Wild Card

The poker game they had decided to fleece was played in the back room of a bar in Nyack, New York. Each month, five traveling salesman got together and gambled away their commission checks. Izzie, posing as a greeting card salesman, had gotten himself invited to the game, then convinced the others to invite Josh.

For the first two hours of the game, nothing happened. First one player was ahead, then another. At the halfway point they decided to take a break, and Josh offered to get sandwiches from the all-night deli across the street. Taking everyone’s order, he headed outside. The Hirsch’s car was parked across the street. Josh slipped into the passenger seat. Seymour was at the wheel, while Betty sat in the back, smoking a cigarette.

“How’s it looking?”Seymour asked.

“They’re a bunch of real chumps,” Josh said. “They’re using two decks. Red Bicycles, and a deck of blue Squeezers.”

Seymour opened a briefcase sitting on seat. Inside were a hundred decks of playing cards. The brothers worked poker games from the Catskills to New York City, and had collected every deck of cards sold in those markets, including promotional and souvenir decks. Seymour removed a deck of red Bicycles and blue Squeezers, and handed them to his brother. Josh stacked the decks so the players in the first and third spots would take the fall. Turning in his seat, he passed Betty the stacked decks and the sandwich order.

“Just so we’re straight, which pocket of your apron are the decks are going in?”

“You think I’m going to screw up?” Her tone was nasty.

“Just tell me.”

“Red deck in my left pocket, blue deck in my right. Happy now?”

Betty gave him a wink. Josh hated when she flirted with him. He got out of the car, and slammed the door.

Josh returned to a table of roaring men. Izzie was telling jokes. They had grown up in the Catskill Mountains, and Izzie had learned from the best. Josh clenched his right hand into a fist, signaling to his brother that the scam was on.

“Oh man, that was rich,” a lightbulb salesman named Hicks said. “Tell us another.”

“Okay,” Izzie said. “An Iranian living in the United States goes to the doctor, says he doesn’t feel well. The doctor examines him and says, ‘I want you to go home, shit in a paper bag, and leave it out in the hot sun for a week. Then I want you to stick your head in the bag, and take a deep breath. I guarantee you’ll feel better. The Iranian comes back a week later, tells the doctor he feels great. Then he says, ‘But doctor, what was wrong with me?’ And the doctor says, ‘You were homesick.’”

The five salesmen slapped the card table and roared some more.

“I think we should bomb Iran,” Hicks suddenly said.

“Nuke ‘em,” another of the salesmen piped in.

One hundred and twenty-eight Americans were being held hostage in the U.S. embassy in Tehran, and sentiments were running high toward retaliation.

The room grew quiet. Betty stood in the doorway holding a cardboard tray with their sandwiches. She wore tight-fitting jeans, an I LOVE NY sweatshirt, and had a cook’s apron tied around her waist. Even in those drab clothes she was a looker.

“Here’s the grub,” Josh said.

Betty crossed the room. Josh leaned back in his chair, watching.

“Give me a deck.” Izzie said, pointing at the two decks on the table.

Hicks slid the blue Squeezers toward him. Izzie picked the Squeezers up with his left hand, then slid his chair sideways, allowing Betty to come in, and put the cardboard tray on the table edge.

“I got the corn beef,” Izzie said.

Betty passed the sandwiches around the table. She was the perfect shade, and Izzie stuck his hand into the pocket of her apron, and switched the cards for the stacked deck.

Betty flirted with the salesmen and left. Izzie began to deal. Josh stared in disbelief as the cards sailed around the table. His brother was holding a deck of red Bicycles. Betty had put the wrong decks into the pockets of her apron.

Josh knew he had to do something to save his brother. S.W. Erdnase, a famous card cheater, once wrote, ‘The resourceful professional, failing to improve the method changes the moment.’ Picking up his cup of coffee, he poured the hot drink onto his lap.

“My balls, my balls!” Josh screamed.

It didn’t work. Hicks rose from his chair and pointed an accusing finger at Izzie.

“Hey! Those cards changed color,” Hicks said.

The other salesmen stared as well. Then, all hell broke loose.

Even nice guys turned into monsters when they thought they’d been swindled. The salesmen beat the living daylights out of Izzie and Josh, took their money, then dragged them outside, and tossed them into a garbage-filled Dumpster behind the bar.

“You’re lucky they didn’t kill you,” Seymour said a half hour later. They were driving on the outskirts of Nyack, the windshield wipers beating back the rain.