To Catch a Cheat

D Magazine, Mar 01, 2001 by Bowden, Jeff

EVERY TIME I'VE VISITed Norman Beck, I've left feeling a little dizzy. The fog doesn't lift for a couple of hours. Once, when I was sitting across from him in his office, Beck pulled a baseball bat out of a lunch sack. Another time he took a deck of cards, shuffled them, and proceeded to spell out my birthday, card by card, on the desk between us. We'd never talked about my birthday. When I realized what he had done, I felt as though I had been punched in the stomach. If I slump after such a trick, Beck will grin and say with a slightly nasal and evangelical flourish, "It's scary. There's no way I could have known that."

Beck is a magician. His love is close-up magic, which is what the name implies-manipulations of objects, usually cards, done at close proximity to the audience. Close-up magic requires good hands, something magicians and gamblers alike call "good chops." One recent morning, Beck had a TV set sitting on his desk when I arrived.

I went to visit because I was curious about a case he'd been asked to investigate. One of the governing bodies of tournament bridge had been alerted to a suspected cheater. Beck was sent a videotape to analyze. If he saw evidence of cheating, they wanted him to testify at a formal hearing. Steve Forte, one of the most respected consultants in the gaming industry, later told me, "That tape ended up in the hands of the most qualified person in the world to determine whether the guy was cheating. The cheat didn't know it, but he was playing one-on-one with Michael Jordan." Beck agreed to recreate his testimony for me.

Beck's office is a case study in itself. Hanging on the walls are framed posters from the United States Playing Card Company. The bookcase is filled with oddities: The Expert at the Card Table: A Treatise on the Science and Art of Manipulating Cards, Secrets of the Card Sharps, and a re-issue of Cheating at Bridge. There are suspense novels, psychology books, magic books, and 80-year-old catalogs for gambling equipment. For Beck, they constitute dictionaries and style manuals; he works at a company that underwrites prizes in all sorts of contests.

Every contest inspires a con artist. It's Beck's job to see that they fail.

"This guy here is our guy," Beck said immediately after turning on the tape. He was pointing at a man shuffling cards at a bridge table. The video is grainy and short. There is no audio. "It's better without it," Beck said. Eventually, all of the men at the table shuffle cards. None look at each other, but there is small talk and polite laughter. Card tables extend into the distance. "See that guy on his left, the guy standing up?" Beck asked me. "He's easily one of the top bridge players in the world. He has no idea of what's happening."

Neither did 1. "Is it as clear cut as a car going through a red light?" I asked.

"It's that clear."

As soon as the tape ended, Beck turned off the TV and picked up new a pack of cards and peeled off the cellophane. The late DaiVernon, considered one of the greatest close-up magicians ever, believed that he could tell how good a magician was by the way he took the deck out of the box. Beck takes it out like he was removing a splinter. "The jury didn't see anything the first time it viewed the tape either," Beck said. "It was my job to show them that something funny was going on. I was nervous. I hadn't been on the witness stand in 13 years."

In addition to everything else, Beck was a cop for five years. "There were people in that hearing who I respect. I also have a lot of passion for bridge. To look across the table at someone and say, 'You're a cheater.'Well..." Beck paused; his hands fell to the table. "It's funny," he said. "It never really bothered me as a cop to call someone a rapist or a murderer. But a cheater? I knew what the ramifications would be if he got caught. I can't imagine losing my playing privileges. I love bridge." Beck is a life master several times over.

There is something about a cheater. My wife and I once played a game of spades with a couple of friends on the train from New York to Washington, D.C. Just before we pulled into Union Station, the woman made an odd play. "You said you were out of hearts," I told her. She tossed her cards onto the table and reached for her things. We stared at her. "I know," she laughed. "I've been cheating. Ever since we started." Thus commenced a series of lasts: the last time we played cards with them, the last time we traveled together, the last time they stayed at our house. A person who'd cheat you when you're playing for matchsticks might steal your bath towels. We don't see them much anymore but when we do, my wife and I invariably say to each other, "Remember when ...?"

BECK'S TESTIMONY WAS GIVEN IN A hotel boardroom at four tables arranged in a horseshoe, with the ruling body's committee chairman seated in the center. The suspected cheater sat off to the side and was represented by an attorney.

"What were you thinking when you walked in there?" I asked.

"I looked at him and thought, 'I'm your worst nightmare."'