The Making
of a Crooked Gambler

Written by Desert Sun - Written October 15, 2003

Send Feedback to Desert Sun          Printable Pages:  3          Rating: G

(Please note: the characters of the Lancer television series do not belong to me and were used without permission. This was written for fun, not profit. Feedback is greatly appreciated.)

Once again, he spread out the five cards cradled in his hands. Each card slid to the right of its neighbor as his thumb caressed the satiny smooth surface. He lips parted and a ghost of a smile appeared. There it was, down in the lower left corner of each card, a tiny scratch that the naked eye would never detect. The deck was marked.

Johnny Lancer slowly tracked the tip of his tongue along the edge of his upper lip. His eyes darted beyond his cards and back to his hands, and he wondered if the slick gambler opposite him was hoping to sucker him in with this hand that would excite most men into dumping their whole wad in the pot. Of course there was the other possibility. The man might still be stringing him along, giving him another chance to win in order to drive away any suspicion of him having been cheated when the time came.

"Your bet," said a gentle voice from across the table.

"I know . . . I'm . . . thinkin'." Johnny leaned back, his chair wobbling on two legs, and drummed his fingertips against the back of the cards--the light tapping clearly heard in the stillness of the room. Bet or fold? That was the question. Then if he bet, how much? Should he simply match the other man's last bid, or did he dare increase the stakes?

Raising his intense blue eyes to peer into the smoky-blue windows looking back at him, Johnny tried to see inside the other man's head. Just how much patience did the dealer have? I could just call. If this is his take, I'll only be out another twenty dollars, and I'll still walk away with more money than I started with . . . but . . . he might be givin' me this hand. I could raise and make myself another twenty . . . even fifty dollars. Wouldn't he just love it if he let me win this pot, and I just up and call it quits.

"So . . . what's it going to be, Boy. You betting or folding?"

There wasn't so much as a flicker of the dealer's eyes. He's good, thought Johnny. Real good. I should just cut my losses and get out while I still got the shirt on my back . . . but . . ..

Shifting his gaze to the chips near his elbow, Johnny rocked forward with a clump of chair legs on the rough wooden floor and laid his cards face down in front of him. He dropped his hands to the table and starting pushing his entire stack of chips toward the pile in the center of the table. Then he saw it: the ever so slight twitch of anticipation at the corner of the other man's lips and a brightening of those steel eyes. "I fold," Johnny announced, scooting back his chair and starting to rise.

"Chicken?"

"Nope. I just know when to quit," Johnny drawled then flashed a broad grin and chuckled as he gathered up his chips, which he dumped into a can on his side of the table before turning to leave.

At the door of the line shack, Johnny felt a hand come to rest on his shoulder. "So, tell me; why didn't you call my hand? Your cards had to have been pretty impressive the way you bid the pot up at first."

Looking up at the slightly taller, young man, Johnny smiled again. "Scott, you did a real fine job of markin' them cards and stackin' the deck. I watched real close when yuh was dealin', too. Yuh couldn't 'ave done it any smoother. I never saw yuh deal one second or slip one card off the bottom, and four aces was a mighty temping hand to play out."

"So how did I give myself away this time?"

"Yuh just ain't learned how ta keep a poker face. How many times I gotta tell yuh? Don't move. Not even so much as a flicker of one eye."

"I didn't move my eyes. I didn't even blink," insisted Scott Lancer.

"You don't have to blink," replied Johnny with a touch of scorn creeping into his voice. "All yuh gotta do is open your eyes a little wider . . . oh, and I caught the corner of your mouth move too when yuh thought I was gunna add my whole pile to the pot."

Scott Lancer shook his head and forced a noisy breath out his nose. "I can't believe you saw that. I guess I just wasn't cut out to be a crooked dealer."

"Oh . . . I don't know," Johnny rolled his eyes and skewed his mouth. "Ain't too many players would've caught on. 'Course it only takes one . . . the right one . . . and you'd be takin' up residence in boot hill."

With a laugh, Scott said, "I guess that means I'm not ready to hit the road as a professional gambler yet."

"No . . . but I do think you're about ready to take on Jelly and Murdoch tomorrow night."

"You really think so?"

"Yeah, I think so," Johnny replied then continued with a wave of his hand toward the bunks along the far wall. "We might wanna make sure they hang their guns over there on that peg, though . . . just to be safe."

"I agree. I wouldn't want either one of them having to explain my demise to Teresa."

"Well, in that case, we'd best get back to work." Johnny gave his brother a slap on the shoulder. "We've only got until daylight to finish fine tunin' yuh. If we don't get that corral mended and the roof patched tomorrow, we'll both be pushin' up daisies. Murdoch'd have our hides for sure if he knew what we been doin' the last couple days. Somehow I don't think he'd think learnin' ta cheat at cards was more important than gettin' this place shaped up before winter."

"I'm sure you're right," agreed Scott, turning to lead the way back inside the one room cabin. He took his seat once more opposite the door and gathered up the cards. "What shall it be this time?"

Johnny settled into the chair across from his brother. "Better go with five card draw. Deal me a possible flush and you three queens. Give Murdoch two aces and a pair of threes. Jelly gets four spades. On the bottom of the deck you need to put the card I'll need to finish out my flush, the other queen for you, another ace for Murdoch, and a spade for Jelly. Make sure they're in the order you'll need 'em."

For the next four hours, the brothers played every game of poker they knew, and by the time they quit, Scott was proclaimed the best, crooked dealer Johnny had ever had the pleasure of meeting. Neither one felt much like getting up the next morning, but somehow they managed to drag themselves out of bed. They even had the broken poles in the corral fence replaced and the new shingles neatly nailed to the roof in time to be sitting leisurely at the table when Murdoch and Jelly arrived for the scheduled poker game.

As the other two men settled into their seats, Scott picked up the deck of cards that were on the table and began to shuffle them. "Those cards look a little worn," said Murdoch as he laid a small box in front of his son. "Why don't you use these? I brought along this new deck just for the occasion."

When Scott's imploring eyes met his, Johnny shrugged then leaned back and let out a long sigh. The one thing he hadn't counted on was their father being smart enough to supply the cards. So much for turnin' Scott into a first-rate card shark, he thought with a yawn. Guess he wasn't cut out to make his debut as a crooked gambler tonight after all.

As his brother riffled the deck, Johnny noticed a glance pass between Jelly and Murdoch. Something in the gleam of their eyes, or perhaps the anticipation he sensed in them, made him wonder if he hadn't better pay close attention when either one of them was dealing. The game just might be less than honest after all.