The Juniors

"Hey, Maxey," Big Denny said to me one day. "How did dat tournament dey had fer old people at da World Series work out?"

"You mean The Inaugural 'Oklahoma Johnny' Hale Elder Statesman of Poker Gentleman Gambler's 'The Seniors' Texas Hold'em (No-Limit) World Championship of Poker (WCOP) at the World Series of Poker (WSOP)?"

"Yeah, dat's da one. Boy, dat guy gives hisself more titles den da king of England, don't he?"

"Yes, I understand he's having a crown designed for himself now, too. But the tournament went very well. They had 340 entrants. Johnny Hale deserves a lot of credit for working so hard to promote it. He was handing out flyers for the tournament and for satellites everywhere, even outside the ladies restroom."

"Yeah, I heard dat too. Anyway, it got me t'inkin'. I been tryin' to figger out some gimmick fer a new tournament at da Barstow Card Casino. So if one fer old folks called 'Da Seniors' worked so good, how about one fer young people?"

"You mean … ?"

"Yeah," said Big Denny, smiling ear to ear, "'Da Juniors.'"

"Oh, I see," I said. "Instead of a minimum age, you would have a maximum age. What would that be – 50, 40, 30?"

"I was t'inkin' more like 12."

"Twelve! Are you nuts? You know how many years in prison you could get for inducing children to gamble?"

"Ah, don't worry. I'd do it real legallike. I'd just bribe da cops here."

"Oh, great. And just where would you find all these kids to play in your poker tournament?"

"I got dat figgered out too," Big Denny grinned. "Ya know da home poker game dat Ralph da Rattler runs fer kiddies where he skins dem alive? Well, he's been goin' aroun' handin' out flyers at grade schools an' kindergartens just like Oklahoma Johnny Hale did, an' he says he kin get me a whole busload a' kids down here. Da kids'll tell dere folks it's fer a weekend matamatics seminar, and we kin charge dem $50 fer da buy-in."

Ralph the Rattler and Big Denny, I thought, a match made in heaven. "And how are you going to make money off this enterprise? Are you going to have an entry fee?"

"Not exactlike," Big Denny said evasively. "But don't worry, I got somet'in figgered out."

I was certain he did, but I didn't care to ask, because I knew it was something extremely sinister and illegal, and I didn't care to possess any knowledge that might cause me to be charged as an accessory to a crime. Well, to make a long story short (because I don't get paid by the word), the big day arrived and the busload of kiddies pulled up to play in the event that Denny, borrowing a leaf from OK Johnny, had grandly dubbed The Inaugural "Big Denny's" (The Big Man of Poker) Junior (The Juniors) Crazy Pineapple (limit) International World Championship of Poker (CPIWCOP) at the Barstow USA (BUSA) Card Casino.

"You left out the zip code," I pointed out to Denny.

"Barstow don't have no zip code," he reminded me. "I t'ink it's still just a terrytory of da United States."

The Rattler herded and prodded the children, most of whom were confused and crying, some barely out of diapers, off the bus and into the casino's tournament room. There were a couple of cries of, "I want my mommy," followed by the sharp sound of a slap.

Finally, all the tournament money was collected (along with whatever incidental milk money any of the tykes had on them) and the youngsters were seated. Denny had stolen the design of The Juniors tables from Oklahoma Johnny. At The Seniors, the tables were decorated with all the flags of the world (plus a few, as Andy Glazer wrote in his report) from countries that didn't even exist. The Juniors tournament tables had cartoon characters, including Joe Camel, which Camel cigarettes had paid Denny a hefty sum to use. And just as The Seniors tables were laden with so many souvenirs, all with OK Johnny's picture, that they looked (to quote Mr. Glazer again) like a rummage sale, The Juniors tables were strewn with yo-yos, crayon books, packages of bubble gum, pacifiers, and similar childhood prizes, all bearing the grinning and frightening visage of Big Denny.

The big guy then stood up and explained the rules of the tournament in his garbled English, not a word of which the children could follow. There were to be 20-minute rounds, followed by 30 minutes of nap time.

The tournament, such as it was, commenced. It was mainly mass confusion. I scanned the tables, trying to figure out Big Denny's scam. My gaze focused on one of the kids, who looked vaguely familiar. He was as small as any of them, but he also had 5 o'clock shadow, two cigars in his shirt pocket, and looked to be about 45. Suddenly I remembered! It was Bernie the midget, the little rat that Big Denny had once hidden under a glass poker table, supposedly to film a TV show, but really to signal my cards. I still had his tooth marks in my ankle where he bit me after I kicked him in the head. Sure enough, Bernie was palming chips, switching cards, peeking at the kids' hands, and cheating them to within an inch of their young lives.

"Denny," I cried. "How could you do such a thing, using that little crook to cheat those poor children?"

"Aw, Bernie ain't so bad," Big Denny replied. "Anyways, he needed da money, poor liddle t'ing. He tried ta get honest work as a pickpocket, but he couldn't reach high enough ta get inta people's pockets."

Not only was Bernie robbing the kids, he was bullying them mercilessly. "Hey, the pot's short!" he barked at one child. "Where's yer ante, kid?"

"My auntie? She's home baking cookies."

Bernie glared at another infant who was staring at his cards and didn't have a clue what to do. "Yer holdin' up the game, shorty," he yelled. "Let's go, it's on you."

The child brushed his shirt. "What's on me?" he asked in confusion. "I don't see anything."

Bernie smacked his head. "Who needed this?" he moaned. "I was doin' OK just stealin' wheelchairs."

In spite of all his thievery, Bernie was losing his chips. The kids, who had no idea what they were doing, were nonetheless catching cards like crazy, and for every chip that Bernie could steal, he'd lose three in showdowns. Incredibly, he was the first one knocked out of the tournament! He got up in a rage and stormed out, exacting some small revenge by knocking over piles of chips and making kids bawl as he passed each table.

"I quit!" he piped up at Big Denny, kicking him in the ankle. "You're so dumb you couldn't set up a scam if they gave you an instruction manual."

"Get outta here afore I uses yer fer a mop," snarled Big Denny. "Go buy yerself a stepladder and try pickin' pockets again."

With Bernie gone, there was no point in prolonging the tournament. Denny speeded it up to five-minute rounds, paid off the prize money, and skimmed what money he could by charging outrageous entry fees, service fees, withholding tax, and toke pool collections. He handed out autographed photos of himself to the winners, paid off the Rattler, herded the kids back onto the bus, and watched them depart with a sigh of relief.

"Well, that didn't go too well, did it?" I said. "What do you plan to do for an encore for The Juniors II?"

"Yeah, I been t'inkin' about dat, Maxey," Big Denny replied, scratching his head. "Maybe I'll go legit next year by raisin' da age limit ta 14."