The Best Bet (6 page)

Before he realized it, some of the players in front of him had moved away and other would-be players pushed him against the deep bank of the table. The man with the wooden stick gathered up the dice and pushed them toward him, offering them for him to roll. Rafael raised his hand, palm out, and shook his head. The stickman shrugged and moved the dice to the young woman on his right.

She was a petite blonde with green eyes and a large solitaire diamond ring on her left hand. Rafael looked around for her fiancé, but he didn’t see anyone who appeared to be her future husband.

She bent down and grabbed the dice. Turning to him, she opened her hand, palm up, with the dice lying there. “Blow on them for good luck,” she urged.

It was a strange request and he felt awkward doing it, but he obliged, blowing softly on the dice. She snapped her hand shut and shook it before throwing the dice against the far wall of the table. A three and a four showed on the dice.

“I won! I won!” She jumped up and down. The crowd roared, urging her on.

She gave Rafael a swift kiss on his cheek and said, “Thanks for the good luck.”

He could feel himself blushing and mumbling, “It was nothing—you threw the dice.”

Despite his ignorance of how the game worked, he knew at once that he was hooked. The young woman’s casual inclusion in her win made him feel like he belonged for some strange reason. And he liked the sense of camaraderie with the other gamblers. He didn’t feel alone anymore, not in this boisterous crowd. He felt part of a whole, and it was exciting to see people win.

Now if he could just figure out how to play.

#

Adriana returned to the casino. She had a card key for one of the penthouse suites that she wanted to personally leave at the front desk. Then she could go home.

Halfway across the floor of the casino, she heard a loud roar of: “Point, point, point.” Turning toward the noise, she realized it was coming from a large crowd around one of the craps tables. Not too surprising. Unlike most gambling that was done solo, craps was a social game where bettors wagered for or against the shooter.

It was an example of the strange psychology of gambling, because most bettors preferred to back their fellow gamblers, rather than the big bad casino. Linked by a common cause—to beat the casino—craps fostered a kind of team spirit, rarely found in other games of chance.

Although her family’s livelihood depended on gambling, she didn’t have a taste for it herself. She’d seen too much of the darker side to be attracted to gaming. But a good game of craps was always interesting to watch. Turning around, she approached the table, curious to see how large the wagering was.

Then she saw him. Damian Escobedo stood in the thick of the crowd at one corner of the table. She’d wondered how long it would take for him to find a game. So much for him going to his room early.

Once a high roller, always a high roller.

She stopped directly across from Damian, eager to see how he played. The shifting crowd partially obscured her view, but he didn’t seem to be placing any bets. He didn’t even have any chips in front of him. He was just staring at the table and watching what the other players were doing. He might be a high roller, but he didn’t act like any high roller she’d ever known.

This was getting stranger and stranger.

She pushed her way through the mob and skirted the table. She stopped beside him and said, “Damian.”

He didn’t move, just kept staring at the action.

“Damian.” She raised her voice.

He started and turned around. His eyes met hers and he smiled. “You’re still here? I thought you’d gone home.”

“And I thought you’d gone to your room.”

His smile faded, and he thrust his hands in his pockets. “Fascinating game, craps.”

“You’re not betting.”

“I, ah, wanted to get the lay of the land. You know scope things out.”

She wasn’t sure she did know. “There are private games in the back, if you prefer. I’d be more than happy to show you.”

“No, that’s okay. I like it here. Like to watch the people winning. They get so excited.”

She peered at him and frowned. Had she heard him right? For a high roller, people, even in a craps game, were merely scenic backdrops. The action was the thing.

“Then let me get you some chips,” she offered. “The dealers can’t change large sums unless they call the pit boss. It will be easier if I okay it, to save time. What do you want, hundreds or thousands?”

His face was a study in naked astonishment. What had she said? She was just trying to be helpful. “If you don’t have the cash on you, the resort is prepared to take your marker for up to fifty thousand,” she explained. “You can settle when you leave.”

He gulped hard, the Adam’s apple in his neck bobbing like a cork. Funny, she hadn’t noticed it before, but then he hadn’t appeared to be swallowing a piano before. What was wrong with him? For a high roller, he had the most peculiar MO she’d ever seen.

“I, ah, let me see.” Reaching into his pocket, he pulled out a hundred dollar bill and thrust it into her hand.

Staring at the lone hundred, her mouth dropped open. Lifting her head, she scowled. Was this some kind of a joke?

When he saw the shock on her face he mumbled, “Uh, just a minute. I thought that was my roll.” Bringing out his wallet, he thrust a wad of seven hundred dollar bills into her hand.

Glancing at him, she expected more bills, but he appeared to be satisfied with the miserly amount of eight hundred dollars.

What was going on here?

Despite his computer image, he must be an imposter. No self-respecting high roller started with just eight hundred dollars. It was late, and she was tired, or she would have returned to her office and pulled up his file. Tomorrow, first thing, she would check him out thoroughly.

Her management didn’t like to be made fools of by imposters, masquerading as high rollers. Beyond the outlay of money for his suite and other comps, there was the Xanadu’s reputation to consider. If word got out that they’d been bilked, they would be deluged by petty gamblers looking for a free ride.

But she didn’t want any more misunderstandings, either. Until she had her facts straight, she would play along, not confronting him until she was certain.

“I think the dealer can change this into chips,” she said.

His face fell and he ran his hand through his hair. She was beginning to learn his “tells.”

The man was nervous. As he should be, if he was trying to defraud the casino.

Leaning over the table, she signaled to get the dealer’s attention and handed over the money to be changed. “Hundred dollar chips?” she asked Damian.

He gulped again. “How about fifties?”

“Whatever you want.”

The dealer counted out the chips, recounted them into four equal piles of four chips each, and then handed them to her. She placed the stack of sixteen chips in Damian’s hand—a hand wet with perspiration.

Damian riffled through the chips.

She watched him sifting the chips through his hands as if he was an expert. Who did he think he was fooling? He wasn’t a high roller. The way he acted, he wasn’t even a wanna be high roller. She swallowed hard and crossed her arms over her chest, waiting to see what he would do.

Another shooter bit the dust. The crowd groaned.

The dealers gathered in the losing bets and paid the few winners. The stickman retrieved the dice and gave them to the boxman for inspection. The boxman looked over the dice and hefted them in one fist, testing to be certain no one had substituted loaded dice during the play.

Nodding his satisfaction, he returned them to the stickman. The stickman pushed the dice across the green felt to the next shooter. The players draped themselves over the edge of the table, placing their bets.

Damian glanced at Adriana and shrugged. “Here goes.” Leaning over the table, he placed one chip on the come line.

Adriana gasped. The come line was for betting after the shooter had established his point.

The shooter hadn’t even rolled yet. What was Damian doing? Before the dealer could remove his improper bet, Adriana leaned down and nudged his chip to the pass line.

From the corner of her eye, she caught a glimpse of Damian’s face. Either he was an imposter or craps wasn’t his game. Even so, if he were a high roller he should know the basics.

Damian’s lips pulled tight. He shifted his weight, stuck his hands in his pockets, and shuffled his feet. A silent apology filled his eyes.

Yeah, mister, you should be ashamed of yourself. You’ve been busted.

But instead of outrage, she felt ... well, honestly? She felt sorry for the guy.

And not only did he not know what he was doing, he was singularly unlucky. The shooter rolled a three, a low probability number and an immediate loss for anyone betting the pass line.

Even though she’d gone with the best odds, he’d lost. Maybe she was the unlucky one.

She moved closer to him and placed her hand on his arm. She pulled on his forearm, wanting to draw him to the side and explain the basics of the game, but he forestalled her by leaning down and betting the pass line again.

Why did she have this overwhelming urge to help, even to protect him? Because he’d protected her from Henderson? But then he’d accused her of being a prostitute.

Guaranteed, he was no high roller. He was defrauding her employer. His paltry fifty- dollar loss wouldn’t even cover the cost of the chauffeur who had brought him from the airport.

But he wasn’t arrogant and grasping like most high rollers. He’d even paid for her dinner and left a very nice tip for the waiter.

That wasn’t the point, though. The point was his blatant deceit and her employer’s reputation. Even more, it was her job to see that high rollers and whales lost large sums of money to the casino. After all, gamblers’ losses were what paid her salary.

How could she even consider helping him?

The shooter had rolled a point of five. The dealers collected the no pass bets, allowing the pass bets to ride until the shooter crapped out or rolled the point.

He placed a chip in the come box. Now he had two ways to win and two ways to lose, but she doubted he knew what he was doing. And she wasn’t going to tell him, either. Let him sink or swim on his own merit. Wedging herself against the side of the table, she folded her arms across her chest and waited for his inevitable downfall.

#

Rafael glanced up to see Adriana watching him. He’d made so many blunders tonight that he knew the masquerade was over. She’d have to be blind as a bat to not know he was a fraud. And Adriana was anything but blind. She didn’t miss much.

No, this wasn’t about the farce his brother had gotten him into, not any longer. Tomorrow he’d confess and pay his debts. But not tonight. Tonight, was a matter of pride. His pride. He didn’t want to look foolish again in her eyes.

He still didn’t fully understand the game of craps. But he knew better than to bet the individual numbers or the elaborate odds in the middle box of the table. The pass and no pass line, along with the come and no come bets, were where he concentrated. They seemed the simplest wagers to make, and for him, the easiest to understand. Watching his fellow gamblers, he realized they were also the most frequent wagers made.

But he needed to devise a system, so he studied what bets the gamblers with the most chips made, and then followed suit. He focused on one player in particular, an older, heavyset man wearing a flamboyant leopard print shirt. This man had the largest stack of chips in front of him, and his pile was steadily growing.

When leopard shirt lost on the Pass or Come lines, he usually doubled his next bet. Rafael tried that tactic and his pile of chips took a hit. Doubling down didn’t seem to be working for him, and besides, he didn’t have a huge pile of chips to throw away. One chip at a time was a more his speed.

Glancing at his watch, he saw that it was two o’clock in the morning. His interview was at nine. He groaned inwardly. What the heck was he doing at a craps table at this time of the night and with an interview hanging over him? He glanced up and found Adriana’s gaze still following his every move.

Okay, he might be crazy, but he was no quitter. He was determined to win at this game.

Determined to wipe the smug look from her face and show her that he was capable of winning.

He was sick and tired of looking like a loser in her eyes. She probably expected him to lose, but he was determined to show her that she was wrong.

And to regain his tattered pride.

He lost two bets on the Pass line in quick succession—down to only four chips. Sweat slicked his palms, and the four-story casino felt close and warm.

He’d brought a thousand dollars for spending money. A thousand dollars might not be much for a high roller, but he was no high roller and the thousand dollars represented a lot of skipped lunches and worn out clothes, just to pull the money together from his meager professor’s pay. And here he was throwing it away at fifty dollars a pop, all because he wanted to impress Adriana.

How would he pay his hotel bill if he lost all his money? He’d have to put the bill on his credit card and then it would take him forever to pay it off. The thought of a big debt hanging over him closed his throat and left him gasping for air.

Suddenly, the air was thick and close, made more so by several gamblers’ chain smoking.

He knew the casinos tolerated smokers to get their business, but right now, while he was gasping for air, he wished they’d all choke on their own smoke. Not a nice thought, but he wasn’t in a nice mood, contemplating the loss of his hard-earned eight hundred dollars.

He decided to skip the next bet and try to regain his composure. He dug both hands into the side of the table and closed his eyes, taking deep breaths of the smoky air. Hell, he couldn’t leave the table because he’d lose his place. And if all he could get here was smoke, he’d have to make do. The important thing was to regain control by measuring the steady intake and outtake of his breathing.