7 Days to Vegas

You're probably wondering what the hell I'm doing out here

in a 110 degree heat.

I wasn't always so desperate.

At one time I made huge cash and lived like royalty

as I gambled the nights away with the Hollywood elite.

I made poker in LA hip

and made every big hitter scratch and crawl their way to my game.

Now... I was the one doing the crawling.

He looks like shit.

Relax, I just forgot my sunblock.

Yeah, I was the king of Hollywood poker alright.

I thought it would never end.

My name's Duke Madson. I was an actor.

At one time I made good money in a whole lot of movies.

After Hollywood spit me out,

I scraped by doing pitch work and other hack jobs to make a buck.

Hey! You wanna see what else this mop can do?

Yeah!

Emphasis off the "can."

Like what? Give me a reading.

"Wanna see what else this mop can do?" Action!

Hey! You wanna see what else this mop...? Hey!

"You wanna see what else this mop can do?"

That was nice. He's been drinking.

I'd like to zoom in after. I'd like to zoom out.

And action! You know what?

You wanna hear other things? Set.

You're doing "And..." Okay, come on. Can do!

Keep your body still. And action!

This does everything. It'll scratch your back. It'll put you there.

You put the fucking thing in the water. Who gives a shit?

Let's hear some other things this mop can do!

Oh...

After that was over, I was broke and desperate.

To support my family, I started up what I knew best:

A poker game.

Back then, I had my regular crew.

Okay, are we having fun yet, huh?

Here we go. Nickel, nickel ante.

It was five card draw. Seven card stud.

And, of course, Texas hold 'em.

There was Danny, The Magician.

He'd come in his beat up magician's outfit, top hat and all.

He was also a terrible player.

Go ahead, Midge, it's on you.

Don't call me Midge, I'm a little person With a big cock.

That was Bobby Sanders. AK Peanut. A former jockey at Santa Anita.

And, hey, can I get a pillow for this chair?

I feel like I'm sitting in a fucking coffin. Jesus Christ!

He's nervous for a jockey. My crazy brother Carl.

Carl used to be a top publicist in Hollywood until he screwed that up.

He was a two-bit hustler, to be honest. He was also an incessant name dropper.

Did I tell you guys I used to play strip poker

with Hugh Hefner at the Playboy mansion?

Ay...

But the Playmates were naked from the beginning. It defeated the purpose.

You're told to have stories already. They're very bright.

And then there was Wing. Two hundred for me.

He was a harmless action guy I met years ago at the racetrack.

He was the happiest loser I ever met.

Smoked me like Korean barbecue. Abracadabra!

But the secret to my game was to keep everybody happy.

And what a game ! Over the years it got bigger and better.

We were playing two to three times a week.

Players were coming out of the woodwork.

My beautiful wife KC would work the phones like a car salesman.

Curt, are you in or are you out? I need to know.

I knew every trick and nuance from the start.

When to bet, when to bluff, and how to read their tells.

Hey, KC, when the new guy has a big hand, he twitches. Write that down.

Okay. And Danny the Magician. Huh?

When he's bluffing, he yawns. It's a horrible tell.

Got it. Here we go. He's crushing it!

We're gonna play a round of hold 'em but limit.

I was the ring leader.

A friend, a drinking buddy, and a banker.

Gentlemen! Money was rolling in.

Then came my friend Sandor.

You wanna say it's carnival? Let's dance. Let's dance.

Sandor was a compulsive gambler who came from a rich South American family.

Rumor was his mother would send him a million dollars every year,

and by year's end, he'd always gambled it away.

Another thing that made this game great

was there was always some kind of crazy prop bet.

Props were side bets. Wait a minute, I won.

We bet thousands on all kinds of stuff. You name it.

Oh! Oh! Get off me!

He's gonna lose it. Thirty seconds left!

Thirteen, fourteen, fifteen, sixteen!

You're gonna make it! Okay, great, back up.

Go back, go back. Fuck you! Be specific!

Your right, your right! He's gonna kill himself!

No, no, no, no, no!

Damn it! The little runt did it!

All in all, we were happy. We were out of debt. Things were beautiful.

Hundred. I'll go.

Then... it happened.

Oh, whoa, whoa, whoa!

A holdup. Holy... Fuck!

Put the fucking cash on the table! Now, assholes, now!

He took us for everything. Gosh!

KC had had enough. We had to move the game.

Beverly Hills.

Swimming pools, movie stars.

I found this perfect spot in the back room of the Cuba Club.

What do you think? This will do.

With KC by my side, the game exploded.

It became the biggest underground game in the city.

Doctors, lawyers, B-level celebrities. Nobody could play worth a damn.

Hey, hey, how are you? What have I missed so far?

Like this big guy across the table from me, a local attorney.

Sounds about right.

Duke, Rob McNeely, brother! Nice to meet you, man.

Who I found out quickly loved to crush your hand.

From that day on, I called him "Squeeze. "

Ready? Right card.

Carl would hit up the new marks with old school con games.

KC hosted, did the books.

The stakes got naturally higher, and so did my winnings.

I was winning so much cash, we had to bury it in the back yard.

Watch my fingers. Watch my fingers! Ow!

Then a few years later, the poker boom hit.

That guy just bet a million with nothing!

It was all over TV

And everyone wanted to play my game.

Gentlemen, I'd like you to meet Sebastian. Good luck.

Sebastian Salter, the hottest young director in Hollywood.

Humble, compassionate, unassuming.

These were qualities Sebastian would never have.

How're you doing? I'm Duke. I run the game.

I know who you are. You're the pitch guy, huh...

You sell catheters and diapers and all that shit. You're very talented.

Glad you enjoy the products.

I knew this guy was gonna be trouble.

But I also knew he'd be good for the game.

Yo, Sebastian.

I'm Carl, Duke's brother. How're you doing, man? Big fan.

I used to be a publicist. I handled Stallone...

Oh, you handled Sly, did you? No, Frank.

Anyway, welcome to the game, man. Big fan, big fan!

Yeah, yeah. Okay. Good to see you.

Check. This might break your heart.

Too easy, this is too easy.

This guy was good. I thought I was with real men.

And I mean very good.

What was that, third hand tonight? Here, sweetheart.

Hey! Hey, Pitchman. Am I good?

Yeah. Sit down. Sit down. Relax. Nice win.

Nice win. What? About ten grand?

Eleven actually, but who's counting?

It's barely enough to cover a weekend in Turks and Caicos.

But, I like this, and I like what you've done with the place.

This is fun. I like it a lot.

Man, well, you should, you're a good player. You've been playing a long time?

Mm... Six months. Yeah, about six months.

Yeah, I've got a photographic memory.

IQ of 175. I don't brag about it too much, but it's important that you should know.

I watched a lot of poker on TV, I learned, now I'm basically pro level.

Nobody likes a bragger.

Anyway, enough about me. How about you? How'd you feel about my being here?

I don't want to make you uncomfortable having a ringer at the table.

It's your game. No, you're not. You're fine.

You're in the game. It's nice to hear.

It's nice to hear 'cause I've got a plan.

I say we get rid of all these amateur fucks.

I mean ruin 'em. Take 'em to the fucking cleaners. You know what I mean?

Put 'em out on the streets. Put down a lot of good money, you and me.

All we gotta do is get rid of the good players.

Wait. Slow down. Okay? I can't get rid of my friends because they win, you know?

Ah! Just one of my rules.

Also we don't rake here, you know?

We quit at two o'clock and we never cherry pick the players.

We have a friendly poker game.

I get it. I'll be your soldier, brother.

I'll be fucking Tom Hanks in Private Ryan, you know what I mean?

Only better looking.

After just a few hours with this blowhard,

where all he did was brag and talk about his new found poker idols,

Doyle Brunson, Puggy Pearson and Amarillo Slim...

Now, come on, Puggy Pearson gave Doyle Brunson the same bet in the eighties.

Those guys were out of fucking control. That's when men were men.

....who he always misquoted.

"If you can't spot a sailor at the table, you're it. "

Then he started bragging about other things.

Did I tell you I was a black belt in karate?

Ay! This guy was a nut bag.

And as we say in poker, I was priced in, and I had to see the flaw.

With Sebastian playing, he brought in some high rolling friends,

like Angry Jim, who was in the meat packing industry. Or something like that.

Hey, assholes, help push the chips over here.

You want me to throw you down a flight of fucking stairs?

I'll do it, you motherfuckers.

All I know is, you didn't mess with this guy.

Then there was Puppet Hank,

who made millions years ago in the dot com business.

He was a wannabe ventriloquist

who never went anywhere without his creepy puppet.

But when he'd go broke, he'd go a little Tourette's.

Fuck you!

What did he say? I didn't say shit.