Lucky Bob A fictional story about poker

[jodafish]

This is a fictional story about good and bad luck and Texas hold-em poker.
Chapter 1
Lucky Bob,
It had turned out to be a very profitable day at my green felt office.
I had been playing Texas hold-em poker for several hours and was up about 6.000.
Now was the time to cash out.
I called the” Brush” (the man in charge of the table) over and told him to rack up my winnings, gave the dealer 200 hundred in chips tip and went to the cashier’s cage.
The cashiers a good looking gal; her name tag said she is Gina. She gave me a familiar smile as she counted out my chips.
There is something about a person who smiles at you that instinctively makes you smile back.
“Do you want all this in cash or would you prefer to have the house hold it for you?”
She asked as she continued counting.
Not being short of money I told her to put it in my casino account, and gave her a hundred for her smile as a tip. Then went down to the lobby and called a cab to take me to my favorite restaurant.
At the La Strega I found a table in a corner where I had my back to the wall and a good view of the kitchen and the front door.
The life of a pro gambler has its dangers and I learned long ago that there are many shady people who have no qualms about sticking a gun or a knife in your ribs for a few quick bucks.
I knew what I was going to eat before I sat down. The waiter arrived with the menu; I ordered Osso buchi with sautéed onions, a side dish of whole wheat pasta with a light pesto sauce… While I waited for the wine steward, I got to thinking of Luck Bob and the great meals we had here. I had not seen him in at least two years. I wondered where he was, and how he was doing.
I first met Bob as an adversary while playing at The Pepper Mill Casino in Reno and I liked him at first sight. He was a wild and very over weighted player, but had a good sense humor, ruthless with his opponents, and he was the luckiest poker player I had ever run into.
It did not take me long to learn to stay out of any pot that he was involved in. And in return he did the same with me.
I took the wine list and was looking for an 82 Barolo when I notice that there was a 76 Brunello Di Montalciino that seemed to be the perfect choice for my meal. It was pricey, but gambling money is so easily spent.
I called the waiter over and asked him to bring it to my table and decant it. When he brought it, I felt the bottle and found that it was at perfect temperature. He uncorked it, handed me the cork to inspect, and then poured me a taste. It was outstanding, and left to breathe a bit it would be most excellent with the veal shanks. The waiter suggested a salad of beet greens with olives. Once the order was final I returned to my thoughts of Bob.
It had been six or seven years since Bob and I last played poker together. Gossip at the card rooms was that he stopped playing because he found it boring and had turned to horse racing to satisfy his gambling passions and had made a fortune.
Me, I was never one to trust a Jockey, trainer, or a stable hand, or even the horse, so I stuck to Texas Hold-em and relied on my own judgments…
The meal was everything I had anticipated and the wine was more than I could drink, so I left half the bottle for the waiter, ordered espresso and a shot of Cognac for dessert.
As I waited for the check I went to the restroom, washed up and pulled three hundred dollars out of the pocket sewn into my boot top.
Years ago when I was not wise to the ways of Vegas I had been mugged, since that time never carried much cash in my wallet, and I kept a very low profile.
Life is a gamble, and I try to keep the odds in my favor. I never wear a watch or a ring, the only bit of flash I wear is western boots and a gold and silver belt buckle that was made for me by a master engraver who is a close personal friend of mine

After settling my bill, I went for a stroll down the main drag, past the glitter and gleam that beckons the fish into the pool where the hungry sharks patiently wait.
I am a solitary soul .When I am at the poker table I sit in silence and watch my opponents carefully, always looking for information that can give me that slight advantage.
The tremble of their hands, a change in the pitch of the voice, the constant looking at their hold cards as if looking can change the spots. There are many nuances that allow me to determine a players hand and skill; I take advantage of all of them.
Although I am a nice guy and prefer to be underestimated away from the table. When I play poker,
I play for blood.

There we had worked the table taking away money from the tourists or in the vernacular of gamblers “Strawberries” that flocked there looking for loose ex- virgins.
As the easy money came rolling in Bob spent it, I saved it.
He was not shy when it came to flash or spending cash. He wore tailored silk shirts, Christian Dior ties, Gucci shoes and Armani suits.
He had a gold engraved Rolex Oyster watch on one wrist, a matching yellow gold bracelet engraved with the name Lucky Bob set in diamonds on the other, complimented with large opal pinky ring.
Compared to Bob I looked like the poor church mouse.
Al´s place is low key and quiet, sparingly lit with Tiffany style lamps .The bar has a nicely polished mesquite top with chrome and leather stools comfortably spaced .The only sound to interrupt the atmosphere was the musical ping of slot machines lined up along the back walls where the Holdem table used to be.
It took a second to allow my eyes to adjust to the cool darkness of the bar. As I stood in the entrance Al spotted me and came out from behind the bar to give me a crooked smile, and a bear hug of affection. ”Joe da Fish how are you my friend? It has been months since I last saw you; I see you are living the good life, put on a bit of weight haven’t you?”
Joe da Fish is my sign in name at a poker rooms ,I think it has a nice ring to it, and sounds much better when announced over the speaker than “Joseph Wilson, Your seat at table six is now open”
“Come and sit down and tell me what you have been up to. What can I get you to drink?” Al asked.
I felt the slight bulge around my waist and decided that Al was right, I had put on a bit of extra weight. “Espresso, no sugar or cream seems like a good idea Al”.
While he was fixing coffee I asked about Lucky Bob.
“Lucky Bob! You don’t know what has happened to him? He is a broken man, lost everything at the race tracks, and owes Louie the bookie a fortune. You would not recognize him; he is living on the streets, panhandling for food money. Once in a while he comes in and I feed him and give him a drink or two.”
This news about my friend stunned me, Bob the luckiest man in Nevada, a legend, now living on the streets, a bum!
“My God, Al what has happened? He had a penthouse, cars and Midas’s fortune in cash and jewelry stashed away. How is it possible?
Al shook his head, a sad look came over him and he shrugged his shoulders. “His luck stopped, one day his luck just disappeared and never returned.” All I could say was “Damn that is truly tragic Al”
Al nodded and continued, ” The trouble was poor Bob wouldn’t accept it. He would go to the track and bet huge on a horse that was sure to win, but it didn’t. It was the same thing at the card tables. Whatever cards he held would come out second best, even the tourists were slaughtering him.
Eventually he sold his penthouse, cars and pawned the jewelry to gamble with. He still believed his luck would return, but it never came back.”
This news brought on a black depression.
To think that my friend, the luckiest gambler I ever met was now a derelict living and sleeping in some God forsaken place was more than I wanted to hear. I finished my coffee and told Al that it was time for me to try and get some sleep, said good night and headed out the door.
At the door I turned to Al and said, “If you see or hear from Bob leave a message at the Horseshoe.”
After a restless night, I decided to take a trip to L.A. and play cards at the Hollywood Park Casino, just to get away from Las Vegas and the thought of Bob sleeping under a bridge somewhere.
But it did little good, and I was not able to concentrate on the game. As a result I had four loosing sessions in a row and dropped a bundle of my winnings.
What I needed to do was get far away from this whole Vegas gaming scene and disappear for a while.
I had always wanted to try the casino´s in Europe. Why not go to Amsterdam and play at the New Holland for a while? Maybe get stoned at the Bulldog Tavern and check out the willing ladies in the red light district along the canal. Once I got the Idea in my mind and being free of any responsibilities it sounded reasonable.
L AX was a twenty minute cab ride away and flights to Amsterdam were often, I had my pass port, and clothes in my carryon bag, 10 grand in my boot and an American Express card in my wallet.
Not having a clue when I would be back in the States, I booked a first class ticket with an open date of return.
To be Continued

[Rail-Bird]

Greetings Jodafish,
Thank you so much. It was a pretty good story. I also loved the old poker terms you used… It took me back my friend… Some great memories at that…

[SSeville]

Great story, I will be looking forward to the next chapter. Thanks

[jodafish]

Part 2 Europe

Twenty four hours later I checked in to the FIJF VLIEGT HOTEL aka Five Flies Hotel in down town Amsterdam.
I admired the l Rembrandt etchings and wondered if they were originals on the way to my room, where I got the first restful night’s sleep in a week. This change of place was exactly what I needed.
The New Holland Casino was upscale, elegant but not garish and is located next to the Singlegracht main canal.
Unlike Vegas, the gamblers were loose, well dressed, and for the most part polite; it was a cosmopolitan strawberry patch ripe for picking. The card room was upstairs, small, the tables were set up with automatic card shufflers and the stakes at the no limit tables that open at nine P.M. were one and two euro blinds This suited me fine as I wanted to relax and get away from the stress of Vegas where the stakes were much higher. Even at this low limit game the players bet freely and the pot size was profitable. Three nights of poker and a day at the Van Gough museum and 2,500 Euros later, I checked out of the hotel, and then took the 6.25 A.M. High speed Thalys train to Paris and The Aviation Club de France, located on the Avenue Champs Elyseés.
I had read about this famous club that was established in 1907 in The Card Player Magazine and knew that they had a strict dress code. As I was a jean´s, old boots and sweater type of guy. I decided that once got to Paris it was time to do a bit of shopping for a more appropriate wardrobe.
Finding a shop that sold western wear was not easy, but with the help of a cabbie I found what I was looking for in a shop named the Cowboy Dream located on Rue de Turbigo.
I am a quick shopper, if I like it I buy it. Two hours and fifteen hundred Euro later I had a 10x grey Stetson hat, a new pair of Caiman belly Tony Lama boots in a nice dark chocolate color, a grey calfskin, waist length jacket, a couple of white western cut shirts and a very nice silver bolo tie that complimented my belt buckle .As the clerk was organizing my new wardrobe into boxes and bags I handed him my old boots to pack and slipped on the Tony Lama´s.
I do love gambling money; it is so easy to spend.
I asked the sales clerk who spoke perfect English to recommend me a good hotel near The Aviation Club. He said that the Amarante hotel was on the corner of George 5 Avenue and the Champs Elyseés. “It is only rated with four stars Monsieur, but I think you will find it quite suitable” As my French was limited to a few phrases, I asked him to call for a reservation for three nights in a single room and then call a cab to take me there.
When we got to the hotel Amarante I compared it to The Five Flies, The practical penny pinching Dutch without a doubt needed to take lessons in elegance from the French.
I signed in at the reception desk, left my passport as required, and then mailed Al a post card telling him where I was.
I was tired from travel and shopping. Even though it was mid afternoon and Paris was there for me to explore, I am a poker player and not a tourist, I went to bed.
The September sun had set when I opened my eyes and made my way to the toilet, turned on the bath water; heeded natures call, and then sank into the hot bath water to soak before shaving.
As I stood naked before a full length mirror I was pleased to see my waist had tightened up and the jelly roll was disappearing.
Although I was wide awake, I went back to bed and lay there thinking about the game of poker. I am not a believer in luck, although luck does play a part in any gamble. I believe that the cards run in cycles.
When they are in your favor one should optimize .When they are not, you must realize it and play with caution. There are many times that you will throw away hand after hand to the point of boredom, good poker players call this “knitting a sweater.” If I enter and play twenty out of one hundred hands and win twelve and I have made no mistakes in judging my opponents, I will cash out winning a substantial amount.
My stomach began complaining, I do not like to eat before a game as I think more clearly on an empty stomach. Tonight however I intended to eat well before the game.
I stood in front of the mirror, dressed in my new duds, set the Stetson at a bit of a tilt to the back and admired the results.
Lucky Bob would have been impressed. Bob may have flash, but tonight I had style.
I stopped at the reception desk and handed the clerk my room key, then stepped out onto the Champs Elysees paused, to study the street a moment, then started the twenty minute walk to the Aviation Club. My bank roll in my left boot, my wallet wedged tightly sideways in my back pocket.
The air was sharp with the city smell of diesel fumes as perfume. Settling my new Stetson tight on my head, I dodged the merry go round traffic of taxies, cars, trucks and motorbikes to cross over to the Arc De Triumph.
I walked down the Champs Elysees, past the bars, restaurants, coffee shops, strollers with their dogs, and the tourists.
Bob and once said. ”Never assume that you will not be a victim of the rats that prowl the streets of any city.” I thought of those words of wisdom as I enjoyed the sights, while keeping my eyes open and looking back once in a while. There were two teenagers following me at a distance and I smelled rats as they came closer. “Wise guys” is what Bob called them.
The crowd on the side walk was thick, I slowed down, suddenly one of them bumped me hard and I felt the other one digging my wallet out of my back pocket.
I turned, grabbed his wrist and brought the heel of my new boot down hard on his tennis shoe, He cried in pain, dropped my wallet on the walkway and went limping off with his pal to the gutters where t hey came from. I don’t think anyone noticed the whole two second incident
Once I had recovered the wallet and my Stetson, I made my way to the entrance of the Aviation Club where I was welcomed by the tuxedoed doorman. His first words were, “Monsieur are you J.R. from Dallas?” Lucky Bob would have laughed, I answered in all seriousness “No, I am Monsieur Fish, from Las Vegas”.
I was about to enter and check my Stetson and jacket when another American man walked up to the doorman and asked if this was the Aviation Club. The doorman looked at him, sniffed as if the guy smelled bad and said. “Oui Monsieur, but you may not enter here dressed as you are, you must wear a tie, jacket and shoes. The doorman was spot on .This guy looked as if he worked on a farm .He was wearing a dirty white baseball hat, baggy tan pants, a loud plaid shirt and white tennis shoes. I had seen many others dressed as he was in the Vegas casinos. Knowing you cannot judge a book by its cover, I asked him where he was from.
Part 3 Mr. Ronnie Moss enters my life

[jodafish]

“ I am from Wyoming, Cody Wyoming, I am here to play in the tournament, made reservations and flew over here to play. I have a suit, tie and dress shoes at my hotel, never expected the French to be so snobbish. Name is Moss, Ronnie Moss”. He extended his hand and I shook it, feeling the calluses as I did so.
You can learn a lot about a person when you shake their hand. “I am Joe Wilson here on vacation, but I enjoy playing poker now and then.”
I like to know as much about another player as possible without seeming nosey.
”Ronnie, Are you by chance related to Jonny Moss?” he shook his head then said “You mean the man who won the first world series of poker and had that famous game against Nick the Greek? No I am not.”
That little voice in my head told me that Ronnie Moss knew more about poker than his appearance suggested. He then hailed a cab and said “I´ll be back, you have a good night.”
I turned and showed the doorman my passport entered the club, checked my Stetson and jacket with a very sexy girl also dressed in a tuxedo.
She held the hat in her hands, looked at in admiration then asked. “Are you from Dallas, Monsieur?” I was tempted to say yes, but my stomach was now ready to revolt from hunger. “No I am not. My name is Joe Fish, and could you please direct me to the restaurant.”
She looked at the hat once more, took my jacket then said. “Please go to the top of the stairway and register with the guard.”
At that moment I realized the Stetson was creating a lot of interest with these French and might be an asset at the poker table. I nodded and said. “Thank you Miss. and I think I shall keep my hat on.”
Retrieving my new Stetson from her loving hands, I made my way up past the paintings and photographs with men posed with their magnificent flying machines.
On the second floor there sat another lovely young thing, also dressed in a tuxedo.
She welcomed me with another brilliant smile and asked for my passport.
I have played in many a casino, but never with so many check points manned by such lovely women. The thought occurred to me that it would be nice if security it LAX did the same.
After registering and paying a hundred Euro membership fee, she pointed to the tuxedoed gorilla standing at attention by an electronically operated glass door.
”He will let you in Monsieur, Good luck to you tonight.”
The gorilla said not a word, but he did glance at the Stetson as the door opened and I walked into the main room of the casino.
Then I saw it. It was over in one corner and as soon as I did, my stomach gave a gurgle of anticipation as I read the word, Restaurant, followed by four gold stars.
While waiting for the Maître di to come and welcome me, I took in the pleasant seating, all very spacious.
A gambling casino can hold many unpleasant surprises. When he arrived I asked for a booth, which offered me a view of the entrance and my back to the wall, my preferred spot when dining out and sitting at a poker table.
He hesitated not for a second, nodded head, and led me to the booth I indicated. I thanked him as he handed a leather bound menu and the large wine list.
I hate dining alone. I think it is one of the loneliest moments in my gambling lifestyle.
I have enjoyed many brief romances, but never pursued a more permanent relationship. It seemed to me that each time I considered one, the refrains of an old country song “She got the goldmine and I got the shaft” would float into my mind.
The menu was heavy with beef, veal, duck and pork.
I searched for sea food, as I never like to eat a heavy meal immediately before sitting down to a game of poker. Finally I found a dish the appealed to me.
Seared Monkfish filets, with chestnuts:
Fennel, sautéed in fresh butter, served with blanched fig leaves, and a white Bordelaise sauce.
The meal now settled. I concentrated on the wine list. I prefer reds to whites, but for this meal I wanted something white, dry, and vibrant.
I selected a three year old Pouilly Fum´e, signaled the tuxedoed waiter that I was ready to order.
When the Sommelier arrived with the wine and it was opened and the first glass had been tasted. He bent down and whispered in my ear.”Monsieur, vous et J.R. from Dallas?”I smiled at the thought and having been asked the same question twice since my arrival. I could not help myself; I answered him in the same confidential whisper. “No, but J.R. Ewing is a very close personal friend of mine.”
He bowed, his face lit up, his hands rubbed together, and he shook my hand. Then he hurried off to the kitchen. Meanwhile I relaxed and admired the way the restaurant was appointed with several excellent oil paintings depicting the night life on the Champs Ulysses, I noticed that the waiter, sommelier, cashier, and the chef were all standing by the kitchens entrance looking intently at me.
Feeling a bit like a goldfish in the aquarium I waved at them. The reaction from that friendly gesture created a great deal of whispered commotion. The chef pushed the waited forward towards me, the sommelier, and the cashier moved aside, the chef picked up one of the leather bound menu’s and followed the waiter to my table. When they were standing beside me the waiter said “Please forgive this intrusion monsieur, our chef is a great fan of J.R., he watches every episode of Dallas. He wishes to thank you for eating in his restaurant and asks you if you would be so kind as to autograph this menu for him.”
I had no option but to bluff, so I said, “I will be please to autograph his menu, after I have eaten and find his food to my liking.” Like peasants before royalty the all thanked me and left.
Before the meal and the bottle of wine was finished, I was complimented with a selection of cheeses, pate de Foie Gras, dessert of strawberries and crème fresh ,a snifter of A.de Fussigny XO cognac, and espresso coffee.
Bob´s motto, “If you don´t want to lose, never gamble after you have drunk too much booze”. I had, and it was late, my stomach was full. I decided not to play cards that night.
I motioned to the waiter, said I was ready for my bill, and would he please call me a taxi. The chef and his entourage came to my table, their hands clasped together as if in prayer. “Was the meal to your satisfaction?” the waiter asked. I gave them my best Las Vegas smile, shook every one´s hand and said. “This meal has exceeded all my expectations, I will be pleased to autograph this extraordinary chef´s menu, and the moment I see Larry Hagman, or J.R. I will tell him how wonderful the food is here”. I held out my hand for the bill, as the waiter was about to present it to me, the chef took it from his hand tore it into pieces saying as he did so “Oh no sir! This meal is my compliment to you and your friend J.R.” I borrowed a pen from the waiter and signed the menu.
“I extend to you my greeting from J.R. Ewing,
Joda Fish, Las Vegas”
It was foggy and a drizzle of fine mist had begun to fall as I stood in front of The Aviation Club at midnight, waiting for my cab to appear. This is my life as a professional poker player, up till the early morning hours then sleeping late into the day.
While waiting I thought of lucky Bob and wondered if the cards held the same misfortune for me one day.
It was twenty minutes before the cab arrived and the morning chill had penetrated my new leather jacket, then while climbing into the cab the crown of the Stetson hit the door frame but i managed to catch it before it hit the gutter.
Stetsons are fine for riding a horse on the open range but not climbing into a Renault. I decided then and there that I needed to do a bit more shopping, as the cab took me to my hotel.
I awoke very late, looked out the window and found that the drizzle and fog were still there. My bowels were telling me that it was time to move.
As I pushed the lever of the toilet and watched the Monkfish disappear in a whirlpool of water; I couldn’t help but smile at the thought that nature eventually turns the best of everything into crap.
Showered, shaved, and feeling rested. I made my way down to the hotel´s restaurant.
The hostess greeted me with a welcoming smile that reminded me of Gina, the cashier back in Vegas.
As I was smiling back at her I saw Mr. Ronnie Moss sitting alone at the nearby table in the act of drowning a plate of French fries in catsup that accompanied a large hamburger, and a bottle of Coca Cola.
My first impulse was to turn and leave, unfortunately as he bit into the hamburger he looked my way, recognized me and waved.
I nodded in recognition, and he waved me over to his table. As I started to make my way across the restaurant´s beautiful cross grain parquet’ floor, I stopped a moment to admire the checkerboard pattern of walnut, oak and ebony.
By this time Mr. Moss had swallowed his mouthful of hamburger and was on his feet holding out his hand. “Mr. Wilson, what a surprise. Come, sit down and have some lunch with me.” As my options at that moment were limited, I smiled and shook his hand.
“What are you doing here?” We asked each other simultaneously .Again, we both answered. “I am staying here.”
He laughed and said “Well I will be damned”
“Me too” I answered,
Mr. Moss took another large bite of his burger and washed it down with iced coca cola. “You don’t mind if I eat, been starving for some good American food since I got here.”
I busied myself looking at the lunch menu and did not answer.
The waiter came to the table; I ordered a cappuccino to start.
Not being too hungry I decided on smoked ham, brie, sliced red onion, and tomato dressed with Dijon mustard on a baguette of freshly baked white bread. By now the burger was gone and the French fries had all but disappeared from Mr. Moss´s plate.
“Are you playing cards tonight Mr. Moss?” “I most certainly am, and call me Ronnie.”
“Okay; how did you do last night Ronnie?” As I have mentioned, I want to know all I can about my adversaries, and I had a feeling Ronnie Moss might be one to be careful of.
I had noticed that Ronnie never sat up straight in his seat. That his head was bent forward as if it were too heavy and his shoulders had a permanent droop. He looked to me like a man that had a lifetime sitting at a card table.
He took the pale green linen napkin that was now catsup stained, wiped his mouth and hands, then leaned my way said.“You may want to speak up; I am a bit hard of hearing”. I asked again “HOW DID YOU DO LAST NIGHT?” “Oh I did just fine, one hundred thirty entries and I finished in second place.” He continued, “These French are a wild bunch of players, but between you and me, they are not good players.” How about you? Cleaned up the table did you?”
My lunch arrived and I drank my cappuccino before answering him. “No I was not lucky last night, but I managed to cover my dinner expenses.”
He looked at me and said the words that told me Ronnie Moss was not an average card player here on vacation. “I don’t believe in luck, I believe in percentages and the mathematical odds,” I picked up my sandwich and said. “Really, why is that?” Then took a bite of the most unforgettable combination of simple ingredients I could think of. While I ate Ronnie Moss told me a bit about himself. “I have a analytical mind, I was a jet Jockey in Viet Nam, flew F 104 C fighters, never crashed, never was hit by enemy fire, flew over two hundred sorties, mostly low level stuff and because I don’t believe in luck I am here safe and sound, except for a bit of deafness caused by jet engines and the twenty millimeter cannon gun fire.”
Well, I have to say I was impressed with Mr. Moss. I could see that he was proud of his military experiences and wished to continue talking about himself. I dressed my salad with balsamic vinegar and olive oil added a bit of grated parmesan cheese. Then i stopped and looked at Mr. Ronnie Moss in a different light. “You have had some interesting experiences Ronnie. Are you playing a tournament tonight also?”
“No I don’t care to sit that long tonight as my back is not up to another six hour session. Too many hours sitting in the pilot´s seat in front of instrument panels. I do intend to play tonight at the no limit sit and go table.”
This was Interesting, Ronnie Moss and me were soon going to try and cut one or the other’s throats at a “friendly” game of cards.
My meal was over and I felt that there was little more information to be gained in continuing my conversation with the intriguing Mr. Moss.
Wanting to gain his confidence I reached across the table, put my hand on his wrist, smiled, and offered to buy his lunch.
He looked at me, then laughed and said “As we like to gamble let’s flip a coin.” He reached into his pocket and extracted a silver dollar. “Heads I pay, tails you pay.”
Without waiting for me to reply he sent the coin spinning into the air, deftly caught it and opened his fist. “Heads I pay.”
He smiled and then showed me the coin´s obverse side. “I never lose on this bet; this is a two headed coin.” We both laughed. “Ronnie I will see you at the game tonight.”
It was still wet outside; a cold wind had sprung up blowing newspapers and leaves along the empty streets. At reception I borrowed an umbrella, asked where I would find a man’s clothing shop.
Then I left to go shopping for a warm wool sweater, rain coat, and a beret.
Part 4 A strategic game

[jodafish]

Once I returned to the hotel I went up to my room and lay down to consider and think of how best to play Moss.
I always avoid alcohol and eating a large meal before playing in a high stakes game, hunger sharpens my thinking and observation of the action taking place at the table
I wanted Moss seated on my right my right, that way I would have the positional advantage.
Of course Moss would be able to take advantage and try to steal my opening blind bets with a large raise.
Provided that the table would have the customary seven or eight player I decided that the optimum place for me to sit would be three seats in front of Moss.
I am a player who rarely bluffs, never lose my temper, or control, and never chase the money I have put into a pot if my cards are not favorable.
It was now windy outside and still misting. I dressed in wool slacks, white shirt, and plain blue tie, sweater and then pulled on my comfortable old boots.
Standing in front of the mirror I adjusted my new sweater and wind proof beret.
Satisfied that I no longer looked like a walking target, I picked up the Stetson, placed in back in its box. With the rain coat over my arm I walked down to lobby where I asked the receptionist to write me a note in French which I placed inside the hat box. As I was standing there Moss appeared from the elevator.
I spoke first. “Good evening Ronnie, I see you are dressed for the club.” He looked down at his baggy brown suit then adjusted his tie, grinned and said “Never was much of dresser, always believed that clothing was to prevent food from getting your skin dirty.”
I wanted to say “It shows” but instead asked if he was walking to the club.
“No I am going by cab. Want to go with me?”
It was perfect. Moss would be seated at the table before me, giving me the opportunity to select a seat to my advantage. I shook my head, “No Ronnie I want to stretch my legs a bit, thanks for the offer, but I think I will walk.” I put on my raincoat and went outside.
It was cool; the drizzling rain had stopped, the streets wet and the traffic light. I made my way to the tunnel that took me under the roundabout of the Arch De Triumph and walked towards the Aviation club, hat box under my arm.
At the entrance stood the same doorman as the night before, He did not recognize me as he accepted my membership card and politely opened the door. When I walked up to the counter to check my raincoat, the girl with that wonderful smile and was so fascinated with J.R. recognized me instantly. “Good evening monsieur, I see that tonight you look quite French, I think I like you better in western clothes.” As it took off the raincoat I said “Feathers make the beautiful bird, as does a woman´s smile.” Confused, she said.” I do not understand what you mean Monsieur” I handed her the raincoat, then the hatbox. “This is a present for you. The note will explain.”
”Je vous donne ceci comme un remerciement vous pre´sentez pour votre beau sourire”
J.R. Ewing, from Dallas, Texas
As she opened the box and began to read the note, I turned and went up the stairway wearing my new beret.
While standing before the same tuxedoed gorilla as he examined my passport and new membership card I noticed that he did not recognize me. Then he opened the door to the casino gaming room. Ignoring the restaurant sign, I went directly to the card room and found Moss sitting at a full table.
He was in deep concentration and did not notice my arrival.
I found a stool at the bar that gave me the chance to observe Moss in action. I looked at every move he made trying to find some small telling information that would help me. Some small detail I could capitalizes on.
I watched as he looked at his two cards, memorized them, and then placed that silver coin on top of them for protection.
I had been watching for the better part of forty five minutes when I saw his tell.
He would slide the coin off of the cards when his hand was weak and he intended to fold. If he had a strong hand, that coin never moved.
He also had the habit of stacking his winning in one pile and his buy- in separated in another.
He was keeping track of his winning´s. I could see that Moss was having a very good night.
Like Moss, I do not believe in luck, but I believe in keen observation of my adversaries every move.
A seat opened for me. It put Moss two seats to my right which was not perfect position, but at least gave me a buffer when he attacked my blind wagers.
I knew he would do so at every opportunity. Just as I intended to do with the players on me left.
I was ready for Moss; I bought a thousand Euro in chips and took my seat. For me the game and how I played it would depend on the fall of the first three cards…
I sat down to the most boring run of cards I had had since leaving the Hollywood Park Casino in Los Angles.
I do not enter a game unless my first two cards are above eight and a nine. And they must be of the same suit or at least able to make a straight.
If the first three cards that fall are not completely compatible and do not give me several different options I will check, and then fold if an opponent bets into me.
Should all players check, I will take a free draw then reassess my odds?
Winning at Poker requires the patience of a cat waiting for a mouse. Losing at Poker requires the temperament of an angry, frustrated bull trying to gore his adversary, while charging into the concealed sword.
Poker is a game of logic and mathematics. Not one of pure luck and arrogant bluster.
While I sat waiting for the cycle of cards to change I watched every player at the table, learning as much as possible about them.
The dealer shuffled and cut the deck discarded the top card and deftly sent each player their two cards. I watched as Moss looked at his hold cards, called, and raised one hundred fifty Euros, then placed that tell tale silver dollar in their center.
I looked at my cards, first a seven and then a two. This combination was fondly referred to as a “Montana Banana” by Lucky Bob as they had the same chance of winning as banana´s did growing in Montana.
Folding my hand I watched as the other players entered into the pot and the dealer turned the first three cards face up on the green felt table. (Called the board)
There are times that I believe the Devil himself stacks the deck in hopes of tempting me to play badly.
The three cards on the table are two, jack, two then followed by a seven on the turn and then an ace, which would have given me a full house and the winning hand. After the final bets were made and all the cards were exposed Moss took the pot with a pair of aces and jacks.
At this point in the game I was down four hundred in chips. I took a break away from the table, went to the bar and drank a double espresso loaded with four spoons of brown sugar.
Bob always said,
“One of the biggest mistakes a poker player can make is not to add chips to their stack and continue to play, for when the winning hand comes; they cannot come out with guns blazing, because they are out of bullets to fight with.”
At the cashier´s cage i bought four thousand more Euro´s in chips, and returned to my seat.
Moss looked at my two new racks of chips, grinned in satisfaction and then he whispered. ”Running a bit short are you Joe?”
I shrugged, shook my head and sat back in my chair, saying as I did. “It looks like tonight is not going to be profitable for me Ronnie, but I can see you are doing well.”
The dealer sent the cards flying to each player. I took a quick look at them; A jack with the trey, known in poker slang as a” gay waiter”, into the discards they went as I forfeited another twenty Euro blind bet.
Many players when they are not involved in the wagering turn to the TV or fiddle with their stack of chips to determine if they are winning or losing.
Not me, I watch and listened to everything.
I had noticed that the Frenchman three seats to my left would frequently check a good hand and raise the pot when the betting returned to him. I also could hear his voice raise an octave.
Then I picked up two cards, the Ace and five of spade´s in the” button” position which is the last betting position.
The Frenchman raised the pot three hundred Euro´s driving out the next two players. The player next to Moss called without hesitation and Moss, who had placed that coin directly in the center of his cards glanced at the Frenchman, picked a large stack of his chips, thought another minute then raised the pot six hundred more, folding the man directly to my right.
At this point it was impossible for me to guess what cards the Frenchman, the other player, or Moss was holding.
My cards were good, with potential, but until I saw the first three cards of the flop l was investing in a “blind pig”.
I looked at the Frenchman´s stack of chips and estimated he had about nine hundred left in front of him. I did not think he would re-raise Moss pre-flop.
I called, and put the nine hundred in the pot. The Frenchman hesitated then called. The next player swore and threw his hand away. The dealer burned the top card, and then turned over the flop. As I said earlier I never look at the flop, I look at my opponents reaction. Moss´s eyes narrowed as he studied the ace of hearts and the two and four of spades now lying in front of the dealer. These three cards were better than I had expected. They gave me a pair of aces, along with the flush draw and a gut shot at a straight. The Frenchman bet three hundred, making what I call a holding bet, hoping to see the next card at a reasonable cost.
To my surprise Moss called without raising.
I now had a clue as to what cards Moss had under that two headed silver dollar and I was sure one of them was not an ace. I called the Frenchman‘s bet.
Sometimes in the game of poker the cards come as if by mental telepathy.
AS the dealer turned the King of spade´s, I watched Moss sit up in his chair, looked at his chips, then at my stack.
I knew at that moment his hole cards were a pair of kings. I also knew if the last card did not pair the board, and the odds against that happening were greatly in my favor, Ronnie Moss was about to be hooked by Joda Fish with an ace high spade flush.
The Frenchman pushed all his remaining chips into the pot.
I still had no idea what he had, but whatever it was, the only thing that could take the pot from me was if the board paired.
Moss took his time then raised the pot to fifteen hundred.
For the first time in three hours of playing I spoke to Moss.”Is there a Mac Donald´s nearby, Ronnie?
He looked at me, shook his head as if he heard wrong, then answered. “There is one just down the street a block.” I said, “That is good to know Ronnie as I think I am about to go broke.”
I was not sure that Moss would call my raise as I pushed my whole stack into the middle of the table.
When big game fishing and a marlin rises to the bait, many times it will grab the bait and run with it. Then it will drop it and swim away.
I have found that a couple of twitches on the line are enough to entice it to swallow the hook.
I tipped part of my stack in feigned nervousness on the table. It is an old trick that Lucky Bob taught me years ago. Moss called without hesitation. The dealer turned the seven of hearts as the last card then Moss turned over the pair of Kings. I showed him the spade flush, and the dealer pushed the mountain of chips to me. As I stacked the chips into racks Moss laughed loudly. “Joe, I was sure you were bluffing, that was the slickest move I have ever seen. I am hungry, let´s go and find that Mac Donald´s. You are buying”.
While Moss and I waited for the cashier to count and change my chips into cash he said, “How long will you be staying in Paris, Joe?”
“Ronnie, I think I will leave tomorrow, take the train to Monte Carlo and see what it is like.”
“Joe, my friend, do you know that they don’t play poker there? Only Black Jack, Roulette Slots, and Baccarat, but no Texas Hold Em. Been there once, lost my shirt at the Baccarat table.
I have played poker in London, Berlin, Madrid, Amsterdam Antwerp, and Brussels but I have not yet played in Vienna

[jodafish]

THE OBVERSE SIDE OF MOSS
A continuation
The conversation was interrupted when the cashier said. “Monsieur, do you want all this in cash?
I had more than enough cash in my boot.
I answered him, “No, here is the routing number for my bank. Please send the money there.”
As Ronnie was in the men´s room I decided to go downstairs and retrieve my rain coat. There was a new girl with blond hair, nice breasts and another beautiful smile behind the counter, I gave her my claim stub, picked up my coat, said “merci” then gave her one hundred Euros as a tip and went outside to wait for Moss.
I have always been a generous tipper. Not because I want to be liked or remembered but simply because I learned to understand that money was easily coming my way, while for so many others it is difficult to come by.
I was once with Lucky Bob as he gave one waitress a two hundred dollar tip for a four dollar late night egg sandwich and a cup of coffee. She was not pretty, although I am sure that once she had been. Her hair was turning grey and her skin had lost the glow of youth. When she saw the money, she protested that it was too much and could not take it. Bob took her hand and placed the money firmly in it, saying as he did so, “I have just won more than twenty thousand dollars in five hours tonight. If I cannot afford to share some of my luck with you, what kind of a person would I be? Now you take it, but don’t you put a single dime into one of those damned slot machines.”
Later that night as I was standing on the balcony of my rented penthouse, looking at the street below, I saw that very same woman. She was sitting on the curb below me. I watched as she took off her shoes and massaged her feet. Then she took her tips out of her purse and began counting them. I understood my friend Lucky Bob.

[jodafish]

THE OBVERSE SIDE OF MOSS
Moss still had not arrived, so I stepped outside to get some fresh air and see what the weather was like. It had stopped raining and a pleasant breeze had dried the pavement. It was a beautiful September evening. I put the raincoat over my arm and looked up at the night sky. The moon was partially hiding behind a widow´s veil of silver clouds.
I was wondering what the weather was like in Vegas when Moss appeared. He put his hand on my shoulder and said, “Let’s go find that hamburger my friend.” Then we started walking down the boulevard. Moss still had his hand on my shoulder as he said, “So tell me where you are from Joe. And how did you end up in Paris?” I did not mind the question, but the hand on my shoulder did not feel right. As a matter of fact it made me uncomfortable.
I stopped in mid stride and the hand fell away.”I am from Las Vegas, Ronnie, and I came here to play poker.” I could tell that my answer came as a bit of surprise. “Oh, then you are not a tourist?” “No I am not Ronnie, I make my living playing poker and it takes me time to make up my mind who is, and who is not a friend.”
We continued our walk in silence while I wondered what wine would go well with two beef patties, special sauce, pickles, and lettuce on a sesame seed bun. “Ronnie, tell me about you. How did you end up in Paris, and I was wondering how it is that you have been to so many places to play poker, do you have a private jet?” He laughed then said, “No private Jet, but I travel free to anywhere Continental Airlines parks their planes. After Viet Nam, I went to work as a copilot for UPS Air Transport. I stayed with them for eight years until I was promoted to Captain. That is when Continental came to me and asked me to join with them flying commercial 747´s to Europe. I would still be flying with them, but a year ago I had a small piece cholesterol lodge in the vein that feeds blood to the optic nerve in my right eye. It left me permanently blind in that eye and that ended my flying days.
I don’t miss the flying but I sure miss the stewardesses and the wild sex .My next destination is Vienna, if you want go with me I can fix it so you can fly for free.”
“That’s an interesting thought Ronnie, let me mull it over tonight and tomorrow I will give you an answer. I have one other question. How much does a 747 cost? “Two hundred and ninety million dollars last I knew, my friend.”
We arrived at the entrance of McDonalds or Mcdo as the French call it. There were no golden arches rising above the Champs Elyseés in competition with the Arch de Triumph, only the logo on each side of the sidewalk dining area and the name in stone relief on the two story renovated building. The lower floor and the street were packed with young people even at this late hour.
I stood there taking in the whole chaotic spectacle and muttered, “Capitalism has won over culture again.” “What did you say?” Asked Moss
“Nothing Ronnie, I was just thinking out loud, let´s find a place to sit, somewhere upstairs if it is possible. My stomach is rubbing against my backbone and my bladder needs relief.”
On the second floor the crowd was less, Moss picked a table near the windows overlooking the boulevard with a view of the Eiffel tower in the distance. It was not a seat that I would have chosen, but the view was nice.
Sitting next to us were four hormonally exuberant young braless girls wearing provocative short skirts and tee shirts, laughing and flirting with two men at the adjacent table. Once we were seated, I excused myself and went to the restroom to relieve my bladder and freshen up. As I stood studying my reflection the mirror I saw that the stress of the years at poker table´s had aged me. I thought, “How long are you going to keep playing, how much money you need to live comfortably?” I answered out loud,” I don’t know?” then left to Join Moss.
Moss did not see me as I made my way back to the table; he was talking with one of the giggling girls, and showing her his two faced coin. The moment he saw me he stopped, put the coin back in his pocket and returned to our table, grinned, then began obscenely pushing his tongue in and out of his mouth as he sat down.
Disbelieving what I was seeing I asked, “What in the hell are you doing Moss?
“Calm down Joe, I am just playing a little game with that hot one in the red skirt, just a little game to see if she is game” Then stuck out his tongue and licked his lips.
The girl who I thought to be no more than fourteen suddenly got up from her table of friends came over to Moss, her eyes blazing with anger and said,
“Monsieur, you are a fat! Disgusting pig!” then reached out to slap him.
With the reflexes of a cat Moss caught her wrist and twisted until she cried with pain, then let her go. I had seen all I needed to know that Moss and I were very soon to part from each ones company. As I sat down I said. “Sorry Ronnie, I don’t know what I have come down with, but I feel nauseous. I cannot handle a Big Mac right now. I think I need to take a cab back to the hotel.” Picking up my raincoat, I said. “I will not see you for lunch tomorrow.”
Ronnie looked disappointed then said, “Think about Vienna wont you?”
Once outside I stopped, and inhaled until my lungs were full, closed my eyes and told myself to relax; after repeating the routine three more times I felt better.
Dodging the traffic I crossed the boulevard with the intention of walking down to the Seine and Eiffel tower, hoping to find some food more to my liking.
I had not gone a hundred meters when the most delicious aroma of baking bread found me. Ahead of me there was a brightly lit kiosk with pizza’s, meat pies and baguettes for sale .The man in attendance was dark skinned, his hair and beard black, dressed in colorful wool Jebba and a white round felt hat that looked a bit like my Beret.
I assumed that he was one of the many Middle East refugees now living in France. When I asked him for a slice of pizza that looked as if it were fresh out the propane fired oven behind him, he spoke to me in perfect English, “Are you from
England Sir?” “No, I come from America.” He clapped his hands, “America! How wonderful, I have many members of my family in your country and one day I hope to be there also. I am from Gafsa Tunisia, but came to France years before the revolt now called The Arab Spring; It started there you know. Please sir, take a seat,” He said indicating a small square plastic table next to his kiosk.
I placed my raincoat over the chair then sat down as he asked me if I was familiar with Tunisia. I shook my head and said I knew little about his homeland. ”In that case may I recommend to you one of my country’s favorite foods.” Then without hesitating he brought me a pita bread filled with tomato, lettuce and ping pong sized balls fried to a golden brown topped off with a creamy sauce and a glass of cold Sauterne wine, “This is Falafel, please eat sir, it is very inexpensive. I am honored to serve to you for free.” I thanked him, took his offering and said,” I shall consider this an appetizer, would you also bring me a slice of pizza with ham, onion and artichokes and another glass of this wine?” By the time he returned with the pizza, I had already finished the appetizer. Pleased to see that I enjoyed his gift he smiled and asked if I would like another. My mouth was full of pizza so I shook my head, swallowed, then asked him to bring me one of his meat filled pastries, and another glass of wine.
Feeling much better I asked for the bill. He made a slight bow and said that there was no bill, but he would be happy if I gave him ten Euros. As I paid him with three five Euro notes the Eiffel tower suddenly turned into a giant Christmas tree. Seeing the surprise look on my face he laughed, “It lights up every hour, I think the French are a bit crazy but it is their country.”

O´MENS OF BAD LUCK

[Finn007]

Very enjoyable reading.

[Craig_Anthony]

Yes indeed, outstanding

[jodafish]

O´MENS OF BAD LUCK
Thanking him, I picked up my raincoat then continued my walk down to the Seine. At the river side I found a bench and sat down to think about my future and enjoy the gardens, flowers, the quiet, and the lovers walking along the broad sidewalks.
The night air had turned cold. I put on my rain coat, as I did I noticed that one of the pockets had something in it. I could not imagine what it could be, as I pulled out a plain white envelope with the name Monsieur Fish in script across it. Instantly knew that it had to be from the girl back at the Aviation Club. I felt the envelope, it was full. “Damn” I said out loud, “Don’t tell me she has given me money to pay for that hat.”I opened the envelope fully expecting that I would have to go back to the club and insist she keep her money. Instead I found a note and a red silk handkerchief .I read the note written in English with beautiful calligraphy, “Dear monsieur Fish,
I have no words to tell you how much I appreciated you generous gift. My brother is a passionate fan of the TV series Dallas. I shall give him the hat for his sixteenth birthday. Your note I shall have framed and keep as a memento .I wish you good fortune in all of your life´s endeavors.
Marcella Guibert, Paris France”
Folding the note I placed it back into the envelope and took out the handkerchief. I held it to my face and inhaled the fragrance of lavender. I sat there several minutes feeling the silk against my skin and the scent of lavender in my nostrils. I unfolded the handkerchief and discovered there was a white dolphin embroidered with silk in one of its corners. The Eiffel tower lit up at that moment breaking the spell. Slowly and with much care I placed the handkerchief into its envelope and placed it my shirt pocket, Stood, and began my walk back to the hotel.

While looking to the darkened shop windows along George V Avenue, I saw the reflection of a man.
For an instant I did not recognize the figure wearing the black raincoat as me. I thought I was seeing Lucky Bob, looking sad and lost. Hoping for luck and wishing he had someone who really cared. The image brought me to the moment of bitter truth. I am the same as Bob, wandering from one poker table to the next. Never making friends, for all the hundreds of players I meet are adversaries, planning strategies against me, while they smile, tell Jokes and stories and say “nice hand” when I took their money, just as I did when they took money away from me.
For some reason I thought of the cashier back at the Horseshoe Casino, maybe it was the perfumed handkerchief in my pocket or the warm and friendly smile she gave me every time I saw her when I bought or cashed in chips.
I really did not know, hell I did not even know her last name or if she was married, but I was going to make the effort to find out when I got back to Las Vegas.
I had been standing in front of my reflection for several minutes when the alley cat appeared in the yellow glare of a street light nearby.
It was playing with a mouse. I watched as it turned his prey loose, waited as the little grey creature ran towards the dark and freedom, only to be caught then brought back into the light squeaking in terror. Suddenly the cat saw me, focused its eyes on me, arched it back, snarled then grabbed the mouse in its jaws and disappeared into the night.
I am not a believer in superstitions, however this scene caused a shiver to run through my body as I hurried towards the hotel determined to take a hot bath and get a good night´s rest.
As soon as I entered my room I stripped off my boots and clothes, then shaved as the tub was filling. Sinking into the Naked I went to bed and instantly fell asleep, but awoke early covered with cold sweat from a very disturbing night mare.
The Dream

I was walking at night in a park near a garden of Hibiscus. There was a small pool filled with fragrant pale blue Hyacinth and lotus flowers. Sitting by the edge of the pool was a large brown toad. He was perched on a spotted mushroom growing out of blood soaked earth.
The pupils of his bulging eyes followed the movements of small butterflies attracted to the flowers as they danced in fascination of a silver coin, suspended from the toad’s neck by a chain made of human bones.
I watched as the toads tongue flicked in and out until suddenly he caught one small, bright red, dancing butterfly, swallowing it instantly.

Not being able to go back to sleep I turned on the TV; found the French channel 24 to watch the mornings world news in English until the time came to call the concierge to make arrangements for the first available flight out of Charles De Gaulle International to LAX, California.
With his promise that he would do his best, and ring me up when he had a seat for me, I hung up and started packing my belongings. That was the moment I heard the voice in the background from the news commentator say that the body of brutally strangled young girl was discovered by a grounds keeper in The Jardins Du Champs Elyseés early this morning. Her Identity was being withheld pending notification to her family by the Gendarme.
I was shocked, the first thought that came to my mind was could Moss be involved.
I needed to know now, in bathrobe and bare feet I ran out of the room and down the stairs to the lobby and asked if Moss had returned. The concierge looked at me and said, “Monsieur Moss was escorted, in handcuffs, by the police from the hotel two hours ago.”
Standing there half naked I began to tremble. The sudden thought that Moss could be involved in this murder left me speechless in the middle of the lobby, “Are you alright monsieur?”
“All right! Do I look as if I am all right to you? No I am not all right. I heard on the TV that a girl has been murdered in the park nearby and I had my suspicions that Moss is involved, which you have now confirmed. I came down here to confront him and hear what he had to say, but now that I know he is in police custody I shall return to my room and continue packing my valise.
Have you been able to find me a flight yet?” Staring at my bare feet the Concierge shook his head. “I am so sorry Mr. Wilson. What with all the excitement this morning it slipped my mind. I shall take care of the matter this instant.”
Suddenly understanding how ridiculous I looked, I apologized to the Receptionist, the Concierge and the group of tourists who were also staring at me, then made a hasty retreat up the stairs and back to my room only to find that I had locked myself out.
At that moment the concierge arrived to let me in, saying as he did, “It was very obvious that you had no key with you Monsieur. We do our best to see that the guests at the Amarante Hotel needs are anticipated.”I shook his hand and apologized once more.
“No need to apologize Mr. Wilson, it is a gruesome murder and she was so young, it is a shame, but life can be so unfairly cruel.
I shall find you a flight within the next hour. It should not be a problem as today is the eleventh of September.” I entered my room as he closed the door behind me and shut off the TV.
Sitting on the bed with my mind spinning, I could only think of the girls I had seen at McDonalds. I wondered what had happened after I had left. It was a bad and fatal turn of the cards. None of it made any sense to me. I took a deep breath, exhaled, dressed, finished packing my valise, and then went down to the lobby to settle my bill.
In the lobby there had gathered several newspaper reporters, all of them questioning the concierge about the hotels American guest Mr. Moss. When he saw me he raised his hands in a hopeless gesture and shook his head, “I am sorry Mr. Wilson things are out of my control. I have failed to find you a flight.” I responded to him with the same gesture saying, “Don’t worry I am able to care of myself.” I presented the receptionist my credit card and watched the vultures prancing around the overwhelmed concierge while she processed my card, gave my receipt, then returned my passport.
I stepped out of the hotel looking for a cab, I did not have to wait long; one going in the opposite direction made a U turn in the middle of the traffic then pulled up in front of the hotel.
Not waiting for the driver to get out, I opened the door, started to toss my valise on the back seat when the stench of body sweat, stale wine and Goulioses cigarettes hit me. Closing the car door I waved the cabby off. He sat there motor running still expecting me to get in, then blew his horn, gave me the finger and drove off in a cloud of exhaust fumes.
I walked back to the curb saying out loud, “It has to be that damned cat last night.” Soon another cab stopped and it passed the smell test. I climbed in and said, “Charles De Gaulle and take your time please.” As the cabby made his way through the streets packed with cars, trucks, motorcycles and bicycles even this early in the day, I closed my eyes tried to relax. Then I remembered my rain coat,
It was still in the hotel room and decided I would need to call the concierge after I had a seat reserved for my flight home.
To be continued

[jodafish]

So it was that on September eleventh, sixteen years after two tho Good by Paris
usand nine hundred and seventy seven innocents died in a terrorist attack on the United States of America, I went to the American Air Lines kiosk with my ticket and asked if there would be a seat available for me on a plane to LAX. The queue at the desk consisted of a group of six Orientals that I presumed to be Japanese, one old man in a wheel chair, his granddaughter and me. The concierge was correct, the International hub was eerily quiet, within an hour I had my boarding pass on the 09:30 AM flight leaving from terminal 2T with an arrival time 22:.55 in Los Angeles the next day. I could not have found a better day to fly. I took off my belt and silver buckle put it in the valise, and then handed it over to be checked in.
Walking down the nearly deserted corridor to Immigration and customs my friend ´s words came to me.
My friend the engraver has a philosophic opinion about people. We were sitting in his shop one day discussing the paranoia that people were experiencing over the coming of the end of the world in the 21st century year. When I asked him his opinion on the matter, He said without a trace of humor, ”If you could take fear, ignorance, superstition, and deceit, condense them down to a can of soup, eighty five percent of the world´s population would evaporate.”
Immigration and customs also were not overwhelmed with disgruntled tourists and in a matter of ten minutes I stood before the electronic gate to hell, dreading the, “Hands in the air and take off your boots, sir.” Very much to my surprise, I passed the examination without a problem and entered into the boarding area with relief in my heart and a boot full of cash.
Stopping at the first telephone, I dug out the checkout receipt with the number of the hotel on it and made my call. The receptionist answered and I asked for the concierge telling her as I did that I was Mr. Joseph Wilson.
While I waited for him to come on line I decided not to ask about Moss, after all it was none of my business, and having made a fool out of myself onetime, I wanted to keep it that way. Several minutes passed, I was about to forget the call and leave the raincoat to the housecleaner when he answered, “Mr. Wilson, have you trouble in booking a flight, what can I do for you?”
“No, no, everything is fine, and you were right, the airport is a ghost city, The reason I am calling is that I forgot a raincoat in my room this morning and I wanted to tell you that if it suits your needs to keep it,” “Thank you, Mr. Wilson, you are most thoughtful.
And is it not lucky that our maid found several very pornographic magazines in Mr. Moss´s closet and confided this to her friend the receptionist. It was she who saw him enter the hotel early this morning with blood on his shirt, she called me, and when I had heard her story, I naturally called the police to come here to investigate. It seems that he is a very evil man, and may have killed many other young girls in Europe. I do not know all the details and what I tell you is very confidential, but I expect that something this horrific will be in all the news soon”.
As there is no underestimating the fascination for gore people have, I had heard enough, so I said goodbye to the talkative concierge and hung up, then called Las Vegas to talk with Alfonso. He answered with his customary greeting, “Al´s Bar, She aint here, and I don’t know where he is either. It´s your dime what else do you have on your mind?” My ever practical friend Alfonso, “Al, its Joe da Fish, are you still trying to drive away your paying customers?” He laughed and said, “Only the ones who want a short loan or more credit on their tab, paying customers just show up.
I got your post card, are you still in Paris?”
“Al, I am here at the airport, leaving in a few hours and will be back in Vegas in a couple of days.
The reason I am calling is I need some advice. I want to make a good impression on a woman I hardly know, but would like to get to know better. As I am here, I was thinking of bringing her a present, but I haven’t any idea what to buy. You are expert of the workings of the feminine mind.
As there is no time to write Dear Abby for advice, I thought you could help me out.”I could imagine him with a grin from ear to ear as he said. “That is a no brainer pal; buy a nice, but not too expensive pair of earrings, no diamonds, rubies, pearls or emeralds, and a small bottle of expensive French perfume. When you see her, give her the earrings and keep the perfume. If the next day she is wearing the earrings that means she is interested in you, then you give her the perfume, no earrings means you have struck out, but, you still have the perfume for trading stock .You now owe me one hundred dollars for advice to the lovelorn, have a safe trip.” Before I could say thanks, or ask about Bob the line went dead.
Placing the phone on its cradle I then walked down the corridor looking in the shops that have always been a mystery to me, and an aphrodisiac to women. Handbags ,designer shoes, dresses, silk lingerie and scarves, perfumes, jewelry, and elegant coats all displayed and priced with the aim of overdrawing credit cards. I went into the first shop that had a large display of necklaces, rings, bracelets, earrings and other dangling things and found a woman who looked like she was a fashion model from Vogue Magazine.
I asked to see earrings that were not over three hundred dollars. She looked disappointed but smiled gracefully and pulled out a tray of small gold, silver, and glittering gemstones designed to be hung on a woman´s ears.
I wanted to get this over with as fast as possible. There was one pair that I instantly liked, pointing I asked. ‘’What about those?”
“These sir, are hand crafted with black Pietersite stones set in platinum, designed with French clasps. They are a bit over three hundred dollars Monsieur.” Joda Fish was about to swallow the hook,” How much over three hundred?” was my next obvious question. “They are only four hundred ninety five duty free Euro, Monsieur, but I am sure that they will bring much pleasure to the person you give them to, and are worth every centime.” I took the bait, she had set the hook. Taking out my credit card I heard myself say, “I will take them, and now can you tell me what perfume I should buy to go with this present.”
As she was debiting my account she asked, “Is this person your wife?” The very thought made my leg tingle, “No she is just a friend.”
“Well monsieur, if you wish her to be more than just a friend, I would recommend my favorite nighttime perfume, by Houbigant, it is called Quelques Fleurs. It is very difficult to get and a bit expensive, but I am sure a small bottle will be immensely appreciated by your friend.
I have some right over there if you would like to look and test its fragrance.” After having swallowed the hook, I was now being led to the gaff.
Another eight hundred Euro later, I walked out the door with two small gift wrapped packages that fit easily in a mini plastic carry-on bag emblazoned with Fleurs de lis, saying to myself.
“What the hell, its only gambling money”.
With what I hoped would be welcomed gifts in my hand, I continued my stroll down long bright carpets, past more shops that I am sure the owners of them would have welcomed me with sunshine smiles. I soon found the “Coiffeur Pour Dames & Messieurs” beauty salon where I could get a shampoo, haircut, shave, and manicure for the amazing sum of only fifty eight Euro. As there was no queue waiting to take advantage of this wonderful opportunity, only two dowager´s were being sheared of their hair and money at the moment, I decided there on the spot to join the crowd, so I took off my beret put in the shopping bag and sat down to wait my turn.
From the moment I sat down till I walked out; hair washed, trimmed, blow dried with every single strand cemented in place with gel, my fingernails manicured and eye brows trimmed to absolute perfection, and my face as smooth as a newborn baby bottom, I had killed another hour and forty minutes.
Continuing to leave a trail of money in my wake, I stopped to eat a Mc Fish burger accompanied with a small plastic bottle of water and a tab of only nineteen Euros.
I made it to my departure gate, just as the loud speaker announced the first boarding call, and was welcomed aboard by a cheerful stewardess with tired eyes, too much makeup, and her hair done in French braids, found my seat, took off my boots and buckled up for the long flight home.
After announcements, emergency instructions, the captains weather report and takeoff, the stewardess stopped by to ask if I wanted anything to make my flight more comfortable. I had been waiting for this moment since I buckled up. “ I would love Canadian Club whiskey in four of those cute little bottles, a glass of water, a package of peanuts, a pillow, and a blanket, and please don’t wake me until we land in L.A.”
To be continued
Thank you for liking my story thus far.
Back in the U.S.A.
I am not sure if it was the jolt of the jet wheels hitting the tarmac, the roar of the Rolls Royce engines

[jodafish]

Back in the U.S.A.
I am not sure if it was the jolt of the jet wheels hitting the tarmac, the roar of the Rolls Royce engines or the screaming of the kid behind me that brought me out of my whiskey induced coma.
I sat in my seat, eyes closed as the headache hit me and the taste of acid burned my pallet, while the jet taxied to the arrival gate.
I closed my blood shot eyes and waited, while the other passengers rushed to disembark; cell phones glued to one ear as they called loved ones and friends to tell them that they were safe. I heard the voice of the stewardess saying,
“We are here Sir, and how do you feel today?’’ I opened my eyes, looked into her face and groaned, “I drank all four of those little bottles didn’t I?” ‘’You did Sir, and you snored quite loudly. Welcome to Las Angeles and have a breathtaking day.”
As I tried putting my boots back on, I blew her a kiss and said, “And you dear are funny, do you have any gum or mints?” She handed me a stick of gum and said, “Make sure you take all of your belongings with you when you find the strength to get up and leave, and thank you for flying with us.” It was a good thing she did, as I would have forgotten my presents.
After disembarking, my first stop was the closest water fountain, where I tried to rinse out the cotton in my mouth, then to the urinal and then the washbasin. Feeling as though I was going to live, I stood in front of the mirror, where I saw a man who looked like hell and swore to myself that I would never, ever, again drink blended whiskey.
Recovered enough to make it to the first Star Bucks, I ordered a latte to settle my stomach, a double espresso to help my headache and a rye muffin to keep them down. With my vision cleared and feeling slightly better I found the stamina to make it down to baggage claim to find my valise.
I normally would have taken a cab out to the Hollywood Casino, but at the moment I had no desire to sit down at card games; instead I took the train over to domestic departures.
Flights to Las Vegas depart every hour. I took the first one out, and was turning the key to my penthouse door two hours later. Inside, I stripped down to my shorts took four Excedrin and crawled into my bed and instantly fell into sweet, black oblivion.
It was broad daylight when I finally opened my eyes. The hangover was gone and I knew that I would live to see another day, provided that I found some food and espresso very soon.
While the coffee brewed, I fried four eggs and thawed out a couple of English muffins, then turned on the computer to check my mail while I ate.
That is the moment when I knew exactly how empty my life really was. I had been gone for ten days and my inbox was empty. I checked the answering machine for messages; not even one call.
Ten years at the Casino poker tables had bought many one-night stands, a nice penthouse, and a bank account with a million, eight hundred thousand dollars in it and not one person but my Mom who really cared a damn. I had three friends: one who was now living on the streets somewhere, the second, the owner of a hooker bar, who I really liked but honestly did not know, and my engraving friend who was now happily married, with two kids and had no time for small talk.
I shut down the computer, finished the coffee and washed my one plate, had a hot shower, dressed, rode the elevator down to the street, leaving the emptiness of my life behind as I stepped out into the flash and glitter of The Boulevard and Las Vegas.
Living in downtown Vegas makes my gambling life easy. Everything I need I can walk or take a cab to. Wanting to think and shake this new found depression, I walked the four mile strip past The Aladdin, Bally´s, The Flamingo, Mirage, Bellagio, Caesars Palace, Circus Circus, The Eldorado Club, Excalibur, and Binion´s Horse Shoe, where the world series of poker is held and I spend part of my time. Then continued on past the Mandalay Bay, the MGM Grand, to the Paris Las Vegas Hotel where I turned onto Blue Diamond road where Al´s Bar is located.
The walk and fresh air had chased away my doldrums, and the welcome grin the Al gave me cheered me up, “Welcome back Joe. Have you come to pay me the lonely heart consultation money you owe me? Or did you go broke spending it on those new boots and perfume?”
I dug out my wallet and found a C note and gave it to him as I took a seat.
“What about it Joe, Did you make a killing at the casinos in Europe?”
I don’t like to talk about my winnings or losses playing cards, so I said,” I did OK, made enough to pay your extortionist fee, buy these boots, the earrings and the perfume,”
Bob ´s luck returns

[jodafish]

"Al have you seen Bob?”
“Yes, I have, and I want to tell you the damndest story.
Bob came in here four days ago all excited about finding a dollar bill on the sidewalk out front. His eyes were full of tears and he was yelling over and over “My luck is back. I know it´s back change this bill and give me coins for the slot machine over there,”
“I did as he asked. He went to drop it in the number seven machine. Joe you know that machine has not ever paid out in years.
“Don’t do it Bob” I hollered from the bar.
He turned around and said in a voice full of confidence, “Al, if I hit the jackpot you can call me Lucky Bob. If I lose, my shadow will never darken your door again.”
“He dropped the coins into the slot and pulled the handle. Well, that machines odds of hitting the jackpot are seven hundred fifty to one.
Bob never even looked at the wheels as they spun around. He stood there with his arms folded just waiting .I damned near fainted when the bells and light began to flash. He had hit the jackpot for five hundred dollars. When I gave him the cash he broke down in tears and said, “Al, I am on a roll, from now on when you see me, please call me Lucky Bob.”
“Then he left and I have not seen him since. Now tell me was it interesting playing in Europe?”
Al´s question opened the door to the story of Moss. I guess we must have talked about it for an hour or so. Then Al´ s bar business began to pick up. ”Joe, you never know the evil that lurks in the minds of mad men do you?
It looks like the time for me get working and water the thirsty herd. Oh, before you give that girl those earrings, pick up a thank you card and write something personal on it. That might help you and don’t thank me, it is all part of my service, Pal”
Taking my leave, I headed for the Horse Shoe Casino to see the girl with the beautiful smile and find out her last name. The walk and conversation with Al had cleared my mind; my normal self confidence had returned. I was also relieved to know Lucky Bob was still in town, alive, kicking and still betting on his self. As a matter of fact I had not felt this good in a long time.
My normal poker routine is to sit down at a table in The Horse Shoe Casino around nine in the morning, looking to find the tired players who are stuck deep in a losing streak and had spent the entire night trying to get back their money. I play against them for three or four hours, then no matter if I won or lost money, cash out.
After lunch, I spend time in my penthouse working on my oil paintings or writing in the log book, where I make notations on other player’s styles and tells. I keep a meticulous record of my wins, losses, and hours spent at every game I play, then I take a nap and play from eight to twelve or one A.M
This December, I will be forty, and I am lonely, maybe I am going through the mid-life crises, or perhaps going insane. I am bored to death playing poker, I need to find that person missing to make my life complete. A good, honest woman that I can take to a museum, lunch, movie, the park and one day settle down. Maybe raises a family. I am envious of my engraver friend and the life he now leads with his wife and their newest son.
I know that I am going to have to find something besides mowing a lawn to keep me interested and occupied. Or I will end up sitting in Al´s bar drinking my life away.
I decided to see if the girl with the friendly smile was at the cashier’s cage.
Using the pretext of withdrawing money from my account, I entered The Horse Shoe Casino, made my way past all the lonely people drinking free booze and mindlessly playing the slots. I went up the stairs to the poker room, where I was immediately welcomed by Bill Hancock the floor man.
”Joda Fish you haven’t been in for a couple of weeks, I got a seat open at the 10/20 pot limit game,
You buy in for a thousand and play for two hours the house will comp you an extra two hundred in chips.”
This is not an uncommon deal for regulars, when the house wants to keep a game in action and there are less than six players at the table. After all the house rake of three percent quickly adds up when the pots average more than a thousand dollars.
I shake Bill´s hand and decline the offer as I look at the cashier´s cage, and see she is not there.
I ask Bill, “Do you know the brunette with blue eyes who works the cage?”
“You must mean Gina, sure I know her, sweet gal, she started here five months ago, her dad is Gino Giovanelli, the pit boss at the dice tables, and he has been here forever.
If you are thinking of putting the make on her you are out of luck. A dozen guys have already tried and struck out. I understand she is involved with a boxer named Jack and he is living with her.”
I now know her name and that she is not married, it is a start, I am not afraid to compete when I want to win.
“It is a faint heart that never wins the fair maiden”
I make my living gambling and am wary of making an error in judgment, so when I returned to the penthouse I sat down in front of the computer and did a search on Gina Giovanelli.
I looked into her driving record, credit report, police report, whether she had been married or divorced.
You may say I was snooping, but I considered it more a need to find out what Gina was as a person. I know too many people who had their live and finances destroyed by becoming involved with the wrong person and I was not going to make that stupid mistake at this point in my life. In an hour I knew she owned her home out on Blue Diamond Ridge, would be thirty three years old on December nineteenth, never married, and had never been arrested for drunk driving, that she drove a ten year old Jeep Wrangler, never involved in domestic disputes or violence. And her credit was rated as excellent. The last thing I did was check the phone directory; her number and found two other Giovanelli were listed.
“Dear Gina, while I was travelling in Europe, I found these earrings and I thought about you
Joda Fish”
“Dear Gina, I hope you like these.
Joda Fish”
I must have written a dozen Dear Gina notes. All of them I deleted, before I decided that Al´s note idea was not how I think and act. I am a direct approach guy, I made up my mind to see her and just say, “Gina, I like your smile and the color of your eyes and would like to know you better. Would you go out to lunch sometime?”

[jodafish]

There is a small canvas on the easel; I had not worked on in a month. It is the unfinished profile of a man who´s face is composed of puzzle pieces done in ice cold blue, burnt sienna and red darkened with black, all separated by jagged lines of white. I will title it A Fractured Man.
I enjoy the thought process involved in painting; it is my escape into another world of contemplation and color. Picking up a brush, a tube of violet and one of cerulean blue I mixed them directly on the canvas- I was finishing the background when the phone rang.
I let the answering machine take the call, and then I heard Al say, “Call me, it is about Moss”.
When the background was done I signed the work; J. Wilson, cleaned my brush, put away the paints and stacked the painting against the wall along with fifty or so others, then I called Al.
As soon as he picked up the phone I said, “It´s me Al.”
“Joe; you need to buy a copy of today’s USA Today. Moss has made the front page. They are calling him the Trans-Continental Strangler; he is being investigated for a bunch of young girl rapes and murders all over Europe and England.
It says that he was picking up young prostitutes just a few hours before he was scheduled to fly back to the States. After killing them, he would change into his Captains uniform, breeze through airport security, and be thousands of miles away before the bodies were discovered.
Now you can say that you played poker against a real killer.”
“Thanks for the info Al, but what about Bob?” “Now that is the wildest story about luck that you will ever hear. Got to go to work, stop by soon and I will tell you all about it.” And he hung up.
It all made sense now, the look on Moss´s face at McDonalds, his comment about how he did not miss flying but missed the stewardess and the sex, and the uncomfortable feeling I had when he put his hand on my shoulder.
Cheats, liar’s, drifters, ex cons, hookers, thieves and serial killers, they are all drawn to that oval of green felt, each hoping to make easy money.
You never can tell who will sit down at a poker table. For my sanity and health; I was now positive I needed to quit the game.
I could see no sense in procrastinating. I picked up the phone and dialed the Horse Shoe Casino, then had the operator to connect me to Gina Giovanelli at the poker room cashiers cage. I tried to think of some excuse for calling but found none. She answered, I found myself tongue tied and hung up.
This is not going to work Joseph Wilson. You are going to make a fool out of yourself, Think it through, use the good common sense you have and put a plan together.
What the hell, you are not a child, you are only going to ask a woman out for lunch .Take a shower clear you mind, dress and make the effort to see if she has any interest in you.
After my shower, I stood in front of the mirror, Pulled in my gut and flexed my not too impressive bicep muscles, decided that I needed to exercise more. The hours sitting at the poker tables were not conducive to fitness. “I wonder what that boxer Jack looks like.” I said to the reflection as I shaved.
I went to my closet and tried to decide what to wear, realizing as I did so that this must be a universal dilemma shared by both sexes.
Reason took hold of my thoughts, I put on a pair of worn jeans, a white shirt, my new boots and a grey cashmere sweater, added a dash of cologne and topped everything off with my beret, then taking the pretty little box with the ear rings went out the door …
Gina was busy counting a large pile of money as I walked up to the cage. I stood there for a moment watching her and thinking how attractive she was. When she looked up and saw me her hand immediately went up to her hair to check that it was just right. Then came that smile, that warm welcoming infatuating smile that l had been thinking of for the last three weeks. Our eyes met and instantly I knew that she was pleased to see me again.
“Joe, where have you been? It is not like you to be away from the tables for this long. I was beginning to wonder if you were O.K…”
“Hi Gina, the woman with the most beautiful smile in Las Vegas, I have been on a road trip to Europe, and it is nice to be back in town. I brought you a small present from Paris”.
Not waiting for her to answer me I gave her the fancy little box with the ear rings. She opened it, admired them, and then she put them on, saying as she did. “How beautiful they are Joe, and how thoughtful you are for thinking of me, I love them.”
Bingo, I made it to first base.
“Gina, I was wondering if you would have lunch with me when you finish your shift,”
She gave me a beautiful smile, shook her head ¸saying as she did.
“I am sorry Joe, I would love to, but after I get off I have to go home and feed my dog Jack, and then take him for his run. Boxers are great pets but they go crazy if they don’t get a chance to run and do their thing after being cooped up all morning. Do you like dogs?”
What could I say?
“I love dogs, I had one when I was a kid and she was my best friend. Her name was Lucy. It hurt me so when she died that I never wanted to have another. Now that I live in a place where no pets are allowed, owning one is out of the question.
Would you consider going out to dinner? I know a great restaurant and the owner is a friend, you can bring Jack.”
Again she smiled at the thought of taking the dog, and I was happy that my concern over a boxer named Jack could be taken care of by a rare T bone steak.
“I will consider it Joe, but only if you will go for a run with me and Jack when I get off work.
He is not friendly to strangers and you need to get to know each other before going to a public place like a restaurant.”
Run? She had not said a leisurely walk in the park. I had not move at more than a brisk walk in years; I surely could not run more than a hundred feet before collapsing from exhaustion.
Gina had just raised the stakes and I had to call, bluff, or fold.
I decided a bluff was my only option. “I think that is a great idea, but, I don’t think these cowboy boots are best for running through the park.”
“I don’t go to the park Joe, there are too many dogs there and Jack can be aggressive if he is challenged.
I take him for his run in the foothills near my home where the air is fresh and I can look for arrowheads and spear points in a creek bottom there.
You won’t have to run, and the boots will protect you from scorpions and rattlesnakes. It is so beautiful there; I get off in three hours. Do you want to go?”
Damn the Scorpions, poisonous snakes, lizards, horned toads and dead Indian spirits.
I said “Gina, It sounds like fun; I would love to go with you and Jack.
I will play cards until you get off, maybe I can win enough to buy a good bottle of wine for our dinner date tonight.” Date, Did I say date?’’ I have-not asked a woman out for a date in years. I walked over to the card room; Bill Hancock came up to me, smiling like the Cheshire cat. ‘’I see you haven’t struck out with Gina, The way she looked at you tells me that Jack the boxer has got competition.” I shook his hand and laughed out loud and decided to not explain Jack,
“Competition is my game Bill, that son of a dog doesn’t have a chance, I am charming, smarter, dress better, and have a larger bank account. He may be eating out of Gina´s hand for now, give me time and he will be sleeping outside…Do you have a seat open in a nice friendly game where I can relax and wait for her to get off work? “You mean you actually got her to go out, I give you credit Joe, I have watched a dozen guys ask her out and she turned every single one of them down.
I have a 20 40 pot limit game at table eight that I think you will find interesting. There are two young smart asses working as partners, ramming and jamming the game and making life miserable for the other players .Do feel up to giving them a lesson in card game etiquette?
“For you Bill I will be happy to try, this brings back memories of my youth when Lucky Bob and I would work the games at Al´s Bar.
When a seat opens to the left of them bring me a rack of chips .Meanwhile I am hungry and would like an order of beer batter onion rings, Halibut cheeks and coleslaw salad, with a bottle of water. I will eat over by the railing where I can see what these wise guys are up to. If things go well they should be house broke by the time Gina gets off.”

[jodafish]

My lunch came, crisp, hot and golden brown and as I enjoyed every bite as I watched, unobserved the play, and the action taking place at table eight. The hustlers were working over a young player who looked to be about twenty, for some reason I immediately felt a kinship for this smart, determined kid who was most likely losing his next car payment.
Their hustle was plain to see. When the one wearing the sunglasses had a good hand he would pick up one chip put it back on his stack and check the bet to his partner with the Marijuana leaf embroidered on his hat, who would make the first bet, the kid and the rest of the players would call. Sunglasses would raise, Marijuana hat would re- raise making it too expensive and the kid would fold his hand. The kid was being played like a trout on a hook and destined to lose his dwindling stack of chips.
I know, I had been there many years ago.
Bill came over with my rack of chips and I took the now empty chair of another of the hustler’s victims. My seat put me beside and to the left of the kid.
He looked at me and smiled as he said “Welcome to Hell, my name is Johnny Marino, this is a tough game and those two guys are really lucky.” I shook his hand, noticing as I did that it was cold and wet with nervous sweat.
Then I announced to the players there. “Good afternoon, my name is Joseph Wilson; I am from Salt Lake City, here for a convention of artist.” Sun glasses grinned and nodded to Marijuana hat who let out a roar of laughter and said, “Nice of you to join us Joseph, I´m Jimmy Bob, I will trade my hat for your French chapeau, Are you a Mormon?”
“As a matter of fact Jimmy I am, I know that Mormon’s are not supposed to gamble, but as they say. What goes on in Las Vegas stays in Las Vegas.” Sunglasses that was now also having a fit of laughter said, “Aint that the gospel truth, sit down Joseph the Mormon, or is it moron and let ´s play cards.
It was not long before I was winning a small amount of money and drew the hand I had waited for, any small pair, these happened to be threes.
Sunglasses bet, Jimmy Bob raised, the kid dropped out, I called. Sunglasses raised the pot again and as expected Jimmy Bob took the last raise, again I called both bets. The dealer turned the first three cards, none of which helped me. I watched as Sunglasses picked up that one chip then put it back on his stack and checked the bet to his partner who as expected bet. Any poker player would have folded that pair of threes, but I was not playing to win this hand: I was putting advertising chum into the water. When the final bets were made I had invested what I was ahead in the game. With great pride I turned over my pair of threes as if I expected they were the winning hand. The dealer pushed the pot to Sunglasses who had three queens. As he stacked his winnings he said to Marijuana Jimmy Bob, “Can you believe it the Artist re raised me with a pair of threes, frigging unbelievable, just unbelievable?”
The kid then spoke to me in a whisper “Mister, you better go play a slot machine; you are over your head here.” I turned to him and whispered back, “They now think I am an idiot.”
It was not much longer before I held what is called “The Mortal Nuts” a hand that cannot be beaten, As the bets and raises were put into the pot I said to Sunglasses,” You are too good, this is my last hand so I may as well go for broke, then I raised what was the biggest pot of the afternoon. He smiled and said “Well it was nice to know you Mormon,” as he and Jimmy Bob put the last of their chips into the pot.
”I have a king high straight. Unless you have the king and the ace you lose,” I looked at my cards as if in total surprise then said, “How did you know? By gosh that is exactly what I have, and you, have what is commonly known as the village idiots end of the straight.”
Sunglasses threw his cards at the dealer, Marijuana hat swore, and kicked his chair, and then both got up to depart, Sunglasses turned to me and snarled “Well Mr. Mormon, stick around town and you and I will see each other again and it aint gonna be your best day”, At that point Marijuana Hat laughed and then they departed out the door.
The kid shook my hand,” That was beautifully played Sir. It was a pleasure to watch”.
I called Bill Hancock for three more racks to put the chips in. Then I did something I have never done before, I gave this advice to the kid.
I said, “Johnny, if you want to play poker and win, read every book you can find on the game, study them and learn. And until you do, stay out of games you cannot afford. Take care, and don’t ever believe in Lady Luck. She is fickle and will eventually let you down.” Picking up my chips I started to the cage to turn them into cash, Bill stopped me and shook my hand, saying as he did so, “Well that didn’t take you long to break the game, and a very nice win for a pot limit game ,but I would watch out for those two.
”Thanks Bill, I always do, and I made enough to take Gina and the boxer out to dinner tonight.”
“Joe you are something else, I have to give you credit, inviting him to eat with both of you is a smart move, that gives her a chance to see you both together, women just love to be competed over, more than they love to comparison shop.”

[Rail-Bird]

The story is great reading Joda.Thank You very much. I look forward every week to your posts… Can you imagine Joda if we could find a way to make poker attractive to more artist and writers like yourself ? ?

[jodafish]

Rail Bird thanks for the comment. Not too sure there a lot of poker playing painters on this web site. I have written quite a few stories .This the first about a card player. Perhaps I can find an idea for another this winter. .

[jodafish]

Gina still had an hour left on her shift when I cashed in my winnings. She was very professional at her work and never commented on poker players wins or loses, that is one of the reasons that I admired her.
As she handed me the cash she said, “Joe, I decided that it would be best if I drove back to my house to change clothes, freshen up and get Jack, then I can meet you in front of the Casino.”
It was at this moment I remembered the perfume at my place. So I said. “I have a better idea, why don’t I meet you in front of my apartment, that way I can pick up my camera. I want to take photos of you and Jack. I live a couple of blocks from here in the Star Dust penthouse. You tell me what time and I will meet you out front, OK.”
Again she gave me that wonderful alluring smile as she said, “What a great idea, I never think to take my camera with me, and that gives me time to go home and prepare myself. I will pick you up at six thirty. See you then.”
Our conversation was interrupted by the kid who came up to the cage to cash in his remaining chips. I said hello to him and left as he started to tell Gina all about the pot I had won.
It is a nice feeling to be someone’s hero.
Life is full of the unexpected .
I was standing in front of my place with the perfume in the camera carrying case pocket at 6: 25 expecting to wait at least twenty minutes for Gina to show.
To my surprise, at exactly 6:30 she drove up in her jeep. I was impressed, in my entire life I had never known a woman to be on time; and what impressed me even more was her Jeep.
It had all wheel drive with off road tires, a roll bar, and a three ton electric winch attached to a custom brush guard grill in front. And a five speed manual transmission. Sitting in the back seat with his head out the open window was the boxer named Jack. I knew this was no ordinary gal.
Gina leaped out of her Jeep, “Don’t move, Jack considers this Jeep to be his personal property and until I introduced you he can be very possessive of it.” I froze, Jack growled, I retreated back to the entrance of my apartment building, as I did; I thought for a moment that the dog gave me a wicked grin.
By now Gina was standing next to the dog petting him and telling him I was a friend.
I don’t think he believed her, the hair on his back was standing straight up his ears were laid back and he was staring straight into my eyes. “It is ok Jack, he is a friend, and he is going for a ride with us. Now you stop it and be a good dog.”
The transformation was amazing, the beast sat down and wagged his stub of a tail, then his tongue came out and he licked her hand. “Now come here Joe and meet Jack.”
“Gina, I make my living with my hands and I want to keep all my fingers intact. Are you sure that I need to get close to him?” She put her hands on her hips and laughed out loud. “You tell me that you loved dogs and had one as a boy, and now you say you are afraid of this wonderful, adorable and affectionate eighty pound puppy?” She walked over to where I stood and looked into my eyes, took my hand, and led me over to the now docile beast, saying as she did so, “You can trust me Joe, now come here and let me introduce to Jack”.
I am not sure if it was her voice, so sweet and caring, or the smile, or the warmth of her hand in mine that seduced me, or maybe it was all three that caused me to follow her like Mary’s little lamb over to the Jeep and put out my hand for Jack to smell, “Now say hello Jack, what a nice dog you are, You are a good boy.” As I repeated her words the dog put is ice cold nose to my hand and took his time smelling to see if I was a friend or foe. As he did not sink his fangs into my hand I assumed he decided that I was harmless and suddenly put his front paw on my arm as if to say welcome to my Jeep. “There you see, he likes you and wants to be friends. Shake his paw, say good dog and we can get going, it is going to be a beautiful sunset.”
The beast and I shook paws; His was rough and hairy, mine smooth, white and tender.
I got into the Jeep; I could not help myself when I told Gina. “This is some chariot you get around town in” It sounded odd the way she said. “It belonged to my brother, but he is gone now.” Then I buckled up, and we three roared down the Vegas strip. As she drove I was relieved to notice her fingernails were unpainted, I had had many unpleasant experiences with women who grew long sharp daggers and painted them in a multitude of violent colors.
Though the windows were partially open, there was a hint of fresh Camay soap, blended with a delicate perfume she was wearing. Gina´s long black hair was tied in a single braid that showed of the curve of neck and well formed shoulders. She was wearing the ear rings, a bright plaid mans cut woolen shirt, tucked into a pair of brown corduroy slacks and a pair of tan laced hiking boots. The whole picture she presented was most pleasing; I inhaled the fresh air and was enjoying myself when a most unpleasant smell drifted into my nostrils. Gina smelted it also, and rolled down her window, “Jack just farted. Boxers do that frequently, in fact they are notorious for it, which is why he has a dog house and sleeps outside on the patio. He really is a sweet dog and a good companion; I do hope that you two will become friends.”
I rolled down my window trying to recapture the scent of Gina but it was gone, evaporated into a dog tainted memory. Turning around I looked at the dog and said to it. “Thanks pal, at least she knows it was not me. “I patted him on the top of his broad head, as I did he licked my hand and I swear to you that he winked at me.
“Well Joe at least you have a sense of humor, that’s encouraging” and she gave me that beautiful smile. She suddenly pulled over to the side of the street and said. “Do you mind if we go to a favorite place of mine to have dinner? It will be my treat and we can leave Jack at home .He is very loyal to me, perhaps too loyal for a restaurant full of strangers.
I cannot express how relieved I was to hear the words “leave Jack at home” So I said," If you think it is best I don’t mind at all.”

[jodafish]

“Joe, I have to tell you how I found Jack. He was in the alley by a dumpster behind the casino, someone had cut off his tail and put a bandage over to stub, then abandoned him there to be found, or to be crushed by the traffic,
I can’t imagine how anyone can be so callous; I mean dogs are not disposable. I took him home and then to a vet who saved his life. I decided to adopt him and named him Jack like my brother, that was more than two years ago. Even though he can be a pest, he is too much a part of my life now to ever part from him, I hope you understand.” I decided not to tell her that I had met many people at the card rooms that were worse.
I was beginning to know more about Gina and the more I learned the more I liked her.
So I said. “This is turning out to be the best day I have had in years. “
“It going to get better Joe, let´s stop here and let Jack run, and he needs to exercise before we have dinner.”
I admired the dog as he ran, not as dog lover, but with the eye of a man who admired racing horses. This dog was the living sculpture of animal perfection, every bit equal to a fine quarter horse stallion, so I got out my camera and made a short video of him. After a twenty minute run his honey colored coat was glistening in the sun, and every muscle stood out in him. His pink tongue was panting and hanging out of his mouth.
The only dog I had ever known was a little white dust mop that weighed four or five pounds that had spent most of its time chasing her tail and sitting on my mother’s lap.
“He is magnificent Gina.” She took the dog´s water bowl out of the jeep and filled it from a plastic bottle, set it down, and we watched as he lapped up the water in great noisy slurps, spilling water everywhere as he emptied the bowl. “Gina and it has been wonderful to see him run free, but don’t you think his drinking manners could be a bit improved on?” She reached over, put her hand on my arm looked into my eyes and said,
“You are funny, I like that. Now I want to take you somewhere every special to me, it is my place of privacy and tranquility, there is something very special waiting for you there.”
Jack was now standing next to the jeep as if he was waiting for his chauffer to open the door to his private limousine. A ten minute drive later she stopped the jeep, turned to me and said.
“Follow me city boy”
I followed Gina as we began the steep climb up a set of stone stairs, Jack leading and still urinating on every bush, God, how I admired that dog’s bladder. Having become accustom to elevators, I was slowly bringing up the rear. As we climbed, I must admit to you that the posterior view Gina presented me was well worth the effort. We would stop; I would catch my breath while she pointed out the wild flowers. “Do you know what those are she said, pointing to a small patch of yellow flowers?” I took a picture, then I answered, “Of course I do, those are little yellow flowers, and those over there are little violet ones. And for your information that one over there is a cactus with little strawberry colored ones, what do you think I am, a city boy?
By the way, just where are we going?” I think that my answers made me points in our budding relationship.
She turned around came back to me then kissed me on the cheek, which led to a passionate kiss on the lips. “I won´t tell you where we are going City Boy.” She untangled from my embrace, shaking her head she said, “The sun is setting. let´s go, I am starving.
”Gina can you hear the silence of this place? I am so accustomed to the constant noise of Las Vegas, the Police, Ambulance, street noise and the never ending human hum inside the casinos I had forgotten that this existed. You were right this is a very special place.”
“I hoped you would like it here Joe.” Jack came up to us, sat and lifted his paw telling Gina that he is hungry…
Women have a rare sense of when they are in control of man´s passions, and they know just how to manipulate that power.
She pulled away from me, saying “Isn’t it a beautiful sunset?”
We watched the neon glow of Las Vegas on the horizon, the sky turn from deep sea blue to violet and orange then a dusty rose as the sun was setting. As I studied the sky, I wondered if I could ever begin to capture those colors on a canvas.