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“I’m not the same guy I was back in Boston.”
Ben Campbell, 21
The intro music to the 7 a.m. segment of ESPN’s Sports Center was enough to wake us both out of a half-sleep. Too excited about starting our day, we both chose to skip a morning workout. Over the years I would try to find a nearby 3- to 4-mile running route or I’d join D.A. at the gym for an hour-long cardio and lifting session. But today was different and we knew it would be. That’s why the schedule didn’t begin with exercise, it began with fuel—breakfast at the café where we would go over our plan of attack one final time. After that we wouldn’t talk to each other until later that afternoon in the hotel room except, of course, through hand signals, text messages, code words, and the occasional exchange of money.
| 8:15—9:15 a.m. | Bellagio |
| 9:30—10:30 a.m. | Caesars |
| 10:45—11:45 a.m. | Mirage |
| 11:45—12:15 p.m. | Lunch on our own during the shift change |
| 12:30—1:30 p.m. | Mirage again (different shift) |
| 1:45—2:45 p.m. | Caesars |
| 3:00—4:00 p.m. | Bellagio |
| 4:00—5:00 p.m. | Break in the hotel room |
| 5:15—5:30 p.m. | Taxi to Mandalay Bay |
| 5:30—6:30 p.m. | Mandalay Bay |
| 6:30—6:45 p.m. | Taxi to MGM |
| 6:45—7:45 p.m. | MGM Grand |
| 7:45—8:45 p.m. | Dinner at New York-New York during the shift change |
| 8:45—9:45 p.m. | MGM Grand |
| 10:00—11:00 p.m. | Monte Carlo |
| 11:15—12:15 a.m. | Bellagio |
Depending on how each session went, we would have between 10 and 12 hours of play for the day—about 25 total between the two of us. Not bad for one day’s work. We targeted 60-minute sessions, but allowed them to run to 90 minutes if things were going really well and we were in the midst of a hot shoe. Sometimes, however, if we got off to a fast start and doubled our per-session bankroll of 50 units, we’d call it quits to remain inconspicuous. We also quit if we felt heat of any kind—a lingering watchful eye of a pit boss or an obvious phone call to surveillance with the floorperson describing our appearance—this was the type of risk that we avoided. But there was another risk that card counters often misunderstood and that was the lack of any attention at all. If a floorperson or pit boss failed to check in at the kiosk every few minutes or so, a red flag would go up. Casino pit personnel aren’t often given much credit for their intellectual shrewdness, but completely discounting their experience and capabilities can quickly lead a professional blackjack player to retirement. On the other hand, fabricating heat because an underpaid, undereducated, cheaply dressed “suit” on the inside of the pit picked up the phone to flirt with another floorperson in the adjacent pit could mean opportunity lost. At the start of my blackjack career I’m sure that I prematurely left potentially profitable situations because paranoia got the better of me. But to underestimate the capabilities of your enemy could also prove troublesome—the result being asked never to play at that casino again.
A fine line existed between what constituted real heat and what was simply insecurity. Reading other people, a skill attributed to poker players and salesmen, was a necessity in the game of blackjack as well. So we targeted 60-minute sessions, but built in enough leeway to capitalize on a hot shoe or protect our playing longevity.
Each session would consist of three tactics.
First, we would each wong and back-count two tables, then sit down ourselves when the count got good. After the shoe ended, we’d continue to play through subsequent shoes at nearby tables. Then, when a table got hot and the count was high, we’d stand up and stretch, signaling the other player into the game. That player would morph into the gorilla big player, accepting betting and playing signals while appearing disengaged.
The next time the shoe got cold, the player who’d been doing the signaling would leave. Precisely two hands later, the remaining player would do the same.
The last step of the session would be straight call-ins, using our arm-folding and head-scratching signals. We would each back-count two tables.
The player who called in the other player would then get a head start to the next casino on the schedule, while the player who was called-in would play through the hot shoe before making his way to the next session.
We repeated the routine over the course of several trips. By using the three different tactics, all within one session, it was very difficult for surveillance to identify a pattern. One minute we’d be sitting down and betting big, another minute we’d be signaling big bets to a teammate, and yet another we’d be calling the teammate into a hot shoe. For a 60-minute session, that was a lot of change for surveillance or pit personnel to process. Sometimes we wouldn’t even have enough opportunity to complete the triad, only getting two cycles in before our time was up.
Aside from the gorilla big player approach, the goal was flying under the radar. So while we knew that the objective of an enduring shelf life was best served that way, we couldn’t help but recognize how little attention the most boisterous of our characters received. After all, we thought, the gorilla big player was drawing attention to himself rather than staying out of the way. It started to dawn on us that maybe there was something more to that idea. Maybe there was another way besides the chameleon approach. But for now, that didn’t matter. This was our first team trip to Vegas and we knew there would be many more to follow.
Our successes continued. Not only had neither of us been backed off with the new approach, but we were fairly confident that we hadn’t gotten any heat at all. The sessions were short and our attacks were precise. We were in and out of each casino before they could identify what had really happened. Of course, we knew that our small, two-man team wouldn’t bring Vegas to its knees—not by a long shot. But it was a war we were fighting nonetheless, whether they knew it or not.
Our first battle was fought that weekend and we came out on top.