Luck of the Draw

Marino’s Store, General Merchandise, Dry Goods & Shoes, Groceries, said the sign above the wide cypress planked covered porch which led into the mildewed white frame structure. For Teebeau, a town of a thousand whites and another thousand blacks, squeezed in between two moss draped bayous, Marino’s was THE store. If Marino’s didn’t have what you wanted, you were likely to do without, unless you had cash and access to a car to take you to New Roads, or better yet, twenty miles to the ferry to cross over into Baton Rouge for some serious shopping.

Inside the store, Joseph was trying to get rid of his last customer of the day so he could close up and go home. It was late Friday. It had been a busy evening, what with Friday being payday for the sugar cane cutters, and their wives coming in with cash in hand, their little’uns in tow, for their weekly provisions. Although cash customers were king, over half the business was credit that Joseph advanced to the locals, many being families who had been in his Little Black Book of accounts for two or more generations.

For many of the men who toiled in the oppressive sweltering heat, payday was a chance to get drunk, gamble, or to visit one of the cribs in Lower Teebeau. Joseph eyed the man in the store. “White trash” he thought to himself. The man reeked of whiskey, his faded overalls shiny at the knees and ragged at the hems where they long ago lost the battle with the mud and briars. “But, a customer is a customer, even though he’s not always right” mused Joseph, so he waited for the man to decide what he wanted.

“A half pint of Ancient Age” said the man, pointing at the bottles arrayed behind the wooden counter, “and, and” he paused making up his mind, “and give me that box of cards”, he slurred, this time pointing at a newly opened carton of Bicycle Playing Cards. Joseph took a pack of cards from the box and placed them on the counter.

“Naw, not a pack, I want the whole damn box.” the man grunted as Joseph winced from the reek of the man’s foul liquored breath.

“Are your sure about the cards?” asked Joseph, now eyeing the man more closely. He looked familiar, but he couldn’t recall the name. “That box holds twenty-four packs, and,” he looked at the box “I’ve only sold three of the packs, so there’s twenty-one packs in there. What in the world would you do with twenty-one packs of cards?”

“That’s my damned business! Yeah, damn right, I want them cards. I aint never had no new cards before, and I want them cards alright!”

“You got cash?” Joseph questioned.

“Damn straight”, the man said pulling a fist full of crumpled bills from his pocket.

“Are you sure?” Joseph queried again while multiplying 21 times the 49 cents a pack the cards cost. “The cards alone will cost you, let’s see, ten dollars and twenty-nine cents, and the whiskey, another dollar ninety-nine, making that, um, twelve dollars and twenty-eight cents, plus three percent for Huey Long....a total of twelve dollars and sixty-five cents.”

“That much?” reacted the man, “Maybe.....nah, I want the damn things” he concluded.

With the focus of a man trying not to look drunk, the man smoothed crumpled dollar bills on the counter, coming up with eleven dollars. He fished out coins from both pockets, along with lint, a small tin of Garrett snuff, and other trash lurking there in the grime, until finally he had enough on the counter to pay for the cards and whiskey.

Joseph scooped up the money, bagged the cards and the whiskey for the man, led him to the door, and watched him lurch across the porch and almost fall down the steps. The man steadied himself, twisted the cap off the Ancient Age, took a swig, wiped his mouth on his shirt sleeve, and staggered with his precious purchase across the railroad track down Main Street past the Western Auto store toward Bayou Grosse Tete.

“Sheesh” Joseph muttered to himself as he turned out the lights, bolted the door, and walked in the opposite direction to his house, glad to be through for the day.

By the time he had passed the two chair barbershop, the man with the brown paper bag of whiskey and cards had stopped staggering. A few steps later, when he passed the Bank of Teebeau, he seemed to have grown taller, his slouch gone, and he was walking purposefully. Thirty minutes later, in the kitchen of his aunt’s home, he was clear eyed and fully awake, all signs of drunkenness shed like a snakeskin.

He carefully and expertly took each of the packs of cards, steamed the packs open over a pan of boiling water, removed the cards, and started marking them.

With a sharp needle, he took the Ace, and in the upper left hand corner of the back of the card, below the wing of the angel on what looks like a quarter note in music, he gently scratched a tail onto the “note”, making it look more like an upside down comma. He then turned the card around and marked the diagonally opposite corner so the same mark could be seen regardless of how a player held the card. The scratch was so slight and so delicate that it didn’t affect the feel of the card. He marked all the aces in all the decks this way.

Then he marked the kings with a downward scratch, the queens with a different scratch, and on through all the decks of cards until every card, aces to deuces, could be read by a practiced eye, but none of which would be noticed by an unwary, non-professional gambler. Finally, adrenaline charged, he carefully resealed all the packs of cards so that they were good as new, put them back in their carton, put the carton back in the brown bag, and only then did he re-open the Ancient Age and reward himself with the burning tastiness of the whiskey as he took a long swig.

On Saturday afternoon, it was a sober, contrite, embarrassed man who approached Joseph.

“Mr. Joseph” the man said to the store owner who was half the man’s age, “I done done wrong and been stupid.” He tearfully explained as to how he had been drunk, and spent money needed for rent and for food for the kids, and “Please, Mr. Joseph, could you take those playing cards back for store credit for food? I’d like to bring back the whiskey, too, but I done drank that, but I shouldn’t ‘a bought that stuff. It was the likker talkin’.. I’d’a never bought that stuff if I hadn’t been drunk.”

Joseph glanced at the carton of Bicycle Cards, all twenty-one packs were there, and they hadn’t been dropped in the mud or anything, so he thought, “Why not? Store credit is as good as a sale, and the fool is right, he shouldn’t have bought those cards. And I probably shouldn’t have sold them to him.”

Joseph put the carton of playing cards back on the shelf, asked the man his name, “Vernon, Vernon Guidry” he was told. Joseph picked up his Little Black Book of accounts, licked the lead point of his pencil stub, and entered the credit. He advised Vernon that he had a credit of ten dollars and sixty-one cents, and showed him where he had noted the credit in his accounts book.

“Thank you, Mr. Joseph, Thank you. Thank you” Vernon said gratefully as he backed out of the store. “My wife and kids thank you, too.”

The cards sold slowly, making their way into poker and boure’ games in Teebeau, Grosse Tete, Livonia, Call, and the other settlements along the bayou roads. Vernon Guidry, played regularly in those games, and more often than not, one of his marked decks came into play and Vernon would win....knowing what cards the other players hold is a great asset to a gambler

One night in a high stakes game in New Roads, a new player with a wad of cash from Baton Rouge joined the game. He was a formidable player, and Vernon thought he might be a hustler, but Vernon had the edge because the deck being used was one of his marked decks. The new player was a graceful loser, though, leaving a sizable bit of cash with Vernon by games end.

The next Saturday night, back in New Roads, the Baton Rouge player returned. Vernon was pleased to have him back. His marked cards were still in play, and he licked his lips at the thought of again relieving this new player of the burden of his cash. In addition, there were some heavy hitters up from New Orleans who obviously had thousands of dollars to play with and they were already half drunk.

The play was intense and lasted into the early hours of morning. The bets kept getting higher, the New Orleans players had emptied their wallets and folded their card until the only serious money left in the game was in front of Vernon and in front of the Baton Rouge player, who by this time had a name, “Leroy.”

“I want a new deck”, Leroy said startling Vernon. “Does he suspect?” Vernon thought as Leroy tossed a new deck onto the table. Vernon opened the new pack, and was relieved to see the familiar scratches on the backs of the cards. Relieved, “Let’s close this game out”, he smiled to himself, while shuffling the cards. ‘I think this chicken is ready for plucking. New cards, indeed.”

The game continued, bets were made, the raises were raised, draws were drawn, and cards squeezed. In a final head to head confrontation, Vernon put his watch and the last of his money in the pot to call Leroy’s final raise. Even though he was dealing, had read the cards, and knew he had Leroy beat, he still had some trepidation about having all his money in the pot.

“Pot’s right” Vernon said. “I called you, what do you have?”

“Full boat---- kings full over fives” Leroy replied, a smile widening. .

“What?” from a surprised Vernon. He knew Leroy had a full boat but he knew he had dealt him three sixes and two fives, and he himself had a full boat, Jacks over eights, which would beat the sixes and fives. “Show me.” he said.

“Surely. Read ’em and weep.” Leroy turned over his cards one at a time and the kings smirked up at Vernon.

“You win” Vernon begrudgingly admitted, his mind whirling in confusion.

Leroy gathered up his winnings, and left the game room for the bar. Vernon followed him a few minutes later and took a stool by him.

“Buy you a drink?” from the winner. Vernon nodded, “Ancient Age” he shouted to the bartender. "You know Vernon," Leroy said, That last pot had $20,000 in it, and I thank you kindly."

Then partly covering his mouth with one hand, “You know,” said Leroy in a low voice, “my Grandpa taught me the same set of card marks that you use when I was nine years old. Last week when I saw you playing with a marked deck, I went back home and marked up a new deck for myself using your very same marks, but with a twist. I mis-marked a few of the cards to throw you off. You thought my kings were sixes, didn’t you?”

“What? You accusing me of cheating?” Vernon challenged sharply in the righteous voice of the guilty.

“No, No, who’d ever think such a thing?” said the stranger as he motioned to the bar keep for another round. “You and I know it’s all the luck of the draw.”

The End