YOU'VE GOT TO LOSE TO WIN, page 17
Phil greets Slade. “C’mon in, little buddy. I hope you came hungry. Toni makes some mean breakfast tacos!” As Phil is leading Slade into his home and to the kitchen table, it's all Slade can do to take it in.
“THIS IS the next level,” Slade manages to say to Phil.
“We’ll eat at the little table if that’s ok,” says Phil with a slight grin, playing on his observation that Slade is impressed with his home. This brings Phil great joy. “Little table?” replies Slade. “That’s cute, Phil; this thing wouldn't even fit in the duplex.”
A tiny, elderly Hispanic woman brings out a large platter of breakfast tacos and a small bowl of homemade salsa and sets it on the table where Phil and Slade are seated.
“I am telling you, you are in for a treat. Toni here makes the best-damned breakfast tacos in central Texas,” Phil says as he touches the lady on her shoulder. He then turns to her directly and asks, “Can I get a coffee?” Then, looking back at Slade, “What would you like to drink? We have fresh squeezed orange juice. Coffee? Apple juice, name it,” Phil continues.
Slade replies, almost embarrassed and not knowing how to deal with people waiting on you inside of a home, “That orange juice sounds great, thank you, ma’am.”
“Well…so what do you think of the place?” Phil asks rhetorically with a broad grin, fully knowing the answer.
“Damn, I mean, this place is next fucking level. I mean, awesome.” Slade kind of stammers repeating himself.
Phil smiles with pride and changes the subject. “Look, I didn’t bring you here to show off my house, though I'll admit I enjoy doing it. I want to talk to you about some stuff. You’re a smart kid, one of the smartest I’ve seen. And I don’t want you to waste your talent.”
Slade cuts Phil off. “Look Phil, I know where you're going here. I left college and I'm not going back. That was my parents' dream and shit, I don't want that life; fuck it, I’d rather live in my truck before I go back to that life!”
“No, no, little buddy, hear me out. I’m, not telling you what to do, nothing like that. I want to give you some ideas, real shit to think about. Sure I’m doing well, no doubt, but I started off well. That’s a story for another day, but the point is, you’re even better and smarter than me.”
Phil continued with his pep talk to encourage Slade to grow even further than his imagination let him. “There are two kinds of us rounders. There are the hustlers, and in some ways we all are, but then there is another kind, the rare kind. The people who are IN the business of hustling. We never do anything without reason, we think about what we're doing and have a base stream of income somewhere that isn't a gamble. We are, in every way, businessmen.
“You have it; I've seen it. You’re a thinker, and you get bored doing the hustle. If you tell me I’m wrong, we stop talking here and now. We can change the subject, and you can tell me all about your plans to move into the duplex and what kind of car you’ll get to replace that damned truck before it dies. You know, I do want to know all of that, too. I do care about what is going on with you.”
“You’re not wrong, Phil,” Slade said with shy pride. “That’s why I went to LD’s game to start with. That seemed like a thinking game and way more than a hustle. But fuck, I lost my ass, so, hustle it is.”
“No,” said Phil emphatically, “you’re still not quite getting it. It’s not the game you’re playing that matters; it’s HOW you’re doing it. Stay with me on this and answer quickly. Do you know how to play pool?” Phil wanted Slade to see how his strategy played out.
“Hell ya, I do. I'm one of the best in town,” Slade says instantly and with authority.
“OK. Do you know how to play poker?”
“Well, I mean, sure, I know the rules and the odds and…. “Phil cuts him off.
“NO, you don't. Look, when you answered me on the topic of pool, there was no stutter, no hesitation, you're among the best, and you know it. When I saw you at the bowling alley, it was clear; you were a winner. In the square john world, you'd be a professional bowler. How many three hundred have you bowled?
“Only eight,” Slade replies.
Phil is shaking his head. “ONLY! The odds of bowling a three hundred are the same as sinking a hole-in-one in golf, so I’m gonna go with, you know how to play. But you're not there in poker, and yet you risked more money in that one night than I've seen you risk any other time! Again, tell me I'm wrong.”
“Well, no, you’re right, I guess I don’t know much about poker,” says Slade with his head slightly down.
“Ok, now we're getting somewhere. “Look, I'm not saying poker is the be-all and end-all but whatever it IS, you need to do two things.” Phil says in a teacher’s voice. “One, set up a regular income off of whatever the hustle is so that it won’t matter if you make a mistake or not. And two, manage your bankroll.
“Notice what I did not say because that is JUST as important. And before you argue with me, think it through. Do you think I’m an expert sports gambler? Don’t answer, but you should see what I’m talking about. I know HOW to run a sportsbook, which isn't the same as betting on sports.
“This shit's simple but not easy. Don’t overthink this part; just do it.” Phil says firmly. Then he adds, “My sports book is my base, and I ensure the odds are in my favor. It's as good as flipping a quarter at eleven to ten odds. The only way I lose is to violate the second rule and stop managing my money. It takes a LOT of money to run a sports book AND manage a bankroll correctly.
“Again, learning the sports book business isn't why you're here. Finding and learning YOUR business is.”
Phil then offers a little tip for the next time Slade plays poker.
“Here, listen to this. “A’s and K’s, and Q’s and J’s. No nines no tens, nor none of their friends. A pair in the hand and one on the flop[72]. Play these cards to come out on top.”
“What the fuck, a rhyme? says Slade.
“You laugh, but I know I suck at poker. I don't have the concentration for it, and I can't keep all that shit in my head. But I can remember this. These are the starting hands to play if you want NOT TO LOSE.
And this is the only other lesson I've had on playing poker. You're playing not to lose. As soon as you take aim at one player[73] or try to win, you're sunk. When you understand that, THEN and only then will you be on the path to being a poker player for real.
Toni comes to the table. “Hello, Mr. Phil, can I get you more coffee,” then looking at Slade, “or more orange juice for you?”
“Oh, no, ma’am,” Slade replies, “I need to get moving, but thank you very much. Those breakfast tacos were some of the best I’ve ever had, so thank you again!”
Phil and Slade make their way back to the front of the house and to Slade’s truck.
“Ok, little buddy, think about some things we talked about and know I'm here to help, whatever you need,” Phil says.
“Thank you, Phil; I want you to know how I appreciate you getting me up and at it again. I am lucky to have folks looking after me, but you were in the center of it and gave me that push, and didn't have to. I want you to know I will never forget it.” Then with a little reflective grin, Slade added, “I noticed the cameras and security system my duplex has are not “kind of” like yours, but are exactly like yours. I am guessing you also had something to do with my new kitchen upgrades. Again, it does not go unnoticed or unappreciated.”
“Well, you got me, little buddy; should know that I can’t move past you. Let’s call it a housewarming gift and be done with it, ok?”
“For sure, Phil.” Slade sticks out his fit for a fist bump.
Phil walks closer and gives Slade a bear hug as a father would his son. They’re past that fist bump shit. As Slade is climbing in his truck, Phil spins and walks straight over to him.
“Hey, I almost forgot to tell you. If you like that little Honda sports car, that CRX Si, see my buddy Frank at The Honda dealership in South Austin. Remind him Phil sent you. He has a few with low miles that he might make you a sweet deal on. As in, you won almost that much at the bowling alley from those rednecks,” Phil says with a grin and a wink.
“Damn, Phil, you have this town wired, don’t you?” Slade gathers his thoughts, admiring the stretch and pull of Phil's influence.
As Phil walks back to his house he waves and gives Slade a “See you out there little buddy.”
Slade drives away. His mind is racing. Talking rapidly to himself, he’s making a spreadsheet in his head. He continues to think aloud.
“I need to set up a spreadsheet on my computer to see what I've coming in and going out and set aside some throwing around money.”
The next six months are filled with rapid-fire and focused hustles. Slade is fully focused on earning and has cut personal spending to a minimum. Then there’s the upheaval of moving from the rental where Arnold and he have been living for the last eighteen months into his new duplex.
Slade is back in the groove and grind, literally on a mission. He has fully realized and accepted that he needs a real bankroll for any kind of business to be real. And that every dime of it needed to be accounted for and have a use: Phil’s second rule to manage your bankroll. Even though Phil had given Slade the info for a new car, Slade took the bankroll conversation to heart and decided he wanted to have the cash fully in place before he even thought about buying a new car.
With this new focus and absolute tracking of what money was coming in and what money was going out. Slade knew with certainty; that day had arrived.
The first bedroom is Slade’s office, where his computer is and where he goes daily to keep a tally of all his cash. He pauses at the whirring machine with two large twenty-one-inch monitors on his desk. He’s proud that he built this from a few parts that had “fallen off of a truck.” This system would be the envy of almost any geek out there. In addition to it being a top-end machine, Slade has it connected to the Internet via the newly-released DUAL ISDN protocol.
On one side of the desk, there are several books: all on poker, statistics, and gambling. These are the newly-acquired prize possessions Slade uses to study in his spare time. Although new, they seem worn and dog-eared. Slade is dedicated to exploring the basics of the math behind poker. It's been that way since he left Phil's house and stopped at a local bookstore.
Just to verify one more time that all the cash is in order, Slade opens his spreadsheet. As he flips between tabs, he sees the one marked VACATION and makes a mental note to talk to Arnold about a quick trip to Vegas. It’s been a few months, and Slade's learned the value of letting it all go from time to time, even at this young age, even if only for a short while. A mental note made, he flips to the tab that reads CRX. The total at the top says $12,385.00, enough for the car and the modifications he wants to make: a stash box for cash, a badass stereo, and a custom-mounted holster for his Glock.
He walks over to the closet in the bedroom, a standard squeaky bifold door. At first glance, it seems to be an essential closet of stuff, a few hanging clothes, some golf clubs to one side, and some bowling stuff to the other.
But something is off a bit.
Slade slides the clothes to each side, which reveals a small latch underneath the shelf; one would miss it if they were not explicitly looking for it, as it was painted to match the shelf and set right beside the shelf bracket. Using another of his talents of being handy at building things, Slade built a faux wall inside the closet. As he pulled the latch, a thin piece of wood covered with sheetrock fell forward. Slade pulled it out and set it aside.
Behind the faux wall, he sees a stack of about ten VANS shoe boxes. Each is labeled with a sticker indicating the denomination within the box: $5, $10, $20, or $100. Slade reaches for one of the hundreds of boxes and puts it on the desk. Inside are rolls of hundred-dollar bills, pre-bundled in rolls of five thousand dollars. He quickly shoves three of them in his pocket, then puts the box back and secures the faux wall, sliding the clothes back to the center. He slams the door shut as if to tell the world: case closed.
“Let’s do this! Where the hell is Arnold?" Slade says out loud.
About that time, Arnold’s familiar knock is heard at the door: one short; three long. “It's open!” Slade shouts, and Arnold lets himself in.
“Hey, Fatman, ready to go get a car?”
“Hell ya. Phil says his guy will hook me up; cool, huh? And you can meet him too if you want to get the hook up at some point.”
“Thanks, man, I appreciate it. Let's get moving, and hit The Side Hole afterward.” Arnold is in a happy-go-lucky mood.
The two hop in Slade’s truck and head to the south side of town. “Hey, I have been thinkin’: We need a fuckin’ vacation,” Slade says to Arnold. “Let’s hit Vegas!” Slade's mind briefly returns to his spreadsheet tab marked VEGAS with $5,000 at the top.
“Man, Vegas is wired. You know the saying, ‘Those lights don’t burn on winners,’” Arnold pushes back.
“No man, I know that; I said VACATION. Not work,” Slade presses on. “We’ll hit the cheap shrimp buffets and the fully naked strip clubs and drink like a fish. Let’s blow some dough without thinking about making it for thirty-six hours,” he coaxes Arnold. And since he’s already checked out flights and hotel rooms at the Tropicana, he’s raring to go. “Five dimes apiece, and we go nuts. Red-eye out and back, we're gone less than two days. Then, back to the restaurant for you and back to earning for me.”
Arnold stammers, “Hmmm, look, Fatman…” he starts.
“C’mon, don’t be a pussy, come to Vegas with me,” Slade pleads, then adds “Dude. Look, if you don’t wanna, I'll see if Phil, Checkbook, or someone—” Arnold cuts him off; this comment gets him riled up. Slade has successfully triggered Arnold into agreeing to come to Vegas.
“I'm fucking with you, Fatman,” Arnold replies. He leans across the front seat and shakes Slade’s arm. “It's Vegas, BABY!!”
Slade knows Arnold's not that enthusiastic. As they settle into the tighter space of the truck, Slade catches a whiff of alcohol just “seeping” from Arnold’s skin. This isn't the first time. But it’s not something that one mentions.
The two pull up to the Honda car lot and head to where the sign reads USED CARS. Slade is walking up and is met by a sales guy. He indicates he’s there to see Frank.
“Sure thing,” says the salesman and leads him to a glass building, with various cars and several desks separated by cubicle walls. A thin balding guy about Slade’s height walks up with his hand out and introduces himself as Frank, asking how he can help. “Well, I'm a friend of Phil’s, and a few months ago, he told me that you might have a good low-mileage CRX Si around. So I thought I would give it a shot and see what you might have,” Slade ventures.
“Oh, ya, Phil told me you might be stopping in.” He pauses and looks at the sales guy thanking him, shooing him away because he wants this one solo. Look, I got this sweet little number right out back. It has seven hundred and fifty miles on it. It was a demo, and I’ve been sitting on it for you if you want to check it out.
Slade was thinking damn; it will probably be closer to the total price of ninety-five hundred dollars than I had planned. His mind again goes to the spreadsheet as he thinks he might have to slow roll the stereo. “This will be all cash, is that right?” asks Frank. “If I like it”, says Slade, never giving too much away. As he opens the door, Slade sees the all Black little sports car. It's super clean and sleek, like the pictures in the magazines.
That’s a pretty nice ride, Slade says. “Leather inside?”
“Oh ya, this one has all the upgrades possible. It's prewired for subwoofers and an amp that can go under the passenger seat if you want to get the stereo pumped up, replies Frank. Phil said to take care of whatever you needed, so consider this a one-stop shop. And I do mean anything. Phil mentioned you might want some customizations as he has in his truck”
“Ok, good, I have a list of things I will need to be built to my specs.”
Just as the words spill from his mouth, Arnold steps in close to him and says, “Dude, what are you doin’?” in a quiet tone but not quite enough; it's clear that Frank can hear him too. Slade steps back and holds up one finger to Arnold, then turns back to Frank.
“Ok, let me drive it, and if we are good, we can talk price and customizations and go from there. Frank tosses Slade the keys and nods in agreement. Arnold starts. “Do you need insurance or a driver’s license or anything like that from us, Frank? Slade glares at Arnold. “No, man, any friend of Phil is solid business here. We're good. Drive as much as y’all want,” Frank replies.
Slade hops in the front seat and adjusts it, starting it up and sliding back the sunroof. “Super cool,” says Arnold, as he plops down in the passenger side of the two-seater. Slade eases out of the parking bay and rolls onto the street, then looks at Arnold, and says. “Watch this!”. Slade punches it and quickly shifts from first to second as the two feel the front tires slip and screech as they spin a second gear “scratch”[74].
“Wow, front-wheel drive?” asks Arnold.
“Yep, and this baby will do zero to sixty in eight seconds and tops out at one-twenty!!”
“Shit, this is a little rocket,” Fatman.
“Let’s see what this guy is gonna do for us. The new price on these things is ninety-five hundred dollars.”
“Well, it won’t be much cheaper from a dealer since it has less than a thousand miles on it,” Arnold says.
“We'll see; Phil says. He has the hookup, let’s find out—and one more thing. Look, I know you think you are looking out for me, but I got this, let me deal with Frank alone.”
Arnold nods and says, whatever you need Fatman I am backing off.
As they pull back into the parking bay, Frank awaits them.
Well, what do you think he says with a grin.
“I like it. What can you do for me? Will you take that truck in the trade too?” Asks Slade. “Let me hear about your upgrades and I will give you all one price,” replies Frank.
