“JJ, can you head over to table 14? We have someone over there making an epic run, and I need you to kill it,” the pit boss said.“Can I finish my lunch before I head over there?” JJ said, putting down his half-eaten hot dog. He looked up at the pit boss from where he sat at the white fiberglass plastic table.
JJ was taking a break at the lunch counter in Lots of Slots. He had finished cooling a streak by a big player at a table in Big Top.
“I need you over there now. I’m worried he will take his winnings and leave. If you go now, I will throw in an extra hundred dollars above the percentage. It could be two hundred for you even if he just gives back what he made,” the floor manager responded. “Besides, I’m probably saving your life by not letting you finish that thing. I can’t believe you eat those.”
“They’re cheap, and I don’t get that many calls,” JJ said, standing up. “I’m heading over there now.” He walked over to the closest trash to dispose of his partial hot dog.
When he made it to the table, it was obvious who was on the hot streak. Besides the giant pile of chips in front of him, he had collected a group of female fans. The casino was following all the usual tricks to break the streak with frequent deck and dealer changes. They were going through dealers faster than the chain smoker on the end was going through cigarettes.
The crowd of onlookers was so large that JJ was having a problem getting close enough to affect the lucky player. He seemed to be on such a tear that players near him were starting to win more often. If he didn’t get in there soon and kill the player's streak, the casino would have an awful quarter.
The lucky streak was almost like the smell of a good barbeque spreading out from a grill. First, the other players at the table started to win more often than the tables on either side of the lucky one. Now, even the slot machines closest to the player were beginning to ring out jackpots.
“That’s what I’m talking about,” the player exclaimed. He had split eights and then ended up splitting again when both eights had eights dropped on them. The double split resulted in three 18s with a mix of face cards and one 19. The dealer busted, and the other six players at the table all won their bets. That one hand had lost the casino close to $1000. It was not a huge amount, but it was adding up.
JJ looked up at the pit boss and shrugged his shoulders, trying to make it clear he was having problems getting close enough to change anything.
“All right, ladies and gentlemen. We need to keep the walkway clear by order of the fire marshal,” the pit boss said, trying to help JJ.
Enough lookie-loos moved on that JJ could get closer.
“Yeah, right, I’m sure it's fire Marshall Bill,” the guy said, referring to the Jim Carey character. “Come on, get those cards dealt. I have money to win.”
The dealer finished shuffling the decks after that last loss and then dealt the next hand.
“What a push!?!” The player exclaimed.
“Well, it's helping,” JJ thought to himself. It's not a loss, but until that push, he had been only winning.”
“Come on, hurry it up,” the player said.
The dealer had been moving slowly to try to kill the lucky streak. When the pit boss saw that JJ had made it close enough to start turning the tide, he bent in and whispered something to the dealer.
“Sorry about that, sir. I will try and speed it up,” the dealer responded. Now, he sped up his action to keep the player seated at the table.
“21,” the dealer said, turning over a blackjack in his hand. The whole table had stood on what they were dealt in anticipation of another bust by the dealer.
“Come on, honey, let’s go. Why don’t we go back to the Imperial? You were winning nonstop there,” one of the women around him said. She was obviously his girlfriend because she kept touching him possessively, signaling to the other women that he was hers.
“No, not yet. I’m on a hot streak. I need to win a little more. Why don’t you see what’s in the gift shop. Maybe they have a nice bikini that you can wear for me later to celebrate.” He responded as the dealer dealt him a blackjack.
The dealer looked down at his hole card, with a king showing, and announced, “Push,” flipping over an ace.
“See, I got a blackjack. The dealer just got lucky,” the player said. “I’m going to start getting blackjacks now. It’s time to raise the stakes. Now go buy something pretty.” The player replaced his $50 bet with a hundred-dollar chip.
“It’s not that kind of gift shop. I’ll go over to Big Top; maybe they have something, but you better take me to Cesars later. I want to do some major shopping at those new forum shops.” She said.
“OK, OK, we will. Here,” he said, handing her a couple hundred dollar bills. “Hit me.” He said to the dealer.
“Sorry, sir, you busted.” The dealer said.
“What? how is that possible.” The player exclaimed.
The deal went on from there, with the player fuming.
‘Well, now I just wait.’ JJ thought to himself.
“Cocktails … Cocktails.” A cocktail waitress showed up right then, probably directed by the pit boss to keep him playing.
“About time,” the player said. “I’ll have a rum and coke and make sure there is some rum in it this time.”
“Yes, sir,” the waitress said, taking his dollar chip for a tip.
‘A buck won’t help improve the quantity of rum when he’s playing with $25 and $100 chips. He should have a stack of $5 or $10 chips to tip. Tourists are so cheap.’ JJ thought.
The player’s stacks were dwindling as he played and drank. As he continued to lose, the hanger-ons started to melt away like an ice cube in the hot Vegas sun.
The player finally realized that his luck seemed to have changed and picked his head up from the table and the alcohol-induced haze where he had been looking at one more pair of disappointing cards. “Can I get a new dealer? This guy is bad luck. I was winning until he started dealing,” the player said to the pit boss standing just behind the current dealer.
“Certainly, sir.” The pit boss said, stepping up to the table and tapping the dealer on the shoulder. The dealer clapped his hands together softly and then held them out, palms up in the standard way dealers do to indicate there was nothing in them.
“Good luck, sir.” The dealer said as he stepped away from the table, taking his empty tip box with him.
“Yeah, take that bad luck mojo with you,” the player said a little belligerently. “And I want a drink,” he said, lifting his empty rum and coke to the closest cocktail waitress.
“I think it's time to leave, honey.” His significant other said to him. She had been standing behind him for five minutes after having returned empty-handed from her shopping trip. She was now the only person around him. Even the other players that had been at the table had moved on.
The bad luck was now getting so bad that the tables around his was starting to be affected.
“Hey honey, give me a couple hundred,” the player said to his girlfriend.
“You just gave that to me to go shopping. Come on, let's go back to the Imperial. You were so lucky there. I’m sure you’ll start winning again.” She said.
“Just give me the money,” he demanded. “I want to stay here. I know my luck will change with this new dealer.”
“Fine, here! “ she said, pulling the two hundred dollar bills out of her purse. She threw them onto the table and then stormed out of the front of the casino towards the boulevard.
“Wait, don’t go.” He said to her back. “Damn women.” He said as he turned around to see a female dealer stepping up to the table. “Uhm, hi, what’s your name.” He said, trying to recover and maybe find a potential new woman to ignore.
The player quickly lost the two hundred. He then searched his pockets for any last money, but not finding any, he stood up. “This is a shit casino anyways. I’m going back to where they know how to treat a player.” He was a little wobbly as he stood up and knocked his chair over. “Damn, that is some shitty furniture.” He stumbled out in the same direction as the woman.
“JJ, we’ll settle up now,” the pit boss said, coming over to where he had been standing.
JJ followed him to the cashier's cage.
“I don’t know how you do it, but I can always count on you to kill a winning streak.” The pit boss said.
“I’m just so unlucky it seeps out to people around me,” JJ said.
Once they arrived at the cage, the boss told the cashier, “I have a script I need payment for.”
JJ felt his pager go off just then. Looking down, he recognized the number as the one for the table games area of Silver City.
“Another call for a cooler?” The boss asked.
“Probably, it's the Silver City pit phone,” JJ said. “It looks like I will be busy tonight.”
“I need some ID for the recipient of the payment.” The cashier said.
“Ok, here you go,” JJ Said, handing the cashier his work card.
“Presley, any relation?” The cashier said.
“Not that I know of,” JJ replied.
“I just need your signature here, John,” the cashier said, pointing to a line on a form.
“It’s JJ,” he said to the cashier as he signed the form.
“Oh, JJ for John James. Okay, JJ, here you go. Have a nice day,” the cashier said as she handed him a stack of bills.
“Thank you. Maybe I can buy you a drink sometime,” JJ said clumsily, trying to get a date with the cute cashier.
“Not going to happen.” The cashier said, picking up her cigarette and taking a puff. She exhaled the very thought of any kind of physical interaction with him in a thick puff of smoke. He coughed when it slapped him in the face.
He turned and headed out the door to the Vegas Blvd, trying to keep his embarrassment unseen.
He was walking south down the strip to Silver City. It was a quarter-mile trip in the 100-degree heat. He knew that by the time he reached his destination, he would be dripping, but with no car, there was no other option. If it had been earlier or later in the day, he would have gone back to Big Top to get a cab, but it was noon, and at that time of day, all the cabs would be hanging out at or near the airport waiting for the tourists flying in.
* * *
“You’re dripping,” the Silver City pit boss said. “Go dry off and then head over to table 5. There are a couple of guys over there on an epic streak.”
“OK, I’ll be there in a few minutes,” JJ said, then headed to the closest bathroom.
JJ stood looking in the mirror, trying to determine how bad the situation was. The man looking back at him in the mirror was thin and 5’9” with dark brown hair. He was wearing an old Iron Maiden concert t-shirt. The t-shirt declared it was from a concert tour in 1988. “I’m probably a little old to be still wearing concert t-shirts,” JJ said to himself. He was 33 and still dressing like he was a teenager.
“I’ll have to add a new wardrobe to my things to buy along with a new car. Man, I really need a car. I will have to make sure it’s not one prone to explode.” JJ said.
As he was drying himself off with the bathroom paper towels, he started thinking about his last car and the day it self-immolated.
* * *
The dark day when he lost his car wasn’t that long ago—just a little over three weeks. JJ was on his way to Los Angeles to start a new life as an actor. He had left his hometown, Salt Lake City, early on a Thursday with what little he had, which consisted of a couple of changes of clothes. He got to the northern edges of Vegas when his car started to make some funny noises. It was knocking and shuttering and jerking forward like he was hitting the gas pedal and then letting off of it. The itinerary didn’t include a stop in Vegas, but the car had other plans. He got to the Sahara exit, and the car made it clear that it was time to get off the freeway. He pulled off the 15 and tried finding a street that wasn’t too busy to park. During his search, he ended up near the back parking lot for Big Top. He pulled into the first entranceway and quickly found a parking spot away from other cars. After turning off the car, smoke started coming out from under the hood. He pulled the lever to release the hood and then jumped out to lift it to see how bad the situation was. He was reaching for it when he noticed that the paint on the top of the hood was blistering from heat. Flames started to lick up around the edge. He ran to the rear driver’s side door and grabbed his backpack with all his belongings. He stood there stunned, watching it burn, not knowing what to do until the fire trucks arrived.
“You need to move back, sir,” one of the firemen said.
“Ahh, ok,” JJ said from his daze. He looked around, not really aware of what he was doing.
“Sir, move back now!” The fireman repeated.
“Oh, okay,” the command finally got through the fog in his head, and he turned and started walking. He wasn’t really looking where he was walking; he was just walking.
Suddenly, he was standing next to some payphones inside Big Top. He stopped and looked around. On the other side of the walkway from the phones was a step-down opening with a sign above it reading “West Casino.” There were lots of lights and sounds of coins being paid out.
He couldn’t believe they would put payphones out here. He couldn’t understand how anyone could make a call with all the noise.
“Well, I might as well try my luck. It can’t get worse.” JJ thought to myself. He walked down to the casino and sat down at a slot machine. He put a quarter in and pulled the handle.
“Come on, jackpot,” JJ said.
The wheels started to spin, and the first one stopped at a jackpot symbol, then the second one stopped at the jackpot symbol, while the third reel continued to spin and spin and spin.
“Wow, this is really drawing out the anticipation. I hope it lasts,” he said as it continued to spin.
“Cocktails … Cocktails,” The call of the everpresent casino waitress sounded out.
“Is this supposed to do that,” He asked her when she got to him.
“I don’t know anything about the machines except not to play them. Oops, sorry, I should not say that. Don’t tell them I said that. I need this job, and if they knew I said that, I’ll get fired.” She said, stopping her rounds long enough to apologize. “Wow, what did you do to that machine? I’ve never seen it just spin like that.”
“Can you get someone to fix it?” he asked.
“Oh yeah, I’ll send someone over,” She said.
It took a few minutes, and then a slot attendant came over to assist.
“What can I help… Oh, that seems to be broken,” the attendant said as she arrived at the machine. Here is your bet back,” she said, handing him a quarter and then placing an out-of-order sign on the machine.
“Machine 13 is down in the west casino,” She said into the radio as she pulled it off her belt.
“Okay, thank you,” JJ said, then got up, threw his backpack over his shoulder, and stepped out into the hallway.
He walked away from the direction of his burnt-out hulk and soon found himself standing in a line for the buffet.
“A cheap meal would probably do me good,” He said to himself. The visit to the famous buffet wasn’t very memorable except he left full. JJ still hadn’t thought about what he needed to do. There he was in Vegas, with not much money, two changes of clothes, and no car. The feeling of despair was just simmering under the surface of his unconscious, giving him a little indigestion, or that could just be the buffet. When he left the dining room, he again turned towards the east, away from his shame. He was quickly in the middle of more slot machines with their siren call of riches. He couldn’t resist, so he dug out the quarter again and put it in a machine on the edge of the tabletop games. This machine did almost exactly what the previous machine did. It promised a jackpot, and then the final real started to spin. This one, wanting to be a bit of a show-off, decided to spit out some sparks and a little smoke.
“I don’t think it’s supposed to do that,” he said to himself. “What is wrong with the machines here? They seem to be in disrepair.”
“Sir, step away from the machine. I will have an attendant over in a moment,” a man in a suit from the center of the table games said to JJ as he stepped up. “Why don’t you come on over here and have a seat at a table game? Here is a free play voucher that you can play a few hands with while you wait,” he said, handing him a slip of paper about the size of a dollar bill.
“Thank you, sir,” JJ said as he got up from the misbehaving machine. He walked over to the closest table, which ended up being blackjack. One other player was sitting there with a good-sized stack of chips in front of him.
“The man there handed this to me and said I could play some hands with this,” he said to the dealer.
“Hi, I’m JJ,” he said to the other player on the table.
The player looked at JJ, turned back to his cards, and said to the dealer, “Hit me.”
“Uhm, ok, I guess you’re not very talkative,” JJ said to him.
“Sir, that coupon will not work at this table; that is for the two-dollar tables over there,” the dealer told him, pointing a couple of tables over. “This is the twenty-five dollar table.”
“20,” the dealer said to the player. “You lost.” She took the bet and then scooped up his cards.
“Can I watch? I’ve never played this game,” JJ asked.
“Certainly, but you cannot sit in the chair unless you are playing,” the dealer told him.
“Thank you… “ JJ looked at her name tag, which said Janet and Puerto Rico. “Janet,” he said to her, then got up and stood behind the chair.
Janet dealt another hand to the player. “Insurance,” she asked after having an ace show as her up card. The player declined.
“Dealer has 21,” Janet said, flipping over a king and then taking the player’s bet and cards.
The player just looked at JJ, then put another bet out.
Janet dealt another hand. The dealer had a seven showing, and the player had 13.
“Hit me,” The player said.
“22,” Janet said after dealing the player a nine.
The player lost three more hands, and Janet announced that she was shuffling the deck.
“I’m done,” the player said. He got up and moved down a couple of tables to another twenty-five dollar table.
“Why did he leave,” JJ asked.
“I’m guessing because he knows you are a cooler and wanted to move away from you and start winning again.” She said.
“Huh, what is a cooler? Is that another name for a greenhorn? I’ve never played in a casino, so I don’t know the lingo,” he said.
“One second,” Janet said.
“Floor,” Janet yelled over her shoulder.
“You can take your break,” the floor man said when he got over to the table.
“Ok, thank you, but that’s not why I called you over. I think we have a cooler here. I know you’ve been looking since Matt left unexpectedly.” Janet said.
“Hmm, what makes you say he’s a cooler?” The floor man asked.
“Well, our favorite card counter over there went from couldn’t lose to couldn’t win even with a deck that was so positive for him he should have won every hand.” She said.
“Ok, I’ll check him out. Go take your break.” The floor man said.
At that, Janet left, and then the floor man turned to JJ.
“So tell me about yourself. How long have you been playing blackjack, and how long have you known you are a cooler?” The floor man asked.
“Well, I’ve never played blackjack. What is a cooler?” JJ asked.
“Walk with me. I’ll explain it in a bit.” The floor man said and then walked over to a full table with lots of boisterous players. “Just stand here.”
“Uhm, ok, did I do something wrong?” JJ asked, starting to feel nervous that security would be escorting him to a back room any minute.
“No, you did not. Just stand there,” the floor man said. Then he walked over to the pit boss and talked for a few moments.
The table that had been loud and having a good time winning every hand now got very quiet, and the dealer started saying things like “bust” and “you lost” for every hand.
JJ stood there watching for a bit when, finally, the floor man and pit boss came over.
“Here he is, Greg,” the floor man said, indicating JJ, and then he went back to the area inside the table games.
“Hi, I’m Greg. What’s your name?” The pit boss asked when he came over.
“I’m JJ. What is this about? Did I do something wrong? I didn’t mean to break the machine.” he said.
“You didn’t do anything wrong,” Greg said. “Here, follow me,” Greg walked away from the full table and pulled out a chair on an empty table a few down from where JJ had been standing.
JJ could hear a cheer from the table he had been standing next to when he sat down. Looking back, he could see that they weren’t cheering because he left but because the whole table had won a hand after a dozen losses.
“Wow, what a coincidence they won as soon as I left,” JJ said, trying to avoid getting yelled at by his new acquaintance, Greg.
“That’s why I want to talk to you. Kaleb, my floor man, said that you’ve never played blackjack before.” Greg said.
“Yeah, I’ve heard about it, but I never played it. There aren’t any casinos in Utah, and I haven’t really gotten out of Salt Lake; come for the snow, stay for the family,” he said.
“Yeah, Utah's lack of Indian casinos has been very good for Vegas. So you said you don’t know what cooler means?” Greg asked.
“No, does it have anything to do with refrigerators?” JJ asked, trying to make a joke.
“No, cooler is a term used to describe a person that brings bad luck to those around them. What happened there with that table you were standing next to is what that refers to. That table was winning non-stop until you stood next to it. Now that you’ve walked away, they are winning again. I’m sure if you stand next to it again, they will stop winning. We, as a casino, would like to have a person with your talent on call if we have a player who is winning more than a normal winning streak.”
“So you have someone stand next to players if they are winning more than you like? That doesn’t seem right.” JJ said.
“We don’t use a cooler for many cases. We only bring in a cooler for very rare cases. In fact, before the last year, we hadn’t called in a cooler more than about once a month or less. For some reason, during the last year, we have had to call in a cooler much more often. We had a person we would call, but about a month ago, he just left with no notice. He just stopped answering the pages, and his apartment was empty. So now we need a new cooler. Coolers are rare. Normally, a cooler will just decrease the win rate of a player by just a bit. You stopped the players cold.” Greg said.
“So what, you want to call me once in a while to come stand next to a table?” JJ asked.
“Yes, that’s about right. When we have people who seem to be luckier than is normal, we will call you. Like I said in the past, we wouldn’t need to call in a cooler except once every couple of months. Recently, we have been having been seeing an increase in unnaturally lucky players.” Greg stopped talking long enough to light a cigarette. “Where are you staying? Do you have a pager?” Greg asked and then took a drag, enjoying the feel of the smoke and the rush of nicotine.
“I just got into town, and I don’t have anywhere to stay or even a car. Everything I own is in this backpack, and I don’t have much money, and I don’t know what I’ll do,” JJ stopped himself and took a breath to keep from breaking down. The despair that was just simmering below the surface was now starting to make itself known.
“Well, I can comp you a room for a couple of nights to give you enough time to find a place to live,” Greg said and then took another drag of the cigarette, giving JJ enough time to compose himself after the offer of a lifeline. “There are plenty of furnished apartments in town close to the strip. In fact, there is a decent one on Sierra Vista dr just a few blocks east of the strip.” Greg stopped again and contemplated the crowd of people on the stairs, watching the free highwire act. “Wait, here, I will get a few things.” Greg put out his cigarette and stood up. “Actually, go over to that craps table,” Greg indicated a table with a large, loud group around it. “Just stand close enough to break the streak over there. You will get paid two percent of the roller’s stack that he gives back and four percent of any markers he loses. Do you drink?”
“Oh, ok, and I just need to stand there, and you’ll pay me?” JJ asked.
“Yes, we will pay you for breaking winning streaks by standing near the lucky players,” Greg said
“Wow!” JJ responded to the job offer. “Yes, I enjoy a whiskey once in a while,” JJ replied to the other question, trying to sound more sophisticated than he was. Up until then, JJ’s only experience with whiskey was some kind of cheap brown liquor that tried to look like Jack Daniels.
“Okay, I’ll talk to you in a few minutes. Go break that streak,” Greg said as he walked away toward the pit.
JJ walked over to the craps table and stood. It felt weird just standing there and knowing that’s what they wanted him to do. Shortly after he got to the table, JJ heard one of the men with the sticks say, “Seven out,” and then a few minutes later, “New shooter coming out.” JJ resisted the urge to look for someone with a gun.
After a moment, a cocktail waitress came over with a glass of dark liquid in it.
“Greg told me to bring this over to you.” The waitress said to him.
“Oh, thank you. What is it?” JJ asked.
“A shot of sipping whiskey,” the waitress said. “Enjoy.” She then turned and left.
JJ continued to watch the game and gingerly took a tiny sip of the whiskey. He was trying to figure out how it was played, but it seemed that the rules kept changing. Sometimes, one number was good, and then sometimes, it was bad. After he had arrived at the table, the players started to drift away. The guy with the biggest stacks kept betting, and his chips kept dwindling. The person throwing the dice kept changing, which made it hard to understand what was going on unless that was the point. Eventually, the dice were handed back to Mr. Big Stacks, and he rolled a few times. He kept putting more and more chips on the table without them being taken away. After most of his chips were out on the table, the stickman said, “Seven out. Everyone is a loser.” With that, everyone but the lucky player left the table.
“I need a marker for ten thousand,” the player said. “Now that the losers are gone, I can really run up a win.”
Mr Big Stacks rolled for a bit, losing another thousand dollars.
“I’m starting to think that lurker is causing my run of bad luck,” the player said, with a nod of his head to JJ.
“Sir, can you move on to another table?” the stickman yelled at me.
JJ looked up from the table and then walked back to where the pit boss was standing.
“Sorry, Greg, I was asked to move along by the dealer with the stick,” JJ said.
“Not to worry, JJ. It’s JJ, right?” Greg asked. “I’m bad with names until I’ve used them a few times.”
“Yes, you have it right,” JJ said.
“What is your last name?” Greg asked, pulling out a pad.
“Presley,” he responded.
“JJ Presley,” Is that what your driver's license says?” Greg asked.
“No, it says John James Presley.”
“Ok, here you go. You can take this over to a cashier window, and they will pay you. Afterward, come back and talk to me but wait until the craps player leaves. We don’t want to rub his nose in it.” Greg said.
“Yes, sir,” JJ said. “Wow, $220.”
JJ went to the cashier and got paid, and then he wandered around the casino, taking in the sights. Big Top was an interesting first impression of Vegas. The pit boss had given JJ a voucher for two nights there and the best advice he had ever gotten in Vegas. He told him when he goes to a bar, he should order a Boulevardier made with rye. He said that besides being a great drink, it would also not reveal him as a tourist like a rum and coke would. JJ took a bit of his payment and tried the drink. The Boulevardier became his favorite drink.
* * *
“That was an incredible day,” JJ said to himself, finishing drying off the sweat. “Well, time to go earn my keep.”
He headed out of the bathroom to the pit to ruin someone’s day.