21 Degrees

By Eddie W. White

The weather is hot in southern Oklahoma, but the blackjack tables at the Fortune Frontier Casino are even hotter. They are so hot that a blackjack player is brutally murdered alongside a highway in broad daylight! Was he killed for the $12,000 in cash that he was carrying, or was the motive related to his blackjack game?

This question is left up to a sharp-dressed FBI agent from Maine and a gorgeous southern Oklahoma deputy sheriff. If they can learn the game of blackjack, deal with a few unsavory casino managers, and survive the brutal Oklahoma heat, they might just be able to solve this murder case. With a little luck, they might even win a few bucks at the blackjack tables as well!

• Language: English
• Publisher: Fulton Books, Inc.
• Release date: Jun 3, 2024
• ISBN: 9798889826927

Book preview

Table of Contents

Title

Copyright

Just Another Day at the Office

Blood on the Highway

Investigative Road Trip

Laying Out the Cards

Learning the Game

The Party Boat

Looking for a Motive

Up for a Little Gambling

Noah Webb

Closure

Total Closure

Just Rewards

About the Author

cover.jpg

21 Degrees

Eddie W. White

Copyright © 2024 Eddie W. White

All rights reserved

First Edition

Fulton Books

Meadville, PA

Published by Fulton Books 2024

ISBN 979-8-88982-691-0 (paperback)

ISBN 979-8-88982-692-7 (digital)

Printed in the United States of America

Just Another Day at the Office

The clock on the nightstand signaled 8:00 a.m., but the clock's alarm had been turned off for nearly an hour. Edward Murphy always set his alarm clock for eight, but rarely did he ever sleep past seven. Even though he had been retired for nearly five years, old habits die hard.

With his thinning gray hair still wet from his morning shower, Edward squeezed the end of a tube of toothpaste. Releasing a sigh, he silently criticized his sleeping better half for her annoying habit of squeezing the tube in the middle instead of from the end as the inventor of the container had intended. Would that woman ever understand such a basic concept?

Ensuring that his toothbrush was completely dry and there was no danger of allowing moisture to run down the handle of the brush, Edward placed the toothbrush into the holder and adjusted it so that his brush and his wife's brush both pointed in the same direction. Edward Murphy had always held a fondness for detail, and few things ever escaped his attention.

Dressed in his bathrobe, the man cooked himself a hearty breakfast of toast and oatmeal. However, as he pulled a bottle of milk from the refrigerator, a slight look of panic suddenly came over his face as he glanced at the expiration date printed on the bottle. Moving over to a calendar that hung on the kitchen wall, he jotted down the words milk expires on an upcoming day.

Although a well-laid-out dining room, complete with a large mahogany table set with fine china and silverware joined the kitchen by an open door, Edward chose to enjoy his breakfast at a comfortable breakfast nook built onto the kitchen. The small table and chairs in the nook were surrounded by windows, providing an open view of a beautiful backyard. A fine-trimmed lawn framed by a rainbow of colorful flowers and detailed shrubbery offered a splendid backdrop for any meal. Such an outdoor display provided the evidence of someone who really enjoyed the painstaking, hard work of gardening or had the money to pay someone else to do so.

Edward paid little attention to the plush yard outside the windows, but instead he glanced through his morning newspaper as a cat rubbed against his leg. Indeed, most people now relied on their smartphones and iPads for their morning news source, but Edward Murphy was a dedicated soul of tradition. He was a man who slept in full long-sleeve pajamas and drank his coffee black.

Although Edward had been a devoted husband of over thirty-five years and a dedicated father of two children, his tiresome lack of humor or excitement could nearly be compared to that of a corpse. If the man had ever told a joke in his life, those who witnessed such an unthinkable act had either died of old age or hadn't understood the punch line in the first place. Edward Murphy was very much a what you see is what you get kind of gentleman, and if he did decide to converse with someone, the subject would rarely rise above interest rates or tax deductions.

Dressed in a pair of slacks and a button-down short-sleeve shirt, Edward strolled into his study. If someone was ever to make the mistake of calling the room his office, he would quickly correct them by claiming that an office was a place of business. Edward Murphy was retired, meaning such a room was now called a study. Although few had ever entered his study, those who did were usually quite impressed. The room could have easily been the office of a senior partner at any law firm. Edward had always tried to portray himself as a man of conservative tastes, but the huge oak desk that nearly consumed the room had a price tag that rivaled an economy automobile. And although he claimed television was for the weak-minded, a large flat-screen television sat against a wall surrounded by a collection of well-stocked bookcases.

After making sure that his desk computer was powered down in order to conserve electricity, Edward pulled the room's double doors closed and knelt down to open a cabinet door under his television where a small safe was placed. After entering a combination into the safe's keypad, Edward opened the door of the safe to reveal neatly organized stacks of one hundred dollar bills. With the diligence of an accountant, Edward carefully counted out ten thousand dollars from the safe and placed the bills into a zippered money bag. He then reached into the safe and pulled out a snub-nose .38 caliber revolver and checked the pistol to ensure that it was loaded.

With the pistol concealed in the pocket of his slacks and the money bag firmly grasped in his hand, Edward entered the living room where his wife, Margaret, sat on a couch thumbing through a copy of People magazine while a morning entertainment program played on the room's television. Curled up next to Margaret was the family cat, who seemed to be enjoying the comfort of the couch. Edward released a sigh of disgust as his eyes met the feline. The cost of the couch had edged into four figures, and the thought of the little beast taking comfort in the pricey piece of furniture did not sit well with the man. However, Edward kept his feelings to himself. He realized that his wife enjoyed the animal's company, and having the feline around meant that he could get through most days with a minimal amount of conversation with his wife.

Edward was not one who enjoyed dialogue, and in his mind, there was little reason to partake in unnecessary chitchat with Margaret. He had put forth considerable efforts to ensure that the woman wanted for little. The furniture in the room was up-to-date and comfortable, and the seventy-inch screen TV, which served as her best friend, was overflowing with all the latest technology, even though neither of them understood much of it. There was even a large Thomas Kinkade print that hung on the room's wall, a beautiful print that was encased within an even more impressive frame. A frame that had cost Edward more than he would ever admit to paying. However, if such made his Margaret happy, he considered such funds well spent. Edward Murphy may have been a tiresome bore whose mind rarely drifted beyond anything that most would find remotely interesting, but he was, without doubt, a devoted husband.

Well, Margaret, I'm off for the morning. Edward took a step past the house's dark cherrywood front door, which was accented with etched glass. I've noted that we still have a healthy supply of cat food on hand, but I'm afraid the milk is approaching its expiration date. Can you think of anything else I could pick up while out and about?

Margaret looked up from her magazine and gave her husband a subtle smile. "I would appreciate the new issue of Vanity Fair, Edward. That is, if you don't mind."

"Vanity Fair? Of course, my dear. Edward took a step toward the house's garage but suddenly detoured himself over to where Margaret sat and delivered a gentle kiss upon the woman's forehead. I'll make a point to purchase one. I should return before the noon hour."

Have a good morning, Edward. Before Margaret's words had even left her mouth, her eyes lowered back down to her magazine. Such a morning seemed all too routine for the couple.

As the door of a three-car garage opened, a silver late-model Lincoln Continental sedan backed down the driveway of a fine brick house enhanced with stone accents. "Vanity Fair? Edward grumbled as he steered the Lincoln while making an effort to stay clear of the polished Cadillac Escalade that remained in the garage. For heaven's sakes." Although Edward's mood may have been a bit exhausted, the atmosphere of his surroundings couldn't have been anything but splendid. Although the weatherman had forecasted triple-digit heat for the day, the appearance of the fine lawn and wrought iron fence that complemented the handsome brick home could not have been jaded by even the most uncomfortable of weather conditions.

Although the clock found on the dash of Edward's Lincoln showed that the time of day had yet to reach ten o'clock, the outside temperature gauge revealed that the summer heat had already drifted up past ninety degrees. However, inside the luxurious Lincoln, the outside heat was nothing more than a notion. Edward had never been one to lose his cool, though, and had the esteemed reputation of rarely ever perspiring. After a career of working within the bowels of the Internal Revenue Service, Edward Murphy was the one who usually made people sweat. Although he looked like a mild-mannered accountant, Edward was known for being deadly with figures. Not only had he made more than a few folks sweat in his career, but there had been those blessed times when he had reduced grown men to tears. In some circles within the IRS, Edward Murphy had been known as the scourge of North Texas.

Just part of the job, he would always say without so much as blinking an eye. If a fly doesn't want to be eaten by the spider, the blessed creature shouldn't have flown into the web was a remark he had been heard quoting throughout his career. Such a ruthless philosophy should have been revered in Edward's profession, but when the government agency tightened its belt, Edward was one of the first to be invited to the agency's joys of early retirement meeting. Even though Edward's age was pushing sixty, there were several rumors floating around the local IRS offices that Edward would have been instructed to attend the meeting even if he had been a mere thirty years old. The young guns in the administration felt that Edward's cold war audit practices did not reflect well with their new IRS image, and his old-school attitude was interfering with the new political atmosphere of the modern day. Although the agency couldn't push the seasoned employee out the door, Edward's younger and more permissive superiors had no issues reminding him where the door was and what wonderful times awaited him outside that door.

Although many would consider an opportunity to leave the IRS racket early while still receiving full retirement benefits, to be nothing less than a gift from God, Edward saw the proposal as an insult more than a gift. Even though he rarely smiled, Edward Murphy loved his job. He loved the game of numbers that the job required. He loved embracing the upper hand that he always believed the agency held. He loved the manipulating mind games of an intense audit, but more than anything else, Edward liked to walk away from a situation feeling that he was the winner. The man had never been much of an athlete, but holding such a position in the IRS, at times, made him feel like an NFL Super Bowl MVP quarterback.

One by one, Edward had watched agency employees, some whom he had known for years, take the retirement package and venture into the retirement good life. Always the numbers cruncher, Edward compromised with the local office and agreed to a semiretired position while keeping a desk tucked away in the corner of the North Texas, Grayson County, IRS office. Therefore, the once-ruthless auditor and the scourge of North Texas had been reduced to a kinder office auditor who showed up a few days a month to carry out the mundane duties that no one else cared to do. They younger crowd at the office paid little attention to Edward when he made his sporadic appearances. No one knew or even cared that he had sold the house where he and Margaret had lived for nearly thirty years and moved up in the real estate world. Nor did anyone pay any attention to the Lincoln Continental or the Cadillac Escalade he would drive into the office parking lot. The fact that Edward drove such high-end, luxurious cars on his meager salary should have been a red flag for his IRS office mates, but Edward's funds were all legal and accounted. A little questionable perhaps, but all quite legal and reported. Edward may have retired from one number-crunching, mind-manipulating game, but he had just replaced it with another.

Within a few minutes, Edward's polished Lincoln was leaving the Lone Star State, and even though driving over the Highway 75 Red River Bridge signified that he was entering a different state, the blistering outside temperature faltered little. For those making the northbound trek across the border river, a friendly sign stood alongside the highway welcoming them to the state of Oklahoma and inviting them to Discover the Excellence during their visit. Although the sign was somewhat modest, it served its purpose, but the sign that really caught the attention of anyone entering the state had little to do with discovering excellence. Standing loud and proud no more than fifty feet behind the welcoming sign was a billboard so huge that some truckers claimed it could be seen from outer space! Even though the outer space speculation may have been a bit exaggerated, at night, when the lights of the sign came alive, the billboard radiated a glow that could indeed be seen for miles. Such a spectacle had been the focal point of thousands of selfies over the years and had graced countless social media posts. Indeed, the entire purpose of the over-the-top billboard was to attract as much attention as possible and to inform all those who drove across the Red River Bridge that the famed Fortune Frontier Casino lay just a mere few miles ahead!

Good Times! You bet cha! was the sign's catch phrase that was supposed to reach out and grab anyone who drove past. If the good times invitation didn't rope in the travelers, the sign invited them to Experience the thrill of the world's fourth largest casino! For those who regularly made the journey across the Red River, few made the claim that they had discovered much excellence as the first sign had implied, but most folks who entered Oklahoma from Texas quickly realized that they couldn't drive more than thirty minutes within the Sooner State without seeing a casino of some type.

The Fortune Frontier Casino rose out of the southern Oklahoma woodlands like the great pyramids of Egypt emerged from the desert sand. The towering hotel attached to the casino was the tallest structure between Dallas and Tulsa and held more luxury rooms than anyone cared to count. The majestic fountain located in the casino's parking lot jetted water high into the sky, putting on a show of dancing fluids that few could ignore, even though the area was in the middle of a month-long drought. With its majestic hotel, sparkling billboards, and spectacular fountain, the colossal casino could have easily been a fixture on the Las Vegas Strip, but instead it was comfortably nestled on the outskirts of Durant, Oklahoma. For years the southern Oklahoma town's claim to fame had rested in being the home of the Southeastern Oklahoma State University fighting Savage Storm. However, when the state's gambling laws changed in 2003, the Native American Nukata Nation brought new life to the small city by transforming it into a gambling mecca for everyone in southeastern Oklahoma who had a steady paycheck or a healthy trust fund. More importantly though, the fourth largest casino in the world was a mere hour-and-change drive straight up Highway 75 from the fourth largest metropolitan area in the United States, Dallas/Fort Worth.

Even though the huge clock on the casino's hotel sign hadn't clicked to the noon hour yet, the casino's parking lot was filled with the cars of those who had deemed the weekday morning a fine time to try their luck at the casino's slot machines. The massive casino held the esteemed claim of having over nine thousand slot machines—slot machines that were packed into every nook and cranny the huge casino had to offer. Since the casino's construction, there had been a long-running joke that the casino's planners had considered placing slot machines in the men's restroom over the urinals. However, some wondered if such an idea hadn't actually been considered by the casino's management.

The hotel and casino proudly provided two five-level parking garages, which had their own stoplights to control traffic, but Edward Murphy found the forty-five-second wait at the stoplights to be nothing more than a tedious waste of time. Instead, he simply drove right past the valet parking booth in the casino's front parking lot and pulled up beside a rust-covered jalopy that looked as though it belonged in a salvage yard. Apparently, the owner of the broken-down heap felt that their money was better wasted in the casino's slot machines than on payments for a decent vehicle. Edward's glistening Lincoln parked next to the old vehicle looked like a bar of silver alongside a dirt clod, but Edward paid little attention to the rust bucket. In his mind, the parking spot merely provided the least amount of walking without having to dish out the few bucks that valet parking required. However, he did take a quick glance around the parking lot to see if any of the casino's morning patrons were nearby. Ensuring that his .38 revolver was safely secured in his car's glove compartment, Edward clenched the zipped money bag and exited the Lincoln.

Carrying such an amount of cash might have frazzled the nerves of some people, but Edward casually moved through the parking lot as if the pouch carried nothing more than a ham sandwich and a doughnut. Like most casinos, security could easily be found, and as Edward made his way toward the casino, a small late-model sedan complete with a rack of lights on the roof and the words Fortune Frontier Security printed on the sides slowly drove past him. Such cars were a common sight in the casino's parking lot, so Edward paid little attention to the uniformed guard who drove the economy four-door. However, behind his mirrored sunglasses, the man in the security uniform watched Edward's every step.

Not only did Edward pay little attention to the security guard, but he walked right past the valet parking booth, giving no heed to the sinister glares he received from those stationed there. Although valet parking attendants were paid a steady income, the biggest chunk of their salary came from the tips they received from the casino's patrons. The Wednesday morning was a weak time slot for the attendants, and the sight of a late-model Lincoln Continental usually represented a big spender whose generosity might fill their pockets a bit. However, as soon as they laid their eyes on Edward Murphy, they acted as if they already knew their pockets wouldn't be receiving a dime from him. The part-time IRS employee simply strolled past the valets with not so much as a glance. Edward seemed to ignore them as much as he ignored the casino's huge sparkling marquee that advertised the casino's upcoming concert featuring the eighties rock band Loverboy.

The Nukata Nation had held no minor league thoughts when they built their beautiful casino. They were definitely going for the big leagues and had spared little expense to make sure that their Fortune Frontier Casino stood up proud when compared to anything in Las Vegas or Atlantic City. They wanted their patrons to be so enamored by the spectacular decor of the grand casino that their minds wouldn't register the hundreds of dollars they were blowing in the slot machines. Such was the philosophy of many casinos. Blow the mind while emptying the pockets.

The designers of the casino had built the gambling palace with the atmosphere of Las Vegas's famous Caesars Palace in mind and had taken great pains and expense to bring alive the same decor. Those gamblers who dared to take their eyes away from the slot machines would notice that the casino's ceiling portrayed such a detailed sky scene that one might wonder if there was indeed an actual roof over their heads. However, the elegant chandeliers that hung above the sea of slot machines assured everyone in the massive casino that even though their retirement funds were slowly depleting, they were at least covered by a ceiling.

Although the constant chorus of dings and dongs that rang out from the thousands of slot machines was enough to drive even the most focused of people a bit batty, serenity could be found in the casino's three huge indoor fountains that circulated multicolored water as smoothly as the gamblers' ATM cards withdrew money. However, if serenity could not be found within the comforting sounds of the majestic fountains, those ill-fated gamblers who had blown their paychecks discovered consolation in the multitude of bars that were strategically placed around the huge casino. These bars were carefully positioned to assure that no gambler had to walk more than a hundred paces to drink away their despair or enhance their courage to go lose even more money. Of course, this was a casino run by a Native American nation, which meant that one didn't have to look far to see plenty of symbols representing the proud Nukata heritage. Where Caesars Palace might have been filled with statues of Roman soldiers, displays of historical figures of the Nukata Nation could be found throughout the casino depicted in both marble and canvas. Even through the casino's constant fog of cigarette smoke, all who entered the gambling palace quickly took note of who owned the place.

The doors of the casino never closed, not even for Christmas, and although the midmorning weekday crowd was nothing compared to the wall-to-wall, cattle-drive feeling of the weekend horde, there were still several patrons entering the casinos with fat wallets and optimistic smiles. They were all walking through the doors to experience the thrill of the world's fourth largest casino. Fun? You bet cha!

With a tower of hotel rooms, fifteen restaurants, and several full-service bars, the Fortune Frontier Casino was one of the largest employers in the region, and those employees who proudly wore the Fortune Frontier logo on their shirt, whether they were pit bosses or custodians, nearly outnumbered the casually dressed gamblers for the morning. However, walking through the lingering fog of cigarette smoke, among the casino's employees and patrons was a man who carried an air of confidence that even the most serious gambler could only envy.

Although Sammy Quick was also an employee of the casino, his uniform was a two-thousand-dollar tailor-made suit. Where most men who wore such stylish duds might have finished off the ensemble with diamonds and gold, Sammy preferred silver and turquoise. Standing over six feet tall with a full head of jet-black hair that drifted just an inch below his collar, Mr. Quick carried the mystique of someone who had the pull of a politician but possessed the power of a mafia boss. Even though Sammy was well into his fifties, there were few lines to be seen on his face, and his powerful build showed that he was no stranger to the resort's weight room.

Strolling through the casino, Sammy dished out a healthy supply of friendly greetings to all those who were dumping their Social Security checks into the slot machines, and those who were wearing the casino's logo on their shirts met him with happy greetings of their own. With a big radiant smile plastered on his face, Sammy Quick strutted through the maze of slot machines as if he answered to no one. This was because he didn't. Sammy Quick was a proud member of the Nukata Nation who could trace his lineage back over two hundred years. More importantly though, Sammy Quick was the top dog at the fourth largest casino in the world, and in the minds of all those who worked at the casino, he was the boss!

Rodney! Sammy exclaimed as he laid his huge hand on a security guard's shoulder. What's the good word, cuz?

It's a damn Monday, the man wearing the spiffy maroon blazer of the casino's security returned in a grumble. And it's already hotter than hell outside.

Although Rodney was every inch as tall as Sammy, the man's large belly pulled his entire body down with a force that left him in a permanent slouch, making him look at least three inches shorter than his well-dressed cousin. However, the security blazer he wore did seem to enhance his appearance a bit, and the long salt-and-pepper ponytail that drifted down to the middle of his back gave the man a look of his own. Perhaps years of indulging in six-packs and barbecues had left Rodney with a build that didn't quite size up next to his cousin Sammy, but the shiny badge he wore with the words Security Manager engraved into it gave him all the commanding presence he needed.

It's summertime. It's supposed to be hot, Sammy returned as his eyes slowly surveyed the casino. Besides, if the weather was nice, these good folks might be home working in their yards or something. Now, we can't have that. And it's Wednesday, buddy.

Rodney merely let out a low growl. The day wasn't even half over, and his back and knees were already bugging him. Only two years separated the cousins, but few would have guessed such. Too many bar fights and too many long nights of hard living had left Rodney feeling and, at times, looking like a train wreck.

Suddenly, Sammy's attention turned to an elderly couple who made their way through the casino's lobby and onto the gaming floor. Good morning, folks! Hot enough for you?

The couple merely gave the casino manager a friendly smile and a bit of a nod.

Y'all have fun now. And good luck. As Sammy watched the happy couple disappear into the flashing sea of slot machines, his smile slowly faded. You're going to need it. Sammy Quick had been swimming in the casino game long enough to know that the house edge on slot machines was at 15 percent on most days. At the end of the month, when the casino's bills were due, the house edge tended to drift a little higher, but such privileged information was usually kept on a need-to-know basis. All Sammy cared about for the moment was making sure that the happy couple who had entered the casino to experience the thrill left a little lighter, but not too much lighter. Keep them coming and keep them playing. Such was all part of the gaming business.

After a quick glance at his Rolex, Sammy's eyes returned to the casino's entrance and focused on another patron who walked through the lobby.

Unlike the other people who entered the casino, there was no smile on Edward Murphy's face as he strolled into the fourth largest casino in the world. The man didn't carry the slightest inkling that he had entered the place to experience the thrill or to experience any kind of mediocre amusement in any way. Edward Murphy entered the casino looking as if he was merely an employee strolling into his office for a day's work.

At the sight of Edward, Sammy sucked in a deep breath, and his eyes narrowed to mere slits. Welcome to the Fortune Frontier Casino. I hear it's going to be a real scorcher outside today. Although Sammy generally greeted the casino's guest in a friendly, over-the-top voice that would put most game show hosts to shame, the exuberance in his tone dropped to a deadpan drone as he addressed Edward. Any tone would have been wasted on Edward though because the man quietly strolled past Sammy and Rodney as if they were mere slot machines themselves.

You ain't going to wish him luck, Sammy? Rodney asked as his eyes followed Edward.

Luck? Sammy breathed out in a low grown. That guy doesn't need luck.

The slot machines chimed out a welcoming yet annoying chorus that few could ignore, but Edward walked right past the machines as if they were tombstones. Although casinos, big or small, reaped 90 percent of their profits from the pleasure machines, Edward had never put so much as a penny into a slot machine. The blinking electronic contraptions were not his game. In his younger days, Edward had heard them being referred to as one-armed bandits, and he had always held their nickname to heart.

Good morning, sir, a friendly voice sang out as Edward walked past the casino's buffet. The voice belonged to a young hostess of the casino's famous and most popular eating establishment, the Craven' Sensation! For the low, low price of $15.50 ($12.50 for seniors), gamblers could stuff themselves until they couldn't walk. Such was all part of experiencing the thrill of the casino. We're still serving breakfast, the young lady stated through a fake smile.

The buffet's staff—whether they be servers, cooks, or bussers—all benefited from the healthy appetites of the casino's patrons because the low, low price of the buffet usually meant the patrons had plenty of money left over to leave them a sizeable tip. Over the years, more than a few of the buffet's customers had stuffed themselves into a light coma where their ailing stomachs and acid reflux had clouded their eyesight and judgment to the point where they couldn't tell the difference between a five dollar bill and a fifty dollar bill, thus resulting in profitable tips for the entire staff. And like the parking valets who were sweating outside in the summer heat, those who worked in the casino's buffet raked in a good deal of their income from the generous tips from their well-fed customers.

The weekday discount is still in effect, the young lady added, as if such was just a memorized line of her job.

Edward though, with his eyes focused straight ahead, walked right past the pretty young hostess without a smile, a nod, or even a glance.

Biting her lower lip, the young lady merely watched Edward walk away, as if she already knew she wouldn't be getting any business from him. Edward Murphy and his zipped bag of Benjamins had only one place to go, and the discounted, all-you-can-stand breakfast buffet had very little to do with his current destiny.

With all the blinking lights and the irritating ding, dong, bing of the slot machines mixed in with the smell of eggs and sizzling bacon spilling out of the buffet, keeping any kind of focus in the casino would have been a challenge for most. However, Edward Murphy walked right through the sea of electronic money grabbers until his eyes met the oasis of the blackjack tables. On any given evening, especially during the weekends, the throng of gamblers would be packed so tightly around the gaming tables that the casino's cocktail servers could barely squeeze in to deliver their orders. However, the midmorning weekday had left the tables to the dedicated few who were either trying to avoid summer yard work or killing time while their wives blew their pension checks in the slot machines.

As was the rule with most casinos, the blackjack tables were identified by the maximum and minimum amount one could bet. If weekend or evening players wanted to try their luck at the table games, the absolute minimum one could dish out was ten dollars, but to encourage the casual midweek morning gamblers, the tables had all been laxed off to a five-dollar minimum bet. However, Edward Murphy had not made the twenty-minute drive up to the casino to nickel-and-dime away his morning. Instead, he sat himself down on what was called the third base seat at a table that was simply labeled high stakes, which meant the minimum bet could still be a measly five dollars, but the maximum amount had been pushed up to the high-roller amount of five hundred!

Camped out on the table's farthest seat to the right, known to gamblers as first base, was a man who simply called himself Pete. Pete fancied himself a high roller in the world of midmorning weekday gamblers, but in all reality, he was an avid golfer who had decided to try his hand at blackjack until the weather cooled off a bit. Pete was actually a retired cardiologist who had traded his hospital scrubs for floral Hawaiian shirts while letting his hair grow a little long and his beard a bit shaggy. For the morning though, he was just a man in his sixties who didn't mind wasting his weekday mornings blowing a few bucks of his retirement fund at the local casino.

As Edward took his seat, Pete gave him a friendly nod. Edward's face looked familiar to him, but he couldn't remember if he had seen the man professionally in the past, or maybe this wasn't the first time he had shared a blackjack table with him.

Have a seat there, buddy, Pete invited as he watched Edward carefully unzip his money bag. The more the merrier.

Indeed, the more the merrier. The only other players stationed at the table was a young married couple who had started their weekend vacation a few days early. Even though the couple looked as though they couldn't have been over thirty years old, they obviously had a few bucks to blow judging by the stack of yellow twenty-dollar chips that they shared joint custody. Although the man and woman made a cute couple, their bloodshot eyes and unkempt hair gave the impression that they had been enjoying the fruits of the casino since the previous evening. As the husband took a quick inventory of their stack of chips, the woman gave Edward a welcoming nod. Like Pete, she was all too happy to have another player joining the table because in the game of blackjack, the more people playing the game meant better odds of winning for everyone. Even the most experienced players didn't want to go solo against a blackjack dealer.

Good to have some new blood at the table, Pete added.

Oh, there's nothing new about this guy, the dealer stated in a deadpan tone without giving Edward a glance. He's an old hand at this game.

Good, the young lady answered. Maybe he'll bring some old-school experience to the table.

The young man who sat behind the table wore the dealer's uniform that consisted of a vest, long-sleeve shirt, and a tie. The only thing that distinguished his uniform from the other dealers was the name Chad embroidered onto his vest. Usually, Chad would have welcomed a new player to his table, but instead, he looked to Edward as if he was just a nuisance that had to be endured. However, the rest of those seated at the table nearly fell out of their chairs when Edward pulled the thick stack of hundreds from his money pouch.

Ten thousand in chips please, Edward stated as if the request was as routine as a dealer holding on seventeen.

As casino protocol required, Chad motioned to his pit boss to come witness the transaction. There were no questions regarding how the chips would be distributed, and Chad counted out the hundred-dollar black chips as if Edward had reserved the chips in advance.

Good gravy, sir! Pete exclaimed as he watched Chad set the mountain of black chips in front of Edward. You must be an old hand at this game.

He'd better be an old hand at the game, the young man at the table added while Edward organized his chips into neat stacks of five hundred dollars.

For a fraction of a second, a hint of a smile fell upon Edward's face as he took in the word game. Perhaps blackjack was a game to his fellow players seated around the table, but this wasn't a game to him. It was a part-time job, and as the dealer tossed out the cards to the players, Edward had clocked in for the day.

As with all gambling, a great deal of pure luck is involved in the game of blackjack, but as all regular patrons of a casino will agree, the concept of statistics play heavily on one's luck. Edward had made A's in all his college statistics classes, but working the stats in a card game never required solving the null hypotenuses, and there would be no need for anyone at the table to use the sigma key on their pocket calculator.

The game of blackjack was easy enough to understand for even the subpar math student, but for someone who had worked with numbers his entire career, like Edward had, the understanding of the play went far deeper than just knowing how to count to twenty-one. A player such as Edward could never be called a card counter, but he did take heed to what cards had been played, even though Chad was dealing out of a seven-deck shoe of cards. A doctorate in math wasn't required to understand that the chances of being dealt a card with the value of ten ran around 30 percent in spite of how many decks were being used. Regardless how lucky a player was or how deep their knowledge of statistics might run though, the virtue of patience was even more important. However, the greatest knowledge of winning the game had very little to do with math, luck, or patience. The most important gift a gambler of any game could possess was the knowledge of simply knowing when to say when.

Although the retired cardiologist had a healthy retirement fund, laying down seventy-five-dollar bets was as steep as he cared to go for the morning. Pete, though, was a high roller compared to the married couple who had set their limit at forty bucks. So when Edward carefully pushed a five-high stack of the black chips into play, everyone at the table seemed to suck in a deep breath. Chad, on the other hand, acted as if Edward's hefty wager was just business as usual.

The concept