A swarthy American gambler behind Dino heard what odds he was asking about, and shouted, “Asshole! The NBA Championship is in six goddamn months. Let me bet on this fucking TJ race that’s going off in three minutes!”
“Find another window,” Dino shouted back at him.
Miami saw the reaction, and it wasn’t good. The guy looked drunk and glassy eyed. He grabbed Dino’s shoulder and spun him around hard.
Miami moved in fast. At six-foot-three, 210 pounds, blond and blue eyed, he stood out at the Mexican track, and now towered over Dino and the short drunken gambler. Miami put his hand on the shoulders of the two men. “Whoa, guys…let’s have some fun and win some money…let’s settle down. Hey, amigo, go make your bet…no problems here.” Miami stared down into the drunk gambler’s eyes.
Then Miami took Dino by the arm and led him back to his table. “Dino, let’s not get killed here…OK? I need you alive. Why are you always getting into trouble?”
Dino was oblivious to the party and other gamblers around them. The unique thing about Dino was that he was a proven winner in a game of constant losers. Other gamblers wanted the action, the lifestyle, and the girls, but all Dino wanted was to win money. Miami would start having cocktails early in the day, but Dino would stay up until four a.m. drinking coffee while studying past race performances or team statistics, getting ready to make a well-planned strategic wager. Miami learned to stay with Dino and keep him out of trouble; if he were focused on a bet, Dino wouldn’t notice an incoming mortar attack.
Several times, Miami missed out on huge money-making payoffs because Dino had made a bet while Miami was courting women, enjoying cocktails, or working out in the gym. Miami had learned to keep Dino in his sights at the Las Vegas race books, or at the track, because when Dino hit the betting windows, Miami wanted always to be a part of that. Miami made far more money than Dino in his day job, but Dino was the bigger gambler for sure. Dino bet big money on the daily horseraces, future book sporting events like the Super Bowl or NBA playoffs, and select NFL football games. Dino could tell you exactly the type of offensive or defensive game statistics it took to win a Super Bowl, and what the strength of schedule was for every NFL playoff contender. Dino was cheap with his money, until he saw a betting opportunity, then he would bet with both hands and no fear.
For example, during the past summer, in 117-degree heat at the Flamingo Hotel in Las Vegas, Miami and Dino were at a three-day horse betting contest. They had been losing money consistently for two and a half days and finally Miami had gotten tired and disgusted of repeatedly losing bets. He went to the craps table to take a break. Miami left Dino alone for thirty minutes, and when he came back, Dino was standing at the cashier’s window collecting $4,800 in cash from a 23-1 shot he keyed in the exacta in the final Santa Anita race of the day.
Never again was Miami going to let that happen and now he stayed with Dino like a big protective guard dog for his smaller friend.
Professional horse gamblers typically purchase the past performances newspaper published by the Daily Racing Form. They’ll study for hours to handicap a horse’s past performances, hoping to find a winning bet opportunity. Dino would study the horses’ past performances, the trainers’ records, and even the horse owner’s patterns.
When Dino and Miami started going to the track together, they were only 16 years old. Young Dino noticed that owners who looked like they were cast from the Mafia movie The Godfather would often win races. So, Dino started betting on horses whose owners and trainers last names ended in a vowel. If there was a Corleone, a Gino, or a Vito in the name, Dino was hammering him at the windows, and they won more than their share, often at big odds. One day, Dino picked a winning horse that paid 22-1 because the owner’s last name was Romano. That tip turned $200 into $4,600 for Miami and Dino.
The hardest part back then for Miami and Dino was just getting into the track, as at only 16 they were underage, but still they found ways to get in to gamble. After school, the boys would wait at the front gate and give a degenerate looking gambler a free betting ticket if he would let them accompany him through the front admissions gate. They learned to wear suits and ties to the track to look older, and carried men’s briefcases with them, trying to look like distinguished young businessmen. It usually worked at the tracks because what 16-year-old kids could possibly be betting at the $50 and $100 large wagers windows? It was also true that they’d be thrown out on a regular basis for being underage. When it happened, they changed hats as a disguise and came back through another entrance.
Now adults in Tijuana at Agua Caliente, an attractive cocktail waitress with shiny, thick black hair tied in a red bow, wearing a short black skirt and red heels, came over to their table to deliver the bucket of beers on ice Miami had ordered. She smiled directly at Miami, and then asked them both, “What are your names?”
Miami glanced at her nametag and said, “Dino…meet Camila. Camila, meet Dino. I’m Miami. Camila, Dino is a big gambler and is here to make all our dreams come true. You should join him. If all goes well today at the track, you will never have to work again.”
Camila seemed to be grasping about 10 percent of what Miami was saying and smiled while asking Dino if he wanted her to open a beer for
