Post by dans on Sept 26, 2017 23:53:43 GMT
The Original Devil's Dagger: Shell Game
Summer, 1988
The afternoon theater matinees had just let out, so the street in downtown Carterville, Iowa, was more bustling and busy than usual. It was hot and brightly sunny and most people had on sunglasses and brief outfits. A small crowd of a dozen or so people was gathered on one of the sidewalks in the middle of a block, midway between two busy stores. A casually dressed man sat in a folding chair, his back against the brick wall, a small folding table in front of him. The knot of people was about 3 deep, totally blocking the sidewalk on this side. Most people were crossing the street to avoid the knot, or walking quickly by on the street with expressions of disgust and disdain, but there was a steady inflow into the crowd of those interested in discovering the attraction, and a similar outflow - though many of those leaving seemed much more unhappy than they had been when they arrived.
There were 3 large walnut shell halves on the table top. Every few minutes, someone in the crowd would flash some cash, and the seated man would put a small ball, about the size of a pea, under one of the shells, shuffle them around, and whoever had flashed the cash would point to one of the shells and the shell shuffler would turn over one or more shells, until the ball was exposed – and then money would change hands, accompanied by jeers and cheers from the observers. A casual observer would notice that the guy manipulating the shells was paying off about half the time. A dedicated observer might have been able to determine something about the inverse correlation between the frequency of wins vs. the size of the payoffs, but it was difficult to be a dedicated observer - it seemed as if every time one of the audience showed signs of concentration, some other audience member, usually a large, grungy guy, would choose that moment to rudely shoulder the watcher out of the way as he moved closer to the action. Though the same large, rude, grungy patrons seemed to magically melt away from anyone with money in hand.
An elderly man, mostly bald with just a fringe of white hair, slightly overweight and shuffling slowly with the aid of an ornate cane, walked slowly down that street. He smiled broadly at everyone he passed, and elicited a few smiles in return as his head swiveled to follow every time a pretty girl walked by. When he saw the crowd, he walked to the outskirts and stopped, and for a few minutes, closely watched the proceedings. The young woman currently at the table seemed to have picked up on the trick - she won 3 times in a row. Each payoff was relatively small - despite the prodding of the rest of the crowd, she wasn't willing to risk more than her small original bet, and she won a lot less than she might have if she'd been more aggressive. After she'd collected her winnings for the third attempt, the table owner refused to let her play again.
"Nice going, lady, but that's all for you," the 'dealer' remarked as he payed her. 'Table rules, three wins and you're done for the day, honey!" He pointed to a hand-written sign on the table. "Time to let someone else take a turn!"
She reluctantly took her winnings and headed out through the crowd. Across the street, she was intercepted by the old man.
"Looks like you figured it out," he whispered to her.
She looked him over carefully. "Pretty sure I did, but I couldn't afford to take a chance. Are you thinking of playing?" He hesitated; before he could make up his mind, she rushed on. "I'll tell you the secret if you give me half of what you win." As he hesitated again, she rushed on. "OK, make it a third!" He shook his head and started to turn away. "Look, mister, he took my sister for $100 yesterday, and I really want to see him lose. And win her money back, too!"
He was still a bit doubtful. "A third of what I win is a lot. What if you're wrong?"
"I'm not. You just watch him for a while and prove it to yourself that I'm right before you play!" Finally, he nodded his agreement.
She leaned closer and whispered, "It's not hard too tell the shells apart."
He nodded agreement. "That's sorta what I figured…"
She interrupted him enthusiastically, eager to share her secret. "You have to look at them really close, but one is missing a tiny chip on the edge and another has a very light stain. You just watch the one he puts it under, ignore all his hand waving and make sure you pick the same one when he's done. Simple as heck, but I sure wish my sister had known the trick!"
The two walked back to the crowd together and the older man worked his way toward the table. Just before he got there, one of the burly guys decided he wanted to play, and rudely pushed in front of everyone else.
"Beat it, sistah! Time to let a real man play" The last player was trying to decide if she wanted to follow bad money with good, and she actually looked relieved to be pushed out of the way. The rough fella won $20, and boasted, and then $40, and crowed like a rooster, and then lost $100 and was abruptly silent. But the crowd had decided they didn't like him, and the cheering for his loss was loud and laced with expletives. He turned angrily and rudely pushed through the crowd, leaving an opening in front.
The older man had watched closely, and then whispered to the pretty girl behind him. "You're right, I see all the marks you mentioned. The big guy messed up on the last one! Plus, the guy in the chair is kind of clumsy and easy to follow, isn't he?" His new friend nodded eagerly. "This should be pretty easy." He stepped into the vacant space next to the table.
"What's the max bet?" he asked, pulling out his wallet.
"I can cover a grand right now, old man," the shell-shuffler said contemptuously. "But you gotta show me the cash in advance. I don't put up with no welchers!"
"And what's the payout when I win?" the old man said as he counted out ten $100 bills from his wallet and splayed them like a fan - then carefully tucked the bills into the pocket on his shirt. For an instant, the crowd was totally silent, and then an excited murmuring began. No matter who won, watching a play for a thousand dollar bet was way more interesting than the low stakes they had just seen.
"Says right here, I pay 2 to 1. Read the sign," the shuffler pointed to his 'table rules'.
"Two grand - sounds good to me. But… you gotta show me the cash in advance," the old man replied. "I don't play with no welchers!" His voice and tone were almost perfect imitations of the man behind the table. The crowd yelled approval.
"Won't matter, old man, my hand's way quicker than your antique eyes!!" the shuffler boasted. Reluctantly, he pulled a slim wad of bills from his pocket and counted out $2000, leaving him with only a few bills to spare. He folded the $2k and dropped it onto the table. "See, I got ya covered. Now are you gonna bet or not? There's other people waiting to play!"
The old man pulled his money back out, and carefully placed it on the table next to the potential payoff. The crowd surged nearer, not wanting to miss this event. Somehow, the man who'd just lost had pushed his way back into the crowd and ended up right next to the old man.
"Okie Dokie, mix 'em up good, young man," the mark replied cheerfully, then watched intently. The ball was placed on the table top, and a shell was placed over top it - the shell with the missing chip, as it turned out. Then the dealer's hands moved through a dazzling sequence of movements for about 10 seconds - and then he sat back.
"OK, Grampa! Take your pick!" The old man hesitated. 'C'mon, old fella, there's other people waiting to play! Table rules, 15 seconds to choose!"
The oldster's finger wavered back and forth over the shells, moved from right to left, left to right, then stopped. "OK, ok… I pick…. the middle!" As he spoke, the old man moved - even faster than the table owner had slid the shells. One finger pressed down on the center shell - which wasn't the shell missing the chip.
The table owner jumped up, shouting, and started to reach for him. "Hey! Can't you read the rules? Nobody but ME touches the shells!" He reached for the old man's wrist and then stopped abruptly, just in time to avoid skewering himself on the gleaming blade of a 9" dagger with an ornate red handle that had magically appeared in the old man's other hand while everyone was watching the dealer lunge. The old man was no longer stooped and leaning on his cane; he stood straight and tall. His bearing and the stern expression on his face no longer conveyed 'cheerful and harmless'! The blade flashed through the air in an arc, passing close to the chest of the extra large spectator before the point came to rest on the table next to the right hand shell.
"OK, gramps, fun is fun. Move along or I'll holler for the cops!" the table owner threatened.
"Sure, sonny, you go ahead and call the cops. I'll bet they'd love to talk to you. But don't you worry none, I'm just making sure the game is honest." The tip of the dagger carefully flipped up the right shell, revealing nothing. "Nothing under the shell on the right, see?"
Again the big guy and the table owner started to move closer, and again the blade swept through a quick arc - an arc that might have sliced into one of their chests if they hadn't abruptly halted. "And nothing under the shell on the left, either!" Again, the shell was flipped carefully, and again, no ball. "So I guess I win, eh?"
He picked up his own wad of bills, carefully avoiding the other pile. "Then again, I did say I was keeping the game honest, didn't I?" The dagger flipped over the last shell - and there was no ball under it. A chorus of angry gasps and invective came from the crowd. The old man reached up to tip an imaginary hat.
"I guess you'll be busy with customer service for a while, young man. Ta ta!" He pushed his way through the crowd. The big guy started to follow him, but without even looking, the older man stomped down, hard, on the toe of the other's shoe, and the guy stumbled backward. He easily made his way through the mob that was now trying to reach the table owner, who was now regretting his choice of a seat - nobody could get behind him, but he was definitely hemmed in by the close wall.
Though few noticed the details, the red handle of the dagger ended in a large red pommel that was carved in the shape of the head of a devil, with a pair of sharp horns sprouting from it. There was a glowing red gem on the center of the quillion, and the blade was elegantly etched in an unknown language. By now, a half dozen cops had noticed the ruckus and were running toward the scene, pushing their way through the crowd of angry tourists that was closing around the table.
The pretty girl who'd won earlier was trying to hurry away without drawing attention to herself, but she was slowed by the number of people on the crowded street. She gasped when he roughly grabbed her wrist in an unusual hold, jerking her to a halt. "Ah, ah, young lady. What was your cut supposed to be? Just interested in how much a young woman thinks it's worth to betray a senior citizen into a thousand dollar ripoff? Fifty bucks? A hundred?" The oldster was again carrying his cane in the other hand, and the red-handled Devil's Dagger was no longer in sight.
She tried to protest, and gasped again as he he twisted her arm, which ended up behind her back. To a casual observer, it probably looked like he'd just put his arm around her. "No bull$#!*, young lady. I've been onto the shell game since well before you were born. Heck, probably since before your folks were born. Never liked it then, don't like it now."
She tried to pull away; he bent closer to whisper to her. "I've broken arms in this hold. If you think I'm kidding, or too old, think again!" Her arm bent further; she abruptly stopped moving.
"Very nice. Now, I've heard that my long-lost friend Mr. H is out of prison, again, and is trying to move in on the rackets in Carterville, again." She gasped when she heard the name. "I guess you know him, eh? Well, you make sure he hears that just like the Devil's Dagger ran him out of Carterville years ago, that same Dagger is back to run him off again. And remind him that the Devil's Dagger doesn’t play nice. You got that?"
"I got it, you bast... YOW!" He pushed a little. She nodded her head rapidly. "I got it… now let me go!" He did, and she turned and scampered away. She avoided the crowd, and the police, and raced down the street and into an alley, and finally turned and looked frantically around for her captor. Nothing! She raced through and out the other side - but right before she hit the street again, she stopped abruptly and gasped again at what she saw.
Pinned to the wall by a much smaller red-handled dagger, was sheet of paper, hanging down over a plastic full face mask. The paper contained a handwritten note, the writing neat, the cursive lettering large and bold: "Remember - the Dagger won't play nice!"
