“Seriously?” said one man, with an honest laugh. “You are holding at that?”
Simon placed his cards facedown, nodded. “I am.” And he just stared back at the man. Some of these guys he knew; some knew him. Some knew of him.
One of them tossed his cards into the center and said, “I’m out.”
“You can always get another set of cards,” his neighbor protested.
“Not if he is holding his,” he said. “It’s just much easier on my bank account this way.”
The guy snorted. “I don’t believe it,” he said. “I’m in.”
Simon wanted two cards, and he tossed in a coin and raised him one, so round and round the game went. He didn’t take any more cards, but he kept playing to the pot. Finally the other guy settled down, and he laid out four in a row. Simon nodded, then laid out four aces. A chorus of groans came all around the table, as he pulled in his pot.
“Jesus Christ,” his opponent said. “You’re one lucky bastard.”
Simon shrugged and said, “Hey, I’ve been here lots and left without winning anything.” Because he had deliberately set that up, they all knew it to be true. Yet this was Simon’s night, and he would make sure it was a good one.
“Hope you’re not walking home with that money,” the losing cheater said. “You’re likely to get mugged.”
The evening proceeded much the same. Simon would win a little, lose a little, but he kept his stack, and, over time, it built and it built. Finally his neighbor tossed in his cards and said, “I’m done for the night.”
Simon looked over at him and nodded. “Good call,” he said. “I think it’s time to leave too.”
“You can at least give us a chance to win some of that back,” the cheater said.
“What do you want to do?” Simon asked. Then he shoved everything into the pot. “I’ll take you on,” he said. “Push your little pile in against my big pot.”
The man’s eyebrows shot up; he looked at the two stacks, and he nodded. “This is all I’ve got for weeks,” he said, “but hell yes. Absolutely.” All the others were out, so Simon and the cheater did a quick twenty-one hand, and, within seconds, Simon flipped over his cards. Then he scooped up his opponent’s money and added it to his already big pot. He looked to the owner of the club and asked, “Can I get a bag, please?”
“Jesus,” he said. He got up, came around with the club bag, and handed it to him. “I don’t think we’ve ever seen anybody walk away with that kind of money.”
“And yet I’ve probably put that kind of money into this place over the last couple months,” Simon joked. But he was aware of an ugliness emanating from across the table. He looked over at the cheater. “What’s the matter?”
“You must have cheated,” he said.
Simon froze, and a sudden stillness fell around the room. “Did you just call me a cheater?”
The man stuck his nose up pugnaciously and nodded. “Hell yes,” he said. “No way you got that hand.”
“I didn’t deal it,” he said. “I didn’t have anything in my hands except the two cards I was given. Why the hell would you think I was cheating?”
The guy looked at the dealer. “Because you will probably split it with him at the end of the evening.”
An outcry came from the others.
“Watch your mouth,” said one of the men. “It’s one thing that you’re sitting here, pissed off that you lost after all the times you’ve won in here,” he said, “but you don’t get to call anybody a cheater just because you’re pissed.”
“Oh, yeah, I know he’s cheating. I’ve seen that con before.”
Simon sat back down, the bag of money in his hands. “What con?” he asked.
But the man looked frustrated. “No way you did that honestly.”
“And why is that?” Simon asked, staring at him with a note of humor. “Are you a cheater yourself? Is that what you think this is? That you’ve been out-cheated?”
The other guys laughed.
The cheater got up and said, “I’m definitely done for the night.” As he walked to the front door, he turned around and said, “You better watch how you walk out.”