Misdirection

The room was cold and grey with a huge desk in the centre. Behind it sat Sergei, dressed in a black suit and black shirt, the only colour was the pink handkerchief in his top pocket and his overly red face. His aftershave was surprising - surprising in that it didn’t make his eyes water.

“Look,” he said, “it’s obvious you cannot pay debt, so I have choice. I could write it off but would have to kill you..”

“..or..?”

“Well, you’re good with cards, no?”

“I’ve done a bit of card magic in my time. Why?”

“I have plan. You do this, we even.”

The plan was simple, I was to cheat his rival, Oskar, out of a shit load of money we’d be quits. Problem was, I’d never played poker in my life. Yeah, I knew my way around a pack of cards but cheating at poker, and for big money at that, was a different prospect, but what option did I have? Sergei gave me two weeks to prepare.

At home, I dug out my old copy of Scarne on Cards, the musty smell reminded me of when I would help my mum out at the library as a kid. I spent the rest of the day reading up on card marking, false shuffles, second deals and trying to get to grips with the rules of the game.

The next day, I pulled together a few friends for a game, I knew they all played a regular game but they’d never invited me. I brought out the deck that I’d spent most of the night preparing.

“We’re not using that deck,” said Jack with a huge grin.

“Why not?” There’s no way he could have seen the tiny marks already.

“Come on, you’re one of those prestidigi-whatevers, why do you think we never invite you to a game? Here, we’ll use mine.”

He pulled out an old pack of Bicycles and I knew I was in trouble, they were larger than the cards I used and they had lost a lot of flexibility over time. They were going to make any moves I wanted to try much more difficult. I wasn’t wrong, I tried a second deal and two cards came out together. Shit!

“Stop trying to cheat and just play,” said Bill.

I decided this was probably good advice but I soon realised that two weeks was not going to be long enough. I needed a plan.



When the day of the game came around, Sergei paid me a visit, just to remind me of my alternatives. “Now don’t forget, we win all his money, OK?”

“Sure Sergei, but if you win it all quickly, he’ll smell a rat.”

“He smell like a rat already.”

“Yeah well, remember, we need to make it look real, so you’re going to have to lose a few hands at first. Let him get confident so when I give you the nod, you can go all in and take the lot.”

“OK, you nod, I go all in. No problem.” He left. His aftershave, however, stayed.



As I walked into the room, the smoke enveloped me; the smell was sweeter than normal cigars. Mmm, Cubans I thought, I hadn’t ever smoked one but the aroma was amazing. Lev introduced me to the group, making out that Sergei and I had never met. Oskar collected the money from us all, turned and placed the bright red cash box onto the mantelpiece, chips were handed out and play commenced.

Sergei had obviously listened to me as he played a steady but seemingly unlucky game. I was also a little down and Oskar was chip leader. As planned, he started to get cocky, the more hands he won from Sergei, the louder he got. At about ten o’clock I decided it was time to make our move. It was my deal and so, with a simple bit of misdirection - asking Oskar how many chips he had - I pulled out the cold deck and dropped the original deck into my lap. I placed the deck on the table for Lev to cut and he dutifully cut them at the tiny break I’d left for him, exactly as we’d practiced. I gave Sergei the nod and pulled the first card off the top of the deck.

“What the fuck?” It was Oskar.

I looked up, trying to look as innocent as I could.

“What was that? That nod? Are you two trying to cheat me?”

“What?” I said, “I don’t even know him.”

“Yeah right, but Lev does, don’t you boy?”

“Err..” was all that Lev could get out.

“Fucking cheats.” He stood up and pulled out a pistol, swinging it wildly between me, Sergei and Lev.

He chose me.

The crack from the gun was deafening in such a small room, the flash from the barrel and the pain in the centre of my chest came simultaneously. I hit the floor, gasping for air. Just before I passed out, I saw Sergei and Lev running from the room, dodging bullets, Sergei clutching the red cash box.



The smell of cordite still lingered as I came round, it felt like a rhino had trampled me. I opened my shirt, pulled out the blood pack and examined the flattened shell embedded in my Kevlar vest. Best £700 I’d ever spent. I gingerly sat up. Oskar saw me and laughed.

“Still alive then?”

“Just.”

“Good,” he said, throwing me a thick, white envelope. “Here’s your cut. Stupid fuck fell for it. I would love to see his face when the police pull him over and discover two hundred grand in counterfeit notes.”