Lost Touch by Dave Terruso

Author:Dave Terruso [Terruso, Dave]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Hyperrectangle Publishing
Published: 2020-02-16T22:00:00+00:00

Chapter 19

Dad

The next night, I have dinner at home with Elise, Nicky, and Al. Marco the Bear is outside, guarding the house.

Al is explaining a complicated poker hand to my nephew. Maybe it’s not complicated, but it sounds complicated to me. Maybe all poker hands are complicated.

“Fifth Street doesn’t help me at all, but I fire another bullet. I bet $120, about three-quarters of the pot.” I don’t know what streets and bullets have to do with anything. It sounds like he’s talking about two gangs shooting each other.

Nicky understands this weird code language. “But why? You had six high. You missed both your draws.” He’s been holding a potato speared on the end of his fork for at least five minutes.

“It’s good bluffing, Nicky. Bluffing is telling a story. Betting is a story. When I raised preflop, I’m saying, ‘I have a strong hand.’ Not true, but that was the story I was telling. When the flop came and I bet the pot, I’m continuing my story, telling the other players that that flop hit me, or that I had such a high pocket pair it didn’t need to hit me. On the turn, I check because I want the guy who didn’t fold to believe I am now so strong I don’t want to scare him off. And then I lead out on the river with that bet to finish off the story I’m telling. Now I’m saying, ‘I’m afraid you’re gonna check again like you did on the turn, and I want to get in a value bet.’ ” What Al does in poker sounds a lot like what I have been doing as a fake psychic.

Nicky nods. “So, did he buy it?”

“Nope, he called. But I made the right play. He had middle pair. He just didn’t believe my story.”

“So he made a good call.”

“If he were a better player, I’d say yes. But really, he was just a call station. I learned that as the night went on.”

Nicky finally eats his cold potato.

I smile at my nephew. “You really understand all that lingo?”

He nods proudly.

Elise asks, “What does it mean to fire another bullet?” I’m sure my sister isn’t crazy about Al teaching her son how to gamble, but I’m sure she’s relieved he’s not teaching him how to boost cars. I turn to my sister.

Al is about to answer, but Nicky holds up his hand to say I-got-this, which makes me giggle. “They call making a bet on the flop ‘firing a bullet.’ If you bet again on the turn, that’s firing a second bullet. And if you bet the river, you fired a third bullet. Uncle Al fired two bullets. He checked on the turn.”

“You got it, buddy. A lot of people don’t have the heart to fire that third bullet if they’ve been called on the first two. It separates the boys from the men.”

“You’re a man, Uncle Al.”

“I’m the man.” Al winks at Nicky. The way Nicky looks up to him makes me uneasy.

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