I remember this sad story from last year. I found it reported again in Citizen Magazine. Excerpt below:
"He told Moner hed been playing at the MGM Grand Detroit, but that hed lost too much over there and was going to try his luck at MotorCity, at the high-limit blackjack tables, where you can forfeit $5,000 on every hand and no one says a word. Moner would not join him.
Win me some if you can, he told Solomon.
And Solomon did win, at first. A half-hour in, he was up $2,000. He started out in Pit No. 12, Blackjack Table 83, before moving to Table 84, then on to other tables. But he was making odd bets, dealers said, and he kept changing his wager: $4,000, then $500, then $700, then $100. He tried playing two hands at a time, at $500 each. He visited the ATM. His fingers trembled. He came back to Table 84. He produced a little black book from his pouch, called it his profit and loss book. He showed the dealer that hed handed over several grand at the MGM the day before. He bad-mouthed casinos, complaining that they, too, keep track of whos winning; that they only say something to you when you win, never when you lose. He said he was from New York, and that he liked to gamble in Florida. He drank only cranberry juice. He said winning or losing meant nothing to him.
The dealer at Table 84 went on break. His replacement was a woman, and Solomons luck had soured. With each losing hand, he lamented: Youre killing me.
Twenty minutes later, when the male dealer returned, Solomon was begging for better cards. He had $6,000 left. On the next hand, he wagered half $3,000. He held at 20, but the dealer pulled 21. Again he bet $3,000. Again, his 20 to the dealers 21.
Youre killing me, Solomon said.
Who knew he had one more item in that now-depleted black leather pouch; a .40-caliber Glock? He put it to the right side of his head and squeezed. He sat motionless for what seemed like forever, maybe a few seconds, then turned and tipped over."
Stanford