NANOVISION: What Would You Do With X-ray Vision? (19 page)

“My God, can you
believe he hit that?” one said.

“Doesn’t know
much about basic strategy, does he?”

“Geeze that was
my house payment for a year.”

Daniel was
unperturbed by the comments−he had bigger fish to fry. He was more
interested in what was happening in the pit itself. As the hours passed he
became the focus of the high limit room, eventually meeting Rachael Darin the
shift manager for the swing shift. She watched his play with amusement,
chuckling to herself at his stupid moves. He was, after all, a terrible player,
and though she couldn’t give any real indication, it was people like Daniel who
gave her those huge bonuses at the end of each year. So when Daniel asked for
another marker and the table limits to be raised again−she was more than
willing.

With the limit
set at $25,000 per hand, Daniel began to structure his play and he seemed to
get on a little run. Over the next hour he picked up $150,000 only to see it
disappear. Now $375,000 in the hole, Daniel was frustrated. He stood up from
the table and began pacing back and forth.

“Hon, what’s
wrong?” asked Paige.

Daniel shook his
head in exasperation. “Come on,” he said. “Let’s get out of here. I’m not
having any luck here and the limits suck. Let’s go to the MGM. I can bet more
there.”

Paige frowned and
whined. “I don’t want to go way over there. Our room is upstairs. Can’t we stay
here?”

Overhearing their
conversation, Tony stepped in. “Mr. Lewis, perhaps we can offer you something
to help keep your play. Will you give me a minute?”

Daniel nodded.
“Sure why not.”

“Come on, baby.
Sit with me,” said Paige. She patted the empty chair next to her. “Let’s see
what they have to offer.”

Daniel acquiesced
and sat while Tony spoke with Peter and Rachael. He watched what appeared to be
an earnest conversation between the three, as they checked the computer and
discussed his play. A minute later Rachael picked up the phone.
Who was she
calling?
Daniel had a pretty good idea. She was calling Benny Marcos. As
much as she was in charge down here, she obviously didn’t have the authority to
authorize a game limit that high. That would have to come from above, someone a
lot higher up, like the casino manager or Benny himself. Daniel watched her
lips move.
If only his hearing was as good as his eyesight.

“So what’s the
kid in?” asked Benny over the phone.

“He’s in two
hundred thousand in cash plus a hundred and seventy-five thousand in credit,”
answered Rachael.

From his desk
upstairs, Benny studied Daniel and the bimbo blond sitting with him. He’d been
watching the two for quite a while. Both were miserable players and he was
sucking them dry. And now the kid wanted a maximum limit? God, how he loved
these rich, spoiled, tech geeks and their millions.

“How much does he
have left on his LOC?” he asked Rachael.

“He’s got eight
hundred and twenty-five thousand in credit left,” she answered.

Benny rapped his
fingers on the desktop trying to decide. “Okay,” he said finally, “but with
these conditions. Tell him we’ll raise the limit to fifty thousand, but not on
a six deck shoe, it’ll have to be a never-ending shuffler with a minimum of ten
thousand per hand. If he agrees, put 4.5 mil on the table. I hardly think we’ll
need it, but it’ll look good. The kid’s drawing quite a crowd.”

“Will do,”
answered Rachael, hanging up.

She walked over
to Daniel and relayed the message. He agreed to the terms.

*    *    *    *

Daniel and Paige
continued to gamble (and lose), while the table one over from them was opened
and prepared. New cards had to be unsealed and verified, then washed, stripped,
and shuffled. Afterwards, the five decks comprising the endless shoe were
loaded into the shuffler and the $25,000 checks known as ‘pumpkins’ were
brought to the table by security. The pumpkins were different from regular
casino checks. They were mixed, multi-hued colors of orange, brown, and green,
and larger in circumference and thicker−hence the nickname, ‘pumpkins’.
Daniel watched as the dealer ran the stacks down, nine in total, each stack
worth $500,000. Things were about to get interesting.

With the
preparation of the new game nearly complete, Daniel took a quick break to hit
the head. On his way back from the bathroom he made a quick call to Judy.

“Surf’s up,” he
whispered covertly into the phone, snapping it closed and tucking it into his
pants pocket.

He smiled to
himself as he made his way back to high limit. He was getting off on this
clandestine shit. It was then that he caught sight of Sid exiting one of the
elevators on the casino’s far side. The henchman looked a good deal older, but
seeing him right there was sobering and it brought Daniel back down to reality.
He was here for a reason.

Returning to the
high limit room, Daniel made his way through the crowd that was gathering
outside. It seemed that word was spreading through the casino that some rich
whale was betting it up big in high limit. Daniel reached the BJ table to find
Paige talking with the dealer. She had already moved their chips over and was
waiting for him to return. Giving her a quick kiss, he lowered his sunglasses
allowing her to catch the shimmer of light that rippled across his eyes.

“Are you ready to
turn it around?” he asked.

Paige grinned ear
to ear, almost laughing aloud. Covering her mouth with her hand, she nodded.
“Oh yeah,” she squealed, then under her breath, “I think we’ve eaten enough
shit.”

Daniel looked
over to Tony. “Can I get a marker for three hundred thousand?”

“Certainly, Mr.
Lewis.”

*   *   *   *

Daniel found it
more than a little ironic. He had accepted the casino’s offer of using their
never ending shuffler, which gave them a bigger edge, but now there were more
eyes on him and the game than ever before. He understood it. After all, the
game had moved from a few thousand across the board, to tens of thousands being
bet. It was a rocket ride, slow at first, but accelerating rapidly. With him
and Paige each betting three hands between $10,000 and $25,000, things were
heating up, just not the way the casino planned.

The first six
hands out of the shoe should have been the first clue that something was awry,
but that was not the case. Casey, the dealer, dealt a 14, a 12, a 9, a 17, a
20, and a soft 6 respectively to each spot. He then gave himself a sixteen with
the ten showing and a six of clubs in the hole. Daniel looked at the shoe and
saw that a ten of spades was coming next.

“Stay,” he
instructed Paige.

Paige nodded and
waved the dealer off, as did Daniel.

The move stunned
Casey. Perplexed, he hesitated as if to tell them they were making a huge
mistake.

“Casey, listen to
me carefully,” said Daniel. “I don’t play blackjack like other people. What I
want is for you to simply follow our hand signals. If you do, I promise you
won’t be disappointed.”

“Okay by me,”
responded Casey. He glanced at Tony, who shrugged nonchalantly as if to say:
Do
as they ask. If they want to play like idiots−let ‘em.

Flipping his hole
card, Casey revealed his sixteen, which he hit with the ten out of the shoe,
busting his hand. He paid out $105,000 and dealt out the next hand.

The next couple
of hands were not quite as lucrative, and Daniel was forced to pick and choose
where and when to hit or stay. Still, with each round he picked up an average
of $75,000, which allowed him to begin pressing his bets. Within fifteen
minutes of play he and Paige were at the table limit betting $50,000 per hand.
The chips in front of them piled up quickly and the crowd behind them was
mesmerized by their incredible luck. They were seemingly unstoppable, and the
whistling and cheering only got louder with each hand they won.

In the center of
the pit it was entirely a different story. Rachael and Peter were stumped by
what they were witnessing, and Tony was aghast. Nobody was that
lucky−nobody. It was just unfucking believable. With the passage of
another five minutes of play, Daniel and Paige were up two and a half million
and there was no end in sight. With panic in her heart, Rachael was on the
phone with surveillance asking if they were tracking Daniel’s play.

“Is he cheating?”
she asked.

They had no idea.
How could he be? It was an endless shoe and they had just opened the game. He
wasn’t touching the cards. What they were seeing was impossible.

The next call was
from Benny.

“What the fuck is
going on down there?” he asked, heatedly over the phone. “I go to the john to
take a dump and this is what I see when I get back. What the fuck!”

Rachael was
tongue tied. “I don’t know,” she stammered. “Mr. Marcos, we’re at a loss to
explain it.”

“No fuckin’
kidding!” he yelled into the phone.

It was at that
moment that the shit really hit the fan. Without warning, two men and one woman
entered the pit, flashing badges from the Nevada Gaming Commission. They walked
directly to the podium and took over, causing Rachael to drop the phone.

“Who’s in
charge?” asked the lead agent, shoving his badge in her face.

Caught off guard,
Rachael stuttered. “I-I-I am.”

“Gaming Control.
I need to see your badge and gaming card,” he demanded forcibly, not missing a
beat. And yours too.” He pointed a finger at Peter.

Peter and Rachael
looked at one another with conflicted uncertainty.
What the fuck was going
on?
Bewildered by the unexplained intrusion into their realm, they
obediently surrendered and handed over their employee ID’s and gaming cards.

“What’s this all
about?” asked Rachael, trying to regain control of the situation. She watched
with trepidation as the two agents scanned the bar codes on their licenses.

“We’ll get to
that in a minute,” noted the one in charge.

Rachael nodded; a
twinge of panic racing through her.
Be cool,
she thought
, you need
this job.

Ordinarily you
never hear from Gaming Control−they usually keep a low profile. Oh,
occasionally they show up to check badges and stuff, most of which is routine,
but then there are the cases where they can make your life a living hell. And
when it’s your livelihood on the line, you make sure you jump when they say
jump−otherwise it’s
adiós
to working in the State of Nevada.

“We’ve had some
discrepancies brought to our attention regarding some of your gaming
equipment,” said the lead agent. “So we need to check out a few things.”

“What exactly do
you need?” asked Rachael, grimly.

“I want the cards
that were used on these three games.” He pointed to several blackjack tables.
“And I want the dice on both your craps tables, and Karen over here, she’s
going to check the balance on your roulette tables. So, if you don’t mind, let’s
get started. We don’t have all night.”

Rachael felt like
her life had just been hijacked. As shift manager she had no choice but to
follow their orders. She looked at Peter. “You’re in charge here,” she said.
“Give them the cards for BJ 23, 25, and 26. I’ll take care of dice and
roulette.”

Peter nodded and
swallowed hard as Rachael left, taking the lead agent and his female associate
with her.

“I’m ready for
those cards,” the remaining agent stated.

“Okay, okay, let
me grab the keys,” said Peter. He was beginning to sweat. The phone was ringing
off the podium, undoubtedly Benny from upstairs. Peter knew he should answer
it, but the fucking agent was pressing him, so he ignored the phone and grabbed
the keys just as a pit clerk approached. She handed him a fill slip.

“Tony needs this
fill, now−it’s a rush,” she said, wide-eyed.

Peter glanced as
the fill slip. It was for another 4.5 mil.
Shit,
he thought, hesitating.

“Peter, you with
me here,” a voice said. “I need those cards, pronto. And you, honey, I’ll need
to see your ID too.”

Confused, Peter
looked up. The agent was checking the pit clerk’s ID and the damn phone was
still ringing. “Fuck,” he swore under his breath. He signed off on the fill and
handed it back to the clerk, then headed for the card storage cabinet.

Upstairs, Benny
was livid. He could see on the screen that everything in high limit was going
to hell in a hand basket. Of all the fucking times for Gaming Control to make
an appearance. And now, no one was answering the phone and the kid was kicking
his ass. Nearly every $25,000 dollar check was gone from the rack−4.5
million!
Fuck, Fuck, Fuck!
He slammed the phone down, nearly breaking
the receiver, only to pick it up again. He dialed a number.

“Where the fuck
are you?” he demanded over the phone. Someone on the other end replied, and
Benny yelled. “Well, get your fat ass outta there now and meet me in high
limit! And bring Bruno!”