Mind Scrambler Read Online Free PDF Page A

they call a bolo tie: the silver-tipped, braided-string-through-a-shiny-medallion deals that Texas oil tycoons wear instead of your more traditional neckties.
    â€œWhat?” Rock said to chiseled chest, sounding snippy.
    â€œWe need to talk. About the costumes.”
    â€œWhy?” The way he said it, I was glad Rock wasn’t my boss.
    â€œI think we’ve figured out the quick-change bit. It should work!”
    â€œWell, it better, okay?” said Rock. “’Cause I’ll tell you what: in a magic show, timing’s everything! You hear what I’m sayin’, Jake?”
    â€œYes, sir.”
    Jake.
    Aka the Hottie and Stud Muffin.
    Katie’s new boyfriend.

 
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    Having stopped to chat with Richard Rock, we were in danger of running late for our meeting with Mr. Burdick, so Parker found a bellman to take our bags up to the rooms for us.
    I gave the guy pushing the luggage cart a buck. Ceepak gave him a five. I told the bellhop to hold on while I dug in my pockets, found three more crinkled singles, and a couple quarters. It’s hard to keep up with Ceepak, but I try.
    Then he and I headed back across the casino floor for the escalator that would take us down to the lower level where the Great Wall of Gifts shop, Grand Panda buffet, Uncle Chang’s Ice Cream, and Starbucks were all located.
    Of course, to get there we had to pass by several more banks of slot machines. A lot seemed to have TV themes, like
Deal or No Deal, Gilligan’s Island,
and
The Beverly Hillbillies,
which, up top, had a plastic bust of Jed Clampett clutching two fistfuls of cash.Another machine was called “Cops and Donuts.” Made me feel right at home.
    â€œSlot machines,” said Ceepak as we rode the escalator down. “The crack cocaine of gambling.”
    I was still thinking about doughnuts.
    â€œThey promote the gambler’s fallacy,” Professor Ceepak continued.
    â€œHunh,” I said, which is always enough for Ceepak to keep rolling.
    â€œYou continue feeding the machine money because you think past wins or losses are predictive of future wins and losses. That if you lose on one spin, you are bound to win on the next, as you might when flipping a coin. In truth, every play of the slot machine presents an equal probability of payout. Therefore you play the illusion. Ignore the reality.”
    Illusions. No wonder Rock’s magic act was such a hit. It’s why folks come to Atlantic City: they want to be lied to. Lies give them hope.
    Long ago, pirates used to walk along the Atlantic City beaches holding up lanterns so merchant vessels out at sea would think they were traveling in safe waters, running parallel to the slow-moving lights they assumed to be other ships on the horizon. The real ships would eventually run aground or crash against the shoals. The pirates on the beach would yell, “Yo-ho-ho,” drop their lanterns and bottles of rum, and head out in rowboats to pillage and plunder the shipwrecks they created.
    I guess people are still losing their treasures down the Jersey shore, making shipwrecks out of their lives. The lights are just a little brighter now, the illusions slicker.
    We reached the lower lobby. More slot machines. A bunch based on those
Pirates of the Caribbean
movies. Good choice.
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    â€œWould you gentlemen care for a beverage?” Ceepak asked the three men seated around the small cafe table in Starbucks. One was Gary Burdick. I recognized him from his mug shots. The man to his right was an old guy, about eighty-nine, wearing a three-piece polyester suit from the 1977 JCPenney catalog: plaid with fresh dandruff chunks sprinkled atop the shoulders. The oldster looked like he could really use a double shot of espresso because his chin kept bouncing against his Windsor knot every time he nodded off for a quick two-second nap.
    The third man at the table was the oddest: a black guy with a