"All in," a man with a black hat, long and dark hair, sunglasses and a prominent mustache put all his chips on top of the red 14. Those weren't even a quarter of the chips he had in the beginning, so the other players saw the man's decision as a desperate and sad attempt to recover his losses.
They knew the man was about to lose it all, and it was a real shame, but cases like that were so common at any casino that no one felt bad about it.
What they didn't know, however, was the man's identity: Ringo Jones (his friend usually called him Swindle Jones, and that's why he never mixed business with friendship), so it's safe to assume his decision wasn't desperate nor sad.
"No more bets, please," said the croupier, and he spun the roulette. Then, he dropped a ball inside the roulette, and it started spinning and bouncing.
¡TAC, TAC, TAC, TAC!
All players stood silent and kept an eye on the ball; it spun and bounced swiftly, so it was impossible to predict where it was going to land at the end.
¡TAC, TAC, TAC, TAC!
The roulette started to spin at a decreasing speed.
¡TAC, TAC, TAC, TAC!
The ball kept bouncing, but all players knew one of those bounces could be the last one, so they watched the ball closely.
The ball bounced a few more times and finally landed on…
14 red!
Swindle raised his arms and shouted triumphantly. Some of the other players and witnesses gaped; some others shouted and celebrated as if victory had been theirs, and a few watched the scene doing their best to suppress their own envy.
The croupier took the loser's chips and rewarded the winners.
Because single-number bets paid 35 to 1, Swindle's chip stack grew, well, 35 times.
Swindle, then, tried to take all his earnings, but he had so many chips he couldn't grab them with both hands. Around him, players and witnesses applauded him and praised him for that unlikely victory. Swindle, in response, thanked them for the compliments, and gave them some of his chips. Then he got up and asked one of the waiters there for his tray. The waiter handed it to him and helped him put all his earning there. Swindle rewarded him with a few chips, took the tray and left.
The remaining players kept betting.
Swindle walked to the reception. There he gave his earnings to the receptionists.
"And these ones are for you," Swindle gave them a bunch of chip. They took them with a smile on their faces and took care of all the other ones.
"That was amazing, Pete!" said Eve, one of the casino's main investors (and she called Swindle "Pete" because Swindle told her that was his name). "People started betting way more after watching you win."
"Of course they did, My Eve," actually, Swindle called her Naïve, but that was what she always heard, "It's extremely easy to bet and lose free chips, but, before they know it, they'll lose all their money. And, besides, I only showed them how easily you can win."
"You only won because it's your casino," said Naïve with a bit of incredulity.
"You think I cheated?" Swindle asked with some mockery on his voice. "Didn't need to, Naïve. And if you don't believe me," Swindle took the remaining chips on his pile and gave them to her, "you can try it for yourself."
"Thanks," Naïve took the chips. "Hey, I know you won and all that, but why are you giving them to anyone you see? Doesn't that affect our earnings?"
"Come with me," Swindle opened the reception's door, and they both came in. There was a door with a control panel on the other side. Swindle approached it, typed the password, and the door opened. They both entered a room with a bookshelf and a bunch of travel bags in a corner.
"What's that?" Naïve asked.
"All our earnings," Swindle replied. "But don't worry about that. I want you to look at this," Swindle pointed at a wall full of screens; each one of them was showing the each one of the games that were being played.
"Most people think a casino's earnings come from there, from the betting, but they actually come from the reception, from the exchange of chips. People gives us all their money and all they get in return are worthless pieces of plastic. Can't think of a better deal than that."
"But they can get their money back if they give us their chips."
"If they don't lose them first."
"So you do cheat."
"Naïve, Naïve, Naïve," Swindle put a hand over her shoulder, "if they lose is because they are they don't know the game enough to win. You see: they're not only playing against the other players, but against the croupier.
"But he only deals the cards and that, right?"
"The croupier's on the table: he's another player. His functions and the rules around him are a little different from anyone else, but he's still a player, and a really good one."
Sudenly, one of the screes showed how a group of armed cops got into the casino, and Swindle knew this could happen at any moment; after all, that was an underground casino.
"Now what we do?" Naïve was about to panic.
"Leave," Swindle said calmly (he knew one of the most important rule in any business is: "always have an escape route.") Then, he headed to the bookshelf, took a padlock from one of the shelves and pushed the bookshelf aside; it moved with ease and revealed a door behind it. Swindle opened it, and it faced the street. A conveniently parked van was there.
Swindle grabbed the van keys from his pocket and, with the press of a button, unlocked it.
"Take some of the bags and put them in the van," Swindle told Naïve, and she obeyed.
Swindle helped her out with the rest, and then he moved the bookshelf back where it was before. After that, Swindle closed the door and locked it with the padlock he grabbed before.
This would buy them a little more time.
Swindle, finally, closed the van's rear doors and headed to the driver's seat.
"And now where are we going?" asked Naïve.
"Well, that's best for us right now is to keep a low profile," Swindle replied, "so we'll go separate ways for a while. But don't worry, I'll keep in touch with you."
"Really?" Naïve stared at Swindle suspiciously.
"What? You don't believe me?" Swindle acted a little outraged. "Come on, Naïve, you know my number, you've seen my face, you've even been in my house. What else do you want?"
Naïve didn't know what to answer.
"Ok, we'll keep in touch, then. Bye, Naïve," Swindle entered the van, started it and escaped at a moderate speed (not too fast to be suspicious, but not too slow to get caught if everything went wrong). He turned to his mom's house at the stoplight (that was an address Naïve didn't know about), and he then took off his hat, his sunglasses, the long wig and the fake mustache.
His phone started ringing.
And yes, it was Naïve calling.
Swindle opened his seat's window and threw his phone away.