Stone Junction

Staggered as much by the amount as Bobby’s nonchalance, Daniel said, ‘That’s an awful lot of money, twenty thousand.’

‘Not if you say it fast,’ Bobby grinned. ‘Besides, you gotta remember you’re not playing for money, you’re playing for chips, and chips is just the way you keep track. The reason they make chips round is because they’re supposed to roll. And speaking of rolling, we best get our gear together. We’re leaving right after we watch the Raiders kick some Bronco ass.’

‘Where are we off to?’

‘El Paso. Promising Seven-Stud game.’

‘Am I going to play?’

‘Not for a bit. First you’ve got to learn the rules and manners, the different games and strategies, basic principles and moves. And since you’ll be playing my money till you’re good enough to win some on your own, I’ll be calling the shots. That’s the deal whenever I take someone on to teach. I call the shots until you can beat me heads-up in a gambling game, and then you’re free to do as you please. Any time you challenge me and lose, it costs you ten grand for my effort. That’s the game, Daniel, and it’s your choice. It’s also your first lesson, a bedrock gambling truth: If you don’t like the game, don’t sit down.’

‘Suppose I can’t beat you?’

‘Well, you’ll probably be so poor and frustrated and fucked up that I’ll cut you loose outa mercy, if you beg nice. That makes me out mean, but actually I’m about the easiest man in the world to get along with,’ cept for two things I can’t abide – sniveling and gloating. Don’t snivel when you lose or gloat when you win.’

‘Do you mind if I ask about your connection with AMO?’

‘No – though it’s not good card manners to press a man for information on his private life.’

‘I didn’t mean to offend you.’

‘You didn’t.’ Bobby ambled over to the TV and switched it on. ‘When I first moved up into the high-stakes games, I went bust occasionally – well, more often than not, to tell the truth – and Volta offered to back my action. Most backers naturally want a chunk of the cake, fifty-fifty being about standard, but Volta only wanted five percent a year – of the net – with me to do the accounting. Can’t hardly beat that with a stick. Plus, I agreed to take on students now and then if Volta thought they had promise. You’re only the third one. First two mighta made it, but they went crazy ’fore they got there.’

Daniel started to ask where ‘there’ was, but Bad Bobby raised a finger and pointed toward the football game. ‘We’re gonna have months to talk on the road. Right now we got twenty-five grand that says there’s no way the Broncos can whup the Raiders by more than four points and that together they don’t score over forty-two. Let’s eat breakfast and watch our money.’

The Raiders won outright in a defensive struggle, and later that afternoon Bad Bobby left town as he ususally did – ahead of where he came in.

El Paso. Houston. Dallas. New Orleans. Nashville. Omaha. Cheyenne. Denver. Reno. San Francisco. Always the best hotels, the finest restaurants, and the fastest action in town. Daniel watched as Bad Bobby played. He loved Bobby’s style, a balance of discipline and impulse, imbued with an aesthetic that fell neatly between plantation manners and swamp-rat savvy. He heard hundreds of Bad Bobby stories from players and spectators alike.

The most frequent story concerned Bobby’s youth. He was already making a good living playing cards from town to town by the time he was sixteen, but he was illiterate. So Bobby took a cut of his winnings and hired tutors to travel with him, paying them wages and expenses in exchange for teaching him reading and writing, and, later on, arithmetic, geography, and history. It took Bobby nine years to read and write at a college level. He attracted tutors who liked the thrill of an occasional wager, whether it might be on the turn of a card or how many road-killed armadillos they’d see between Lubbock and Galveston, and thus Bobby was able to complete his college education at a modest profit.

Daniel learned that Bad Bobby’s nickname had been given him by Barbwire Bill Eaton when he’d beaten Barbwire’s set of aces with a low straight in a Texas Hold-’Em game, causing the usually unflappable Barbwire to bang his head on the table and babble, ‘Goddamn, lots of players beat me, but you beat me like an ugly stepchild. Gettin’ so when I see you come through the door, I say to myself, “Fasten yr asshole, Bill, cause here comes Bad- Beats Bobby.”’ The name was soon shortened to Bad Bobby.

When the game was over and they were back on the road, alternating at the wheel of Bad Bobby’s perfectly restored ’49 Cadillac, Bobby shared his poker wisdom and general card sense with Daniel, explaining rules, odds, strategies, how to properly shuffle and deal cards, and the small niceties of etiquette, like playing quickly and in turn. Daniel learned, if only theoretically, how to play position and manage money, when to raise, call, or fold, how to quickly assess the strengths and weaknesses of other players, the best times to bluff, how to calculate pot odds, how to spot tells, and cheaters, and marks. They reviewed recent hands as Bobby explained why he’d played them that way and what he might have done in different circumstances. He constructed practice hands for Daniel, questioning him on his decisions. He illustrated the lessons with copious stories and lore picked up in forty years on the road and at the tables.

‘I tell ya, Daniel, there’s no sure thing. Why, I was in a big-stakes Five-Card Draw game in Waco – we were playing with the joker – and I saw a hand with five aces get beat for everything the guy had.’

‘Wait a minute,’ Daniel said, ‘nothing can beat five aces. What’d the other guy have in his hand?’

‘A Smith and Wesson. A thirty-eight, I believe.’

* * *

When they swung through Las Vegas two months later, Daniel was burning to play. He told Bad Bobby he was ready.

‘Told ya, Daniel, you play your own money any time you think you’re ready. You can play my money when I think you’re ready.’

Daniel said, more challenge than question, ‘You don’t think I’m ready.’