Vegas Flyer (Chapter 3)
by aha
Las Vegas was even more garish than Tanner had remembered. It was now 1:00 Friday afternoon; he hailed a checker cab and told the driver to take him to Caesar’s Palace. He chose Caesar’s for no other reason than he had been there once before and at the time it had no-limit 21 tables. His plan required only himself, a greedy dealer and a no-limit table. The hot dry desert sun beat down through the window of the cab as it drove towards “the strip” — a modern monument to greed. White-legged tourists strolled the sidewalks and limos ferried the rich while cabs like his ferried the not so rich. “The strip” was one long line of posh hotels of which Caesar’s Palace was only one.
As he rode towards the hotel, more doubts surfaced. There are more people buried in the sand here than in some graveyards he thought...How many people just like him — people that had a gimmick of some sort — had come here to this place? Everything from electronic devices to card counters.... you name it, Vegas had seen it. What made him think he could outsmart the experts here? He stood to lose more than money and being thrown in jail; he could lose his fingers too — possibly his life.
Pushing these doubts out of his mind, he concentrated on the task he was here to perform. Walking through the lobby that led to the front desk, he was only vaguely aware of the sound of the slot machines that whirred and dinged in the background. He debated on whether or not to get a room. He certainly didn't expect to sleep much, but would need a telephone and a shower. Besides it looked conspicuous carrying around an oversized briefcase instead of luggage. He walked to the desk. The clerk looked at the briefcase for a moment and then at him.
“May I help you sir?”
“Yes, I need a single room.” The clerk was looking at the briefcase again.
“And the name, sir?”
“Raymond Welles.”
The clerk punched the computer. “Sorry sir, I show no reservation by that name.”
“Well, look again — I certainly made one from Tucson yesterday.” Tanner pointed to the register; as he did, he slid a hundred-dollar bill on to the sign-in sheet. The clerk laid his hand over it.
“Welles, is it? Ohhhhh, here it is right here. My mistake, sir, sorry. Would you sign the register, please?”
Once in his room, Tanner laid out his one change of clothes and pulled the green moneybag out of the briefcase. He counted five thousand out and put it in his pocket; he put the other twenty thousand back into the moneybag and went into the bathroom. Pulling out a penknife, he unscrewed the toilet-paper fixture. Behind the fixture was an empty space and he carefully placed the bag into it and replaced the fixture, complete with toilet paper. He couldn't be too careful. He had not come this far to test the greed of a Caesars Palace maid. Hanging the “Do not disturb” sign on the door, he took the elevator three floors down to the casino, which by now was beginning to get busy with afternoon gamblers. Standing just outside of the casino area, he perused the blackjack tables. There were fifteen of them all together, divided into one-dollar limit, twenty-five dollar limit and no-limit tables. He also observed seven lady dealers and eight men. He moved past the male dealers looking for the least honest face (as if he would know a dishonest face if he saw one, he told himself). No matter, he needed the time to get a grip on his nerves, get loose, and calm down. He settled on a youngish looking dealer; the nametag on his shirt read CHRIS. He sat down, bought a thousand dollars in chips and played two hands at the same time, fifty on each hand. He won both hands. Then Tanner launched his plan officially. He tipped the dealer a twenty-five dollar chip. The dealer tapped the chip twice on the table to alert the cameras and pit boss that he was accepting the tip and put it in his shirt pocket, as is customary. (Everything is done up front in a casino, there are too many eyes watching to do anything covertly). Tanner played for an hour and a half before losing the first thousand, tipping the dealer on each hand won. At the end of his shift Chris clapped his hands together once as if brushing sand from them and said, “I’m on break." He looked at Tanner and said.
“Thank you sir, and good luck.”
He nodded at the other players and walked away with a shirt pocket bulging with green twenty-five dollar chips.
Tanner got up and went to the bar and ordered a coke. Bourbon on the rocks would be nice right now, but this was no time to be in an alcoholic haze. Twenty minutes went by and he observed Chris coming out on the casino floor to relieve another no limit dealer. Tanner sat down at his table and again played two hands simultaneously, only this time he played $100.00 a hand. He managed to stretch his second thousand the whole of Chris's shift and each time that he won he tipped the dealer a twenty-five dollar chip. Tanner had now probably tipped over $300.00. He had to be sure not to overdo it, though. There was a delicate balance between tipping enough to pique the dealer’s greed and attracting the attention of the “eyes in the skies” camera boys or the pit bosses. By the time Chris’s shift was over for the night he was down $3,000.00 but the dealer was up by $600.00 and he had hopes that he was slowly gaining a friend.
Tanner went up to his room and tried to relax on the bed. He thought about calling Margaret, but knew better. She had by now read his note and had hopefully written him off for the weekend. He picked up the phone and left a wake up call for 7:30.