All of Me, Why Not Take All of Me?

The growling voice on the phone unmistakably was Big Denny's. "Hey, Maxey, how's about playin' in our big tournament tonight? No-limit hold'em, an' only a grand fer da buy-in."

Investing in a Big Denny tournament made as much sense as investing in Chinese War Bonds, but tact is de rigueur when talking to the big guy, so I just said that a thousand was over my head.

"Won't cost ya a cent, Maxey. I got a bunch a guys here who wanna buy pieces of ya, so you'd be playin' a freeroll."

"Why would anyone take my action?" I asked suspiciously.

"Well, Maxey, dese farmers here see yer pitcher in Card Player all da time and dey t'inks yer some kinda pro. Dey don't know dat ya plays a lot funnier den ya writes."

I ignored the insult and pondered. Knowing Big Denny, I was certain there was a catch someplace, but I couldn't put my finger on it. Once again my curiosity and gullibility overcame my common sense. I drove to the Barstow Card Casino that evening, where Big Denny greeted me and said that everything was set.

"Who are my backers and how much does each have?" I asked.

Big Denny replied evasively that it wasn't important, but I persisted until he handed over a sheet of paper with a laundry list of names and amounts. I did some rapid calculations and realized that he had collected not just $1,000, but an amount somewhat north of $3,000.

"Denny!" I screamed. "You oversold me. What's the big idea?"

"Pipe down, Maxey, an' I'll let ya in on it. I figgered dere was no way you'd make it inta da money, so I sold a little extra to dese rubes. All ya gotta do is bust out, we keeps da extra two grand, an' I splits wit' ya."

"No way!" I yelled. "That's the most unethical thing you've ever done. I'm out of here!"

Big Denny grabbed my shirt collar and yanked me back. "Let's give dis some thought, Maxey. If ya leaves now, da money stays in da prize pool, an' dese farmers won't be too happy. He waved to a small mob of overall-clad bystanders at the tournament rail. "How'd ya like a couple a pitchforks stuck in yer butt?"

"I'll take my chances," I said righteously.

"Yeah, an' wait'll I spread da word dat goody-goody Maxey tried to rob dose poor farmers. You'd be t'roo at Card Player."

The big baboon had me against the wall. I decided I had no choice but to pretend to go along with his scheme, bust out as fast as I could and be done with it.

I took my seat, starting with $1,000 in chips. My first hand was the 8 3. Great. I raised $400, got four callers, and kept betting every round. With the board showing K Q J 10 and a red 5, I went all in with my hopeless hand and got one call. I turned over my cards and stood up to leave. "Dang," said my opponent as he showed 7-4 offsuit. "I thunk you was bluffin'."

To my chagrin, I now had more than $4,000. The next hand, I went up against pocket aces with pocket deuces and made a flush. The hand after that, I knew I couldn't win when I moved in again on the river with an unpaired 3-2, but this time everyone folded. And so it went. What was going on? Normally I couldn't catch flies, but now chips were raining down on me.

At the break, I collared Big Denny. "It's a disaster," I cried. "I can't lose a hand to save my life. If I cash in and we have to pay out triple, it'll cost us a bundle."

"Us?" he grinned. "I don't know what yer talkin' about, Maxey. It's your deal wit' dem rubes. But don't worry. If ya needs dough, I'll let ya write a marker an' only charge ya interest at prime rate … plus 19 percent … per week, dat is – har, har, har."

"Denny," I pleaded. "We're friends. Why are you doing this to me?"

The big guy shrugged. "Maybe you'll be a little more careful what ya writes about me in da future."

I returned to my seat in a daze. This was just like The Producers, where a bumbling con artist oversells interests in his ridiculous play, only to see it become a huge hit. No matter what I did, my chips kept growing and I kept drifting inexorably toward the final table, like a rowboat being pulled toward the falls. I wondered, is everybody in on this? The dealers? The players? Maybe there were no farmer investors, and it was all an elaborate scam to get my money. I wouldn't put anything past Big Denny.

I had to do something. Maybe I could earn some penalties and get blinded off. I pretended to become enraged at my holecards and flung them off the table. "These must be yours, sir," a floorman said politely as he returned the cards to me. "Sorry for the strong draft in here."

Stepping up the heat, I tore up the cards and threw them in the dealer's face. "Oh, thank you, sir, those old cards were so ratty, I was hoping for a deck change."

I tried shouting every version of the f-word I could think of, cursed the dealers, threatened other players, deliberately exposed my cards, and tried every rotten trick in the book. Big Denny applauded. "I see yer finally startin' to play poker da way I been tryin' ta teach ya," he smiled.

I could think of but one more act of desperation. It might cost me my life, but desperate men do desperate things. "What's today's special from the Four-Star Buffet?" I asked a food server.

"Pickled pig's parts," she said in disgust.

Not daring to ask which parts, I ordered a double serving, gobbled down the revolting mess the moment it arrived, and was instantly rewarded with excruciating stomach pain. An ambulance from the Barstow Queen of Mercy Hospital and Animal Clinic rushed me to the emergency room, detouring to pick up a farm animal that had contracted mad pig's disease. It was bad enough having to share my stretcher with a diseased pig with missing parts, but what really upset me was that the doctors tended to it first. When they finally got to me and learned where I had eaten, they pumped my stomach and put me in a room for overnight observation.

The next morning Big Denny came by with a wilted bouquet of flowers that he probably found in a trash can. "Ha, ha, ha," I laughed. "I outsmarted you this time, Denny."

"Well, not exact-like, Maxey. Yeah, we had ta blind ya off, but ya had so many chips that ya still came in third. So ya owes dem farmers 15 grand. But don't worry, kiddo," he added as I grabbed my head in pain, "I also got some good news fer ya."

"And what might that be," I groaned.

"Dat meal ya had at da casino is on da house."