Killing Sends Tremors Through City's Illegal Poker Scene

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Killing Sends Tremors Through City’s Illegal Poker Scene
by Thomas J. Lueck

For years, they have operated in the shadows of Manhattan. With names like Straddle, the Fairview, Playstation and the New York Players Club, they are remarkably well organized, but nonetheless illegal: poker clubs that attract thousands of players at all hours of the day and night.

The players run the gamut, from cabdrivers to retired accountants, with a remarkably large contingent of young, well-paid professionals — people who consider themselves law-abiding citizens and play only for the love of the calculated bluff or the well-played wager.
Their numbers have grown swiftly as poker has vaulted into the spotlight of American pop culture. Texas Hold ’Em tournaments compete for prime-time TV viewers, and the image of the dimly lighted, vaguely sinister poker game has claimed a favored spot in movies. (In a current thriller, “Michael Clayton,” George Clooney first appears on the screen as an emotionally taut player in a back-room poker club in Chinatown.)

In reality, Manhattan’s players are part of a secretive network of “members,” who can join games only after being vouched for by others. Once they are in, they make their way to small, unremarkable office buildings, passing security guards hired solely to protect the club, and enter a clean, well-lighted world of civilized, even businesslike gamesmanship, according to several players who were interviewed. Most agreed to speak only if their names were not disclosed because they did not want to attract the attention of the police.

“I have never seen anything like a criminal element,” said one, a 29-year-old producer for one of Manhattan’s best known broadcasting companies who has been a regular in the poker clubs for five years. “It more closely resembles a retirement home bridge party.”

But that was hardly the atmosphere at 11 p.m. on Nov. 2, when armed robbers in masks forced their way into a crowded club called the City Limit that had been operating for less than two weeks in a seventh-floor office, above a gym, a graphics business and a real estate office, in an unadorned building at 28th Street and Fifth Avenue. One player, Frank DeSena, a former math professor from New Jersey who was a familiar and well-liked presence on the poker club scene, was killed by an intruder’s shotgun.

There have been no arrests in the case, and the police have declined to confirm published reports that the robbers pointed a gun at the head of a security guard to gain entry, and accidentally fired the shot that killed Mr. DeSena.

The killing led to an obvious conclusion — that armed criminals knew the location of at least one supposedly secret club — and sent tremors through the closed circle of Manhattan players and club operators.

“A week ago, there were two or three rooms operating in Manhattan, but now there are zero,” said Steven McLoughlin, a poker aficionado who moderates a poker discussion at twoplustwo.com and closely follows the Manhattan club scene. “You don’t know what can happen.”

A former employee of Playstation, which was one of the largest of the Manhattan clubs until it was closed in a police raid in 2005, said the killing of Mr. DeSena was “the kind of thing we always feared the most. People are really shaken, and this may make them think differently” about going to the clubs.

Nevertheless, it has attracted broad interest in a semisecret world that seems filled with contrasts: responsible adults slipping into clandestine locations like spies in the night, poker stakes of hundreds or thousands of dollars routinely won and lost in an atmosphere of warm conviviality, over pizza, and even milk and cookies, according to the players.

Of course, the profile offered by those who were interviewed in recent days may not fit all underground poker games in the city. High-stakes games in which some players cannot afford to lose, and could be threatened with physical violence if they do not make good on their losses, have historically been part of the gambling underworld and are unlikely to have faded completely from the scene. But the players interviewed said that the Manhattan clubs they frequented for years adhered to an almost universal set of rules: no liquor or drugs are allowed, no bets are accepted on credit, and no one is allowed to play without passing muster among fellow players and being granted membership, sometimes with a fee.

“There are regulars who probably spend too much time in these places, and that is sad to see,” said the broadcast producer. In his five years of experience, he said, there were about five clubs operating in Manhattan at any given time, and he had played at a total of 10, in commercial buildings on the Upper West Side, Midtown, Chelsea, the Flatiron District, the East Village and the West Village.

“But the overwhelming majority are not compulsive gamblers,” he said. “They do this as a way of blowing off steam, and that is healthier than sitting in front of the TV.”

Under state law, the operators and employees of the clubs can be arrested, but not the players. The law makes it illegal to “advance or profit from illegal gambling,” even if the operators do not take a cut of the winnings. They can be guilty simply by providing rented space as a poker club.

Police crackdowns have been periodic in New York City and across the region. On Wednesday night, officers shut down poker parlors in seven towns in Suffolk County, and seized more than $10,000 in cash.

On May 27, 2005, police officers in Manhattan shut down two clubs: Playstation, at 4-6 West 14th Street, and the New York Players Club, at 200 West 72nd Street. Each of the clubs had more than 100 players in attendance when the police arrived, and 39 employees, including dealers, waiters and security guards, were arrested.

But the police acknowledged at the time that they found no weapons, alcohol or drugs in the two clubs. At the New York Players Club, customers were offered valet parking. At Playstation, club waiters were serving Oreo and Chips Ahoy! cookies. The police said both clubs were incorporated businesses that followed fire codes.

The former employee of Playstation had worked at the club for three years, was covered by employee health insurance, paid taxes and was entitled to unemployment compensation after the club closed.

The people interviewed for this article would not say who sponsors and operates the Manhattan clubs, but insisted that there was no hint of involvement by organized crime. They said operators tended to be devoted poker players themselves, who rented office space and opened their clubs largely out of a love of the game and their friendships with other players.

In most cases, players said, they pay the operators based on the time they spend at a table. Few, if any, of the operators claim a portion of the poker winnings. “You sit at the table and every half-hour, or maybe every hour, a bell goes off meaning that everybody has to pay their rent,” said the producer. A typical charge, he said, was $8 an hour.

Despite the enthusiasm of players and their vigorous defense of the clubs, they said it remained to be seen how much of a chill would result from the recent killing. They said the sense of outrage among many players was heightened because Mr. DeSena, 55, was a popular player on the poker circuit.

“Frank was a poster child for the type of person they try to attract,” Mr. McLoughlin said. “He was a sweetheart of a man who always wanted to say hello to everybody, always wanted to shake everybody’s hand.”

“He was a skilled player, and when he lost a hand, he would simply smile,” Mr. McLoughlin said.

The former employee of Playstation said the episode seemed certain to keep players away for some time to come: “Maybe two years from now people will forget about it and come back. But I’m not a gambler myself, and who knows, maybe they’ll be back sooner than that.”


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