“Why?”
“Victor loves Paul Revere. He’s got a big painting of him over the staircase. But also they’re all businessmen who wake up early—so the game always finishes by midnight.”
“And you can wake up to teach the next morning.”
“It’s a perk,” she said. “But I knew I needed a partner. And I figured with almost a year, how hard could it be? I know a number of other card mechanics, but apparently not the right ones. Most of them have a few moves, and they seek out sloppy games with weak players. They pick over played cards and grab from the muck and control a couple of cards here and there, anything to get an edge. Even the good ones are pretty much just grinders at heart. I started to realize that guys like that—and I do mean guys like that—weren’t up to this job.”
I stopped dealing the cards. “Wait a minute. Do you want to work with me because I’m good or because I’m a woman?”
“Give yourself a little credit, will you? But it doesn’t hurt that you’re a woman. A woman at the card table can get away with more.” She smiled. “Anyway, I trust a male cheat as far as I can throw him.”
“You think women are more honest?”
“In life? No idea. But at a card table with all guys? Definitely. I’d rather work with a woman any day.”
“Like Thelma and Louise,” I said.
“That’s a terrible example, Natalie.”
“I just mean they worked well together.”
“Yes, they drove off a cliff together very successfully. Let’s not do that.”
I started dealing the cards again. I knew that once Ellen left I’d be doing Greek deals in front of the bathroom mirror late into the night. “So you were having trouble finding a partner …”
“I was starting to get desperate,” she said, “which is how I ended up in Atlantic City.” Her eyes widened a moment, and she broke into a smile. “Meeting you,” she said, “was a hell of a coincidence, but not as much as maybe you think. We were both in A.C. that night for the same reason: for Ace.” For a moment I had the inane thought: She’s writing a magazine article? Then I understood. “His name came up a couple of times, so I drove down to see him in action.” She shrugged. “What can I tell you? It was a bad tip.”
“His bottom deal was a little rough.”
She cracked a smile. “When I saw how awful he was, I figured I might as well make some money so the night wouldn’t be a total waste.”
“No regrets about cheating your friend?”
“Hey,” she said, “I’m going through a bad divorce, right? Ethan’s probably glad I had a big night. And don’t forget, he came out ahead, too.”
“And then I ran after you on the street like a crazy person,” I said.
“You were sort of keyed up.” She smiled and took another cookie. “I don’t blame you. I’m pretty terrific.”
8
I’d forgotten I was out of coffee, so we decided to stretch our legs and walk down the street to the mini-mart for a cup. It wasn’t late, but there was no longer any hint of dusk, and the street was empty except for a stray cat with no tail. Seeing us, it darted across the road and into an alley.
By the time we got back to the apartment Ellen had almost stopped complaining about the mini-mart coffee. I apologized for not living next to a higher-quality mart, and we sat at the table again. But before we got down to the nitty-gritty, Ellen wanted me to understand just how unusual our situation was. “Your typical card mechanic spots a couple of good cards in the muck—an ace, a king—and controls them to the bottom of the deck. It’s helpful but not a guaranteed win. Do you understand? It’s cards. You could have a strong hand and still lose. But with a million dollars in play, plus our own combined half million in chips, we have to factor out all the luck. We need a winning hand that will make the other guys go all in.”
“How?” I asked.
“Feel like taking a guess?”
“With the two of us in on it? I’m guessing we swap in a cold deck.”
“No,” she said. “We don’t want any evidence. Cheating is supposed to be low risk. Even your friend Ace knew that.”
“Ace isn’t my friend,” I reminded her.
“Whatever. His skills were atrocious but his strategy was sound. Poker players aren’t generally out to spot a cheat. They’re too caught up in playing each hand. So Ace gets the benefit of the doubt. And then imagine that the worst thing happens: someone calls him out for cheating. What do you suppose he does?”
“He denies it.”
“Right. Vehemently. He acts offended and insulted. And then he immediately stops cheating. It’s his word against his accuser’s, and his accuser is never sure, just suspicious. There’s no evidence, so that’s the end of it.” She sipped her coffee and made a face. “But if you sneak a cold deck into the game?”
“Evidence,” I said.
“Not to mention you’d have to know the exact deck your host will be using—what brand, what color, if the cards are bordered or not. Then you have to pull the switch off. But what if you can’t? Or what if you get caught? Imagine getting caught with a second deck.” She shook her head. “Even a roomful of pacifists will turn mean if they catch you swapping in a deck. And I never once played poker with a roomful of pacifists.”
“What, then?”
She turned toward my window, but the blinds were shut. I imagined she was seeing Victor Flowers’s game room.
“Ideally,” she said, “we get the game down from six players to four. That shouldn’t be hard. Two of the guys aren’t all that good, and I can throw myself a couple
