I strolled into No se at around 12:30 on a Sunday. The casino was active and the slot machines were singing their usual chaotic and whimsical songs. This place was huge, way bigger than I thought it was. These massive casino’s really are a labyrinth of neon and noise.
I was looking a bit disheveled, perfect for my act. Unassuming, middle-aged slob, maybe a little more on point than I’d like. Nobody maintained eye contact as I wandered around and familiarized with the place. Nobody, not even I, knew what kind of ride I would take this casino for.
I do my usual cereveza purchase at the bar and head towards the tables. I tend to hover by the roulette table while scanning the pit to decide where to play. It’s interesting watching people try their betting systems. Some day I’d like to see these systems pay off. All the tables are full, but I notice a couple get up after the last hand of their shoe. That’s my cue.
I sit down and the dealer greets me in a casual and friendly manner. We strike up a conversation about Vegas and his recent trip as I buy in for $300. Just as he’s about to deal the first hand, the floor manager walks over to my table and politely asks for my ID. I automatically oblige hoping that this is just an age check.
He looks at my license and in a surprisingly inquisitive tone asks, “What’s your date of birth?”
“Not My Birthday” I reply.
“Drivers license number?” He continues.
“… You can’t be serious right?” I ask as I take his words at face value, and slowly wondering if this could be real.
He and the dealer begin casually laughing as the manager reaches over for a fist bump.
I laugh along with them as he had seriously raised my heart rate a bit. I wasn’t used to this kind of banter and he had me a little worried.
He offers me a beer which I happily accept and he even offers me some birthday cake which I decline even though I was a bit hungry. The mood is light and I had started to win these guys over. Mark starts dealing cards and it’s time to get started.
The count begins pretty neutral. I shoot the shit with the dealer feeling confident. For the first time since I started, I believe I know what I’m doing. No doubts, no second-guessing.
As the count rises, I start to lose a little, and I hold back on raising my bets at a true 1—this is cover. I press some wins here and there, making it look like I’m chasing, not retreating.
The count keeps climbing, and I toss out $50 bets. I double down with a soft 19 against a 5. This is a deviation I haven’t performed in a real game yet—and it pays off. $100 for that hand. My chip pile starts to look noticeable, but I keep my cool.
Then a flood of small cards falls, and suddenly we’re at a True 5, max bet range. I’d be sweating if I hadn’t been winning almost every hand. I put out a $200 bet and receive a 16 versus a 9. A bad place to be, but I stay. This is another deviation at a True 4 and above. The dealer shows a 3, then a 10. +$200! I celebrate with the dealer, who exclaims, “You’re running hot, man!”
Next hand is another $200 bet – bang a blackjack. +$300.
The count dips a little, and I lower my bets—$150 here, $50 there. I manage two more blackjacks, and cannot seem to lose a double. The dealer and floor seem to talk less now, a shadow of worry flickering in their eyes—I have no idea how much I’ve won at this point.
I find myself back at a true 5, betting $200 on the last two decks. I take my first real max bet loss—nothing to worry about. Then I rattle off a series of pushes and wins to close out the shoe. And then, the final hand.
The count is barely high enough for another $200 max bet, and I know it’s gotta be the last. I get a 20 and the dealer shows an ace. Again, I’m in that desperate spot—$200 out, with no insurance against a blackjack. Lucky for me, nobody’s home. I stay, dealer flips an 8. Another max bet WIN!
At the end of the shoe I immediately color up my chips. If I had to guess surveillance is running my game as we speak. The dealer quietly stacks $1,420 in chips, and the floor manager nods solemnly, confirming the tally. I toss him a quick $5 chip, he rolls his eyes at me probably thinking, “Really? A $5 tip on a thousand dollar win?” I bolt, hoping they forget everything about me.
I had just made $1120 in 7 minutes.
My EV for that 7 minutes was $9.
I head towards the cage, cash out no problem, and am walking with purpose towards the parking lot. They don’t have my info and frankly, I don’t want to talk to them.
As I wait to cross the street, a security car rolls by slowly. I half-expect a confrontation, but they just cruise on, moving over a speed bump. I breathe a sigh of relief and start making calls—mom, dad, girlfriend—my hands still trembling, adrenaline still rushing.
This was an unlikely win, no doubt, and I’m ecstatic. I feel a rush of joy, knowing I played that shoe flawlessly. I feel flicker of caution. The next session, next shoe. The victory’s sweet, but I won’t get complacent. The game isn’t over yet.
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