FULL TILT POKER BLOG

Posted by Editor | Filed under Uncategorized

Keevo spent most of Tuesday night at a strip club on Industrial. I told him he was free to go his own way, but he left my car unlocked so, for the third time, my navigation system was stolen from my Mercedes. Something good did come out of it, however. Keevo got a piece of advice from a dancer named Chandra (or maybe it was Sandra or Candy). She told him real estate prices were plummeting in Las Vegas, so “why rent when you can buy?” On the recommendation of Chandra/Sandra/Candy, we decided to start Wednesday by looking at Las Vegas real estate, either to rent during the World Series or for me to buy.

So I never got to the Bellagio. I never saw any of the WPT Championship. I never got to ask anyone what they thought the poor attendance at the Five Star could mean for the upcoming World Series of Poker. But I got plenty of mixed signals on my own.

The Strip didn’t look as bad as I remembered it looking in early March. The Wynn actually looked pretty busy. I’m sure they’re getting some extra traffic from Encore opening, but that can also reduce their business, if people are switching from one property to the other. We ate dinner at the Wynn’s deli, Zoosacrackers, which we learned was open until 4 AM. That’s an encouraging sign, isn’t it?

Keevo was the point-man for everything real estate-related on the trip so, predictably, it was a mess. Part of it couldn’t be helped; he called a few days earlier about a two-month rental and we were now asking about making a purchase. But Keevo took a confusing situation and made it worse with his attitude, continuing to tell inconsistent stories and misleading realtors and owners, creating hard feelings and an uncomfortable vibe everywhere we went.

I was not surprised to find that Keevo wasn’t blessed with an overabundance of tact. At one house, the owner was there with the realtor. It was a three-bedroom and, yes, it was small and a little run-down. But it was dirt cheap so I had to take it seriously. The front porch had a mock-up of a little bridge you cross to get to the front door. Underneath the bridge was this small hole that you could fill with water, like a make-believe little pond. Adjacent to the bridge, leading to the street, were blue-colored stones.

Keevo’s fake excitement was scathing. “Hey, Mike! This clapboard shack comes with its own koi pond! And blue stones make it look like the pond runs all the way to the street. Or it would if you had advanced glaucoma.”

There were some great buys but the misery behind them was hard to reconcile with the picture I was trying to paint on the Strip of Vegas on the rebound. Some of the people selling these houses had clearly thrown in the towel, giving up even TRYING to get top dollar. For instance, several sellers neglected to take down their religious photos and artifacts. At one condo, there was a huge manger scene on the dining room table, and a head-and-shoulders portrait of Jesus on the wall. Or maybe it was Duane Allman’s high-school picture.

It was getting late, I was tired, and Keevo was constantly getting us lost in gigantic developments where all the houses look the same, while somewhere, a heroin addict was selling my navigation system to a local pawn shop. The last properties were inside a huge gated community called Spanish Trails. The guard at the gate asked if we were meeting the seller or the realtor, or whether we had them call ahead. The answer, naturally, was no. Keevo tried to get out of the car to get in the guard’s face, but the child-proof locking mechanism of the Mercedes came in handy. While he screamed through the closed window at the guard, I was able to reach one of the two realtors and they gave our name to the guard.

The guard, a mountain of a man named Shaun, said, “A realtor said you’re looking at a house, so I have to let you in. But just to look at that one property. So go, look at it, and get the hell out.”

We looked at it, were uninspired, and decided to look at the other Spanish Trails property. But we got lost and ended up driving all the way to the back of the guard house. I executed a quick (and somewhat noisy) 180 and returned to maze of streets that make up Spanish Trails. Keevo kept looking back, and told me that Shaun was pouring himself into a tiny pickup truck with a flashing light on the roof and following us.

“Hurry! Gun it! Lose him!”

“Shut up!” I told him. “There’s a 15 mile-an-hour speed limit here and the speed bumps are like an elephant burial ground.” I’m pretty sure Keevo muttered “pussy” under his breath.

We were trapped in Spanish Trails. There was literally no place to run so we tried to find the second house. It turned out to be in the last subdivision, on the last street, at the end of the last cul-de-sac. Just as we were about to pull into the driveway, Shaun sped around us and blocked it with his little pick up.

Keevo wanted to jump out and go after him but I beat him to the punch and locked him inside the Mercedes. I walked to the driver’s side of the pickup and leaned against the door. I apologized and convinced Shauna that this was the place we had originally had permission from the realtor to see. He was confused and drove off.

I can imagine this scene when we was berated back at the guard house. “I was going to take a swing at him with my night stick but he got the drop on me and pinned me in. Then the other dude came around. He must have been seven feet tall.”

This house had a great layout and the owners were practically giving it away. I didn’t notice until I got upstairs the three-foot-tall plaster statue of Christ bleeding on the cross hanging above the foyer. Almost as crazy, the first floor study had poker art all over the walls. Keevo asked, “Could this be Jerry Yang’s condo?”

As we drove back to Arizona late that night, I struggled to figure out where I would get the money to make a down payment on one of these places. Keevo, behind the wheel because I was so tired, was hopeful. “I wouldn’t be surprised if Full Tilt helped you with the down payment or even mortgage payments. Think about the money you’ll be saving them by not having to rent a place or stay in hotels in Las Vegas.”

I was just dozing off when Keevo said something about getting gas and veered off the highway. I looked up and saw the familiar sign for Exit 66. Oh Christ.

Before I could even get into it with Keevo, he told me he would be quick. He wanted to get the rest of those unlabeled VHS tapes, and something he referred to as “flavored lube.” While Keevo was inside the Adult Boutique I called uncle Tilty to give him an update and asked for some direction. I mentioned the bad numbers from the Five-Star but how I saw signs of life at the Wynn.

Uncle Tilty said, “The World Series could be down this year but not like the Five-Star. Part of the problem is too many tournaments going on in April. The World Series won’t have that problem.” Andy Bloch had said something similar the day before.

I talked about buying a place in Las Vegas, which Uncle Tilty endorsed, but he seemed surprised when I brought up the part about Full Tilt helping with the down payment or mortgage. “Where did you get a screwed up idea like that?”

“From Keevo.” Pause at the other end of the line.

“What the fuck is a Keevo?”

“You know, Kevin? Your nephew’s friend.” Another pause at the other end of the line, this one longer.

 “That nut case? That moron who almost got Curtis kicked out of Dartmouth? That Kevin?”

Another unbearably long, awkward pause.

“But someone at Full Tilt said I should consider hiring him as an assistant for the World Series.”

Uncle Tilty was beside himself. “No way. I think you could use the help but I’ll be damned if I hire that screwball.”

“I heard he worked for Full Tilt on the European circuit last year.”

“That’s exactly why I don’t want to hire him. Kevin convinced some dope in accounting to pay him in advance in cash. Then he disappeared after a couple of days and we never saw him again. The only reason we know that he wasn’t kidnapped or killed is because he was identified pawning a camera and computer belonging to Full Tilt in Copenhagen.”

I digested this news as I carefully dropped Keevo’s backpack and duffle bag on the pavement and slowly pulled down the gravel path, away from the Adult Boutique. I coasted past the Travel Store, even though I was low on gas and the next service exit was sixty miles away. But I figured I had three or four gallons left in the tank and I was willing to take my chances.

As I drove solo through the black night, I thought maybe the World Series won’t be a total disaster. Las Vegas is resilient and Harrah’s is ready to fight the good fight. The World Series will still draw a lot of players and Uncle Titlty is committed to getting me an assistant.

Things are looking up.

Popularity: 1% [?]

• No Related Post

Permalink | April 30th, 2009 Play Online Poker at Full Tilt Poker

2 Responses to “#736 – This is Where I Came In, Part V, Conclusion – Prisoner of Spanish Trails”

1. KenP Says:
   April 30th, 2009 at 12:39 pm

   Now that you’re sworn:

   Were you in the city of Kevvo’s birth in the preceding year?

   Does Kevvo have a Mont Blanc pen?

   Answer carefully Michael!

   ROFL

2. Pat Says:
   April 30th, 2009 at 1:33 pm

   I was hoping you would ditch Keevo when I read the last part. Kudos

Leave a Reply

Name Mail (will not be published) Website Comment