After scrutinizing several games on various boats, TK the mathematician, ran the numbers and figured out a workable system. We put our heads together to select the best possible outcomes.
The house had rigged Juju, so that was out of the question. But Bluewrack and Monster had potential. They were group, not house games and promise for some tidy profit. Of course, we’d need a point-scout. That’s where TK came in who’d agreed to devise hand signals.
The ten-sided dice were new to me, geared to throw off sharks who had already polished their scams.
“Seed the aces,” TK said. “Half the die are loaded. We insert our own in play. At drop fifteen we play full out and win, then drop back, lose a little so they don’t get suspicious.”
“Okay, old man, we play one against the other. I’ll engineer a way to signal so nobody figures it out and pulls the alarm on us. As I see it, the house will always win in the long run, but short term gains are possible. The more players, the more likelihood of a gain. It’s a matter of getting out at the right time.”
“We’re on board then. Let’s establish a coordinated plan of exit.”
“Right.”
“How’s your Bluewrack?” I grinned at Wren.
She shrugged. “Never played it, but I became proficient at something like it back when I used to trounce my brothers.”
“Oh, yeah? It’ll have to do. I needn’t remind you that the stakes are high here—broken legs and fingers are not uncommon. Fates get worse than that for cheaters.”
“Don’t sweat it, I’ve got it under control.”
I didn’t like the nonchalance in her voice, considering the stakes of the enterprise; it could get ugly very quickly.
We practiced several rounds on the bridge with my own weighted die and marked cards. I coached Wren on the finer points of the game, when to toss and when to roll a losing hand and when to go for the jugular. She learned fast. Like she said, she seemed to have experience with the game before.
“Throw them without getting intimidated. Get them to land a certain way. You dig your nail in the three-spot on the heavy side and the magnets kick in and the dice’ll fall the other way.”
“Not bad, Rusco. Some clever rigging here.”
I shrugged. “I’ve used these scams before, engineered a way to peer in on other’s hands, putting a reflective strip of polyeselon, a reflective bit of glass, on the opposite wall where I sat and kept chatting to divert my opponents.”
TK shook his head. “Risky. If they caught you—”
“They’re not looking for it, don’t you see?” I said. “Without a point man or some nondescript posing as an innocent spectator, they’re looking for other things.”
“I don’t know,” said TK. “The strip sounds easy for a roving eye to pick up.”
“What I did was photograph the wall pattern prior to playing and mock up some reflecto-pad to follow its blend. I’d brush against the wall, elbow the pad sticky side out when no one was looking. Voila. Stuck there like an invisible stamp. The thing’s thin, so there’s no visible evidence, and it’s slightly convex to show a wide view.”
“Don’t see how that would show you anything.”
“I wore a kind of contact lens to pick up the faint reflection.”
TK shook his head. “I’m just glad we’re not using a scam like that. I can blend in easy enough, a sad alcoholic wanting a piece of the action but no yols to play.”
“Good, simpler’s better. BJ’s is busy, lots of players there. Small timers too, so it won’t be as hot.”
“Any idea of how long we’ll be out on the floor?”
“As long as the tables are dealing, we work up some stash, then we skip to the next boat. Or I give you the signal to cut for the night.”
I saw TK’s hesitation. “Any hint of anything going sour, we bail, agreed?”
Grumbles. Shrugs. Looked as if we were on track.
Chapter 11
We were finally ready to deal and I picked BJ’s to start. The place was popular, busy, a buzz of pleasant excitement in the air. Bright lights lit up the back that hurt the eyes, made you feel tired and radiated a lot of heat, leaving a lot of hot sweaty residue on the skin. Geared to get you to make impulsive moves to release that excess discomfort, blow your money while munching complimentary nuts and salted tidbits at the tables so you’d feel thirstier and drink more of the local brew. Slot machines jingled to the side; group games progressed toward the front. Live band at the back, playing an upbeat techno-jazz with juicy electro frills unfamiliar to my ear. The clink of glasses caught my attention, the titter of women’s voices as they watched the big players toss glittering die or spread fan-colored cards in front of their faces, hoping for the big win. The hustlers latched on to the winners, blinked in derision at the losers.
Wren and I wended our way to the happening section while TK stayed back. The alpha dog at the head table of four had at least two guys working for him, or watching out for him. I could tell by the subtle eye movements and stiffening of shoulders. I earmarked that information.
We sat down at the Bluewrack table, in between two of the foremost gamblers, Wren as Emmie, all smiles and giggles, looking a little tipsy, but as sober as a shark, me on her other side. I was a different story, not so easily able to fake drunkenness, despite the local juice giving me a flushed face and a fuzzy skull. I had an uncanny knack of keeping my thoughts coherent, even though my body language might show the influence of drink.
Sitting aside Wren, I gave the players my most disarming
