Welcome  

Instructors

  Lessons  

  FAQ 

  Testimonials 

  Resources 

  Articles 

  Book Reviews 

Special Offers

  Affiliations 

  Contact 

Cheater in a Red Dress
By Al Spath 

I knew the woman in the red dress was cheating. She sat in seat four, signaling, playing partners with someone at the table. She had $1600-$1700 in front of her -- $250 she took from me. 

I had the signal figured out. 

If it was not past 30 minutes of an hour and if she held high cards and wanted her partner to bet, she shifted her hips slightly to the left. If she wanted her partner to fold -- unless he held great cards -- she twisted to the right. From thirty minutes to the hour, the scheme reversed. 

I picked up Ace/Queen on the deal. When an Ace-Seven-Jack offsuit hit on the flop, the woman bet. She got three callers and I limped in, planning a raise on the turn. The lady checked the flop. The old guy in seat five and the cab driver in seat eight checked. 

I hesitated, then bet. The woman in the red dress check-raised. Both guys folded. After a quiet moan, I tossed my cards to the dealer. The woman laughed and showed down trip Jacks. 

I picked up my chips and headed for the cage, muttering. I was still grumbling when the cashier took my half-empty rack. 

"Bad night?"she asked. 

"Hell!, A man can’t win when there’s cheating going on." 

The cashier shrugged and counted-down my chips for cash-out. I guess she had heard it all before -- poker players blaming cheating for their losing, bad play. I didn’t press it. There was nothing the dealers nor the pit boss could do unless cheating was proved. 

I walked out of the poker room, ordered a whiskey from a cocktail girl, gave her a half-dollar and ducked behind a row of slot machines. I counted and arranged my cash -- all green up, dollars to hundreds. 

I took the escalator up to the sport’s book where I put $11 on the Lakers, settled down to watch the game. When Glenn Robinson of the Bucks hit a 3-point shot with three seconds to go, I tore up my ticket and dropped it to the floor. 

No one hated wasting $11 more than I did, but I guessed I could get it back -- I was just letting the clock run until midnight, anyway. 

I crossed the street over to Motel 6, walked up the steps to room 235, inserted the key and let myself in. 

"Hi honey!" came a sweet voice. 

The woman was just stepping out of her red dress.