cape_kore | 003 | Meyer Lansky

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003 | Meyer Lansky | Video

[To say that the video function on the communicators makes Meyer uncomfortable is an understatement, but he recognizes that there are times that they prove useful, so he's grudgingly using it today. When the video comes on, he's smiling and wearing the suit he'd been wearing when he arrived; in his opinion, that's the only outfit appropriate for doing business.]

I don't think I need to go on at length about the fact that we're all stuck here. We all know that. It's a place of many... uncertainties. I also don't need to say that given the uncertainties, there are times we might forget to do things to enjoy ourselves.

[He leans forward a little, his smile growing wider.]

That's why my partner and I have decided to start a card game. It's nothing serious, nothing formal, just a place where people can play a couple rounds of poker, have a couple drinks, talk with each other, maybe be entertained for awhile.

You're all invited to opening night, no matter what level of skills you may possess at playing cards. The way we see it, since money's no use here, people can bring along items they might want to gamble with -- cigarettes, food, coffee, that kind of thing.

This is an unfortunate place to be stuck, but it doesn't always have to be an unpleasant one. If you're interested or have questions, let me know. I'm always happy to be of service.

[And, with that, he cuts the video, hoping to at least have piqued some interest.]

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[If Meyer had to psychoanalyze himself, he'd say that he likes that it's a fast game and yet a deceptively simple one. Beginners are fully capable of playing it, but not everyone can play it well, nor can everyone understand the probabilities behind it. He likes seeing another player's cards on the table, too -- it appeals to his ability to gauge what might be in someone's hidden hand and what might be left in the deck.]

All right. This one relies a lot on the ability to tell when someone's bluffing. Your hand is never visible at any point -- that's good for someone who's not great at bluffing when the cards are on the table, so to speak, but it also means that you never know what anyone else has. We'll talk about strategies for figuring out what people have in a second. For now...

[He deals them both five cards, face down.]

Look at your cards, but don't show them to me. We both have to put one shell in, as our ante.

[He pushes one of his shells to the center of the table.]

Now, based on what you have in your hand right now, the betting round starts. Normally it's the player to the dealer's left that has to bet first, but since there's only two of us, it's you. Remember, you're making your bet based on what you have in your hand right now. I'll explain more after you do that.

[ Ned wonders which kind of bluffer he will turn out to be; he puts one of his remaining shells into the middle and picks up his cards. It's not much, but he has the ingredients to a few potential decent hands, if he is allowed to swap out an ill-fitting card or two. He does his best to keep his face looking bored, impassive. After that ante, he adds two shells as his bet, is unsure if that would be considered bold or conservative. ]

What's your opinion of talking as you play? Would I be more likely to give myself away, or is it a good distraction?

[He matches Ned's bet without speaking; his hand isn't wonderful, but it's decent enough not to fold. As ever, his face is impassive, although he can't help but smile slightly at Ned's bored face -- it's an improvement over his previous attempt at a poker face, that's for sure.]

Now you tell me how many cards you want to discard, and you get that many cards from the deck in return. There're a couple variations on the rules here -- some dealers only allow you to discard up to three cards, some allow you to discard four, and some allow you to discard four only if you also have an ace. When I'm dealing, I usually go with the last rule; you can only discard three unless you have an ace, then you can discard four. You can never discard your whole hand.

[All of that said, he ponders Ned's question thoughtfully before responding.]

It depends. If you're the kind of person who tends to talk too much or too little when they get nervous, talking can be just another tell. If you're the kind of person who's pretty good at keeping up a steady stream of conversation no matter the circumstances -- [He's referring to himself here, really, as much as anything] -- it can provide a decent distraction. In as short of a game as five card draw, there's a lot of psychological warfare; I'd encourage you to try whatever it takes to get the other guys to fold.

[ Ned sits there for a few seconds, eyes intent on his cards, trying to decide what to discard. It's difficult, when he doesn't know what replacements he'll draw. What if he ends up getting rid of something he'd need later for a perfect, winning hand? But there's nothing for it; he has to just take a calculated risk and hope that luck wouldn't be against him too strongly ]

Two, please.

[ He sets down the two cards he doesn't want ]

I'm a nervous talker. I'm sure you noticed.

[ Because Ned in turn has noticed that Meyer notices. Besides which, he's seen Ned in a few different kinds of stressful situations: quite serious, and less serious. Even so, his own tendency to babble remained consistent. It's not something he can really control all that well. When he's anxious, the words just seem to come out of him, hardly in the right order, giving every single thing away ] Maybe when I'm playing for real I should just avoid talking at all, say it's my poker policy.

[ He balks a little at the mention of psychological warfare. Ned takes pride in some things, but he's never had the kind of pride that allows him to enjoy competitive atmospheres. In fact he rather fears and dislikes them ] Psychological warfare hardly sounds like very much fun, to me.

[He passes Ned two cards, then studies his own hand for a moment more.]

I'll discard one.

[He sets aside Ned's discarded cards and his own, then deals himself one. Gesturing to Ned's pile of shells again, he smiles faintly.]

This is the second -- and last -- betting round. Either you can bet something with the hopes of making me fold, or you can fold. If neither of us folds, then whoever has the better hand at the end of this round wins.

[A nod at Ned's comment.]

I noticed that you're a nervous talker. It'd be hard to miss. You could avoid talking at all, or you could talk all the time. If you babble constantly, nervous or not, people'll just think that's the way you are. As for psychological warfare, maybe I make it out to be more serious than it is; I think you'll find winning quite a bit of fun.

[ Ned's hand isn't exactly ideal, but he has a pair of queens, and he is tired of folding. He puts in two more shells - leaving him with only three left. ]

Babbling constantly sounds pretty irritating for everyone else in the game. I don't want to make a nuisance of myself, just to divert attention. [ He watches Meyer, head tilted slightly to the side, wondering if he has any tells to give him away. Ned is sure he's learned to hide them or distract attention years ago. ]

So. Are you gonna fold?

A lot of poker players make a nuisance of themselves -- it's a valid tactic, although not necessarily one that endears you to anyone else.

[At Ned's question, though, he shakes his head.]

I'm not going to fold, no. Let's see what you have.

[His own hand has three of a kind; not the highest poker hand, not by far, but he's confident that it's enough to beat whatever Ned has.]

[ Ned sets down his cards with a small smile that is starting to get just a touch rueful around the edges. Meyer is a good teacher, but if he can't even win a single hand against him, when he isn't even trying, chances are he's never going to win a hand at all. ]

Damn.

[ He rubs the back of his neck with one hand. It had been stupid to even think that that hand might have gotten him a win. He wouldn't be disappointed now if Meyer hadn't been saying all that stuff about how good winning would feel, as if it were a guaranteed thing. Discouraged, he speculates: ] Maybe I should stick to making pies.

[He can see that ruefulness in Ned's smile, and it makes him want to reassure Ned that it won't always be like this, that he does have a good chance of winning at least some hands, that it's ridiculous to think a beginner would win any hands at all on the first day they were learning. He could have let Ned win, and maybe a nicer man would have, but Meyer has no interest in teaching Ned to have false hope -- his interest is entirely in teaching Ned how to play the game properly.]

You're a very good pie-maker.

[His tone is complimentary, but it's obvious he has something more to say from the way he leans forward and looks at Ned intently.]

You could stick to making pies. On the other hand, I like playing cards against you, and I think you have the potential to get good at it. If you give up now, you'll never know. Remember what I said about knowing when to fold? The way I see it, this isn't the time to fold, before you even have the chance to play the game against someone else and see if what you learned rubbed off on you.

[He knows there are other people here who are beginners, and he knows that Ned has absorbed some of what he said. There's no way he'll pump up Ned's ego simply for the sake of making him feel better about himself, but the truth is that Meyer knows himself to be a good teacher, and he already knows that Ned is an observant guy -- it's obvious that he's already learned something, just from the hands they'd played.]

[ Well, that was... unexpected, but rather nice, actually. Ned isn't all that used to people trying to talk him out of his fits of self-doubt. Most of what Meyer said wasn't even necessary; he could have stopped at I like playing cards against you and it would have been motivation enough. Ned remembers why he is learning all this in the first place. Not because he wants to win, or should even hope for it, but so that he can come and participate, spend time with his friends. And Meyer is right - he's giving up before he even really tries, the way he always used to. But he doesn't want to be that person any longer.]

You're right. [ He sits up straighter, smile going warm again as he looks back up at Meyer ] That was awfully maudlin of me, wasn't it? Don't know what came over me.

[ He pushes the discarded hand of cards towards Meyer ] I want to try this one again. But I'm uh- kind of running out of shells over here.

Edited 2013-05-23 06:37 (UTC)

[The smile he gives Ned at this response is quick, but genuine. He's glad Ned isn't giving up -- it isn't an easy game, no matter how easy he may make it look when he plays it himself. Shuffling the cards quickly, he deals them both another five cards, then shoves four of his shells across the table to Ned.]

Consider it a loan.

[It's said with an amused smile as he pushes one shell into the middle for his ante.]

It's your bet first.

[His own hand isn't great -- it's far worse than the hand he'd had in the previous game, actually. He could fold now, probably should, but he'd like to see Ned at least getting through the discarding round, and see if he could turn things around for himself, too.]

[ Ned accepts the four shells gratefully, contemplates a joke about fishy loans, but decides against it. That might be taking things a little bit too far. What Meyer does might not encompass any of that, and he might be insulted at the implication that it did.]

[ So he matches the ante and bets more conservatively this time, putting in just one extra shell and, carefully not looking away from his cards as he does it, practices his fake tell - the brief, nervous pressure of thumb against forefinger. Meyer might notice or he might not; it seems likely he will. He doesn't seem to miss much. It's easy enough to channel his nervousness at whether he is keeping his face impassive enough into that little display of nervousness that is meant to reflect the quality of his cards. ]

Edited 2013-05-23 14:10 (UTC)

[He does notice the fake tell, and can't help but be glad that Ned's practicing; it's a good one, one that most people, if they didn't know it was fake because they'd suggested it, would assume was real. However, he assumes Ned must have decent cards if he's deploying the fake tell -- he hasn't noticed any eye twitching yet.]

How many do you want to discard?

[Matching Ned's bet with his own single shell, he thinks about how this game will run its course; if Ned wants to discard very few, then he'll have his theory confirmed: Ned was dealt a good hand. His own hand has nothing, the highest card being a ten.]

Edited 2013-05-23 14:15 (UTC)

[ Ned might be practicing his fake tell, but he's nowhere near wily enough to outwit Meyer's expectation of his actions. He has a pair, already, isn't sure how much else he should discard, what kind of hand he should be aiming for. Some of that, he thinks, must come with practice. Otherwise, perhaps he can have Meyer write him some kind of chart: what to do in every given situation, based on potential poker hands. Memorizing such a thing might be easier for him than making the frightening intuitive leap ]

Two.

[ He is also practicing his poker taciturnity, hopes that Meyer doesn't find his silence rude. When he gets his two new cards and there's another pair, he does his best to hide his excitement, but find it much harder to hide excitement, rather than disappointment. Ned knows he isn't pulling it off well at all, tries to temper that feeling by telling himself that Meyer probably has a straight flush, that were he playing a real game against lots of people, there is no way he could ever win. It eventually helps, but he's sure he was fairly obvious, in the meantime. ]

I'll take two as well.

[He does, but unlike Ned's cards, his cards give no real improvement. He has a pair, but given the excited expression on Ned's face -- indeed, that's harder to hide than disappointment -- he assumes Ned has more than just a pair of tens. The pie-maker may be a novice, but he's not enough of an amateur to be thrilled by something as ordinary as a pair.]

It's your bet.

[If Ned bets here -- or even raises, which is entirely possible, given the look of excitement that had crossed his face -- Meyer's suspicions about his hand will be revealed. He maintains his impassive face, not indicating that his own hand is bad, but knowing that if Ned doesn't fold here, he himself will be folding instead of matching the bet and revealing his cards.]

[ Ned at least attempts subterfuge; he only places another single shell into the middle, rather than raising the bet. And perhaps caution is a good idea; he'd thought his last hand had a chance of winning, as well, and he'd been wrong then. He can't get a read on Meyer, one way or another. There are no tics, no tells, and his face looking naturally blank, as if he didn't even need to exert any effort to keep it that way. ]

Edited 2013-05-23 16:14 (UTC)

[Meyer knows how to hide any kind of nerves, any kind of emotional reaction. It's not because he simply doesn't have emotions, fear, or nervousness, but because in his experience, showing signs of weakness doesn't just make you lose a round of poker, it can get you killed.

When Ned puts in his shells, Meyer shakes his head and sets his cards down on the table, indicating that he won't bet any further.]

I fold.

[Though he knows it doesn't really matter what cards Ned had -- he could have had anything at all, it doesn't matter since his opponent folded -- but he is curious.]

What kind of cards did you have?

[ Ned sets the cards down, showing off the two pair. He rubs the back of his neck and admits: ] The hand's better than the sorry excuse for a poker face after that second draw. I would've thought it was harder not to look upset, but it's the opposite, isn't it?

[ He hasn't had as much call in his life to hide happiness than he has to hide disappointment and discomfort. He slides the shells over to his pile, doesn't feel any thrill over the win. Is that normal, he wonders? Perhaps it is because they are only practicing, or perhaps because Meyer folded in the end. Or, maybe, he just doesn't have whatever spark it takes to really enjoy winning games, poker or otherwise. Just then, he feels a touch of suspicion, asks: ]

You didn't let me win on purpose, did you? Because of what I said earlier?

[Meyer laughs, flipping over his cards to show that he only had a pair of tens. Even if he'd kept in the game, he'd have lost. This should be indication enough that he hadn't let Ned win, but in case it's not, he says it verbally, too:]

Now I admit, you and I don't know each other too well yet...

[Or perhaps it's more that nobody ever really knows Meyer, and he suspects Ned of being the type to keep secrets, too.]

But from what you do know of me, do I strike you as the kind of guy that would let someone win?

[The answer is 'no', of course, unless it was strategically advantageous to let someone win, and in this case, it wouldn't be.]

Maybe. [ Ned shrugs, looking for a politic way to say what he's thinking. He opts for the conditional tense. ] That depends on context, doesn't it? We are only playing with shells. And besides... if, say, you wanted me to come play at your poker game badly enough, and you thought I'd be a baby and give up trying to learn if I didn't win one soon, letting me win a hand on purpose could be a pretty smart strategy.

[ Because he is starting to pick up traces of Meyer's personality, from the bits and pieces that he's allowing to be seen. He'd lied about the rules of the three-lies-and-a-truth game. He'd recommended Ned use fake tells and psychological warfare; he is a mobster and when his smile goes cold he is pretty well near terrifying. ]

It's not a totally far-fetched scenario.

[Politeness wouldn't have mattered in this situation; Ned had said something accurate, had picked up on what could be ulterior motives. This is good, Meyer thinks, this is the kind of distrust that helps you catch people bluffing.]

You're right. I could have been doing that. I could be lying about not doing it. I could be lying right now.

[A smile, though not his chilly one -- he really does enjoy talking to Ned, finding that they have some unexpected similarities.]

I don't know much about your life. What I do know is that being able to think like that, like you just did, judging my motives and distrusting me, means that something in your life has happened to make you question whether people are telling you the truth when they, for example, tell you you won on your own merit. That's not a bad thing. In this game, questioning people like that, doubting their sincerity... That makes you win -- and you clearly have a natural talent for that kind of thinking.

[He wonders if he's on point here at all. Those are the things that strike him about Ned, that seem to go hand in hand with his nervousness, but as always, he could be mistaken.]

Well, you wouldn't have won with that hand, but I suppose you might have had something better to start with and discarded it.

[ Ned is stalling for time, because what Meyer says is both deeply personal and exactly true. The fact that Meyer knows that that kind of distrust has an origin suggests he's seen some variation of that story himself. For Ned, it wasn't so much a single, colossal something as a long sequence of small realizations, over the years. The best way to avoid drawing too much attention was to be able to see the motivations that laid behind peoples' actions, to overanalyze every interaction almost compulsively. ]

[ If Meyer was hoping to prompt some kind of disclosure (which Ned doesn't really believe) he will be disappointed, but Ned's silence and slightly raised eyebrows speak non-specific volumes. ] Finally a chance to put my God-given paranoia to use. [ It's a bit of a joke, just with himself. Meyer had said his 'natural talent' for suspicion, but it wasn't natural; he'd learned it. Still, 'God-given' can mean plenty of things, and seeing through the bullshit to the inner workings of the religion he'd believed in so strongly as a child had been instrumental in the development of his distrust. ]

It's not the doubting I'm having trouble with, it's the not-smiling. [ They are separate processes; Ned had spotted all of Meyer's lies, and maybe, given enough exposure, would be able to find some kind of tell. But none of that matters when his own expression is as clear as a windowpane. ] Any wise suggestions, there, Yoda?

[Obviously, the Yoda reference goes right over Meyer's head, and he shakes his head a little. He'll never get used to the references people here constantly make to popular culture that's fifty or a hundred years beyond his own time. Just when he thought he'd had an understanding of why people had called him The Count -- a television show about something called Muppets, apparently -- they started referencing other movies he hadn't seen, either.]

It's difficult to fully hide a smile. Even if you do manage to tamp it down somehow, it becomes evident in the corners of your eyes and the corners of your lips. I'd suggest not trying to hide it at all.

[A pause, as he shuffles the cards for no reason at all other than to keep his hands busy. It's true, he hadn't been looking for any kind of disclosure from Ned, but from his facial expression, he knows that there's some truth to what he'd posited before.]

That'll only work if you can manage to smile all the time, though. How are you at smiling when you're nervous?

[ Ned is familiar with the strategy of not hiding at all, if hiding very badly is the only other option. It was why he'd come out on the network to explain his power - or at the very least, own up to a few of the aspects of his power, after they were witnessed, and after that paper full of rumors had been distributed. The solution hadn't been ideal, but it put the information back into his hands, somewhat. Allowed him to control the response to it. ]

Average.

[ He's not nervous now, but he smiles all the same, and it is convincing. Perhaps not enough to fool someone who knows him very well, who knows that his genuine smiles are lopsided and toothy and transform his face as if he's been lit up from the inside. But to an acquaintance, or a new friend, it is enough: better than many could manage. ]

[ Ned had had to teach himself this smile. The only times he'd genuinely smiled, those first few years at school, had been around Digby, and he was alone by necessity, then. Most of the teachers didn't notice his perpetually sullen expression, but eventually it was remarked upon and inquiries were made. He ended up sitting in an empty office with a woman asking uncomfortable questions about how he felt and how his family had treated him before he came to the Longborough School, etcetera. She might not have been wearing a stethoscope, but already at that age, Ned knew doctors when he saw them. So he'd taught himself to smile, and people stopped asking questions. ]

It's a start.

Edited 2013-05-23 18:31 (UTC)

[Ned's smile is convincing, and he offers one in return. It's a reserved smile, a bit shyer, a bit less toothy than the smiles he delivers when playing poker or doing business. It's counterintuitive, he knows, that his genuine smiles are more subdued than his fake ones. For many people, their true smile, the one they try to hide for fear of looking silly or not being taken seriously (in his line of business, at least) is a wide, joyous, animated affair.

For him, though, his true smile is more like a slight quirk of his lips, one side of his mouth lifting more than the other, only the briefest glimpse of teeth showing. He wonders if Ned will assume, like many people do, that his more taciturn smile is his fake one, and that his wolflike grin is his real one, or if Ned will be perceptive enough to see the truth.]

If you smile like that, and do it consistently, you have a good chance of confusing people.

[Obviously, his knowledge of Ned's childhood is sparse, but in his own childhood he learned that smiles can be weapons or defensive walls. He suspects that Ned, like he himself, uses them primarily as the latter.]

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