community centre, and then Robert took it by accident. But I hope Robert’s bike is still back at the community centre.”
Everyone looked at Robert and then finally Sam spoke up. “You know, I think I know where your bike is.” They all continued to stare at Sam. “You go to Colton Elementary, right?” Sam said, looking directly at Robert.
“Yeah, why?” Robert countered.
“There’s a guy who goes there . . . Bill, I think his name is. I’m pretty sure I saw him take your bike from the community centre.”
“Sam, what are you talking about? When did you see this?” Sam’s father asked.
“When we drove by it a couple of minutes ago. I saw Bill getting on a green bike at the community centre. I thought it was mine for a second until I realized it wasn’t a North Star.”
Sam’s father looked at him skeptically, and no one spoke for a moment.
Sam and Robert locked eyes again.
“Well, as odd as it seems, I think we’ve got all this sorted out,” Sam’s father said. “I hope you find your bike Robert.”
Sam’s father put his hand on Sam’s shoulder. Robert held the North Star out for Sam, who took it and they turned towards the car.
Halfway to the car, Sam’s father looked down at his son, and then stopped. Sam stopped as well, and glanced up at his dad.
“Sam, what’s that in your back pocket?”
“What?”
“You heard me Sam.” His father reached down and pulled a small crumpled paper bag from his son’s back pocket. He looked inside at the licorice whips, the gum and the other things. “Where did you get this?”
Sam glanced at Robert. “My friend Kyle gave it to me.”
“Really,” his father said suspiciously. “You know Sam that you’re not allowed to go to the plaza. Right?”
Robert’s mother had ambled over. “No, Robert isn’t allowed to go to the plaza either.”
Robert’s father, who had listened to the entire conversation from the porch, had approached the group. “Don’t worry folks, I’ve been sitting on that porch for two hours and I can attest that neither of these boys have been to the plaza.”
Sam looked at Robert’s father and smiled, his thankfulness more than evident, and then the smile left his face. Thirty yards from Robert’s house and approaching fast was the elderly woman who Sam had side swiped earlier. She locked eyes with Sam and struggled to push her know half full shopping cart faster.
“Oh, there’s Nana,” Robert’s mother said, and waved.
“Let’s go dad,” Sam said, already halfway to the car.
The Pro and the Lunatic
Arthur Binder had been to Las Vegas three or four times over the years, but had never been there with a specific assignment to complete. On this particular occasion he arrived on a Friday afternoon in the middle of October, and by Saturday evening he was nestled into a comfortable chair, engaged in a very serious game of poker. The Benson Room at the Liberty Casino and Gaming Club was where the real players went for action. Make no mistake, Arthur isn’t a real player, or at least not an overly competent one, rather, he’s a writer. His assignment on this day was to find a real poker player, a roguish hustler, and capture the flavour of a professional gambler’s life in three thousand words or less. After playing No Limit Hold’em for two hours, and losing a material amount of his magazine’s money by throwing clay chips after horrendous cards, his patience was rewarded—his subject walked into the Benson Room.
There was something about the way the man carried himself that tipped Arthur off. He wasn’t a testament to all the old stereotypes; his hair wasn’t slicked back, his shirt wasn’t unbuttoned, heavy gold chains didn’t dangle from his neck, but he had a coolness and a calmness, a certain understated demeanour about him that left no doubt in Arthur’s mind that this guy was a pro—a poker professional. He was casually dressed in a t-shirt and jeans; a beat up red ball cap ensuring he’d meld in with the pigeons. Arthur couldn’t believe his luck.
My name is Hubert Morrow and I’ll never forget my first trip to Las Vegas. I arrived on a Saturday evening in the middle of October, and the first thing I did after unpacking my bags was prop my lucky red ball cap on top of my head, and head out to play poker. I had never played casino poker before, and admittedly, I was both excited and nervous as I hopped into a cab. The driver told me that the Benson Room at the Liberty Casino and Gaming Club was the place to play. “I’m a beginner,” I told him. He assured me that the Benson Room was the place for me. The closer we got, the more nervous I became. My main problem was that I didn’t have a good grip on all the subtleties and nuances of the game. A friend, who played in casinos often, had tried to pass on some of his knowledge, but my nervousness was rendering my memory useless. I knew there was no turning around. I couldn’t go home and face my friends, the ones I played kitchen table poker with, without at least walking into the Benson Room and playing a few hands, as awkward as it might turn out.
Arthur watched as the pro spoke briefly to the floor manager, and then was pleasantly surprised when he slowly made his way over to Arthur’s game. There were eight people sitting around the table, and the pro took a moment to make eye contact with each of them—staring them down. Arthur got the sense that just by looking at each of them for a moment, the pro could tell whether they were worth his time. He moved to the last available chair, directly across the table from Arthur, and sat down. A beautiful young lady wheeled a chip cart over to him, and waited for him to signal his intent; he glanced quickly at the other player’s stacks and then reached for a tray of red chips. “Holy cow,” Arthur said under his breath, the guy had grabbed five grand worth of chips. Arthur and everyone else around the table tried to act like they weren’t intimidated. They all were.
“Cash, credit or charged to your room sir,” the young lady asked him.
“My room,” the pro said quickly.
She placed the order form in front of him; he paused for a moment and then signed quickly. Five thousand dollars was at least ten times as much as anyone else at the table had in front of them. Arthur shook his head; this guy wasn’t messing around.
I finally arrived at the Liberty and had a little trouble finding the Benson Room, asking three people for directions before finally finding my way to the entrance. Walking in, I paused, as one of my contact lens started acting up. Embarrassed, I took both lenses out. My vision wasn’t perfect, but I’d get by. I walked in and found a middle aged gentleman who looked like an employee.
“Hi there, listen, I’m new at this. Never been to a casino before. And I’m nervous as hell. What do I do?”
He smiled. “No problem. There’s a free seat over at that table,” he said pointing. “I’ll send the chip runner over so you can buy some chips. If you need any help, don’t hesitate to ask the dealer. Most beginners are afraid to ask. Just ask the dealer. Nothin’ to be embarrassed about.”
“Thanks,” I said and started walking over to the table. The lighting in the Benson room was poor and my eyes weren’t adjusting well. I got to the table and struggled to see the faces of the folks I was going to be playing with. I had no idea what the protocol was. Was I supposed to say something before I sat down? Where they all looking at me like I was some sort of idiot? God I felt self-conscious. I sat.
Things were happening too quickly for my liking now. The lady who sells the chips showed up. I would have preferred to just sit for a moment and get my bearings; to try and figure out what the hell I was supposed to do, but there she was with her cart of chips. She said nothing, and ignoring the advice to ask questions, I said nothing. I finally reached out and grabbed a tray of red chips.
“Cash, credit or charged to your room sir,” the young lady asked.
“My room,” I said quickly. She handed me a piece of paper. I put my room number on it, signed it, and then realized what I’d done. I wasn’t staying at the Liberty Casino and Gaming Club. What an idiot. I had just put a room number on the bill for a room that was
n’t even at the establishment. Again, I said nothing because I was embarrassed. In my rush, I hadn’t even seen how much the bill was for. I had no idea what the value of the chips in my tray was. There were fifty chips, probably worth a dollar a piece I told myself. I’d make sure I didn’t bet more than twenty dollars.
The dealer dealt everyone two cards; Arthur’s weren’t particularly good, a queen and a four. The pro didn’t immediately look at his cards, instead, he waited and observed everyone else. It was obvious to Arthur that the pro was honing in on their reactions as they looked at their cards. Arthur knew that Poker was more of a science than most amateurs realized; a pro can get a clue as to what a beginner has just by seeing his facial expression at that instance when he looks at his cards. The pro finally picked up his cards, and his eyes narrowed, giving away nothing. Arthur thought the look on the pro’s face was pure genius. Did he have good cards? Did he have garbage? He acted like he didn’t know, but Arthur knew differently.
In No Limit Hold‘em, ante bets are placed by the small blind and the big blind which are automatic bets made by the two players to the left of the button—the button represents the theoretical dealer—while the actual dealer doesn’t play. The small blind was twenty bucks and the big blind was forty. The bet was forty to the