Chapter 5 Texas Hold'em

• Everyone loves money, and I'm no exception.
• Still, I didn't quite understand what Scarlett meant what she meant, so I asked, "How exactly?"
• Scarlett glanced around the casino, pointing at two people behind the blackjack table. She said, "See that one in the white shirt and black vest? That's the dealer. The one standing next to her is handling the chips. I know who the owner of this place is. If you want, I can get you a gig as a chip handler here. Right now, you're earning a thousand a month at Cosmos. But working here as a chip handler, you'd pull in 3,500 dollars a month. Plus, tips from winners? You're looking at five grand or more, easy. And if you get good, you could become a dealer, double your salary, and be raking in over ten grand a month."
• What she described was that handling the chips was a job that involved quick mental calculations of the players' wins and losses and distributing payouts or collecting bets accordingly.
• It didn't sound difficult to me at all, but I still shook my head. "Thanks, Ms. Bell, but I'm not interested."
• My refusal seemed to catch her off guard.
• Her eyes widened with disbelief.
• "Not interested? Do you realize how many people would kill for this job? I only offer it because I've seen you work—quick thinker, good reflexes. I figured you could handle it. But you're saying no?" She asked, clearly puzzled.
• "Yeah, I don't want to do it. I prefer working at the club."
• "Why's that?" Scarlett pushed.
• "Because at the club, I get to see you every day!"
• My response made her laugh in a way that was a mix of amusement and exasperation.
• The way she looked at me had changed from curious to some kind of fool.
• Of course, I was just joking.
• When it came to gambling, I spent 13 years learning every trick in the book. Ending up as a chip handler?
• Friday would break my legs if he found out.
• Working at the Cosmos Club was different. I could be just a lowly busboy there—no pressure.
• After all, I didn't know much back then.
• But here in the casino? That was a different story. I was too weak and inexperienced to protect myself. Moreover, I could tell Scarlett had bigger plans. If I agreed to work with her, I might become just another cog in her money-making machine.
• Plus, why be a dealer when I could be sitting at the table winning the game instead?
• I wasn't aiming to be some casino employee. I had my sights set on being the next card master.
• Card master Saturn!
• Scarlett was helpless and couldn't persuade me. My phone buzzed just then.
• It was a secondhand Nokia 3210 I'd bought from a coworker last month.
• As I answered, Carl's voice came through the speaker.
• "Saturn, old spot, Quick Mart. Come here now! We're about to start a game!"
• Carl was the supervisor for the men's spa area at Cosmos.
• He was a chubby guy with a smooth way of talking. Scarlett had a soft spot for him.
• By old spot, he meant a small grocery store his friend owned.
• After work, he'd often gather a few coworkers for poker games there.
• I'd gotten pretty used to going.
• I waved goodbye to Scarlett and headed out.
• Quick Mart wasn't much—just a street-side grocery store.
• But in the back, there was a small room where we played.
• Carl was my supervisor, and he often invited colleagues to these games. I generally wouldn't turn him down—partly because humans are social creatures and it's important to maintain good relations with coworkers.
• Besides, it was a good way to hone my skills.
• And hey, I could pocket some extra cash too.
• By the time I arrived, around six people were already in the room.
• I knew them all.
• Besides the few servers from our club, there was also Carl's neighbor, who had a good relationship with him. His name was James Fuller, and he was black.
• James was tall and strong. The man had a fierce look. He also had well-developed muscles. Anyone who saw him would feel a bit intimidated.
• Carl had once told me James was an ex-MMA fighter who'd been on the verge of going pro until he got caught fooling around with his club owner's wife. That cost him his career. The owner kicked James out of the club after some guys roughed him up.
• After moving back to Oreledo, James didn't have much going on, so he mostly just drifted around town.
• When he wasn't doing anything, he'd swing by the club to hang out with Carl.
• Normally, we played poker after work, and James would often join in.
• But tonight was different—Carl had brought along his girlfriend, Janelle Ruiz.
• Janelle worked at the club as a masseuse. She was blonde, busty, and pretty.
• Her sharp tongue and snobbish attitude made her difficult to like.
• She barely acknowledged us, the lower-level staff.
• Whenever one of us said hello, she'd just stick her nose in the air and act like we were invisible.
• With everyone gathered, Carl called for the store owner to bring out a deck, and the game began.
• We didn't use actual poker chips; we just pulled out whatever cash we had and used it as a stake.
• The game wasn't high-stakes—a small bet was five dollars and a big bet was ten dollars.
• If someone keeps raising the bet, those who have seen the cards must match the same amount to continue.
• It might sound like a small game, but if someone feels confident about their hand and keeps raising for four rounds, it's common for the winnings or losses to reach around one or two thousand dollars in a single game.
• That might not sound like much to some, but considering we were just service workers earning about 1,000 dollars a month, losing could mean blowing our entire paycheck in a single game.
• In this game, I never cheat.
• It wasn't that I was too noble for it; rather, I didn't need to cheat to win.
• The extra money I made from these poker nights was what allowed me to rent my own place rather than staying in the company's shared dorm.
• It's because someone here recognizes the cards, and it just so happens that I can recognize them too. The person who recognizes the cards is Carl.
• Every time Carl has the shop owner bring the cards, they are custom-made, also known as magic cards.
• These cards look no different from regular playing cards, but on the back of each card, there is a subtle mark. This mark allows you to identify the card's suit and rank.
• This low-level cheating trick was way too basic to fool me.
• That was the very reason why I didn't need to cheat to win.
• I could still make money, though I made sure to throw a few hands out on purpose every now and then.
• This way, no one would get suspicious, and I could keep walking away with extra cash.
• The game began, and as usual, everyone was fully focused.
• Despite being able to read some of the cards, Carl had a weak spot—his eyesight.
• He could sometimes spot one or two players' cards, but he often missed others'.
• Most experienced players kept their cards close together, making it impossible to see more than the top one. Carl could only glance at a few hands, and that was it.
• On top of that, Carl's luck wasn't great tonight. Even though he knew some of the cards, he couldn't see everything. After a few rounds of betting, he ended up losing every hand.
• Normally, Carl would be raking in the chips, but after losing a few hundred dollars, he started to get frustrated, muttering curses under his breath.
• This round, a coworker was dealing.
• The flop came out—an ace of spades, a ten of clubs, and a jack of hearts.
• I struck it lucky with a nine and a king of clubs, giving me a flush.
• Carl's luck wasn't terrible either. He got a flush with a jack and ten of spades. Adding the ten of clubs and jack of hearts on the board, he already had two pairs in the first round.
• Because I was sitting diagonally across from Carl, with James—a guy built like a bear—blocking his view and the distance between us being a bit far, Carl had no way of clearly seeing my cards when they were dealt.
• I quickly arranged my hand, putting the nine of clubs underneath the king of clubs.
• Even if Carl saw my king, it wouldn't matter.
• Feeling confident with his two pairs, Carl began his usual theatrics.
• "D*mn it, I'm losing hand after hand tonight. No way I'm losing this one. I'll bet ten dollars."
• He threw in a ten-dollar bill, and two players folded immediately.
• While the guy to my left, desperate to win back his losses, called the bet.
• His hand? Both Carl and I knew it—just a pair of sevens.
• When it was my turn, I calmly matched Carl's ten-dollar bet to stay in the game.