Good afternoon, my friends,
I met Norma, a writer from the Rockport Pilot in our favorite restaurant, “What a Burger” today at noon. She suggested I send her some information on my novels - so I did.
As promised in the article I wrote, here is the sample of part of the first chapter of “The Texas Two Card Hold ‘em Heist” - Enjoy!
Although it was early in November, as a hot wind blew off the desert and heated up the asphalt and concrete jungle often labeled “Tinsel Town”, it was sweltering outside. However, inside the many casinos that line the “strip”, it was air-conditioned, cool and comfortable, plus there were no clocks to disturb the gamblers.
Each “take your money and run” establishment filled the interior of their gilded palace with a blaze of lights and multitude of mirrors to reflect that glow throughout the entire casino.
If you didn’t consult your wristwatch, you would never know whether it was night or day outside. And that was the secret – keep the suckers inside playing your games. Don’t let them find another casino and lose their money elsewhere.
In a corner of the Parisian casino, a single player sat at an otherwise empty bank of quarter, poker slot machines.
Tasha Yoder, a shapely thirty-two-year-old beauty with coal black hair and eyes to match absentmindedly fed quarters into one of the few old–time machines that remained in play.
Tasha’s attention was not focused on her machine. She didn’t give a damn if she won or lost. Far more important thoughts rolled through her mind. The main thing she listened for was a roar from the crowd in the Universal Poker Tour main event room.
Tasha dropped five more quarters into the slot and pushed the “deal” button. “I would have thought by now they’d be down to two players.”
She paid little attention to the cards dealt. Tasha was more interested in the game that was being played in the poker room located fifty feet to the rear.
Finally, (to her eternal gratitude), the noise of the crowd that filtered out through the doors to the main event room suddenly increased in volume. The shouts of joy Tasha awaited came just as predicted.
She murmured, “Hallelujah”, and reached down, removed a cell phone from her purse and punched the number two to speed dial. When the phone was answered, she spoke quietly into the mouthpiece, “Fifteen minutes.”
Without waiting for a reply, Tasha snapped the phone shut and returned it to her purse. Then when she glanced at the video screen of her machine, she found she had been dealt four cards to a royal flush in spades. All she needed to win the jackpot that was flashing above her head – (sixteen hundred, forty-nine dollars and counting), was the queen.
Tasha was not pleased at the chance to win the money. Under her breath she said, “Damn”, and punched only two of the silver tabs, the ones under the ace and king. Then she pushed the “deal” button. Much to her relief, she was dealt another king and received five credits.
She fed five more quarters into the slot. “All I need is a jackpot to draw attention to me.”
Fifteen minutes later, although Tasha expected it, when the first series of bombs went off, the noise still startled her. Tasha’s hand opened involuntarily and she dropped a fistful of quarters.
Most coins clanked noisily into the metal hopper next to her knees, but four missed the tray. Like merry pranksters, they rolled slowly across the floor. As thick, black smoke filled the casino, Tasha lost sight of them.
Around the entrance to and inside the main event room, a combination of twelve sleeping gas and smoke canisters exploded and added their noise and fumes to the confusion. A minute later, a second series of loud smoke bombs went off throughout the entire casino.
After she pulled her headscarf from her shoulders, Tasha held it close to her mouth and covered her nostrils with her other hand. Then she turned her head and joyfully observed the result of her hard work and the plans of her leader.
Like lava as it spews forth from Mount Haleakala, pandemonium and confusion broke out among the players at various tables. Those with thievery on their minds reached across the felt tops to grab handfuls of chips in various denominations – the bigger amount - the better. Others with survival instincts hastily made for the exits without regard to their fellow players’ safety or welfare.
As thieves made off with their loot, Tasha heard shouts of “drop it,” and peals of laughter.
Several little old ladies and elderly men were caught unaware and trampled by the hysterical mob. Their screams of pain only added to the confusion.
Dedicated casino employees and a small force of security personnel who guarded the various venues did their best to control the crowd. But it was no contest. Currency, coins and chips flew through the air, while fights broke out everywhere. Exactly as Tasha’s husband, Alan predicted, greed was their ally.
Twenty minutes ago, Alan passed by Tasha’s seat without pausing or indicating he knew her. The eyes in the sky were watching.
From the corner of her eye, Tasha saw Alan enter the bathroom located outside the main event room.
Then a few moments later, at five minute intervals, Alan’s buddies, Roger Booth and Carl James emerged from the main event area. They also made their way to the same bathroom.
A triangular yellow sign in the doorway indicated the facilities were closed for cleaning, but they paid no attention. As Roger and Carl approached the entrance, the attendant on duty, another member of their gang, a black man named A.J. Rose unlocked the door and allowed them to enter. Then he bolted the door once more.
Tasha’s mind returned to the present. As more bombs exploded and the smoke became too thick to see further than a foot in front of her face, Tasha struggled to make her way slowly through the hysterical mob to her assigned position. She stumbled and almost missed the overstuffed chair located twenty feet from the main event room.
Dark black smoke swirled around her head. As she took her seat, Tasha coughed and felt lightheaded. A stranger bumped into her and Tasha felt his hand on her breast for a fleeting moment. Then he was gone, lost in the darkness and panic which was slowly but inevitably taking command of the casino.
A few seconds later, three minutes into the assault, twenty additional sleeping gas canisters exploded throughout the area. Like ten pins scattered into a bowling pit by a well thrown ball, the casino soon became littered with unconscious customers, employees and security personnel.
“Out-a sight,” Tasha thought while she attempted to keep her eyes open for a moment or two longer to relish the proceedings, but she was unable to do so. They closed against her will and she coughed again.
Then the sleeping gas took effect and she slipped unconscious to the floor. Tasha’s right elbow caught between the cushion of the chair and a small ottoman, which caused her arm to bend at the elbow so her open palm rested against her brow. It appeared as if Tasha was giving a salute to the former unruly members of the mass of humanity who were now lying on the floor as still as discarded cigarette butts.
Inside the main event room, just before the first gas containers and smoke bombs exploded noisily above his head, Mike, “Mad Man”, Morrison was counting his blessings as well as his chips. The air conditioning must have been set at sixty-five, but it wasn’t the chilly air that caused shivers of excitement to run up and down his arms and legs. “I can’t believe my luck has held this long.”
Mad Man was afraid to pinch himself to see if this was a dream. If it was, he didn’t want to wake up – not now!
A long seven days ago, a record entry of ten thousand poker players began their quest for the impossible dream – to win the main event of the Universal Poker Tour. Each entrant paid a fee of ten thousand dollars, and five Nevada casinos sponsored the promotion.
One by one, through days of drudgery, stiff backs and sore butts, at three casinos spread throughout Las Vegas, one in Laughlin and another in Reno, unlucky players were eliminated as their chips became the property of a luckier person. When only ten very fortunate gamblers remained, the final table was moved to the Parisian Casino in Las Vegas and the real challenge began.
Over the next two hectic and exciting days, each of those ten players either survived or was eliminated. Just over thirty minutes ago, Mad Man went “all in”, (betting all his twenty million chips), against one of the other two men, Harry, “The Hatter”, Porter.
Harry called Mad Man’s bet with just under eighteen million chips in his stack.
Mad Man hit a diamond flush on the river, (the last card turned up), and won all of Harry’s chips.
Then the celebration really began. With only two players remaining, the promoters of the tournament staged their long-standing tradition of bringing the grand prize to the table in cold, hard cash, (in this case, twenty million dollars).
As confetti flew and multi-colored, almost blinding lights flashed overhead on a fancy chrome set, the tournament director, Harriette Turnbow shouted, “Here are the girls.”
Twenty young, beautiful, shapely and well-endowed girls dressed in revealing gowns strolled in and dumped the contents of their silver trays onto the tabletop. Each platter was loaded with one million dollars in packets of one-hundred-dollar bills. When the ladies were done, the money made a hell of a pile.
Along with more than two hundred spectators on hand, Mike was duly impressed.
Once the gaudy display was completed, Mike and his opponent, Donald, “Little Slick”, Peterson got down to the serious business of determining which would walk away with the money.
Although most professional gamblers bragged constantly to anyone who would listen about their supposed “skill” at cards, Mike and Donald knew now it would be mostly luck that would prevail at this table. Skill was out the window. The winner would need the Goddess of Poker to smile down on his shoulders and grant him good fortune, plain and simple.
Mike glanced across the table at his opponent and said, “I’m glad it’s you Little Slick. I can read you like an open book.”
“You’re not immune to some ‘tells’ yourself,” Donald replied.
He smiled evilly and waved his hands in the general direction of their redheaded, blue-eyed dealer, Sue, “Sugar Lips”, Grafton, who was mixing the deck of cards in a circle on the table top. “Give me the high cards, Sue, and let Mad Man have the little ones.”
Sue smiled at them both, licked her lips sexily and said “Good luck.”
Both men knew she meant it.
Mike leaned across the table, shook Donald’s hand and echoed her words. “Good luck, Little Slick”. But he didn’t mean it.
After he pumped Mike’s paw once, Donald murmured something under his breath that sounded the same, but Mike knew Donald wasn’t sincere either.
For the next ten minutes, as each won alternating hands, the two men traded small amounts of chips. A slight advantage went to Little Slick as he added a little over one million chips to his stack.
It appeared it might be a long night. Mad Man and Donald each possessed more than forty million chips. Neither was about to risk all on an “iffy” hand.
Then to Mike’s surprise, he caught a pocket pair of kings, which is a great hand in heads-up play. It was his turn to bet first, so he studied his cards carefully.
Then he pushed six million chips toward the center of the table and said, “Raise.”
Across the green-felted tabletop, Little Slick found two aces in the hole. He took his time, while he let Mike stew in his own juices and checked both cards again.
Then Donald said, “I’m all in.”
This meant he was betting every one of his chips, (more than forty million), on his superior hand.
Mike stared at Little Slick with murder on his mind. “It figures. He’s either on a bluff or has a pair of aces. I’ll bet they’re aces, but maybe they’re face cards smaller than my kings. Either way, it’s a crapshoot. It’s been a long tournament, I’m worn out, and win or lose I’ll still be an instant millionaire. Eight million bucks for second place ain’t bad.”
Under his breath, Mike whispered silently, “To hell with it.”
“I call,” Mad Man said.
He flipped over his cards to show Little Slick his kings.
Donald attempted to smile, but his face was an ugly sneer, as he stood up, shouted in joy and threw down his aces.
Mike shrugged, silently repeated his previous curse and said a quiet prayer for a third king on the flop, (the first three cards turned face up by the dealer).
The crowd went wild. Supporters of both men shouted their encouragement and called out for a king, an ace or low cards that wouldn’t match either player’s hand. Both men stood up, shook hands and wished each other luck – again, neither meant it.
“Now for the flop,” Harriette said.
Dead silence returned to the room and you could almost cut the tension with a dull filet knife.
Sue burned a card and then turned over three cards in a row to display not only another king for Mad Man, but also a third ace for Little Slick. The third card of the flop was a deuce of diamonds, which did nothing for either man.
Donald’s smile grew larger and he couldn’t contain his joy. “I’ll be damned,” he shouted.
His outburst brought a frown from Harriette, who discouraged such language at the table.
Mike shook his head in disgust. The only card now that would beat Little Slick was the fourth king on either the turn, (the fourth card), or the river. As far as Mike was concerned, the odds of such an occurrence were both astronomical and dismal. Yet hope beat strongly in his heart.
Then the sleeping gas canisters exploded and within fifteen seconds, everyone in the room was unconscious.
Mike had time to think, “What the devil…” and take one step toward the doorway before he slipped to his knees and darkness overtook him.
Two hours later, after the gas was cleared from the room by a team of fire fighters and Mad Man was revived, the first thing he noticed was the pile of money was missing.
(Does this make you want to read more? I hope so - check out how to order this and all of my novels on my website.
To receive a signed, first edition, send a check for $16.00 for each novel, ($14.75 + 1.25 tax + $3.00 shipping), to PO Box 2096, Rockport, TX 78381
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Until next time,
Vaya con Dias, my friends and fans,
Karl Boyd
