Aces and Knaves

everything points to Ned not being much of a gambler."
    Mr. White looked at me for a few seconds and then his face lit up in a broad smile. He said, "Let me tell you a story. Cigar?"
    He opened a box of cigars, sitting on his desk, and offered me one. From the writing on the box I had the suspicion that they were contraband from Cuba. I declined, not for that reason. He selected one for himself, clipped off the end with a gizmo and lit it with a lighter, in an elaborate ceremony. He didn't ask whether I objected to him smoking.
    Mr. White leaned back, took a luxurious puff, blew out the smoke and said, "Ned called me one day and told me he had a problem. I would do anything for Ned so I asked him what his problem was. He told me he wanted to make it appear to somebody that he had lost a lot of money. Since people sometimes lose large amounts in casinos he wondered if I had any idea how he could do it.
    "'How much money do you want to lose?' I asked. 'Separating people from their money is our business.' 'Say, $50,000,' he said. 'Does this somebody you want to fool know how to play blackjack?' I asked. 'He is an expert at blackjack,' Ned said. 'Can you get your friend to come here?' I asked. He said he thought he could.
    "I orchestrated the whole thing. I sent Ned an email detailing exactly what his strategy should be. I reserved a table exclusively for him and put my best dealer on it. When he arrived we went through an elaborate charade of giving him chips in exchange for his IOU.
    "He played five hands simultaneously, $500 a hand. He hit all 16s and stood on all 17s. I even had him split aces and eights and double-down on ten and eleven so it wouldn't look as if he was deliberately losing.
    "We calculated that he would lose ten to fifteen-thousand dollars an hour. In fact, he lost $50,000 in just under four hours."
    "Didn't the friend try to stop him?" I asked.
    "He tried everything in the book. He pleaded, he cajoled, he got angry. Several times he walked out. Ned played his part perfectly. He kept saying, 'I just want to break even,' and 'just a few more hands.' Finally, I had my five minutes on stage when I told him that we wouldn't extend him any more credit—that he had lost too much. Ned yelled at me so realistically I even wondered for a minute if he had been smoking something—and not a peace pipe, either."
    "Do you remember the name of the other man?" I asked.
    "He was from San Francisco, I think. His name was...Buchanan."

    Chapter 17 THE FUNERAL
    The service for Ned was held in a chapel at the cemetery. It was presided over by a minister belonging to a Protestant denomination; I wasn't sure which one. The chapel was almost full of people.
    The casket was closed and had lots of flowers around it. The organist played “Auld Lang Syne,” among other Scottish songs.
    Elma sat in front with her three children. Her eyes appeared to be red and she held a handkerchief, but she was in control of herself. She must be a strong woman.
    My father wasn’t there, of course, but many Dionysus employees were. I didn't know most of them. I recognized John, my father's administrative assistant. He was with a group and didn't see me so I decided not to approach him. Arrow came in with several other people. She was wearing a black dress, much less revealing than the one she had worn in San Francisco.
    The service was simple and respectful. Several friends of Ned got up and spoke glowingly of him. When the service ended the minister invited the attendees to form a procession of autos and follow the hearse along the grounds to the gravesite.
    I was sitting in an outside aisle seat. When I stood up and turned around to walk up the aisle I saw James Buchanan getting up from a side seat in the last row. A woman was with him. She looked Asian. Before I could approach them they walked briskly out of the chapel, with James holding the woman by the elbow as if to urge her to greater speed.
    I followed as fast as I could without knocking people down. When I went through the outside door I was momentarily blinded by the bright sunlight. Then I saw the white limousine, as long as a city block, pull away from in front of the chapel. I couldn't see through its windows, but a quick sweep of the parking lot confirmed that James and the woman were not in evidence.
    I strolled outside, cursing myself for not figuring out that James would attend the funeral of his erstwhile partner. I had missed my chance to ask him about that day in the