A Shark is Just a Fish

The air inside the Majesty Hall Casino and Hotel had an unnatural flavor. It was distinct even after 12 draining, consecutive hours of exposure, as was the case with one eccentric stranger. Lou had never even been to a casino prior to that week, as his journey into the world of high stakes poker had been experienced entirely online and mostly during the more desolate hours at work. However still, he was there and waited alone while the tournament was on a television break in a crowded dining room. In addition to the wait, Lou dreaded unwanted attention brought on by an interview with the national sports affiliate who’d been covering the tournament at that point. It was a tournament Lou was positioned to win.

The allure surrounding such a long shot and a dark horse was expected and unavoidable. Unfortunately, that interfered with Lou's perceived advantage in maintaining his obscurity. Lou prepared himself to deflect questions that would reveal to these worldly high-rollers a fear of flying, or how he was a frugal man or anything to do with his life at home. It was then a young woman from the TV network and an older man recognized as a commentator of poker events flanked him. A small film crew set into position in front of them.

“How about this, Las Vegas? Joining us is sweepstakes winner and utter unknown in the world of poker, Lou Betz. Or should I say, the aptly-named, Lou Betz? It’s been a dramatic 3 days in this main event and as we near to the end are we gonna find out if that’s your real name or not?” the young reporter eventually got around to asking Lou.

“Well, it’s just the name on the name tag. So, we’ll go with that,” Lou delivered a non-answer, not nervous but clearly not comfortable with this sort of publicity.

“Hey! C’mon now, not knowin’ is part of the fun!” the older gentleman piped up in an effort to help the audience appreciate Lou’s hushed stance on the matter. He then threw down a more pressing question of his own, “What I wanna know is, how does a fella go from winning an online poker sweepstakes, amongst 10’s of 1000’s of hopefuls, taking that golden ticket to the big game and over 3 days and then absolutely sails through a field of 14 000 world-class players to make to the final heads up against a man considered one of the all-time greats in R.J. Zhang? One helluva story! How’d you make it happen, Lou Betz?”

“Well, got lucky in the sweepstakes. As for the game, I don’t intend to reveal my strategies,” Lou replied with a forced smirk and a nod as he did not take the bait of excitement nor did he provide any information.

“Keepin’ your cards close huh? I can’t argue with that!” the commentator replied in an attempt to at least appear as though he appreciated Lou’s secrecy.

The duration of the interview was shorter than most due to Lou’s continued awkward, tight-lipped responses. Both of his interrogators resigned to the fact that this was not great for television and were anxious to wrap things up with Lou and talk with other, more charismatic players, all of whom but one were eliminated from this main event. Upon conclusion of the interview, Lou escaped any further, more optional media attention. He snuck away to a table to sit on his own and take stock. He then saw a group of players working their way toward him, several of which he recognized not only from other televised events, but from tables he’d played at.

Unfazed by celebrity attention, Lou reached into the backpack he’d been carrying to take out a case that contained items he’d kept at the ready during play at the table. He opened the case meticulously with his forefinger and thumb and retrieved his cellphone. With a sense of urgency, Lou brought the phone to his ear in order to mimic the actions of somebody taking a call and thus repelled the ensuing hoard of would-be peers.

As these other players rolled their eyes and chuckled, knowing full well that Lou was not really on the phone, they accepted his passive rejection. Those in the little scrum who’d played with him throughout the tournament muttered various remarks, spelling out how that “Betz guy” was a bit of an odd fellow.

Beyond the cellphone, the contents of Lou’s case included his sunglasses (or just glasses depending on whether or not he was at the poker table), a silken cloth for cleaning them, a ball-point pen, a package of antacids and a small black pocketbook which was forced shut with its own attached elastic band. Lou, however, began to sweat and turn red with panic when he noticed the latter wasn’t there. Using his same particular way of handling his belongings, he emptied the case in a desperate effort to make sure his black book was actually missing. Lou tuned out the calamity of mingling players and event staff around him and stared into the empty case for a few moments in order to allow the ribbon of angst to fade away from his chest. He briefly fought off the urge to cry.

He decided instead to get some fresh air before the game resumed. With jolt of anger, he motioned to grab all of his items at once and shove them into the case. However, in a moment of maturity, surely brought on by lessons from past experiences, Lou opted to not punish his sunglasses, silken cloth, antacids and cellphone. He took a deep breath and placed them in the case using the same exacting method as they were removed.

Only a few minutes remained before the final two players were to take their seats and play for the winning spot along with the grand prize of 6.3 million dollars. Lou had an almost comically dominating chip lead over his opponent, the 6-time champion R.J. Zhang. Presently, neither the prize nor his favored position to win it occupied his mind. Lou had snuck away to a lone balcony of the casino in an attempt to clear his head of the disastrous situation that’d befallen him and to allow himself to breathe natural air.

“Hey big shooter,” a voice from the darkened far end of the balcony piped up.

The glow of a cigarette being dragged was the second indication that Lou was not alone on the balcony after all. Lou kept his eyes fixed on the cigarette until his eyes got used to the dark of the night sky. He slowly recognized R.J. Zhang, blowing smoke off the balcony, overtop the lively Las Vegas strip they stood over together.

“Gonna take this thing down or what?” R.J. asked while he offered up a cigarette to Lou.

“I’m fine,” Lou put his hand up, declining the offer for a cigarette and using that as an opportunity to avoid responding to R.J.’s obviously rhetorical question regarding the tournament.

For a moment, Lou was less concerned about his missing black book and more focused on this interaction with his heads-up opponent. Lou stared out into the kaleidoscope of people and lights down at the street below and could feel R.J. looking on at him and finishing his cigarette.

“Alright. Time to rock and roll. They’ll be going into a frenzy in about 5 minutes if we don’t get back. They hate that,” R.J. broke the silence and could be heard by Lou crushing his cigarette with his cowboy boot, opting not to make the reach over to the provided ashtray.

Before they re-entered the interior of the casino, R.J. stretched his hand out and flashed a black book in front of Lou.

“This was under your seat, on the floor. Yours?” R.J. asked

Lou grabbed it from R.J., who relinquished it without as much as a clenched finger.

“You read it, didn’t you? Did you look inside?” Lou, rather rudely, snapped a burning question at R.J.

R.J. smiled and scoffed, initially thinking Lou might be joking with such an accusatory line of questioning. Especially without a morsel of gratitude posted first.

“Well?” Lou pressed, “You don’t need an advantage. My secrecy is the only thing protecting my game from being exposed. If you read inside my book, I’m sorry but you effectively cheated!”

R.J. Zhang maintained an unprovoked demeanor. He was a man who’d made a rich living on the back of his ability to not react to situations excited or hostile. So even now that he’d been insulted, R.J.’s response was presented as refined as an aged bourbon.

“Ahh, Big Shooter. Why, oh why would you wanna let a guy like me in your head now? After you’ve come so far? Sweepstakes winner. Underdog story for the ages. I didn’t even really wanna win at this point. I mean that. Heck, I was fixing to call it a night and just shove All-In with that little bitsy stack of mine without even lookin’ at the cards. A little somethin’ for the kids at home to see. That sounds like some fun right? Well, I think poker can wait just a minute while you and I sort out this little black book fuss. How about it, Big Shooter? I don’t mind tellin’ you I did not need to read that thing to have you and thereby your game all squared away. Mystery man? No back story? Somethin’ goin’ on with your name? Doesn’t take the red outta my lollypop ‘cause I had you pegged the second day. Just by watchin’. How ‘bout we start with your name ain’t ‘Betz’. See I just went and asked my buddy at the gaming commission the second I saw it on the player manifest last week. I admit, I cheated a little on that one. Your accent is from Wisconsin though I hear somethin’ else behind it. Florida? Yeah, Florida. You’re not only into combat sports, but you carry yourself like a man who could teach ‘em. Constantly but successfully suppressing rage, saving it for the punching bag? Very good, by the way, I like a fella who can control his bad self. And y’know, folks have been talking behind your back that you’re like the ol' 40-year-old virgin but I know you’re married. Gotta be. Sure, no ring but why else would you be in that rinky-dink cheese head State driving back and forth from your job in IT in a...” R.J. let out a smirk as he applied his blue aviator sunglasses, “Buick Century. An old one.”

Lou’s head faced downward, seemingly deflated from R.J.’s diatribe. His eyes though, met with R.J. whose offended demonstration was both scathing in context yet still smooth in delivery.

“Y’see?” R.J. concluded and placed his arm around Lou to guide him back into the poker hall and to further posture his dominance “I didn’t need to rifle through your little black book now did I?”

“No,” Lou replied and nodded while his angst and stress level had all but disappeared. “You’re just about spot on with all of that.”

“You’re feelin’ better? When the cat’s outta the bag, it gets a nice old gulp of fresh air, I reckon. Sorry to tell ya it’s gonna be short-lived ‘cause I ain’t let you walk away from this game without a fight. Not anymore. I gotta come at ya now, Big Shooter!” R.J.’s smile sparkled and widened with one final intimidation as he playfully squeezed Lou, feeling primed to use his small stack to storm a comeback.

“No. I’m feeling better knowing you clearly did not read this and with that, spent more time than anyone fishing for red herring. Come at me all you want,” Lou stated confidently and held his book up to R.J.’s face, “You were accurate but none of it has anything to do with what's in here. This won’t take long.”