Card Shark: Shades of Gray

Part 1

by Dash

When I read Tarabeth’s challenge the other week, I thought it was a good one but didn’t plan on participating because I have two other stories in the works. But, she planted a seed that made itself known Friday night and bloomed into a full fledge short story by Sunday. Thanks to her for throwing the idea out there and I was happy to participate.

I always thank my betas for their outstanding support and job they do cleaning up my stories. This time though, they deserve extra thanks. While checking their email on Sunday morning, they found the news that a) I had written a new story they knew nothing about and b) I’d love for them to beta it ASAP! They rose to the occasion though and did their usual great job. My extreme thanks to K and A for their hard work and support. Any remaining mistakes are mine and probably just not paying attention to their detailed notes. And, as always, to M.

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Even though I caught my first glimpse of him just after ten that evening, I didn’t get my first real look and visual confirmation that it was him for another ninety minutes. Even if I hadn’t been so busy, I think I probably would have dismissed the thought that it was him almost as soon as it passed through my consciousness. He knew he was banned from all the casinos on the strip, especially this one. And he knew what would happen if he was caught setting foot in here again. I honestly didn’t think he would have risked it. He was ballsy, brilliant and a risk taker for sure, but he also wasn’t stupid.

The casino floor was crowded even for a Saturday night and my staff and security had been going from one situation to the next. Once they confirmed with security that the situation was an Issue, I was brought in to make the final judgment call on how to handle the individual.

The annual convention of Dental Professionals was in town and despite the perceived stereotype---or maybe because of it---my staff had rounded several up for disorderly conduct, depositing them into the casino’s private drunk tank to sleep it off for a few hours. Even after living and working in Vegas for the past five years, I was still occasionally surprised. Drunken dentists were at least a welcome change from the know-it-all college students we and virtually every other casino in town had been plagued with over the last year. Ever since the stupid movie “21” had come out, students all over thought they had finally learned how to beat the house and could count cards. In reality counting cards is easy – anyone can do it with a few hours practice and a slightly higher than normal attention span. We had always dealt with card counters, just a fact of the business and the books that went along with it always inspired people to think they could do it too. With the release of the movie, avoiding the tedious job of actually having to read a book, suddenly a whole new batch of card counters was springing up. They were painful to watch and in my weaker moments I actually felt a pang of pity for them as dreams of easy money got smaller and smaller with each turn of a card. In my harder moments I smiled as the dealers, under security’s instructions, actually laughed in their faces as they passed off their secret codes to each other, corrected them if they were off count or greeted them by name, tipped off to their identity and presence by one of our sister casinos around the strip. Mocking could almost be considered a professional sport of many of the dealers.

While we are, to some degree, in competition with each other, the fact that so many of us are owned by the same parent company and in the same business means there’s a degree of cooperation, too. Bi-monthly meetings are held to share some information, new tricks that are being observed and, of course, gossip about what new things are going on in town.

With no dentists currently out of control and the college kids all on their most innocent behavior, things settled into a bit of a lull around midnight. The place was still crowded but the true idiots were done for the night and the drunks hadn’t reached their saturation point yet. After a quick check-in chat with the head pit boss and shift manager of all the servers, I headed toward the staff area to grab dinner. My partner, Charlie Shapiro, tapping into his foster – later adopted - family’s Italian roots, had made homemade lobster ravioli three nights ago – the last night I had actually been home for dinner and I had brought the leftovers for tonight. We had been hissing at each other for the last few weeks, my long hours and lack of time at home causing tension between us. It didn’t help matters that it was a slow time for him at the private foundation where he worked so he had plenty of time on his hands. Thrown into the messy mix, his two best friends’ work had taken them to Eastern Europe and communications from them had greatly fallen off while they struggled to take care of their own business. Finally, we had had to cancel our personal vacation when my second in command was put on bed rest at eighteen weeks pregnant. Life was just not good at home right now.

I don’t know what made me do it, an unconscious gut action maybe because the High Rollers area, while not totally out of my way, wasn’t ON my way to the staff area either. But whatever it was that made me take a left at the fork of the carpeted road instead of heading straight, I privately thanked it when I saw him sitting there.

The table was full and there were several girlfriends, wives and wanna be girlfriends hanging around watching the six men play high stakes Texas Hold ‘Em. But through the crush of bodies, big hair and tight dresses, his dove gray suit stood out like neon to my eyes. Even though I couldn’t see them, I knew that his own eyes were covered by the lightly tinted sunglass he wore. He was sitting at the number six position, just to the dealer’s left, his favorite spot.

Being a true professional I didn’t do a double take like on tv, I didn’t stop and gawk, I didn’t even break stride, just kept on walking but instead of going to the staff kitchen and my ravioli, veered ever so slightly and wound up in a totally different area – the main security room.

“Hey, Mr. Brody,” one of the guards said as I walked into the semi-darkness of the room. The main light came from the massive bank of video monitors that took up the entire wall. Inside the room, three men and one woman sat watching, scanning the crowds and tables for any problem. Each person had their own section of monitors to watch that rolled through the various cameras throughout the entire place. In addition, there were a dozen or so security staff at any one time on the floor.

I nodded to him and smiled as I made my way to the shift supervisor’s office. Jeff Close and I had known each other going on ten years and it was actually his praise and persistence that had gotten me from Boston and my position running a large hotel there out to Vegas and the Casino Director position.

He looked up and smiled as I knocked on his door frame. “Joe, come on in. What are you doing down here?”

Sitting down in one of his visitor chairs, I made a face and nodded to his computer. “I think we’ve got a problem in the high roller area. You want to pull up Camera HRE1?”

Without asking any questions or even hesitating, one thing that I had always admired about him, Jeff clicked an icon and quickly tapped in the camera code. A small window popped up on his screen, the same image that his staff might be looking at in the main room. He clicked another button, expanding the window so that it took up the full screen in excellent detail. Watching for a second, he glanced at me. “What are we looking at? It’s never good to have an empty seat on a Saturday but it looks like just a temporary thing since the chips are still there. Unless you want my guys to start dragging people in, that’s Phil’s whale problem, not mine.”

I smiled and shook my head as I watched the screen. Phil Mendoza was the Customer Relations Manager, responsible for enticing and keeping gamblers in the casino. The Whale Wrangler was his unofficial nickname. “No, it’s not a whale problem,” I said, not taking my eyes off the screen and the five men sitting around the table and the six piles of chips, “it’s a shark problem.” When I squinted and turned my eyes so I was almost looking at the screen off in the corner, just at the edge of my peripheral vision, I could barely make out the light gray shadow to the left of the dealer that told me that he was still there.

“A shark?” Jeff asked in a puzzled voice and then a sudden realization passed over his face. “You mean the Card Shark is sitting at the table now? Can’t be, he hasn’t been seen here in almost a year, I heard the Seminoles down in Florida actually caught him last month cheating at one of their casinos and fed him to the gators. The gators that did him in are supposed to be living in the lap of luxury, like the Grand’s lions down the street. Big tourist attraction that security staff all laugh about, supposedly.”

I looked at him. “Oh please.”

Jeff shrugged. “I don’t know, I’m not saying I believe it. I’m just saying that’s what I heard.” He glanced at the camera again, squinting and trying to look out of the corner of his eyes. “Are you sure it’s him and not just some guy on a bathroom break? I don’t see anyone there.” He reached for his radio, “Why don’t I call someone on the floor and have them do a visual. I’ll stay in constant contact with him while he’s looking and we might be able to get a reliable answer.”

Shaking my head, I stood up. “No, if it is him again and he’s resurfaced, I don’t want to scare him off. Let me do some poking around first and I’ll get back to you if I need any of your men’s help.”

Jeff nodded, glancing at the screen again. “OK, but let me know. If it is the Card Shark again, it would be a nice feather in all our caps to be the ones to finally nab the SOB.”

I gave a quick nod as I left his office, mulling over what I should do next.

The Card Shark, as he had dubbed himself and the press had quickly latched onto, had been plaguing casinos around the country for the last ten years or so, vanishing from Vegas as quickly as a real shark nine months ago. Occasionally news of a new hit circulated around the community but they were becoming less frequently then during his hey-day when it was several times a month. When the news of his exploits finally came to light three years ago it shocked the press to learn that he had been operating for so long, with all the cameras and people and guards involved in the casino business. In fact, the press probably would have never gotten wind of the situation, a situation that the casinos all knew about and were keeping quiet, if some security guard hadn’t blabbed all about it to his girlfriend and then promptly cheated on her with her best friend. The girl’s father, not appreciating how his little princess had been treated, had exercised his revenge a week later from his job - the anchor spot of the 6:00, 6:30 and 11 o’clock news.

The casinos, it was revealed, knew about the problem in two ways - the day after an attack high rollers and dealers were reporting a strange type of memory blackout. They would remember dealing or playing, but not be able to describe who won, what he looked like, sounded like or even how much money he had walked away with. The second clue that told them it wasn’t just too much drinking but was an actual problem was that dealers would find a single yellow plastic shark figure with a business card at the table the next morning. The card, high quality dark gray, would simply read in white letters, “Thank you for your support, Card Shark."

Cameras were reviewed and the real problem made itself known. None of the cameras in the area recorded the action or, any recordings that were able to be made were fuzzy and extremely low quality despite not a single security room guard reporting any problems or malfunctions. When watched in real time, the picture was fine, on play back, it was worthless. None of the cameras at the doors or throughout the casino showed anyone other than the table occupants approaching the area or leaving it. In peripheral shots made from cameras outside of the effect area, everything appeared normal. The casinos were completely baffled as to what the problem was, how it was happening or how to stop it. There was no pattern to when the shark figures would appear, sometimes a month would go by with none and then four would be left over four consecutive days at different casinos. Because of the area and the patrons who frequented those tables, the casinos were further hampered and unwilling to go public with the problem.

After the news broke, the casinos finally spoke to the press. The FBI was called in but had no more luck than the In-House Security staff, many of whom were ex-FBI, secret service and law enforcement. The situation was, in effect at a dead end and shark figures continued to appear every few weeks at casinos across the country.

I had been let in on the secret, back when it was still an industry secret, my third week on the job. Our particular casino hadn’t been hit in a year and management was hoping, praying, that the Card Shark didn’t like to play with us. Probably the first time ever that dislike of the casino was considered an excellent thing. But I had awoken to an urgent phone call on Saturday morning, just over three weeks into the job, with news that a shark figure had been found on one of the tables. The gentleman whose upcoming retirement had made room for me met me at the staff door with a chocolate croissant, cup of coffee and an amazing story.

We were hit two more times in the next eighteen months before it finally happened. Like tonight, it had been a busy Saturday evening. Lots of conventioneers, couples, college kids and random birthday/bachelor and bachelorettes filling up the space and creating the general slightly manic air that people seem to expect in Vegas. I had been making my way to the bathroom, which turned into just strolling around on the look out for trouble in my official report, when I saw him. He had been sitting at the #1 position, which at that table, faced the area entrance and was calmly playing. Dressed in a dark gray sports coat and trousers, white shirt unbuttoned at the top, he looked like almost anyone. Some sap whose girlfriend got too much sun at the pool and had turned in early with a clear Don’t Touch Me sign on her forehead, some guy who was here with his wife ---for him to enjoy the food and the gambling, for her to catch up the sleep she had been missing since they had a kid eighteen months ago---or some convention go’er killing time and unwinding in between sessions on the latest Widget advancement. But, somehow, I knew it was him. Trying to explain in my report what it had been, I mentioned the fact that he had no drink, none of the players or girls watching were talking to him and the dealer didn’t make eye contact even when she dealt him the cards. That was all true, of course, but I didn’t notice any of that until my gut spoke to me and he had already caught my attention. I stood there watching the table for several minutes before radioing security and asking for someone to specifically watch the table for suspicious activity. The problem was I also never saw him do anything slightly illegal and, with a full table, didn’t want to just barge in on a potentially innocent customer. Five minutes later, he glanced up and our eyes met and I knew that he knew I could see him. Whatever he did to the people at the table and the cameras wasn’t working on me. Giving a lazy, half smile, he winked behind his lightly tinted glasses as he casually stood up, scooping up his chips as he did so. We both headed for the exit at the same time – him through the High Roller area, me around the cordoned off area to the spot where it emptied into the main casino. It was about equal distance, no more than twenty steps, but he had disappeared into the crush by the time I got there.

Radioing in for help, security and extra staff who were on standby for such a situation fanned out and looked for the man based on my description. Not surprisingly, no one saw him on the floor and no one saw him leave, but left on the table where he had been sitting was a plastic shark and a business card.

I sat down with a sketch artist, which I privately thought was a complete waste of time, but it made my bosses happy and gave them something to do. It was distributed to all the other casinos around the country and had the predicted results. I seemed to be the first and last person to spot this elusive shark.

We were hit four more times over the next three years, all times while I was off work or on vacation. Jeff and I had speculated on the pattern after the first couple of years and even put out false rumors that I was leaving on vacation and then beefed up security while I played in the High Roller area in various disguises but to no avail. The plastic figures only appeared while I was actually gone and there was no chance of my showing up at work. Obviously, the Card Shark knew whatever he did didn’t work on me and he wasn’t taking any further chances. He wasn’t stupid and knew that there would be serious consequences if he were caught. The casinos hadn’t lost much actual cash since the money lost had been the other gamblers'. But, almost as bad, they had lost face and had someone thumbing his nose at their security. They would want pay back and a lesson taught that would be talked about for years to come.

Personally, I had developed a sort of nonchalance about it. If the Card Shark was caught, great. If not, there were other, more dangerous people out there. He never hurt anyone, never stole anything except from people who were already gambling and risking their money and were probably going to lose anyway. I was more concerned that security focus on the guy who punched the dealer after his fifth drink when she laid down the card he didn’t want or the women whose hands had a bad habit of drifting into other women’s purses and retrieving wallets.

That all changed seven months ago, a Tuesday to be exact. It was a cool day, work had been boring and all I could think about as I opened my condo’s door, juggling a couple of bags of groceries, was how good the chili I had simmering away in the crockpot was going to taste with the cornbread I had picked up.

“Oh good, you’re home,” a voice said from the direction of the living room as I stepped inside and flipped on the light. “That chili smells so good I could barely restrain myself from diving in, but I thought that would be rude.”

I jumped slightly and spun to see him sitting on my couch, idly flipping through a magazine. I stared for a second and then said the first thing that came to my mind, “You’ve stolen god only knows how much money and have broken into my home, but taking a bite of my dinner crosses the line into rudeness for you?”

He stood up and gave me the same half smile he had flashed in the casino several years ago before shrugging. “What can I say? I do have some standards, you know.”

I watched him walk across the room in a calm, confident way as if he was perfectly at ease with the situation. I guess when you’ve done what he’s done for so long, a little breaking and entering isn’t that big of a deal. I didn’t get the feeling he was a threat to me, which, in hindsight was stupid but I was calm about it. I wasn’t thrilled he was in my condo but I wasn’t afraid of him. It’s possible that the blood flow from my brain to my cock was impairing rational thought but at least I’d die a happy man. He had aged ever so slightly and his hair was shorter, a more conservative cut than I remembered from the glimpse before, but that was it. His slacks were black and he wore a gray sweater and the sunglasses that he had been wearing in the casino had been replaced by small stylish black frames that suited him very well. Wordlessly, I put the groceries on the counter and watched him walk into the small kitchen.

He smiled again, this time a bit wider and more open. “If I help you put these way, can I have dinner with you? I wasn’t kidding about how great that chili smells.”

Nodding, I motioned toward the stove. “I brought cornbread, why don’t you turn the oven on to 350, it’ll take about twenty minutes to heat up.” It was a surreal moment and if I had watched this on a tv show, I would have flipped it off as being stupid.

“Oh good, I love cornbread,” he said, digging into the bags and pulling it out.

We were both silent as we put the remaining food away and he slid the bread into the hot oven. Setting the time, he smiled again. “Do you want to maybe go sit in the living room and chat while we wait? I’m sure you have a lot of questions and I know I have some for you.”

The mundane tasks of groceries had calmed my cock down enough to allow some blood to once again flow into my brain and I nodded. “I think that’s a bit of understatement.” Following him into the living room, I sat in the arm chair facing the couch and waited for him to pick a spot. He was staring out the full wall of windows that looked out from the thirtieth floor to the mountains and the southern part of the strip.

“You have a great view,” he commented, turning and settling himself comfortably on the couch. “So, should I start or would you like to?”

My head was spinning again and I nodded toward him, “Why don’t you start? I’m sure I have more questions than you do.”

He took a deep breath, the first time that he seemed even slightly nervous since my arrival and said, “So you can see me? You remember me? What I looked like and all that?”

The question took me by surprise and wasn’t what I was expecting at all. I was thinking more along the lines of who I had told, where the authorities were in their search for him, how much would it cost to keep my silence, something other than c could I see him. “Yes, of course. Clear as day, just like I can see anyone.”

“So you remember what I was wearing when you saw me that time in the casino? When you came after me?”

I nodded, “You were wearing a gray jacket and slacks and a white shirt, no tie. I didn’t see your shoes.” I smiled. “What do I win?” His expression made me smile broader as I watched some of his cocky confidence slip away as he digested the news. “From what I’ve seen and heard, this is pretty rare.”

“Not rare, unheard of,” he corrected. “I’ve never had anyone who can see me like that. I mean, see me when I didn’t want them to see me. Never.”

His voice and expression suddenly touched me and I felt a small pang of pity for him, before mentally shaking myself and shoving the thought that he was a thief and just plain weird into the forefront of my mind. “Well, I can see you and I remember you and if you don’t want me to see you again, you can keep your ass out of my casino.” Adding “and out of my condo” was right on the tip of my tongue but I didn’t add those words.

He snorted. “And why do you think I wait until you go on vacation before visiting?” His smirk returned. “And I mean a real vacation, not those fake things you’ve tried to pull off.” Sniffing the air, he stood up. “Smells like the cornbread is ready, let’s eat!”

“So how did you know which were fake and which weren’t?” I asked, aiming for casual as I followed him into the kitchen. And failed miserably if the eye rolling he shot over his shoulder was any indication.

“As if. Where do you keep the bowls and plates?”

We sat and ate and chatted about mostly casual stuff for over an hour. My guest – I still hadn’t gotten his name – had two bowls, declaring it the most magnificent thing he had put in his mouth in a long time.

“And that includes that eye candy from Thunder Down Under. He was great until he opened his mouth … to speak, I mean.” He grinned at me, the cocky confidence back in full force as if he was daring me to say something. “If he’s not going to speak, he can open his mouth all he wants.”

It was now my turn to roll my eyes. “That’s why you should be going for quality over quantity.”

Laughing, he shook his head. “Until I find the quality, I’m not going to give up the quantity for moral reasons.”

“No, I wouldn’t think morality would stop you from doing much, does it?” The words came out harsher than I had intended, I was liking this guy and the flash of hurt across his face made me want to take them back. But I kept my gaze on him and my face expressionless.

He shrugged. “You might see me, but that doesn’t mean you understand me and until then, you might want to hold off on the judgment.” The hurt had been quickly replaced by a flash of annoyance and he shoved his chair away from the table.

“I understand that you’ve stolen money and do god only knows what to people’s minds. Exactly what don’t I understand about this situation?” I stared at him. “You broke into my house for some unknown reason, were you going to steal from me too?”

“God no!” he shouted, standing up and glaring at me. “I’ve never stolen from anyone who wasn’t asking for it in my life! I’d never do that, that’s just wrong.”

I shrugged. “Sorry for offending your moral code. You’re a thief after all, I’m sure you can understand the mistake.”

“Fine – whatever,” he said, stalking over to the windows and looking out at the glittering lights. The living room lights were off and it was easy to see the view beyond the glass. “I thought you’d understand.”

Call me stupid, a pushover or just brain dead but something in his voice, in his expression, in his outrage touched me. I stood up and made my way to the window and looked out with him. “I’m sorry for not asking for an explanation. I shouldn’t make assumptions. I’m just as curious about you as you are about me.” Bumping him gently, I added, “So talk.”

Bumping me back harder and turning so he was facing me, he whispered, “Or we could not talk.”

We were roughly the same height so when he pushed in and kissed me, we fit together perfectly. Hands naturally going to the right places, bodies melding into one another effortlessly. “Is this why you came?”

He pulled back slightly and grinned, “Well, I can’t say it didn’t cross my mind that this would be an extra, added benefit to getting to know you personally.” He kissed me again, “Interested or do you want to continue to play 20 Questions?”

Later, once I got to know him and his tricks, I would recognize the diversion tactics he employed to get out of discussions he wasn’t interested in and be able to resist them much better. Even now, part of me knew exactly what he was doing but a bigger and rapidly growing part didn’t care and neither did he. We ended up in bed together, the sheets pulled up and the pillows tossed on the floor as we struggled and fought for dominance. God only knows what the neighbors thought but luckily no one called the police. Maybe one of the benefits of living in Sin City. He got a few good scratches and bites in and I knew that my hands would leave bruises on his waist as I eventually overcame him.

“No!” he screamed as I forced him onto his stomach, knees pushing his legs apart.

The fact that he was spreading his legs wide even before my knees were in place, rock hard cock grinding against the mattress even as he arched his back to meet my probing fingers told me that he was thrilled with the warm up and welcomed the main attraction. Alternating kissing and nibbles along his shoulder blades until I reached his neck, I whispered in a low voice, “And you thought I didn’t understand you. Trust me, I see exactly what you like and who you are.” I felt him shiver beneath me and moan as my fingers were removed. Twenty seconds later, condom fully in place, he screamed again, gasping and struggling as I pushed my cock deep inside of him.

That sort of passion burns white hot but is over quickly. Twenty minutes after it began, it was over, both of us out of breath and spent. I had come deep inside of him and he had come moments later. A quick swipe of a towel, tossing the tied, used condom in the general direction of the garbage can and pulling some combination of sheets and blankets on top was all either one of us had the energy for. Covering his body with mine, limp cock pressed close once again to its prize and to remind him of who won, we were both asleep in minutes.

I knew he was awake as I struggled to regain consciousness half an hour later and quickly started to roll off.

“No,” he said softly, reaching for my hand that held his. “Don’t. Please. It feels good.”

I kissed his neck softly and shifted so I was once again touching almost all of him. “So why do you do it?” I asked softly. “How do you do it?”

Beneath me, I felt him shift and take a deep breath, letting it out. “I’ll answer the easiest one first. I don’t know how I do it. I just have always been able to hide myself. I was found abandoned as an infant in a church and quickly taken in by a foster family that adopted me when I was about three. Happy childhood, loving parents, a brother and a sister, white picket fence, golden retriever named Flash and all that. But, I could also-- wish, for lack of a better word-- to disappear and I would. I think my mother could sort of see me, but more like a faint, faint ghost image, nothing clear. I didn’t even show up on film or video. It used to be a fun prank to play on the school photographers.”

I chuckled at the image of a frustrated photographer not understanding what was going on. Kissing him again, I said, “I’m sure that was just the highlight of the year.”

He laughed too. “When you’re too young to drive, you take what you can get. But I was always careful to show up in every family photo. I liked being a part of those.”

“Are they still alive?” Thinking that thieves rarely had life stories that were happy.

“Oh yeah, mom and dad are enjoying partial retirement. Dad works at his golf club a few mornings a week and mom mostly volunteers but she didn’t work after having kids anyway. Tracy lives with her husband in the same town we grew up in near LA and Brad is still trying to figure out what he wants to do. He’s currently in Seattle and part owner of a bookstore, coffee bar, music place sort of thing. I don’t know, but when I saw him a few weeks ago, he was happy. I think he’s gay too but isn’t saying. His roommate and business partner seemed to be more than just that.”

“So do you do it just for fun?” I asked, thinking of the photographer being tormented and thinking there had to be more. “Plus, just being able to not be seen doesn’t guarantee that you’ll win and you always win.”

“Of course I don’t do it just for fun,” he shot back. “That would be stupid.”

I laughed, “Oh excuse me for once again failing to understand the twisted line between fun and stupid and wrong and moral and immoral.” I grunted as he shifted and drove an elbow into my stomach. “Hey!”

“Do you want to hear this or not?” He rolled, dislodging me and turned to face me. “Or we could do something else?” He licked his lips as his hand began inching its way up my thigh.

Grabbing it and holding it close, I pulled it away and smiled at him. “Later. Right now, tell me how you always win.”

He gave a frustrated sigh and sat up in bed, the sheets and blankets pooling around his waist. Shifting so he was looking at me, he gave another cocky smile. “I can see through paper so I can see what cards they have, know when to bluff, when they’re bluffing, whatnot. But, I’d like to point out, there’s some skill involved too. I can’t control the cards so I’m dependent on actually getting hands I can play with and being able to bluff.” His smile widened. “So it’s not like I’m completely cheating. And, the best players always say they can tell what their opponent has in his hand all the time anyway by reading them so this is barely even cheating, just using a skill.”

I looked at him, amazed both at the fact that he could, or thought he could, see through solid objects and also at the mental gymnastics it took to turn something anyone would call cheating into just using a skill and therefore at least morally allowed. “You can see through things?” His half modest nod didn’t convince me. “Stay right there,” I said, getting out of bed.

Laughing he fell back on the mattress. “Oh goody, is this where you’re going to test me? Let’s see... which is it going to be? Are you going to write numbers on a legal pad? Ask me to read a headline from inside a magazine? If you’re going to do that one, at least pick that porn magazine you’ve got in the bathroom, not The Advocate from the living room. Might give us some ideas to try later.”

I knew he was goading me, could hear the cocky tone of his voice and I struggled to keep my mouth shut as I put down the legal pad. Writing on it was my original idea but there was no way I could do that now. Thinking for a second, I head into the kitchen. A minute later, a Whole Foods paper bag in my hand, I held it up from the doorway. “What’s in here?”

He smiled as he sat back up. “Oh good, at least it’s something original. Let’s see what you’ve got in there.”

Trying to watch hard, see what he did, what trick he used, I studied him studying the bag. His face got more serious and I could tell he was concentrating and then slowly, one eye began to close as if he was winking in slow motion. His left eye tightened and widened several times and I could see his head moving a bit as if he was actually looking at everything I put in the bag.

A minute later he smiled and looked at me, both eyes wide open. “Do you think you could have put more junk in there?”

“What did I put in there?” I countered.

“Well, you’ll have to forgive me if I missed anything really small like a grain of rice, but I know all the big stuff. You’ve got a can of corn, a stroganoff seasoning packet, a stick of butter, a slice of American cheese that’s getting kind of old and dry around the edges, an egg, 100 calories pack of Lorna Doone cookies and a peppermint candy.”

There was no questioning in his voice, no searching my face for confirmation that he was right because he knew he was right. It would have been like me reading a first grader’s book or the headline from a newspaper. Easy, quick and without question of ability. “Yeah,” I said simply, putting the bag down on the dresser, slightly stunned.

His eyes met mine full on, matter of fact and confident in a calm, collected sort of way. Getting up off the bed and padding over to me, he kissed me gently. “Come back and sit down and I’ll tell you the rest.”

When I woke up the next morning, sore and spent from the evening’s activities, he was gone. I lay in bed or the mess that had been a perfectly normal bed the day before and thought about the previous eight hours. He had explained that the money he won, as he insisted on calling it, was given to his private foundation and then doled out to various charities. It was simple and legal, to a degree, and was the perfect mix of a good, family approved job that he could legally report to the IRS and friends but at the same time, allowed him to put his powers to good use. He had explained that he considered himself a 21^st century Robin Hood.

We alternated between talking, kissing, fucking that turned into a gentler, slower making love – more kisses and soft words than thrusts and moans – before we ran out of words and energy and I fell asleep. I wasn’t sure when or where he had slipped off to and I wasn’t sure if I would see him again.

Two weeks later, I found a plastic shark in my mail box. I hurried upstairs and felt myself smile as I saw him once again sitting in my living room, the tv on low, coke sitting on a coaster on the coffee table as he read a book. Trying to act casual, I shut the door behind me and headed in his direction. “Why don’t you make yourself at home, get a sandwich or something?”

He grinned and nodded toward a napkin next to the coke. “I did and…” His voice trailed off as he suddenly looked uncomfortable.

“What?” I asked, reaching out for him.

“I’d like to … make myself at home I mean.”

He officially moved in two months later and we’ve both been adjusting to the new routine, rules and lifestyle ever since then. The adjustment has been much bigger on his part but it’s what he wanted, asked for and has more or less willingly lived ever since.

As I made my way through the casino floor crowds, I mulled over how to handle the situation. He was still there, playing and being ignored by the whole table as he easily and smoothly took their money. I knew he had been meticulous and honest when he said that every cent he "won," as he insisted on saying, went into the Foundation and 90% of that went on to various charities. It operated under the radar as much as possible, shunned all publicity and was always listed as “Anonymous” in publications. He wasn’t interested in taking anything, considered it good fun and a natural talent that he could put to good use... at the same time getting to exercise his cheeky attitude and thumb his nose at the rules. My rules, our rules though weren’t ones he could thumb his nose at.

I stood fully in the entrance to the High Rollers area until he looked up and saw me. I glared and cocked my finger at him, causing him to give the smile that conveyed some embarrassment and sheepishness, some confidence with a healthy dose of devil-may-care attitude mixed in. When he came out of the room, wisely leaving his chips on the table and no shark behind, I glared at him. “Follow right behind me and I mean it, if I stop suddenly, I want you bumping into me, got it?”

“Of course!” he exclaimed, as if the thought of running had never crossed his mind. And, in reality, it probably hadn’t since there was nowhere he wanted to run to.

Three minutes later, he was in my office and I slammed the door shut, turning around and glaring at him. “Exactly why are you here, Charlie? What are you doing?”

He shrugged, casually sitting on the edge of my desk. “I would have thought the ‘what’ was fairly self-explanatory. You know that I’ve taken a hit lately in the stock market …” His voice trailed off as his expression shifted and hardened slightly. “Or maybe you don’t know that since you’re never home. “

“That’s not fair,” I shot back.

“Of course it’s not, Joe but what do you expect? I’ve barely seen you the last month, you barely pay attention to me even when you are home, so I figured I might as well look at recouping some of my losses, kill some time and coming here seemed to have the added bonus of maybe, just maybe, get a glimpse of my lover.”

I moved closer and could feel the heat rising between us, “It’s my job.”

“And this,” he said, reaching into his jacket pocket and pulling out a small shark, “is mine.”

“That’s not a job,” I shot back. “That’s illegal.”

He stood up, eyes hardening. “Actually, it’s not and you know it. The law simply says I’m not allowed to use any foreign or mechanical means to count or alter the deal. I’m not. I’m using god given talents, the same as anyone who can read expressions or count cards and I’m a welcome guest at your casino – I’m over 21 and not on any bar lists.”

I had heard this argument from him before and had to admit that, strictly speaking, he was correct. “But that’s not what we agreed to. That might be the Nevada and federal laws but that’s not our rules.”

He shrugged. “Sometimes I don’t feel like living by our rules all the time. Especially when I’m the only one who’s doing it, it seems sort of pointless.” Crossing his arms, he eyed me coolly, exactly like a shark appraising the situation.

I looked at him and knew he was right. I had been ignoring him lately, partially going through the motions, mouthing the words when I remembered and that’s not what he wanted, needed or what we agreed to. I was the first person to clearly see him and he was depending on me to continue to see him and I had been letting him down. I could also see the wall he had built up over the last month, separating himself from me slowly until finally tonight, our rules no longer mattered and he did what he wanted. Leaning over, I pulled him close and kissed him hard. It wasn’t the perfect solution, I knew, and probably most professionals would recommend talking, not fucking, but it worked for us and I knew it would shatter his wall, reconnecting us both so we could talk tonight.

He pushed back against me, trying to get away, twisting even as I held him tighter. “Joe,” he said before giving a low moan as my tongue captured his mouth. He grabbed my shirt and yanked it up, freeing it from my slacks and gripped my waist.

Kneading his butt through his slacks, I pressed him closer to me and ground my own hard cock against his. The friction was driving me faster and I could feel his breath picking up as his muscles tensed. “You’re mine,” I said in a harsh whisper. “I’m sorry for not reminding you of that often enough or showing it but never doubt that I feel it and know it and want you every second.” My hands found his belt as his found mine.

“No,” he said as his slacks pooled around his feet and he clumsily stepped out of them, hands not leaving me as my hands held him tight.

Swatting him hard across the butt, I turned him around and bent him, sliding his boxers down in one smooth motion that left him shivering and panting hard. I was behind him, spreading his checks wide as a lubed finger slid inside a moment later. I’d like to think that I was always proper at work but the fact that I kept lube in my personal desk drawer and that this wasn’t the first time that Charlie had visited me at work, even though he had always visited as himself, not his alter ego in the past, told the real story. I finger fucked him as I ground up against him, pushing him against the couch to hold him still and deny him the release he was craving, the whole time kissing him and listening to him moan beneath me.

“Joe, please,” he said as he vainly struggled to stand up and escape or find release through his own hands. Gasping, he arched his back and almost buckled at the knees as I pulled my finger free, replacing it with my cock a second later. He cried out as the head slipped inside, stretching him wide, and he struggled again against the couch. “No,” he moaned again.

Leaning over him, I pushed my way completely inside, covering him with my body, his legs spread wide on either side of mine. I wrapped my arms around him and slowly, carefully helped him stand straight up, driving my cock deeper inside and causing him to cry out again, his head falling back to rest on my shoulder as he arched his back, panting and squirming.

“Yes,” he breathed out as he relaxed into the sensations that were overwhelming him.

I kissed him again. “We’re a perfect fit.” I felt him nod, his face slick with sweat and a few tears as I carefully positioned him back over the couch and began the hard, dominant thrusts that I knew both of us craved as I reminded him of my role in the relationship and he willingly submitted to it.

Twenty minutes later, he was curled up on top of me on the couch, my hand resting on his bare butt and his head resting on my shoulder. He sighed and shifted and I squeezed tight.

“What time will you be home?” he asked softly.

“If you stay here, I’ll finish up a couple of things here, make sure everything is fine and we can go home together in an hour.” I felt him nod and tense slightly. Rubbing his butt gently, I kissed him again and waited for him to ask the question I knew was on his mind.

“Are you going to spank me when we get home?”

“Not when we get home but tomorrow for sure and you know I’m going to paddle you.” The words were simple, straight forward and matter of fact. One of the areas where there was no gray in his life.

He sighed. “I was hoping that you’d reduce that to a spanking since you were partially to blame for me being driven to my old ways by your ignoring me.”

I chuckled, “We’ll see but don’t count on it.” I kissed him, deeper this time, hand tightening on his butt. “And I won’t let it happen again.”

Shrugging, he said, “Oh well, the Card Shark has to surface every now and then in Vegas – it’s too sweet of a spot to avoid totally. It would ruin my reputation and I have to keep the myth and the mystery alive.”

“This is true, but not in my casino.” Not hearing the immediate agreement I wanted, I swatted him hard, causing him to yelp. “Not in my casino,” I repeated.

“OK, ok, not in your casino,” he echoed with a slightly laugh in his voice.

The End