Texas Hold'em: A Novel

By Wayne Adao

Once one of the top Texas Hold'em players in the world. Winning millions at the tables, now living in a seedy apartment in a run-down area of Las Vegas. Playing in third-rate casinos. Meet Joe Willie Henry and enter the world of big-time poker.

• Language: English
• Publisher: jolly mon sailing
• Release date: Sep 2, 2020
• ISBN: 9781087898261

Wayne Adao

Wayne Adao is also the author of two other novels. The best-selling Caribbean Charter Captain - The Virgin Islands, a true portrayal of a charter yacht's season in charter. And Pirates and Treasure in the Caribbean, the story of a family that leaves the suburban rat race to become a liveaboard family sailing around the Caribbean. Wayne and his wife, Deb, are the owners of two charter yacht companies - "jolly mon sailing" for sailing yachts under eighty feet, and "JMS Yacht Charters" for mega and super yachts. Often asked the difference between these two types of yachts, Wayne jokingly says you can land a helicopter on super yachts. Then he explains that it's true. Although he's never played professional poker, he is an avid Texas Hold'em player. Wayne and his wife live in central Florida.

Book preview

An Angel

Chapter One

The song has it all wrong I think as I scoot my chair back, bumping into the player’s chair next to mine. A look from the player who’s chair I’ve bumped.

Standing up from the table, and nodding at the eight remaining players, including the one that has given me the dirty look, I tip the dealer a Ulysses S. Grant bill. The dealer takes the fifty without saying a word, never looking up, dealing the next hand.

A song rings out in my head …every hands a winner and every hands a loser… that part of the song is pure bullshit! I decide.

Of course, I’m getting more and more crusty the older I get. I’ve been playing Texas Hold’em for the last five hours at the table I’ve just stood up from after seeing hand after hand of bad cards. The bad cards just kept coming like waves at the beach. It seems all I have done all night is fold.

I recall an old poker saying, …Hold’em is hours of boredom followed by moments of sheer terror… I have just spent hours in pure boredom, with no moments of sheer terror.

Lighting the last cigarette from the pack I opened when I first sat down at the table, I walk towards the casino doors. Well, I half-walk and half-shuffle towards the doors, my legs still stiff from sitting for such a long stretch at one time. I know the cool evening air outside will be a welcome relief to the smokey casino interior.

The aging casino is an off-the-strip casino, a tired gambling place with thread-bare stained carpets. Years of smoke covering its walls, and years of spilled drinks showing on its carpets. Filled with older gamblers smoking, drinking, playing slot machines and the gaming tables.

Sometimes if we are lucky or a cocktail waitress is bored, we score a free drink. It’s the kind of place where I play in the tables section at the back of the casino with players that gamble about the same amount that’s in my kitty these days.

And a long way from the blinding lights of the strip that turns night into day, and the towering massive structures of today’s casinos that are part gambling casino, part show theatres, and part family resorts. Casinos that have been built since I long ago moved to Vegas, and a very long way from the casino’s I played in when I was much younger.

I reflect again on the song rattling around in my head and hope for my sake that one line in it will be true for me, …and the best that you can hope for is to die in your sleep….

Walking out the casino doors I pause and look up at the evening sky. There are stars out there in it somewhere, but I can’t make them out with the garish glaring blinking lights of the third-rate casino all around me. I make my way to my car that I had parked on a Vegas city street several hours earlier that day.

Driving towards the old apartment I have called home for the last two years, I feel the pangs of hunger hit me, I haven’t eaten since morning, and then it was just a breakfast bar. Spotting a Wendy’s sign on my side of the street a quarter-of-a-mile up the road, when I get to the entrance I pull into the red and white stand-alone building’s parking lot. Getting out of my car I walk into the building to place my order. After ordering off the value menu – cheeseburger, fries and a coke, total two dollars forty cents with tax – I glance around and see an empty stool at a counter to sit at and wait for my order.

While waiting I think about the casino table I have just left – eight other hard-core poker players, all like me. Older and down-on-their-luck. They were all were mechanical in their play. And yet they had taken almost every hand from me, the entire five hours I spent at the table. I had not seen any good cards all night, yet I had doggedly pursued a good hand the entire time, grinding out hand-after-hand. All toll, I had left almost three thousand at the table. These days in my gambling career it was a significant amount to lose.

My names called by the young girl behind the pickup counter. I silently pick up my bag, and coke, and walk back to my car to eat my dinner in the silence of the car’s interior.

Arriving back at my apartment, a hot shower sounds like just what I need to wash the stench of losing off me. Refreshed, I put on the tee-shirt and sweat pants that I have been wearing at night all week, and go into the kitchen. I pour three fingers of the cheap bourbon I keep in the apartment into a glass still sitting on the counter where I had left it the previous evening. It should have been washed last night.

Now lying back on the well-worn couch, a dim light on by the recliner in the living room, I sit in the semi-darkness, and in silence take a sip of bourbon, open a fresh pack, pull out a cigarette and light it. Taking a long drag, I brood, well to be fair, not so much brood, as reflect on where I have been in my life and where I am now.

I’m fifty-two years old. I’ve been playing poker, making a living – sometimes a very good living, sometimes even an extremely good living, and sometimes like right now, just eking out a living – since I was twenty. Thirty-two years of sitting at poker tables all over the country and Caribbean.

My game is Texas Hold’em and at one time I had been one of the top twenty players in the world. Number twelve to be exact. That was in my prime – both age and game-wise. I had sponsors lining up to back me in tournaments, big-time tournaments where I would think nothing of staring down another player and shoving my pile to the middle of the table. And if the other player called, well then there would be a million dollars – many times a lot more – in chips sitting in the middle of the table waiting for the dealer to place the River card next to the Turn card.

I had shown nerves of steel back then. No shaking hands, no eye twitches, no facial expressions or body movements of any kind to betray what hole-cards I held. Just staring into the other player’s eyes that I had just called or raised at the table. And after a moment of sheer terror, pulling the chips towards me. Exhilarating. And I had never ever tired of the high.

Depending on the sponsor who paid my travel expenses and tournament entry, my winning percentage could be as high as five percent. My best year, the year I was ranked the twelfth best poker player in the world, I grossed over two million. That was two million greenbacks. For playing poker with no risk to myself, the sponsor absorbed all the risk.

Of course, women followed my success. There were always women around the tournaments and tables. At the big ones in Vegas and Atlantic City, they would jockey for position to get the best possible exposure from the television cameras in their low-cut mini dresses. As much cleavage showing as they had.

I was a rock star on the tour – young, good looking, well dressed, and a winner. Winner being the key word. The two W’s – women flock to winners. Add a third W into the equation and it defined me. The third W is in my name – Joe Willie. Attractive women, rich or poor, single or married, were always coming on to me. Joe Willie.

Winner.

Now sitting in my run-down apartment’s living room in a low-rent area of Las Vegas, I compare where I am now in my life to the game I have been playing since I was old enough to pick up a playing card. In my mind the dealer has just placed the Turn card in the middle of the table and is waiting for the players to bet. After that, the next card will be the River, and showdown.

I feel deep down in my soul I will soon be looking at showdown if my life doesn’t change around. I want, hell, I need a good card, and in my case an angel to save me from myself. Even though the odds like most odds in Hold’em are against it.

♣ ♠ ♦ ♥

The next night I am back in the same shoddy casino. At the same table, filled with most of the same players that I had lost to the night before, including the player who had glared at me when I bumped my chair into his, the previous night. They are all regulars. I nod to them, a couple of them nod back, a few go through the motion of re-stacking the chips in front of them. The rest just ignore me, waiting for the next deal. I give the dealer five one hundred-dollar bills for my buy-in – what I need to pay to enter the game. The dealer pushes my chips towards me, a combination of green worth twenty-five dollars, blue worth ten, and red worth five.

The dealer shuffles and deals. To start a Texas Hold’em hand there are only two bets that are mandatory, the big blind which is usually a fifty-to-one ratio of the buy-in, and the small blind, half the big blind. The small blind player sits immediately to the left of the dealer who is called the button in a casino. The big blind player sits to the left of the small blind player.

I am in the big blind position and put a blue chip out. I’m holding ten clubs and six diamonds – the two hole-cards that had been dealt face-down in front of me. The pre-Flop betting continues around the table. No raises – raises are bets increasing the first bet. A couple of folds, which means the player drops out of the hand, and everyone else calls. Calling a bet is matching the highest bet on the table that a player has made – in this hand, my ten-dollar bet.

The pot now has seven blue chips in it. Seventy dollars.

Dealer burns the top card of the deck – making sure that no player has seen it – and places it in the discard pile. During a hand the dealer will burn three cards, one card each time before dealing cards face-up to the middle of the table.

The dealer deals the Flop – which are three cards, called community cards – face-up in the middle of the table for all the players to combine with their two hole-cards for their hand. The Flop dealt is Ace hearts, ten diamonds, five clubs. A dry board. A poker term meaning the cards do not have many possibilities for a potentially good hand. There is also another term – wet board. Which is the opposite of dry board. Meaning the Flop will have lots of possibilities for a good hand. Same suit cards, connected cards meaning cards that link – like eight and nine, or Jack and Queen.

I don’t like seeing the Ace on the table, it will pair nicely with an Ace held in the hole-cards by one of the remaining players in the hand.

Another round of betting. Holding two tens, I limp with a raise and flip a white five-dollar chip towards the other chips already bet. Limping means to raise with a small bet. And usually a sign that the player is not sure of their hand.

Call, two folds, call, two more folds.

Pot now eight-five dollars in chips. Three players remaining.

Dealer burns another card, and then the Turn – which is what the fourth community card is called – is placed face-up next to the other three community cards. The Flop cards. The Turn is a four spades. I check, not raising or folding, I want to see if anyone holds an Ace. If they do, they will certainly bet aggressively. Another check by a player to my left, then four blue chips pushed to the center by the last player to bet. I think there must be an Ace in that player’s hole-cards. I fold. The player that had checked calls.

One-hundred sixty-five in the pot.

Final card now to be dealt to the center of the table face-up, joining the other community cards. Dealer burns a card, and places the final card – known as the River – in the middle of the table. Seven clubs.

Five blue chips bet by the player first up to bet, it’s called by the last player to bet.

Two hundred sixty-five chips now in the pot.

First player turns over his hole-cards – six hearts, Ace diamonds. Two Aces. A pair. So, the first player had the bullets! Poker slang for two Aces. Everyone looks at the last player to turn over his cards. He needs to be holding a pocket pair – two cards of the same rank – in his hole-cards to set-mine with a community card for a three-of-a-kind. Or his hole-cards need match two of the community cards to give him a two pair hand. The other player just pushes his cards face-down to the discard pile. Not showing what he had. Called mucking in poker.

The two Aces hand takes the pot.

The dealing continues throughout the night. I’m not seeing many good cards. Poker slang, meaning I have had very few hole-cards that combined with the community cards will give me a winning hand.

I’ve been reduced to set-mining. Set-mining is a strategy a lot of players use to stay in a game when the cards are not falling in their favor. The strategy is based on being dealt a lower pair as hole-cards – anything from twos to tens – and then hoping to be dealt a matching card in the Flop, giving the player three-of-a-kind. It’s a successful way to win good-size to large pots. Other players will discount a low card on the table when they are holding face cards, looking at two pairs or a face card pair. They bet heavy, then bam! They lose to three-of-a-kind. It’s a strategy employed by disciplined players. Requiring the mental-patience to fold bad hand after bad hand. The vast majority of players lack that discipline. I have it.

I have had two rebuys since my original buy-in. One thousand dollars. I’m now fifteen hundred in, and have a couple of hundred in chips in front of me. So, I’m down thirteen hundred, give-or-take.

The dealer deals me my hole-cards. Five hearts, five clubs.

I am sitting in a middle position at the table, the middle seat of the three middle seats at a nine-player table. When I was a big-time professional player, I used to call it MP2, now I just call it – not good position but not bad position. Six players will bet before me. Again, not good position, but not bad.

There are three classes of positions at a table – early, middle, and late. The three early positions are the under-the-gun positions, pro players just call them UTG’s, and add a number after the UTG, based on how far to the left you are from the dealer or the button. The middle ones are MP’s – middle positions, again adding a number how far to the left from the button you are. The late positions are where you want to be. There’s the CO or cutoff position, which follows the middle positions. And the last player to bet before the button is the BTN which stands for before-the-button. Anytime you can bet last you have the advantage over the other players. You can, well most of the time anyway, see what kind of hand they hold by how they bet. Either tight – placing a minimum bet, or aggressive – placing a big bet.

Pre-Flop bet. Small blind raises to blind. Blind checks. Then the next player in an early position, the UTG – the under-the-gun player – calls. Then call, call, fold, now I’m up, I call. I’m set-mining. Call, CO calls, BTN folds. Six players left in the hand.

Six blue chips in the pot.

Dealer burns a card and deals the Flop. King hearts, ten clubs, five spades. Now the Turn betting. Both blinds check. First early position – under-the-gun player – raises half the pot.

Pot ninety dollars.

Second early position player – UTG+1 – calls. One-hundred-twenty dollars in the pot. My bet. I have three fives, two fives in my hole-cards and the five from the Flop. Exactly what I was hoping for. My set-mine strategy pays off. I bet the pot – twelve blue chips pushed to the middle.

Pot now twenty-four blue chips.

The three players to my left all fold. I now have the position at the table – the last player to bet. Now up to the blinds to fold, call my raise, or raise. They both fold. First under-the-gun player calls. Second folds. Two of us left. Which of us has the nuts? The best hand.

The Turn. Dealer burns a card and places Queen diamonds next to the three cards face-up on the table. My opponent checks. There are now two face cards on the table. If the other player has a pocket pair of one of them, I’m screwed. It’s a nice pot already, so I check. Not wanting to give away the fact that I have a good hand.

The River bet. My opponent shoves – pushing all his chips towards the middle. It’s a bigger stack than mine, I shove my chips in the middle of the table too. Following the unwritten rule of the game, when players are all-in – betting all their chips – before the River, they turn their hole-cards over. My opponent turns his over – two tens! Shit! Shit! Shit! The under-the-gun player was set-mining too.

I turn mine over. Two fives. The other player sees them and smiles. His three tens are a stronger hand than my three fives. I need a miracle and it’s called a five diamonds. I have a two percent chance of hitting it.

Dealer burns a card and places the River next to the four community cards in the middle. Ace hearts. My opponent gives me a yellow-toothed grin from way too many years of smoking, and scoops the pot towards him. I have been out-played by someone that couldn’t have held my chair out for me to sit in back in the days when I was one of the best players in the world.

I continue to grind out the hands. Very few of them have cards I can play. My drinks beginning to outnumber my good hands. My betting’s getting sloppy. Way too loose-aggressive. I’ve now had three rebuys. After losing one big pot, reaching for my drink the cocktail waitress has just set down, I knock it over. The full glass spills all over the green felt. Dealer pauses the game, while the waitress mops up the spill. The players at the table staring at me. Not happy that their game has been interrupted. Disgust all over their faces.

I order another from her. Bringing it over to me, I try to grab it off her tray and spill it all over her. The floorperson – who reports to the pit boss – watching my drunken attempts at playing and drinking comes over and tells me I’ve had enough of both. Time to leave. There will be other nights to do both. And escorts me out of the casino. He needs a security guard to help. I’m having a hard time standing upright.

The guard helps me into a cab that is sitting in the parking lot.

I’m back the next night at the same table once again. My hangover finally subsiding. Thanks to a dozen aspirin I took throughout the day. A new night hasn’t changed my luck. For some reason the poker gods have turned their backs on me. I continue to grind out the bad cards, playing many hands that should be folded.

And the night continues its downward spiral. As my losses mount, my drinking and chain-smoking increase. One time I drop my cigarette on the table, fumbling too long to pick it up, it leaves ashes on the green felt. I use my right index finger to flick away the ashes. And see a permanent burn mark. The dealer watching me carefully.

When it reaches the point I can’t read the cards anymore, I lean back and try to push my chair back, and fail. I half-stand and try again, it doesn’t budge. Finally, I think, fuck it, turn around and shove it. The chair falls to the floor and so do I. Some of the players at the table look at me on the floor, while the dealer looks at me in contempt and shuffles the cards to deal the next hand.

I struggle to get up. Finally, the floorperson, the same one from last night, helps lift me up. I stand, try to shake off the effects of the fall, and look around, trying to gain some dignity back. But at that point of the night it’s a lost cause. Again, needing a security guard to help, they walk me to the entrance of the casino and outside, hail a waiting cab, and I crawl in it.

Before closing the door, the floorperson disdainfully says you had two blue chips left on the table. The twenty dollars will be at the cashier’s cage for you to pick up tomorrow night. But you are no longer welcome in this casino. Find another one to get falling down drunk in.

He slams the door shut. I have sunk to my lowest level.

It hadn’t always been that way.

Chapter Two

She interrupts his thoughts. Sir. He looks up from where he has been staring at his hands, the hands he makes his living at.

The lady at the bar… she motions towards the bar with a quick toss of her head, …would you like to buy you a drink.

The young cocktail waitress – about his age – in the pink and black hot pants uniform that all Sands Casino cocktail waitresses wear tells him, as she stands looking down at him.

He’s sitting at a table in one of the Sands Casino lounges, a few feet from the bar, at a table for four but occupied by only one. He looks towards the bar, at everyone sitting there, and in the far corner of it, next to the white baby grand piano he spots a nice-looking older woman. Probably better than nice-looking, she looks well cared for. In her late thirties, a country club tan, wearing a baby blue jump suit that compliments her tan nicely, the first three buttons of her jump suit unbuttoned. Showing off what she has. She returns his look, gives him a small smile, nodding slightly at him, and lights a cigarette. Inhaling deeply, she lifts her head and blows smoke into the air above her. He is still looking at her when she lowers her head and returns his stare. Embarrassed for staring, he looks away. Hell, she has caught him, he is all of twenty-two. She has him in years, and he can tell immediately, in experience. Although at his young age, he knows the game. And he is ready to see how it will play out.

Uh…how about a Red Label on-the-rocks. And please thank the lady. He tells the waitress.

She returns with his drink, places a cocktail napkin on the table in front of him, and then carefully, very carefully, places his drink glass on the napkin, making sure she does the dip, showing him the top of her better-than-average breasts. All the Vegas cocktail waitresses learn the dip during training after their hiring. It is a sure-fire weapon to get bigger tips. The bigger the tip the lower the dip. He reaches into his pocket and hands her a one-dollar tip for the fifty-cent drink that the lady at the bar just bought him. Looking again towards the bar, he sees that the woman is still looking at him, and his table. The three empty seats at it. He picks up his scotch, silently mouths a thank you, and takes a sip. That gives the woman the license to stub out her cigarette, pick up her purse, get up off her bar stool, and walk to his table. Her hips swaying suggestively.

Mind if I join you? She asks as she sits down without waiting for an answer.

No…please do. He smiles in a Cheshire cat kind-of-way at her boldness. Again…thanks for the drink.

He hadn’t really thanked her. He had only mouthed one to her when she was sitting at the bar. He again lifts his glass and tips it in her direction.

I’m Pat. She introduces herself and looks towards the cocktail station at the bar, nods to the waitress who is working the section where his table is.

He thinks, well now it’s their table. Pat’s and his.

Joe Willie. He responds to her introduction with his name.

Yes…I know. I watched you cleanup the final table last night at the Free All Tournament.

The waitress returns to their table with Pat’s drink. It’s in a snifter. He assumes it’s a brandy of some kind.

Don’t you ever blink? You faced off with some of the best players in the casino and went to showdown every time with them. The players and all of us watching knew you had the nuts.

Emphasizing nuts and glancing at his crotch. She takes a sip of her brandy, looks at him, and then for the first time gives him a full smile. She has a nice smile in a predator kind-of-way. Perfect teeth. White. Someone spent a lot of money on that smile.

It’s my job not to blink. And I thank you for the compliment if that’s what you meant it to be.

He takes a swallow of his scotch. Finishes it. Pat just raises her hand and motions to the waitress for another. She’s a woman used to getting her way. He notices for the second time the wedding ring on her finger. It’s not a big diamond, more of the size that means if her husband continues to be successful, she will get a larger stone. But for now, it is the ring on her finger. It’s still big enough.

So tell me Pat…what brings you to sin city or whatever we call this gambling den of iniquity?

A sip of the new scotch that the waitress has just brought him. The second one Pat has bought him.

My husband…we flew here from Newport Beach. A business trip of sorts…he’s a regional sales manager for Xerox and he rewarded his top branch sales managers with a weekend in Vegas. Just the boys. A husky laugh. A smoker’s laugh.

I’m the only wife on the trip…sort of flying-under-the-radar... she winks. And surprise surprise Joe Willie…the trip is here at the Sands. And for the last two nights he has been out getting his troops drunk at the local strip clubs while I sit in my hotel room…or…rather a bar and wait for him to return drunk and collapse in our hotel room’s bed. Last night instead of waiting in the room…lounge or a bar… she looks around, I went and watched the tournament…the tournament you were in. I watched you clean the table and was very…should I say very one more time…impressed. You have such a cute poker face… emphasis on cute, …and I’m sure someone who will keep a secret.

With that she finishes the remainder of the drink in her snifter glass, and staring at him, waits for him to say something.

Pat…I’m ready for another…drink. He still has some scotch left in his drink, but it’s close enough to order another, and she’s just downed hers. Are you ready for another?

No…let’s go to your room.

Well she’s direct if nothing else. He looks at the top three unbuttoned buttons of her jump suit and the white skin showing just below her tan, decides to play this game just a little further. He’s young and feeling his oats, as they say, so he continues playing.

Pat…I would very much like another drink that you are buying.

Raising his hand to get the cocktail waitress’s attention.

The waitress comes over to the table and he orders an anther round on Pat’s tab for the two of them. Then he plays his hand further.

My room just won’t work. How about we go to yours. It’s not a question but a statement.

His statement stays unanswered, just hanging in mid-air, their drinks arrive. She somewhat nervously takes a sip of hers. He watches. Then he casually takes a sip of his.

She answers shakily, okay…my husband shouldn’t be back until much later…he hasn’t been getting back until after two. I’m in room 1115…see you in a few minutes.

With that she leaves her snifter on the table without touching the rest of it after one sip. Leaving him sitting there watching her walk away. Knowing he’s watching, she moves with a sensual grace.

Sir…the lady left without paying her tab. The cocktail waitress comes over as soon as Pat is a few feet from the table.

Put it on room 1115’s bill. And give yourself a good tip. He tells the waitress.

Still watching as she walks out into the casino, he thinks – they’ll do it in her room. He’s impressed with her fortitude. With a husband due back at some point, drunk, and probably ready to fight for his turf. Well okay.

He heads to the elevator bank and hits the up button for the eleventh floor. What the hell does he care, he’s young and head strong. And heading up to fuck a late thirty-something neglected wife that is very hot looking, with nice tan lines. Sounds good to him.

Room 1115’s door is ajar. Rather the door is propped open by the security lock close to the top of the door. Pat has left it open for him to enter the room. He does. The room’s dark, just the bathroom light on for him to make his way into the room.

Joe Willie…I’m in bed…join me. Her voice seductive and pleasing to him. Oh…and take your clothes off too.

Never one to disappoint a woman in her hotel room, he does as she says, joining her in bed. But he’s always been someone that wants to see what he is going to enjoy, and it’s really dark in the room, so he reaches over and turns the bedstand light on.

There she is in bed. Her tan lines enhanced with the light on. She has a very nice set on her. Her long blonde hair matches below, and when he reaches down and touches her, she’s very ready. Without foreplay he enters her and makes sure she enjoys herself. He does as well, and leaves her lying in her bed. Sweaty and sleepy.

She’s half-asleep when he walks out. It’s close to one in the morning. And he has another tournament starting at seven that evening.

Pat has not been his first woman at a tournament, there had been some girls at small-time tournaments that were his age. But she has been the first that was more experienced, and richer. Married and hungry. Somewhere in the back of his mind he files that away, thinking he could benefit from the experience with her.

His tournament fee has been paid for by his sponsor, as has his hotel room, per diem, and table buy-in. This is the second night of the tournament. His first in a major casino in Vegas. It’s an exhibition tournament. A way to draw more gamblers into the casino. There will be eighteen players at two tables. The two-night casino tournament has been set-up as a first night play, then a night off for everyone to fine dine, see the shows, and more importantly for the casino – to gamble, and then wrap up with a last night’s play. How a casino makes its money.

Pat had watched him win the first night, with a winner’s take of one percent. His percentage from one of his sponsor’s very early in his career. The first night his take is thirteen thousand five hundred dollars, one percent of the one million three hundred fifty thousand dollars that he won after deducting his buy-in. A very good night for a twenty-two-year old. A winner, and Pat is his reward.

Women are always attracted to a winner.

Tonight, the organizers rotate the players and there are some different ones at his table. The dealer begins dealing. Immediately he feels the cards are different than two night ago. To begin with, he is seeing lots of twos, threes, and cards all below ten. No suited, no linked cards, and no set-mine pairs. Mostly dry boards. He keeps folding. Nine players are out and the remaining nine are re-positioned to the final table. His fifty thousand buy-in is down to a minimal amount – seventy-five hundred. Without some big wins he is going to bust in the final night of the tournament fast.

A new table sometimes brings different results, and in his case that proves correct. His first hand – pocket Kings, spades and hearts. A good start. He needs to go bold with his betting. He is sitting to the right of the dealer – the BTN position – the perfect position to see the blinds, then the checks, folds or raises of the other players. The big blind of one thousand is called once, then the rest of the players to his right fold. It’s his turn. He raises a thousand. Small blind folds. The other two players call. Three players left.

Pot sixty-five hundred.

The dealer deals the Flop. Three diamonds, two clubs, and ten hearts. He still has the advantage unless one of the other two players has a pocket pair of one of the lower cards that they are set-mining to get a three-of-a-kind. He will find out soon enough, based on their bets. Big blind checks. Second player limps with a five hundred raise and now it’s his bet. He thinks, okay, a five hundred limp, if the player has a pocket pair, well he didn’t hit his set-mine, otherwise he would have shoved his pile of chips. So best case, the player has two tens. Or an Ace or face card, waiting to pair it up. He is sitting on a pair of Kings. He raises the five hundred limp. Twenty-five hundred. Three thousand to the big blind player. Who folds.

He closely watches the player that has limped. Now it’s two of them left. Limping never accomplishes much. Just shows your hands weakness. He always was a big believer in fold-or-go-bold. Or be a check-player, which doesn’t tell your opponent anything about your hand. He watches the player decide whether to call his twenty-five hundred bet, fold, or raise. The body language is all there. He doesn’t have the nuts and folds. It not a big pot to win, but it’s the best he has won so far that night. He goes on to win more pots. Finishing fourth. Not a winner, but a nice six thousand pay day.

The women don’t flock to him after that final night, but he finishes solid in his first big Vegas tournament. He is on his way to making a name for himself in the world of big-time poker.

♣ ♠ ♦ ♥

Now he has some free time and spending money in his pocket. His room at the Sands paid for, it’s time for him to enjoy himself. And that does not mean gambling.

Vegas in 1972 was not the huge mecca of blinding bright glittering lights and monster high rise casino’s that it is today. There were a little over a half-dozen casinos on the strip. Casinos like The Sahara, Stardust, Desert Inn, Flamingo, Dunes, Caesars Palace, The International and the Sands. All of the casinos had a mile or so distance between them with nothing but desert in-between. Downtown Fremont street was the place to go for most gamblers. The strip casinos brought in the people that wanted a nice dinner and to see a show.

The Sands is a fourteen-story hotel – the casino occupying the first two floors – with a large pool behind it, surrounded by acres of grass and four two-story hotel buildings – all named after famous race tracks. He is staying in the Aqueduct building. It truly is a resort environment that has a casino. And a large theatre to showcase major entertainers. The day after the tournament he low-keys it, hanging around the pool, napping, ordering a few beers from the roving pool cocktail waitresses, and people watching.

He has no big plans for the evening. Deciding to do exactly what he’s doing now –