Ford County (19 page)

Sidney played like an amateur and lost $2,000 in twenty minutes. The pit boss relaxed; nothing to worry about. “Do you have a club card?” he asked Sidney.

“No,” came the curt reply. And don’t offer me one.

The other two men left the table, and Sidney spread out his operations. Playing three seats and betting $500 at each one, he quickly recaptured his $2,000 and added another $4,500 to his stack of chips. The pit boss paced a little and tried not to stare. The dealer shuffled the cards as a cocktail waitress brought a vodka and orange juice, a drink Sidney sipped but barely consumed. Playing four seats at $1,000 each, he broke even for the next fifteen minutes, then won six hands in a row, for a total of $24,000. The $100 chips were too numerous to move around quickly, so he said, “Let’s switch to those purple ones.” The table had only twenty of the $1,000 chips. The dealer was forced to call time-out as the pit boss sent for more money. “Would you like dinner?” he asked, somewhat nervously.

“Not hungry,” Sidney said. “But I’ll run to the men’s room.”

When play resumed, Sidney, still alone at the table and attracting a few onlookers, played four seats at $2,000 each. He broke even for fifteen minutes, then glanced at the pit boss and abruptly asked, “Can I have another dealer?”

“Certainly.”

“I prefer a female.”

“No problem.”

A young Hispanic lady stepped to the table and offered a feeble “Good luck.” Sidney did not respond. He played $1,000 at each of the four seats, lost three in a row, then increased his bets to $3,000 a hand and won four straight.

The casino was down over $60,000. The blackjack record so far at the Lucky Jack was $110,000 for one night. A doctor from Memphis had made the haul, only to lose it and much more the following night. “Let ’em win,” Bobby Carl loved to say. “We’ll get it right back.”

“I’d like some ice cream,” Sidney said in the general direction of the pit boss, who immediately snapped his fingers. “What flavor?”

“Pistachio.”

A plastic bowl and spoon soon arrived, and Sidney tipped the waitress with his last $100 chip. He took a small bite, then placed $5,000 at four seats. Playing $20,000 a hand was indeed rare, and the gossip spread through the casino. A crowd hovered behind him, but he was oblivious. He won seven of the next ten hands and was up $102,000. As the dealer shuffled the decks, Sidney slowly ate the ice cream and did nothing else but stare at the cards.

With a fresh shoe, he varied his bets from $10,000 to $20,000 per hand. When he won $80,000 more, the pit boss stepped in and said, “That’s enough. You’re counting cards.”

“You’re wrong,” Sidney said.

“Let him go,” someone said behind him, but the pit boss ignored it.

The dealer backed away from the confrontation. “You’re counting,” the pit boss said again.

“It’s not illegal,” Sidney shot back.

“No, but we make our own rules.”

“You’re full of crap,” Sidney growled, then took another bite.

“That’s it. I’ll ask you to leave.”

“Fine. I want cash.”

“We’ll cut a check.”

“Hell no. I walked in here with cash, and I’m leaving with cash.”

“Sir, would you please come with me?”

“Where?”

“Let’s handle this over at the cashier’s.”

“Great. But I demand cash.”

The crowd watched them disappear. In the cashier’s office, Sidney produced a fake driver’s license that declared him to be a Mr. Jack Ross from Dothan, Alabama. The cashier and the pit boss filled out the required IRS form, and after a heated argument Sidney walked out of the casino with a canvas bank bag filled with $184,000 in $100 bills.

He was back the following night in a dark suit, white shirt, and tie, and looking considerably different. The beard, long hair, rings, tattoos, beret, and goofy glasses were gone. His head was shaved slick, and he sported a narrow gray mustache and wire-rimmed reading glasses perched on his nose. He chose a different table with a different dealer. Last night’s pit boss was not on duty. He put cash on the table and asked for twenty-four $1,000 chips. He played for thirty minutes, won twelve hands out of fifteen,
then asked for a private table. The pit boss led him to a small room near the poker pit. The security boys upstairs were standing at their posts, watching every move.

“I’d like $10,000 chips,” Sidney announced. “And a male dealer.”

No problem. “Something to drink?”

“A Sprite, with some pretzels.”

He pulled some more cash from his pocket and counted the chips after the exchange. There were twenty of them. He played three seats at a time, and fifteen minutes later he owned thirty-two chips. Another pit boss and the manager on duty had joined the occasion and stood behind the dealer, watching grimly.

Sidney munched on pretzels as if he were playing $2 slots. Instead, he was now betting $10,000 at each of four seats. Then $20,000, then back to $10,000. When the shoe was low, he suddenly bet $50,000 at all six seats. The dealer was showing a five, his worst card. Sidney calmly split two sevens and doubled down on a hard ten. The dealer flipped a queen, then very slowly pulled his next card. It was a nine, for a bust of twenty-four. The hand netted Sidney $400,000, and the first pit boss was ready to faint.

“Perhaps we should take a break,” the manager said.

“Oh, I say we finish the shoe, then take a break,” Sidney said.

“No,” the manager said.

“You want the money back, don’t you?”

The dealer hesitated and cast a desperate look at the manager. Where was Bobby Carl when they needed him?

“Deal,” Sidney said with a grin. “It’s just money. Hell, I’ve never walked out of a casino with cash in my pocket.”

“Could we have your name?”

“Sure. It’s Sidney Lewis.” He removed his wallet, tossed over his real driver’s license, and didn’t care if they had his real name. He had no plans to return. The manager and pit bosses studied it, anything to buy some time.

“Have you been here before?” the manager asked.

“I was here a few months ago. Are we gonna play? What kind of casino is this? Now deal the cards.”

The manager reluctantly returned the license, and Sidney left it on the table, next to his towering collection of chips. The manager then nodded slowly at the dealer. Sidney had a single $10,000 chip at each of the six seats, then quickly added four more to each. Three hundred thousand dollars was suddenly in play. If he won half of the seats, he planned to keep playing. If he lost, he’d quit and walk out with a two-night net of about $600,000, a pleasant sum of money that would do much to satisfy his hatred of Bobby Carl Leach.

Cards slowly hit the table, and the dealer gave himself a six as his up card. Sidney split two jacks, a gutsy move that most experts warned against, then he waved off further draws. When the dealer flipped his down card and revealed a nine, Sidney showed no expression, but the manager and both pit bosses turned pale. The dealer was required to draw on a fifteen, and he did so with great reluctance. He pulled a seven, for a bust of twenty-two.

The manager jumped forward and said, “That’s it. You’re counting cards.” He wiped beads of sweat from his forehead.

Sidney said, “You must be kidding. What kind of dump is this?”

“It’s over, buddy,” the manager said, then glanced at two thick security guards who had suddenly materialized behind Sidney, who calmly stuck a pretzel in his mouth and crunched it loudly. He grinned at the manager and the pit bosses and decided to call it a night.

“I want cash,” he said.

“That might be a problem,” the manager said.

They escorted Sidney to the manager’s office upstairs, where the entire entourage gathered behind a closed door. No one sat down.

“I demand cash,” Sidney said.

“We’ll give you a check,” the manager said again.

“You don’t have the cash, do you?” Sidney said, taunting. “This two-bit casino doesn’t have the cash and cannot cover its exposure.”

“We have the money,” the manager said without conviction. “And we’re happy to write a check.”

Sidney glared at him, and the two pit bosses, and the two security guards, then said, “The check will bounce, won’t it?”

“Of course not, but I’ll ask you to hold it for seventy-two hours.”

“Which bank?”

“Merchants, in Clanton.”

At nine o’clock the next morning, Sidney and his lawyer walked into the Merchants Bank on the square in Clanton and demanded to see the president. When they were in his office, Sidney pulled out a check from the Lucky Jack Casino in the amount of $945,000, postdated three days. The president examined it,
wiped his face, then said in a cracking voice, “I’m sorry, but we can’t honor this check.”

“And in three days?” the lawyer asked.

“I seriously doubt it.”

“Have you talked to the casino?”

“Yes, several times.”

An hour later, Sidney and his lawyer walked into the Ford County Courthouse, to the office of the chancery clerk, and filed a petition for a temporary restraining order seeking an immediate closing of the Lucky Jack and the payment of the debt. The judge, the Honorable Willis Bradshaw, set an emergency hearing for 9:00 the following morning.

Bobby Carl jumped ship in Puerto Rico and scrambled to find flights back to Memphis. He arrived in Ford County late that evening and drove, in a rented Hertz subcompact, straight to the casino, where he found few gamblers, and even fewer employees who knew anything about what had happened the previous night. The manager had quit and could not be found. One of the pit bosses who’d dealt with Sidney was likewise rumored to have fled the county. Bobby Carl threatened to fire everyone else, except for Chief Larry, who was overwhelmed by the chaos. At midnight, Bobby Carl was meeting with the bank president and a team of lawyers, and the anxiety level was through the roof.

Stella was still on the cruise ship, but unable to enjoy herself. In the midst of the chaos, when Bobby Carl was screaming
into the phones and throwing things, she had heard him yell, “Sidney Lewis! Who the hell is Sidney Lewis?”

She said nothing, at least nothing about the Sidney Lewis she knew, and found it impossible to believe that her ex-husband had been capable of breaking a casino. Still, she was very uncomfortable, and when the ship docked at George Town on Grand Cayman, she took a cab to the airport and headed home.

Judge Bradshaw welcomed the throng of spectators to his courtroom. He thanked them for coming and invited them back in the future. Then he asked if the lawyers were ready to proceed.

Bobby Carl, red eyed and haggard and unshaven, was seated at one table with three of his lawyers and Chief Larry, who’d never been near a courtroom and was so nervous that he simply closed his eyes and appeared to be meditating. Bobby Carl, who’d seen many courtrooms, was nonetheless just as stressed. Everything he owned had been mortgaged for the bank loan, and now the future of his casino, as well as all his other assets, was in great jeopardy.

One of his lawyers stood quickly and said, “Yes, Judge, we are ready, but we have filed a motion to dismiss this proceeding because of a lack of jurisdiction. This matter belongs in federal court, not state.”

“I’ve read your motion,” Judge Bradshaw said, and it was obvious he did not like what he had read. “I’m keeping jurisdiction.”

“Then we’ll file in federal court later this morning,” the lawyer shot back.

“I can’t stop you from filing anything.”

Judge Bradshaw had spent most of his career trying to sort out ugly disputes between feuding couples, and over the years he had developed an intense dislike for the causes of divorce. Alcohol, drugs, adultery, gambling—his involvement with the major vices was never ending. He taught Sunday school in the Methodist church and had strict beliefs about right and wrong. Gambling was an abomination, in his opinion, and he was delighted to have a crack at it.

Sidney’s lawyer argued loud and hard that the casino was undercapitalized and maintained insufficient cash reserves; thus, it was an ongoing threat to other gamblers. He announced he was filing a full-blown lawsuit at 5:00 that afternoon if the casino did not honor its debt to his client. In the meantime, though, the casino should be closed.