had theirs out. Not good. Then they both froze and collapsed to the floor. Behind them was George, a hypodermic needle in his hand. “An early flu shot,” he said. “You can’t be too careful. One of the side effects is instant unconsciousness.”

We followed George out of the casino. The big Cadillac was parked right outside. We piled in. “Are we checked out?” asked Alvin.

“As you instructed, sir,” George said.

“Airplane reservations made?”

“All in order.”

“What’s going on?” I asked.

“I thought that in light of what you told me about Big Ed a little overseas travel might be a good idea.”

“Paris?” asked Amy.

“That could be arranged. Oh, we have a seat for you, Jake. I’d like you to come with us, as a sort of aide; we’ll discuss the arrangements later.”

I considered. Flying off with an eccentric mathematician, a butler who was probably a former British spy, and a chorus girl with a PhD. How nutty could you get? On the other hand, after that little confrontation with Big Ed, I didn’t have much of a future in Las Vegas. “Okay,” I said. “I’m in.” And that’s how it started…