Theatre

My friend, we’ll call Tad, is a full-time magician. He’s also a mentalist and he reads Tarot Cards. When he’s working a nightclub, Tad removes the death card from the deck to not ruin anyone’s night. I like this about Tad.

Because Tad’s a professional, he’s more attentive than the casual Tarot Card reader you’d run into at a Los Feliz Farmer’s Market, who only works for tips.

If you’ve ever had your cards read at a Los Feliz Farmer’s Market you’d know the low level of professionalism I’m talking about.

One day out of the blue, Attentive Tad sent me a text about a casino game with odd rules he didn’t think made sense. I thought he was mistaken — no way would a casino actually offer the game he described. I mean, I could imagine it because I’m optimistic and casinos are dumb, but this sounded extra.

I asked Tad to confirm. He did and the next chance I had I got on a flight to see it for myself. Everything Tad said was correct, and more.

I needed an expert analysis and I didn’t want to tell any other casino advantage players about my find so I went to this guy, we’ll call him M. I had wasted M.’s time once before asking him to analyze something that was never going to be good. Here I was a second time describing something so much more unlikely, he had trouble accepting it.

I spent a couple days in the casino figuring out how I could get a play down. For anyone who thinks this job is non-stop intrigue and excitement, my investigation consisted of me, alone, playing table minimum on every shift to learn the ins and outs of the game, rules and general casino procedures. I barely spoke so nobody would remember me when I returned. My hotel was depressing, my meals were sad and honestly you guys, I didn’t even shower.

I’m a method actor.

Once armed with what I thought was complete information I sent it to M. He went to work but — he needed more. I got on another flight, bet table minimum for another day, didn’t talk to anyone and got what we needed.

From there we built a strategy that would get us a double-digit edge. A completely ludicrous strategy that no civilian gambler would ever play. E-V-E-R. And it wasn’t the kind of strategy that you could deviate from. If you’re playing a blackjack game where you know the dealer’s hole card and the dealer has 20 and you have 19, you can (and should) stand on your hand and take the guaranteed loss. You’ll still be playing a positive game because of the deviations you’ll take on your hands overall. This concept would not apply here.

This is verbose so let’s recap: I’ve taken two trips to the casino to gather intel costing me money from my square play, travel expenses and days off of my life. Result: Strategy

For my third trip, I added the considerate magician from the top of this story, Tad. I needed a partner and because Tad gave me the tip, I asked him if he wanted in. This would be another layer of work for me because I had to train Tad on signaling and just in general how to act in the casino. If we were going to get the play down as a 2-man team, he would have a lot on his shoulders. I knew Tad was up to the task because, well, he’s a magician! He has to memorize things, put on a show and to some degree fake a persona.

I also knew he wouldn’t think this was weird because again, he’s a magician. You have to be a certain type to have that as your career choice.

Tad also had to accept traveling to a casino with no guarantee we would win. I couldn’t just meet up with Tad at the local iHop, show him a few signals, walk into the casino and crush the game. We’d need multiple test runs and maybe then it wouldn’t work. And because Tad and I don’t live in the same city we wouldn’t even get to practice till we both got to the target city.

It’s useful that Tad’s skillset includes the ability to suspend disbelief.

We arrived in town and I went through how I thought we should approach the game including a long list of signals and M.’s arduous, counterintuitive strategy. I mean, it’s so bad (in a good way) that a lot of skilled people wouldn’t attempt this play. Some because they wouldn’t think it could work and others because they don’t want to embarrass themselves so uncomfortably in front of civilians. Luckily, I’m neither of these people.

After practice we went to a neighboring casino for a trial run. Communication was okay but our mock attack was rocky. Game play wasn’t smooth; Tad wasn’t 100% comfortable. In an effort to turn the boss’s attention, he asked if they could change the closest TV to “the sports game.”

Not a specific game. The sports game.

“Excuse me, could you put on the sports game?”

I already know while writing this that the comedy won’t translate, but I’m still laughing.

We discussed how to seal the holes in our routine, including that we were specifically in football season, and ran through it again the next morning. It was important that we played together in a way that wouldn’t leave such an impression it would make return trips complicated.

My team of the past was able to play the same moves in the same casinos for years by religiously recording what dealer we played in front of which boss on what shift on which day. We were meticulous about it and we scheduled trips and personnel based off of the information.

On some level Tad and I would need to do the same. Given the details of the game, Tad being green and my desire to continue in the future with other partners, I was going to be the one to bet the money on this play! I showered, did my make-up and put on clean, fitting clothes.

I’m a method actor.

It was swing shift, Tad got to the table first. When he confirmed conditions were good, I strolled up to the table. First hand I bet four black chips; not table max, but more than anyone else. The dealer didn’t care, and the floorman didn’t notice. I already knew from my days of investigative scouting that there wasn’t a standard procedure to announce, “black action.” We implemented M.’s strategy and like clockwork, the reactions came in.

We all know by now, if anyone is still here, I’m not going to give up the move, but I have to tell you that the strategy calls for A LOT of surrendering. Gameplay went like this:

Dealer has a 6 up and I have a total of 14. She looks to me for a quick stand signal and I say “Surrender.” She says, “Surrender?” I nod and make the motion to surrender. She looks at the other players to confirm they also think I’m an idiot, and then she takes half of my bet and mucks my cards.

For my part, I ignore the glares as if they don’t exist. I don’t try and explain my plays away. I don’t engage in “what if” conversations. “What if I stood instead of surrendered my 17 vs. the dealer’s 4 up?” I just ignore it and best case scenario is the dealer and table lull into a routine where they expect this type of behavior from me and I deliver.

The move was a success. Over three trips, Tad and I had no problems getting action down. Monetarily, it was a failure. We ended up nowhere near our expected value. It was okay though because the game was intact. We never ran into competition and neither of us had heat. The only thing that could stop us would be a natural disaster. Or a highly contagious pathogen leak from a lab in Wuhan.

Since our last session I’ve made one trip back to the casino to cash chips and survey the scene. The opportunity is still there and the employees were happy to see me! It’s rare I’d be remembered so joyfully well but at least in this casino I’m a local MVP. Before Covid, I successfully injected myself into the community of regulars on a first name basis, and was a likable player to most of the dealers.

My closest casino friend, Jennifer, would often play long stretches with me, or just sit with me while I played. We’d take coffee breaks when conditions worsened. Even though she didn’t know my real name or that I was with Tad and she and I really weren’t playing the same game; me with extra information and her without, we still would have genuine conversations. She knew I was a single mom and all that goes with it, and I knew that her mom was hit by a car and killed in a newsworthy accident. After her mother died she received a large insurance settlement. Before I started playing there, Jennifer was the biggest female player.

Watching Jennifer lose the insurance money from her mother’s death was awful. I’d tell her to not play and just sit with me while I played, completely out of character for me, but it was all I could do. I couldn’t say, “Let’s get out of here.” I was working. And if I left with her, she’d just return when I wasn’t there. How could I be the “concerned friend who doesn’t think you should gamble” while playing the part of a problem female gambler escaping her own life in the casino? My character was in a sense, Jennifer.

I’m a method actor.