“I had the whole town gaffed up,” Freddy says, “the bartender, the waiter. I was Audie Weiss.” At the time, Freddy had a bad leg. He looked like he could barely stand.

By the time Karas caught on, Freddy had already cashed $200,000 in chips. Karas still owed him $800,000. The hustlers who arranged the games were tentative about collecting. Karas got suspicious. Back in Vegas, he started asking around about a guy with glasses and a bad leg who played one pocket. His associates identified the eccentric billionaire as Freddy the Beard. Freddy never collected his $800,000.

“Now pool, you don’t need to be a bruiser, you know? And in my neighborhood, if you were good at anything, you got respect. It didn’t matter. I mean, there was a famous kid—he was famous because he could pee across the street. So the fact that I was now the best pool player in the neighborhood, pretty quick I was big.”

Freddy graduated high school early and got what he calls a “mob scholarship” to the University of Illinois; he lasted a few weeks before returning to Chicago and Wilson Junior College (now Kennedy-King). He dropped out after a year and a half and joined the army. They sent him to Germany. When he got out he made a few attempts to get square jobs, but it didn’t take. Instead he played pool. He hung out at Bensinger’s and in south-side pool rooms so he could work on his bank game with legends like Bugs Rucker. The gangbangers protected him. He married and divorced the Playboy bunny. He traveled around the country hustling. Hustlers were like gunfighters with cues, wandering into strange towns, looking for action. He’d sleep in bus stations. He learned how to sneak out of hotels without paying the bill. (Bring a rope and lower your luggage out the window, then walk out the front door.) He would stay up for days on end, shooting pool until he was completely busted.

“It’s a terrible, terrible practice,” Freddy says. “I did it a couple times. Only a few times, which is . . . it’s actually kind of commendable that I only did it a couple times, OK? Honest to God, believe me when I tell you. I don’t like it. It don’t make me feel good. Even the money when you get it, it’s like tainted money, you know? You make up reasons to do it. ‘The guy’s no good, he’s a creep, he deserves it.’ Just not good.