Maurice slithered into rooms and slinked out of them. Sometimes you'd be playing and he'd be there over your shoulder stealing a peak at your hole-cards and then smiling that thin grin when you'd be startled by his hot breath on your neck. You never saw him open a door, and rarely saw him enter, but when you did it would be on the heels of another at the last second as the door was almost closing.
His belly looked as though it had a belly of it's own, as he'd wear a fanny pack forward under his nondescript grey sweatshirt, and digging into it would often come with a show of the larger white hairy stomach. Fortunately, he'd often just undo the buckle and set the entire pouch on the table. It was swollen with dollar coins and dirty, wrinkled five and ten dollar bills. They were always sticky and despite his promises to "wash 'em next time" his currency never cleaned up. It was hard not to imagine him trolling a circuit of small denomination treasure troves like under motel vending machines, amongst the dirty cushions of dilapidated sofas in flophouse lobbies, or beneath the floor mats of unlocked parked cars just to get his buy-in every week.
He'd always arrive late, and sometimes his seat would be filled by a part-timer, and he'd rankle his nose at you, glare at his century old pocket watch, and spittle, "Always early are we?" he'd sigh, "Early it is aren't it." Then he fade into the background watching some hands and minutes later he be gone with no one seeing him leave.
As eccentric as Maurice was, sometimes wearing fingerless leather gloves which only highlighted the mechanic's stump rather than concealed it, he was sharp as a whip. Once in a heated discussion about him and much debated realization that nobody knew how he got an invite to the game in the first place, it was hypothesized that Maurice was one of those career panhandlers. Maybe he lived in Old Metairie in a quiet cottage, but commuted to downton New Orleans to prey on the tourists. Yes, you had all agreed it'd be an easy life as long as he had no drug problem, a good patter, and a sympathy inducing aura. He certainly he had the second two and despite the smell of stale cigarettes he never seemed drug addled only odd.
That story quickly became the accepted truth. When Maurice was questioned about profession or education, he'd lapse into his double talk and answer with a wink or a reply like, "Goat milker, tropadore, and sandwich board wearer--this week." He could avoid a question like a silky tongued politican and if cornered would often overbet the pot and put the focus back on to the game.
With few records kept, despite many players being accountants and number lovers, it was specualted that Maurice was definitely one of the winningnest players. He often came in second, occasionally first, and several times he'd be out early. He'd leave with a similar speech each time, along the lines of "I thank you for the trouble of allowing my unskilled, dimwittted play, play amongst you pillars of society, country-club members, and aris-tocracy. I trust you'll allow me to make another donation, same time next week."
His play consisted of amazing calls, bold bluffs, and people reading skills. At times it felt like he could read the cards that everyone held, but if he was cheating he was smart enough to never win too much. You had done some research on sharps and discovered his stumped finger was an advantage in dirty dealing if he was one. When discussion of Maurice came up and this was submitted to some of the players, everybody avoided his deal.
It didn't take long for him to notice he took many uncontested pots when the cards in his hand, and some of the worst players, who's ego demanded they could only be beaten by being cheated, didn't even look at their cards and just returned them to him. He'd smile and finger the button. "Position is a powerful weapon in this game. But what's your favorite position is the real question? Ah, judges?" Then he'd rake a pot.
Yet, despite all those concerns that Maurice was a sharp, nobody ever asked for him to leave or accused him to his face. He was too much a novelty and a breath of fresh air, despite his presence demanding an air freshener for any room, for anyone to really object. Besides wasn't if fun to beat a real life card cheat.
But then one night Maurice brought a friend...
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