What's the Deal?

I was having dinner with Big Denny at the Barstow Card Casino when loud cheering and clapping suddenly erupted from one of the poker tables.

"I guess that table must have hit your big jackpot," I said. "That'll cost you."

"Nah," Big Denny yawned. "Probably all dat happened wuz dey finally managed to get food service over dere."

"Wait a minute," I argued. "You haven't even looked in that direction. How can you be sure it isn't a jackpot?"

"Only because," Big Denny explained patiently, "our dealers is pretty careful not to deal jackpots. If dey do, den we deducts somet'in from dem."

"Oh, do you deduct from their paychecks or their toke pool?"

"Neither of dose," he replied, lowering his voice. "We jus' deducts one of dere fingers."

Losing my appetite, I pushed aside my plate with the casino's four-star gourmet special of the day, pig's groin and flambéed okra. "How you get anybody to work as a dealer at this place is beyond me," I said.

"Well, it ain't easy," he agreed. "Fortunate-like, da Barstow police department ain't got much of a budget. So I made a deal wit' dem so dat dey could save some money. Anyone dey sends to prison gets a choice of either workin' on da chain gang or else dealin' at da Barstow Card Casino. Only trouble is, after a couple of weeks dealin' here, most of dem begs ta get sent back to da chain gang."

I stared at Denny to see if he was joking, but he wasn't smiling. "I can't believe you're telling me the truth," I said.

"Hey, Maxey, I ain't never lied to ya, has I? Well, not lately, anyway," he amended. "Tell ya what. We got a new shipment of cons comin' in tomorrow fer da dealer orientention. Why don'tcha come in an' see fer yerself?"

This was something I couldn't pass up, so the next morning I showed up at the casino's meeting room. A few minutes later, shotgun-armed policemen brought in the dealer recruits. Convicted of everything from murder to rape to armed robbery to card throwing, they were the worst collection of brutes I had ever seen assembled in one room. And they were not happy campers, either. "What a dump!" one shouted. "Yeah, where's the bozo who owns this place?" another yelled. "When do we eat?" another prisoner demanded.

At that point, the fearsome Big Denny clomped in, angrily glowering. One ear-shattering bellow of "Shaddup!" brought instant and respectful silence. "Dat's better," he smiled. "Now listen up, youse mugs. Ya should be honored ta be workin' in a fine establishment like da Barstow Card Casino insteada breakin' rocks out in da desert, so pay attention." He then began detailing the mechanics of their jobs as dealers.

"One of da main t'ings ta remember here is dat we got a flexible rake," he continued. "Dat means ya snatches as much out of da pot as ya can. Da farmers here won't know da difference. But don't take more'n half da pot, on account of da fact dat da Barstow Card Casino takes pride in bein' an honest establishment."

One of the cons raised his hand. "What if one of them does notice and complains?" he asked.

"Well, it's OK ta rough da guy up a little, only don't pull no guns or nuttin' like dat, 'cause we don't want no trouble. But da main t'ing here," he continued, "is dat we don't want none of youse guys dealin' no jackpots. It's only been eight years since one was hit, an' we don't want to spoil dese players by givin' dem out like candy. And da last guy who dealt a jackpot here," he added, "seems like he disappeared right after, an' nobody knows what happened ta him."

"Are you saying we'll disappear if we deal one?" a prisoner asked.

"Nah, da cops got mad last time when we lost one of youse guys. So now we do somet'in else. Remember what dat guy Jack McClelland says when his tournaments start: 'If you accidental-like t'row your cards off the table, you will accidental-like get a 20-minute penalty.' Well, here da rule is: If you accidental-like deal a jackpot, we will accidental-like cut off one of yer fingers." To emphasize his point, he snapped open a razor-sharp switchblade knife, eliciting a collective gulp from his audience. "But don't worry," he laughed. "We'll be careful not ta cut off da finger ya uses ta pick yer nose wit'."

Having gotten their undivided attention, he outlined strategies for short-stopping jackpot hands, such as stacking the deck and dealing seconds. "If worse comes ta worse," he concluded, "an' ya find ya dealt one anyway, what ya do is drop a card on da floor an' say da deck is fouled. If da two players who hit da jackpot protests, den ya accuse 'em of cheatin' an' call security. Dose guys will know what ta do."

In closing, Big Denny pulled a sheet of paper from his pocket and announced he would read a welcoming poem he had composed:

Dis ain't Vegas an' dis ain't Reno.

Dis is da Barstow Card Casino.

Da atmosphere is quite appealin',

An' yer gonna love yer job of dealin'.

Just make sure ya never screw up.

Or ya might be sorry ya ever grew up.

Afterward, I told Denny that his message seemed to have hit home pretty hard with his new dealers, and they weren't likely to deal a jackpot.

"Aw, it don't really matter none," he confided. "Ya see, after da last jackpot was hit, we kinda changed da rules a little. Now ya have ta have a straight flush beat by five aces. It'll be a few more years afore da farmers here figger dat one out."

The last I heard, the jackpot at the Barstow Card Casino had climbed to more than $100,000. To one-up the neighboring town of Baker, which boasts the world's largest thermometer, Barstow now proclaims that it is the home of the world's largest jackpot. It's not that hard to hit, either. All you have to do is sneak an extra ace into the deck and then get out alive - with all your fingers intact.