...go meet a creepy guy? (pt 2)

NOTE: This is part 2 of this week's story. Please scroll down and read part 1. I split the entries because it was running long. Feel free to read pt 1, go to class, and come back and read pt 2!

"Ok," Sean thought, "there are four people. Maybe it's something obvious. One of them is wearing an NGC hat or something. Maybe it's the woman because no one would expect it." The longer Sean thought, the less interested Kate seemed in whatever she was planning on proposing to him. Sean was thankful he had something to concentrate on because he kept trying to get up the courage to ask, "so, you don't want to sleep with me?" Right before his mind started thinking about sex again...well, right after it finished, Sean noticed the man sitting to the dealer's right. Although everyone else was watching the cards as they got dealt and cheering along, this man kept his eyes fixed on the dealer despite trying to act drunk.

"Position 8." Sean tried to sound nonchalant which is difficult for a man who has spent 5 long minutes trying to figure something out. This didn't really matter because Sean pulls off nonchalant about as well as Katie Holmes pulls off ugly. Sean was promptly led by the wrist out of the casino and into a white SUV just outside the hotel. Sadly, Kate got into the front while Sean found himself next to....well, someone not too much unlike himself. Although he expected a big Italian guy with his chest hanging out and gold chains from Scarface, he found none other than the "I rock Catholic girls" t-shirt from earlier that day. Before Sean could say the most characteristic thing he could think of (hey, what's the deal?), the t-shirt began.

"Here's the deal. Card counters have existed for a long time. Card counting is predicated on the idea that if one can keep track of the cards that have been dealt, they can, over a long period of time obtain an advantage over the house by figuring out more reliable odds based on their hand and the dealer's up-card. In other words, they can take advantage of 3 of the four elements in the game: 1. the cards that have been dealt 2. your current cards 3. the dealer's up-card 4. the dealer's hole card. Mathematically, variance in the dealer's hole card (the unkown) accounts for a loss of money seven percent of the time. Although this seems small, remember that counting cards only gives us a 1.6% advantage over the house. Here's where you come in. If we had a clean dealer who could signal what the relative value of his hole card is to us, we could cut that seven percent down to two percent. So, Sean, all I'm asking you to do is say "Ok," "here we go," and "alright" when your hole card is 1-9, 10-K, or an Ace. You get ten percent of everything we make."

Sean wondered what all his friends would decide he should do if he asked all of them. Last time he did that, it took a week for everyone to answer and he only got 6 opinions, 4 of them anonymous. He didn't have that kind of time. He also didn't think you could get arrested for merely saying "ok" at pre-arranged times. His mind turned to all the people sitting in jail at that very moment for things they didn't think they could get arrested for. And then there was Kate. There was something about that dress that made him think if he could only buy her a drink, maybe he'd have a shot at her. Since he had once again exceeded his window for nonchalance, he simply said "fine."

By 3:30 Thursday afternoon, he thought that he had maybe misunderstood the plan. It was just then he found himself staring at a familiar face that was now framed by a mullet with a t-shirt that read "Don't ya wish your girlfriend was hot like me?" It was time. Trying to keep his hands steady he dealt off cards to the three people to the t-shirt's right, then to the t-shirt, then himself. As he peeked at his hole card he saw a 7. "Here we go" Sean said, trying not to add a wink or a knowing nod. Although there was no way his friend would have stayed on 13 when the dealer had a 9 showing, the new priviledged knowledge of Sean's hidden 7 (making 16), made the t-shirt's decision very easy. Sean pulled another 7 and busted. His new partner has just made $20. 18 if you take off Sean's cut.

The next 36 minutes went beautifully. Sean was impressed at the control his partner had. He would bet small and make stupid moves on purpose just to make it seem like he was losing as much as he was winning. Sean kept his eye out for both his pit boss, Frank and the NGC, just like Kate and his new friend had taught him. Just like that it was over. Sean's stomache battled over the excitement of having made $50 for himself in a half an hour and the nervousness of being caught. That night, while he was eating steak (and not one from the $4 Cici's:Vegas steak buffet), the $50 won out.

By Saturday, the secret hope that his friend wouldn't show up this time was replaced by an anxiousness for his arrival. The day before Sean had made $120 for himself. In fact, it barely even felt like he was doing anything wrong anymore. Today he saw Kate walking towards his table dressed down and looking about as frumpy as a pig on a silk hat. Yeah, it's a pig, but it's still a silk hat. (PS, what's so good about a silk hat?) As he pondered this, he felt a tap on his shoulder. It was Frank. "Hey Sean, you have a break in an hour, why don't you come see me before you wander off too far, ok?"

"Sure thing." (It's amazing what $170 in two days can do for your gift for nonchalance). Sean tried to remain calm. Sean sucked at remaining calm. He knew a position had opened up at the $500 mininum table. Was Frank giving him that promotion he had been hinting at? Had Frank spotted him cheating? If he had, why not just arrest him? Maybe he just wanted to feel Sean out or didn't want the PR of one of the casino's dealers being arrested. Sean knew that Frank had to sign off on deposits right when he was scheduled to go on break. He would have a shot then to leave the casino through the back door, escaping Frank. Of course, if he did this and Frank wanted to promote him, he could kiss his job goodbye. If he stayed and Frank was onto him, he could kiss his freedom and possibly his 24 year streak of not rooming with a convicted felon (a streak that, though he had not given much thought to until now, suddenly had great importance to him) goodbye. This decision, he figured, was worth some consideration.

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