“The Casino”
Robert Deng
Tucked away in a small plaza off the main street, the Grosvenor Casino in Russell Square had a quiet stillness in the morning. Hidden behind the hotel’s entrance, entry to the casino was publicized by men in fancy suits pacing and smoking. The Grosvenor did not permit smoking, so cigarette butts were littered all around the entrance. Distinguished by a purple hue, the glass doors were heavy, maybe to keep the unwanted out – or more likely to keep gamblers in. Upon arrival, Zach and I proceeded to enter. The concierge, Ernesto, bowed his head, as we gave him our Players Cards.
“Zach! Robbie. How are you tonight?”
Offering to take our coats, Ernesto, welcomed us in. The lobby was its own small room, covered by security cameras in each of its corners. Ernesto authorized us entry into the casino by pressing a button hidden under his desk. We walked on the casino’s gold flooring that led to carpet once we hit the floor of the gaming room. Every time I entered this particular casino, I felt like Dorothy from the Wizard of Oz, going down the yellow brick road, uncertain of what lay ahead. A large chandelier brightened the entire room and complemented the gold surface with its reflection.
The occasional noise of chips clicking characterized the slow pace of the casino. Less chips being exchanged meant less action between the players and the House. This contrasted with the nonstop rowdiness of the grand Vegas casinos, which had bright lights and constant slot machine noises. I preferred a quieter scene, where I could focus on a blackjack game. I guess that’s what made us such frequent visitors. They have the best blackjack low-limit player friendly rules here too. Since we were running low on the stipend our study abroad program provided us, the casino was an opportunity to earn some spending money – or lose it all. Our time in London provided an escape from the harsh Minnesota winters, but the pound to dollar exchange rate was hard on our wallets. I surveyed the gaming floor before flipping through my wallet to check how much cash I had to play with.
“Zach, I’m about to go to the bathroom real quick.”
It was my pregame ritual to make sure I’m ready. You never wanted to play feeling uncomfortable. Casinos already used little tricks to distort your perception and throw you off of your game. Whether it’s bringing you drinks or dimming the lights, it didn’t matter to them. They just wanted you to stay at the table unfocused and have their house edge chew into your bankroll. After I finished, we searched for a table to play at. There were open spots on the £5 blackjack tables.
***
A few hours earlier, this place would’ve been packed. Friday night action here was reminiscent of Vegas’ night scene. Men and women dressed up wandered in from the nearby nightclubs in Piccadilly. The frequent drunken outbursts meant it was a good night for the casino. While the players’ losses amounted, the alcohol impaired their judgment and kept them playing. The allure of the Russell Square Casino was a trap for night clubbers. And they paid the price with their wallets.
Roulette tables would be crowded by high rollers who eagerly threw chips down with women by their sides. Noises from slot machines filled the casino. The main issue playing during this time was it’d be difficult to find a spot on the blackjack tables, and playing with drunken, disorderly individuals was distracting. That’s why it was best to come after the craziness stopped.
***
Click. Clack. Clack. We heard the occasional sounds of chips exchanging hands, as we looked around the casino floor. It was 2am and pouring rain outside. This was the perfect time to get a quick blackjack session in, and the Grosvenor provided a haven from the weather. The floor was nearly empty, and those who remained either worked there or were beginning to leave.
We sat at a table where we had a good view of the TV. The dealer wore black vest over his white button-up with a nametag “Carlos”. Carlos was hand shuffling six decks, a rarity now that shuffling machines were popular. I exchanged cash for chips and Carlos started to deal me in.
Zach went over to the pit boss to ask to change the TV to play the Green Bay Packers’ divisional playoff game against Arizona Cardinals. Due to the time difference and general lack of interest in American football, the casino was one of the rare places we could find to play games.
Zach grew up in Minnesota, but since he had family ties to Wisconsin, he was a Packers fan. The Vikings and Packers rivalry had constantly been ingrained in his life but ultimately strengthened his support for Green Bay. Every game, friends from home always sent texts deriding his Green Bay Packers.
Zach has always been my buddy on these blackjack escapades. When I’m running bad, he was always there to raise my spirits. When I’m running good and up, he made sure I wasn’t betting recklessly. His presence served as a balancing mechanism crucial in the success of my blackjack success. Tonight, not only was he here for me but also for the Packers’ playoff game.
***
There was a man at the end of our table. He wore a tuxedo and spoke with a heavy Middle Eastern accent. He wore a giant ruby ring that had a deep red hue. His hair was slicked back and he had heavy bags under his eyes. The man was alone with no friends – or any lady friends, that frequently came along with a man of his status. He had a frustrated look over his face and seemed to have lost all his money in the previous. Attempting to rationalize how the unlucky he was, he pulled out a stack of bills wrapped in plastic and threw it down defiantly as if he had plenty of more to come. Classic rich guy who had too much money for his own good.
“How do you like your chips to be colored?” Carlos asked, while counting the stack of bills.
“Give me all black.” The pupils in the man’s eyes widened in glee, as rubbed his hands in excitement. 10. 20. 30 black chips! He was not messing around. I counted the chips in my head. Black chips were worth £100.
The man placed ten black chips down, which dwarfed my single red chip, worth £5 the minimal bet at the table. Carlos deals our first hand, but before we can make a move, he says,
“I got it,” referring to the blackjack he drew.
Table loses. My heart dropped as I watched Carlos take the man’s £1000 bet. Shaking his head in utter disgust, the man placed twenty blacks down, doubling his previous wager. As Carlos begun dealing our cards for the next hand, Zach jumped up suddenly, screaming, “Touchdown!” I looked up at the screen and saw the Packer fans who had cheese hats celebrating. Good start for the Packers. Zach should be happy.
He ran through the casino, preparing to call his buddies back home. The casino workers trying to process what happened chuckled at his glee.
One nearby dealer looked over and asked Carlos, “What happened?”
“Oh, some American football game. Somebody scored,” Carlos responded, continuing to deal our cards.
I had a twenty, and the man with the ruby ring had a sixteen versus a dealer’s ten. Blackjack strategy begins with assuming the dealer’s hidden card is a ten. The probability of the value of the hidden card being ten is 30%. So in this case, we assumed the dealer is holding a twenty. Holding a sixteen verse a ten was a very weak hand in this case. I waved over my cards, indicating I wanted to stay with my current hand to the dealer.
“Card please,” the man said, He drew an eight and busted out.
“I got shit luck!” he exclaimed, slamming the table with his fists. He threw down another wad of cash.
***
We both lost that night. The man with the ruby ring finally accepted defeat and cashed the little he had left. He grabbed his coat, walked back through the gold pathway under the chandelier, and disappeared into the night through the double glass doors. He left as he arrived: alone.
The Packers eventually lost their lead and the game. And their loss sent Zach turning off his phone to avoid the ridicule.
“Hey man, at least Rodgers played well.”
It was beginning to be early dawn, and there was no reason for us to go to bed, since we were pissed off.
“Yeah, and at least you didn’t lose twenty grand tonight,” he responded chuckling.
We left the Grosvenors, leaving its stillness and the few workers that remained for the early morning shift. It was snowing outside. The typical bustling London sidewalks were empty. Shops were closed and only the bus lines that ran 24/7 were in the streets. We waited at the bus stop, watching the snow fall.
