The Gamble: Jamison Paxston, #1

By Geoffrey R. Tigg

Jamison Paxston gets himself caught up in a conspiracy. His desire to pay off his overextended gambling debts leads him to accept an illicit business deal, a project that results in a stream of events that threatens his business, his reputation, and lives of everyone who is connected to him. Ultimately he finds that he is playing the largest high stakes, no limit, Texas Hold'em real life poker game of all. The bet, if he loses, could cost him his life.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Rushing Tide Media
• Release date: Mar 3, 2015
• ISBN: 9781939288950

Geoffrey R. Tigg

Born in Windsor, Ontario, Canada, Geoff Tigg became interested in film, art and writing in his early teens. He loves telling stories as his father had, and the creative seed sown  in those teen years has been rejuvenated through his works on film, canvas and on paper. Tigg's stories have been inspired by characters, events and places that have touched his life in some imprtessionable way. A graduate of the Univerity of Waterloo, Tigg went on to became a Professional Engineer, receive his cetification in accounting and process logistics, and is a graduate from a consultancy business school in New York. Tigg has been able to provide consulting in Canada, the United States and South America, and has been CFO and CEO of numerous corporations in British Columbia, Canada. Tigg has volunteered in his community, mentored others and has frequently reinvented himself to meet changing times.  Geoff lives in the West Coast overlooking the inspiring and unpredictable ocean absorbing its power and returning it to readers through his written words.

Book preview

An opportunity

I consider myself a lucky man. I know my luck is unpredictable as it can be strong and aggressive, or weak and depressing, like the stock market that has waves that rise and dip over time. In the long term, if I can stay my course when things look their darkest, my luck does reward me for my faith. I have learned this over time.

The smell of scotch, strong cigars, and the clinking of poker chips is intoxicating, and draws me to test my luck and skill, as it has tonight. I haven’t always been a gambler. I really started just after I got married to my third wife Nicole. She is a lot younger than I, by some twenty-one years. She is a socialite and has always wanted the best of everything. I had little cash and the bulk of my assets was tied up in my house or business, so I got involved in gambling, in a small way in the beginning. I discovered that I had some sense of the cards when I first started. Black Jack gave that to me, a rush of some type that didn’t require any other skill, other than playing the odds against the deck of fifty-two.

Playing Texas Hold’em is altogether another matter. This is a game against other players. A game that requires my sense of the cards, but also my skill in reading people. I got courted by this game and my drive to play for larger pots has gone far beyond wanting to buy Nicole the lifestyle that she has become accustomed to.

The West Coast Casino and Suites has been my favorite place to play cards since I turned to poker, now my card game of choice. The short flight from downtown Victoria to Coal Harbour in Vancouver afforded me an opportunity to get away from Nicole and my office life. Those flights set me free to park my problems and focus on my game.

Jako Palma runs the West Coast Casino and Suites operation that sits in a glass-faced high-rise in the inner harbour at the foot of Jarvis Street. Jako arranges periodic exclusive high stakes no-limit poker games, and I had been a regular for the past couple of years. The majority of the people who are invited to these games are very talented players, wealthy, and have some long-term association with Jako. Occasionally, a new face would appear at the table, and I challenged myself to study that person’s body language and discover their tells. Everyone has at least one—I know that I do.

I am considered to be a wealthy corporate executive and have a substantial line of credit with Jako. Now fifty-nine years of age, I had built my security technologies company, iLock Technologies Corporation, from the ground up along with my partner, Katrina Varis-Bryce. We started our business in 1984, the year that she graduated at the top of her class at UVic with her Masters in Computer Science. I met her at a computer convention at the Vancouver Hotel where I was selling the new Apple Macintosh at the time. Kate was so pumped with the emerging technologies, and she had an idea to offer new computer-based security systems that she wanted to design. With my persuasive charm and her innate attention to detail, we thought that we complemented each other well, and could build a successful organization together.

Katrina is four years older than I, and is a very attractive woman. Her hair has gone a silver gray, as mine has, and she has an alluring smile and self-confident style. I have always been attracted to Kate; but being married, I have kept my distance.

My evening playing poker hasn’t been going so well. In fact, I have seemed to reach one of those low points where my luck just hasn’t been around, at work or at the poker table. Tonight I’m already twenty grand behind for the night, and have wagered eighteen more on this hand, now waiting for the flop. I take a breath and pull up the corners of my two cards in the hole that are turned down. A good start with a Kojak K♣ J♦ makes me feel more confident.

The flop comes, showing 8♥ 9♣ K♠. I smile to myself and glance across the table at Judge Anthony DeWit. I could see the vein in his neck begin to pulse, throbbing as he sat quietly trying to stay stone-faced. I have played many times over the years with the Judge, and knew far too well that he was a skilled and cunning player. I had heard a few stories about Judge DeWit, how he was very harsh and had little compassion in his rulings. I guess applying the law has very little latitude, but the stories I have heard about his back room dealings really make me wonder. Obviously, nothing that I had heard has been open and substantiated, but still there were implications that he used information for his own personal advantage. He was a man who really couldn’t be trusted and to whom I should not reveal any personal information, no matter how insignificant it might seem. I considered that reputation of his as I deliberated my next play.

Both Yang Chao and Ellen Feldman had already folded. Yang is a property developer and apparently had an endless bank roll: Hong Kong old family money. Ellen Feldman—well I knew very little about her. She is some type of executive in a large woman’s fashion business based in Vancouver, and wasn’t a regular player at Jako’s private events. I had watched her throughout the evening and she could be very deceptive. Considering the cards that I held, it was just as well that she had folded.

My attention darted to Humberto Sanchez. I didn’t know Humberto very well, but his reputation as a shrewd business man and poker player was well known in the gambling circles. His stare always seems angry, as though he is at war with some old underworld adversary. I felt unnerved and naturally defensive. His eyes peered as though he tried to see right through his opponent. I couldn’t read his mood at all.

The Judge selected three brown chips, fingered them for a moment, then placed the fifteen-thousand-dollar bet. Humberto picked up his two hole cards from the table and tossed them into the pot. He was out. I leaned back in my chair for a moment and glanced back at the Judge. He almost looked smug, his cold gray eyes watching me consider my next play. I knew that my stack of chips was running low but thought that it was too soon to back away. I pushed matching chips toward the dealer, and studied the Judge as they were dragged into the pot.

The dealer burned a card then drew 6♦ on the turn. The Judge didn’t hesitate, pushed a ten-thousand-dollar bet, then rested his chin on his fist and placed his elbow on the edge of the poker table. I felt his stare, as I realized that his odds for a straight looked very promising.

I scrunched my face, grabbed my two hole cards and pitched them into the pot. That’s it for me tonight, I said, frustrated with another loss. Cash me in.

As I stood up from the table the Judge flipped over his hole cards and a 10♠ 7♠ stared me in the face. I was right, he had a straight! Certainly better than my pair of kings. I looked at him and his sly grin on his face. Good read, he sneered.

The dealer shoveled the poker chips toward DeWit, then pulled what chips I had left and noted the value on a slip of paper. That’s fifty-three thousand for the night, Mr. Paxston. The cute young woman bartender in the back corner of the room picked up the phone and made a short call, then hung up. I glanced at her momentarily then refocused on the business at hand.

I knew the amount and initialed the note. Have a good evening, I said, sliding the note back to the dealer. I knew that the players would continue until early into the next morning, but my time had come to leave. My luck still hadn’t returned, and I knew that it was fruitless to expect anything else tonight. No one said anything, but their eyes followed my departure to the closed door at the end of the room. Not everyone has the balls to leave before their chips completely run dry. I’m smarter than that.

I slipped through the door that separated the private card game from the open casino. Many of the blackjack and poker tables were now vacated, and the bar was occupied by only a handful of patrons that obviously were well beyond their limits. I extracted my smart phone from its carry case that was clipped to my belt. It displayed 12:43 a.m.

Mr. Paxston? I was interrupted from checking on my email. Mr. Palma would like to see you, Sir.

Razan Nandan was Jako Palma’s strong-arm. Razan was in his late twenties, was almost six feet tall and had a well toned body. His clean-shaven face showed little expression. He had a Pakistani heritage, and I had heard that he had been recruited from a gang in North Surrey. The tone in his voice was rough, intimidating, and I had heard it before. I said nothing, replaced my cell phone back into its case and the pair of us headed toward the lobby of the casino.

I was sure what Jako wanted to talk to me about. I wasn’t surprised considering my current losses tonight. Razan slipped his hotel security card through a reader by the last elevator in a bank of three. The shiny stainless steel door silently slid open and my escort reached around the open door and pressed the button for the nineteenth floor. I entered the small box and left Razan standing outside.

I have been fortunate that I haven’t been summoned to Jako’s office many times in the past; in fact, I have only been in his office twice. The first time was to discuss an arrangement for a line of credit and the second, a year or so ago, about paying down some of that line as I had overextended my limit. I had been warned about getting involved with Jako Palma right at the beginning, but I was more interested in being able to have an opportunity to float my gambling obsession. A ruthless bastard I had been told.

Jako is a short man in his late forties, has a muscular build and a receding hair line. I had heard more about his reputation some months after we first met. He had apparently run an exclusive prostitute operation at his hotel, where wealthy clients could take an exclusive suite on the eighteenth floor by the hour or night. The same floor where I stayed. Jako was never charged for that offence. What concerns me more, is that he had been charged with murder about five years ago, but eventually he had beat the allegations as the key informant had suddenly changed his story and taken the rap himself.

The elevator door slid open and I exited into a small lobby. A corridor ran down to his private suite and a pair of heavy glass doors opened into Jako’s office. Bulletproof I learned later. The evening lights of the inner harbour were remarkable, and the view from the office was second to none in the city. Jako sat behind his large glass-top executive desk and turned in his chair as he heard me knock on the glass door. Take a seat, Jamison, he said coldly, his black eyes peering at me through his bushy black eyebrows. I sat in a comfortable leather chair, no longer interested in the magnificent view, and focused on the man wearing an open-collar white sports shirt. The room went silent for a moment, then he asked, Want a scotch? The stiff question sounded more like a directive than an inquiry.

Thank you, Jako. Neat, please.

He lifted himself from his black leather chair and sauntered over to a bar, a short distance from his desk. I twisted my head and watched him as he poured two doubles into cut glass crystal tumblers. He handed me one.

Another tough night at the table, I hear. Jako stood facing his full-length window that looked out over the large white sails of the Convention Centre that was still outlined with white Christmas lights. You’ve extended beyond our agreed limit of two hundred and fifty grand. He took a sip from his glass. I have an opportunity for you that will help with that, if you’re interested.

I said nothing for a moment as Jako returned to his desk and sat down. His comment was casual but I knew differently. I knew that I was in a predicament. I had no access to my company’s funds and all corporate checks require both my signature and that of Katrina. I had also borrowed against my house, a fact that I hadn’t shared with Nicole, my wife. An opportunity, Jako? What kind of situation are we talking about?

I have no details, Jamison, only that an old friend of mine is looking for a software company that might be able to develop some specialized program for him. You’re in that business, aren’t you?

Not exactly, Jako. We design specialized security software and systems—nothing else. I took a drink from my scotch glass, taking a moment to process what the opportunity really was. Is his project security related?

I don’t know and don’t care. You have a credit problem with me, and all I’m trying to do is offer you an opportunity that just came to my attention a few days ago. You interested or not? Jako leaned back in his chair to study my reaction. I have seen this type of body language many times at the poker table, and knew that there was something more important to discover in his inquiry.

It was too early to fold, so I replied, trying to sound grateful. That is very considerate of you, Jako. I’m always interested to find a way to pay off my debts, especially with you.

I’ve arranged for a breakfast meeting between you and a Byron Gitman. Ask for his table at 8:30 in the dining room on the lobby level. He has prepared a proposal for you.

I finished my scotch. I could see the conversation was over. I stood.

Oh, Jamison. You seriously need to consider whatever Gitman has to say. If you agree to his proposal, any payments that he will make to you personally will flow through me until your debt is paid. Consider this opportunity a gift from me to you, as you have been a good customer. Be smart.

I’ll keep that in mind. Thank you, Jako. I left the office and stood in the small lobby to calm myself. I pressed the elevator button and began to think about what Jako had really told me between the lines. All I could do at this point was hope that the proposal would be something that I could live with. Literally.

The Proposal

My flight back to Victoria was at 10:15 the next morning from Coal Harbour. I’m not an early morning person, and certainly had not been planning on a pre-flight early morning breakfast. Nicole had insisted on having a New Year’s party, so I knew that I had things to complete in my office first. After a restless night, I checked out of my executive suite and handed back my room strip card. Jako had called down to the desk and told the clerk that my room was on the house. That was a first. At my age I know that nothing in life is free, so I got the message.

I found The Captain’s Landing, the casual restaurant that overlooked the harbour. It was a sunny clear-sky morning. Mr. Palma has reserved a table for Mr. Gitman and myself, Jamison Paxston, I said, noting the crowded room.

Yes of course, Mr. Paxston, the hostess replied with a smile, and then escorted me to a booth that was placed beside a large window. A buffet was strung along the far wall and a line had formed at one end. I seldom eat a full meal in the morning, and hoped that my meeting with Byron would be short and to the point—some not-too-complicated project that could easily satisfy Jako Palma. I was seated, and the hostess removed the reserved sign from the centre of the table, then disappeared. I looked out the window and watched a large freighter navigate into the narrow Inlet.

Mr. Paxston, I presume. Byron Gitman. Jako has told me a few good things about you. The man stood by my table, spoke in a southern drawl, was dressed in a light sand-colored suit, white shirt, and sandstone-colored tie. A tall thin man, with an elongated Caucasian untanned face and silver gray hair. He stuck out his hand. His southern style oozed from him. My friends call me Jimmy.

I took his hand. Jamison. I studied the man for a moment. Jako told me that you have a proposal to discuss.

Byron smiled, and placed a briefcase beside him as he took a seat. You Canadians like to get down to business right away I see. I’m a Southern boy—Baton Rouge. I just orchestrate deals for my clients and this is the first that I’ve done in this country. I really don’t know Jako Palma but my employers do. I do have a proposal to offer you, Jamison. Can I call you by your first name, since we might do business together?

Yes, of course. The man certainly had charm and wasn’t aggressive. He seemed likable enough.

My employer knows Mr. Palma very well and through their association your name has been discussed. I understand that you lead a company that creates very sophisticated cell phone-based software. My employer doesn’t want his application developed in the U.S., so he contacted Mr. Palma and your company was suggested.

The waitress reappeared. The buffet or a la carte?

Just the coffee and a Continental, Byron replied without looking at the menu.

That works for me, too. I glanced up at the young woman. The waitress left us to talk.

My firm does security applications. Nothing else, Mr. Gitman—we’re not friends yet, Mr. Gitman.

Call me, Byron then, Jamison. You have very skilled and sophisticated people on your payroll. Is that correct?

We don’t do freelance contracts. All our resources are focused on our clients who want the best and most innovative security systems. I took a sip from my coffee cup. It’s unusual for an American to contract to a Canadian for software services. What do you really want from us?

Okay, Jamison. Your company has been recommended as one that has the capability to develop a program that is sophisticated, and uses the current cell phone technologies in the market. We know that your company iLock has recently introduced a leading edge cell phone-based application as part of your security system, correct?

"Well, smart phone-based to be exact. We call our product iLock Smart. The latest version has been with our clients a few months now. Our technology replaces strip cards and uses NFC, near-field communication to activate a security lock. This technology has the potential to turn a smart phone into a digital wallet or become a master key. We have implemented a process whereby our client can enter a pass code into their smart phone, press their thumb on the screen and after a security verification, have the phone activate authorized security locks to doors, safes, or whatever."

Yes, so I have been told. Impressive. My client doesn’t want a U.S. corporation involved in this proposed project, 911 and all. I represent a group of wealthy Nationalists who have had enough of terrorist activity that the American Government cannot, or will not, eradicate from our country. My clients want an application that can detect terrorist activity, discussions communicated through cell phone text messages. The system must identify those cells so that the user can be identified. Since your company is state of the art and understands cell phones, we have come to you.

An independent action group acting outside of the government? I hadn’t expected any project like this, one that was obviously covert. That type of monitoring sounds illegal, Byron! I don’t know about that.

Our waitress reappeared with our breakfast order and refilled our coffees. Byron sat in front of me expressionless, his brown eyes studying my mood and response. I had lost my appetite and quickly recognized the risk that this project would present, if iLock was linked with such a project.

Byron twisted his body and opened the briefcase that sat on the seat next to him. He extracted a document, then placed it on the table. The specifics are described in this proposal. It had Classified printed on the front cover in bold, black, block letters. This is a stealth operation, I admit; but my clients are prepared to pay handsomely for your effort. Half a million to your company and an additional one hundred grand for you that will flow through to Palma. U.S. funds, of course. I know his conditions.

Hmm. I considered the offer like a poker anti-up scenario. Alter the agreement to four hundred fifty grand for my company and two hundred for me—passed to Palma, of course. We will need an additional twenty grand evaluation fee, non-refundable, just to determine if we think what you are asking is possible. We will also need some type of BS story to give to those involved in my company. This will be a tough sell to my partner, and I have no idea on the technology side.

Tell them it’s some type of National Security contract—Canadian I suppose. Need to know only. Byron grabbed his chocolate croissant. This system must be able to detect specific word phrases from cell phone text messages sent by anyone. Once the texts have been identified, the messages need to be transmitted to a remote site where the texts can be analyzed. This way, specific cell phone individuals can be segregated and monitored.

That will require some method to identify and extract the messages from a cell phone service provider—like Bell, Rogers, and the like. We would need to hack into their security systems to install such code, something like a virus.

That is why your company has been selected. You understand cell phone technology and have bright people. We believe that you can do this. Byron took a bite from his treat. His tone sounded like a sales pitch, which I guess it was, except that Jako had made it clear that I was to cooperate with this man. I sat quietly, processing the request that required experience in areas that were well outside of my experience. You will need this flash drive, too. Byron stood from the table, extracted a set of keys from his pocket, then sat back down. This device goes with the proposal. He unclipped a key fob from his key ring. It was light gray, had a bold white block 49 inserted over a dark gray triangle. It’s a flash drive with some code on it. The proposal explains it.

My partner is the technology expert, Byron. I don’t know anything about what it would take to do what your proposal requires. I can agree in principle only—no guarantee we can do this. The evaluation fee is non-negotiable. I realize why Jako wants me to do this, but the project must be viable, or all of us lose if it’s not.

I’m sure that you can do this, and Jako Palma is counting on it. I will transfer the twenty grand, but there are expectations here, Jamison. Only one other thing … I need the application completed in two weeks.

Two weeks … that’s not very realistic!

Byron sat silently and didn’t respond. He continued to eat his croissant and his focus never left my face. The pressure was unnerving, but I took a breath and then gulped another mouthful of coffee.

Payments will be every week, Jamison, but I expect a status update. I will establish a place from which to work in Victoria. I will be the CEO of Ghost Investigations, and you can introduce me as a consultant who is evaluating your company’s security system for a very large international client, if you need to.

"I’ll discuss this with my partner when I return to iLock this morning and call you later Thursday about our decision. This is a holiday weekend and I’m not sure