"Friend of yours?"
"Used to be, before the street sweepers decorated him and his moll with slugs. So…you're a gambler by trade?"
"It's something I'm good at." She toyed with the martini glass in her hand. "Might be the only thing I'm good at."
"I highly doubt that. Good to have a talent, though. Wish I had a little skill in that area."
"Instead of a death wish?"
I paused in the act of lifting a finger at the barkeep for a reload. "Excuse me?"
"You're gambling out of misery. As if you want to put an end to it."
"If I wanted to off myself, I'd dive off the balcony."
"Some men don't want a quick death. Some want to suffer first."
"And you think that's me?"
"Yes. You play with the disregard of someone suicidal spending borrowed funds. I doubt your loans are from a legal source, so there will be collectors. The violent kind."
I shrugged, uncomfortable with the echo of my fears. "I got a handle on it."
"Really? How? By borrowing some more? Gambling some more? How has that worked out so far?"
"Look, if you're offering suggestions or free dough, I'm all ears."
"Partner with me."
I grinned. "Don't usually partner on the first date."
Her lips verged on the possibility of a genuine smile. "Cute. I'm serious, though. You need someone with discipline to help you. And I need someone I can trust."
"What makes you think you can trust me?"
"I can read people. Part of what makes me good at gambling."
"If you're so good, what can a known loser like me do for you?"
"Being a known loser has some benefits. No one will suspect you, for one."
"I'm hearing alarm bells here, sweetheart. See, when you include words like suspect in your statement, I start hearing the word illegal. Which doesn't exactly strike fear in my ticker, but I don't need that kind of heat on my back. I'm not on real friendly terms with the brass right now. Last thing I need is getting clapped in bracelets and tossed in some meat locker."
"No need to worry, Mr. Trubble. My game might be frowned upon, but it's hardly illegal."
"Your game. You count cards, then. I take it without any bio or cyber enhancements, or you'd already have been detected by the scanners at the door."
"That's right. Just good old fashioned sharp eyes, mathematics, and a trusted system."
"Houses still jump on that quick. They got android dealers, facial recognition. Drones scanning every table, recording facial ticks, eye movement, body language…"
"And if we get caught, we get roughed up and banned from the premises. If we don't, we split our winnings. It's about discipline and patience. We don't win too much, and we don't attract unwanted attention. What do you have to lose?"
I barked a laugh. She was right. I'd already lost just about everything but my life. "Okay, you got a partner. But I'm going to need something first."
"What's that?"
"Your name."
"Faye."
"Just Faye?"
"Isn't Faye enough?"
I raised my glass. "I guess it is. To being partners then, Faye."
The smallest of smiles curved her lips. "To being partners."
Part 2: Double or Nothing
Faye ran a tight game. Illusion was the key, deceiving spying eyes into accepting that everything was normal. I continued my casino binging, playing the unlucky rube I already was. The difference was Faye. She was my good luck charm, working her magic to ensure that my winnings always topped what I lost by the time I crabbed out.
It turned out counting cards wasn't the memory gambit I'd always figured. Since I remember everything except my past, I had walked into the game thinking I had some kind of edge. Shows what kind of palooka I was. Faye corrected that oversight, showing me that it was a system of values assigned to the cards in hand, the dealer's hand, and what remained in the deck. Mathematics and quick thinking was the key, as well as learning when to bet large or bet small based on the percentage of busting out. It wasn't one-hundred percent foolproof, but someone with a head for numbers could definitely swing the odds in his favor.
Seemed I had a head for numbers. Who knew?
Faye created an endless number of ways to pass information. A series of tiny finger taps while pretending to stroke the back of my neck. A small, low-tech buzzer installed in the toe of our shoes that could pass the scanners undetected, but communicated through coded pulses. Practiced eye movements that fed me info on whether to bet or stay. She never kept to one system for long, but constantly switched up on irregular intervals. Always static, never routine. She said it was the best way to keep the drones from picking up on our grift. I didn't argue.
I trusted her.
She made the rules. I followed them. We couldn't hide being around one another, but she was an expert at blending in with the cloud of slinky dames that haunted the tables like restless spirits. Just one of many that hung on my arm, hoping to find a big winner to nab for a night or two. She played the part well, with the requisite giggles and inebriated innuendos of the average floozy. All the while keeping me informed with her quick eyes and coded signals. Afterward, we'd meet at some inconspicuous diner or bar to split our winnings before going our separate ways. I paid the bookies and got my name off the hit list, she disappeared until next time. It was a solid system. A great partnership. We did just well enough not to attract attention, while slowly stacking our chips.
The scam was good for me. Got my noodle back on track, gave me something to focus on. Something to look forward to. I enjoyed playing the game, the rush of outsmarting trained spotters of the digital and biological variety. And I enjoyed the fleeting moments of solitude with Faye when things wound down and we'd sit at some dive and have a quiet meal before departing. Peace wasn't something I was accustomed to, but I kinda dug it in a way. Reflective moments with the scent of green tea in the air and a beautiful dame draped in silence across from me. I was on my way up, back to the fresh air of anti-depression and debt-free accounts.
Then I had to go and muck everything up.
"WHAT ARE YOU DOING this for?"
It was late, and we were done for the night. We ended things the way we usually did, at the Golden Heron. It was a small Chinese restaurant outside of Bayside, built in the husk of a decaying tenement that once housed the crème of New Haven before commerce took things skyward. It was a weathered but cozy dive, with dim lights, good chow, and polite hosts that respected the privacy of their clientele.
Faye glanced up at my question, a small smile on her rosebud lips. "Doing what?"
"This. The stakes. They're small potatoes. You're not racking in much after our split. Not chasing the big pots. I just don't see what you get out of it."
She paused, her expression guarded. She didn't talk about herself much. I had spent weeks in her company and knew nothing about her at all. She didn't run with any friends, had no family I knew of. Folks in the casinos were familiar with her as a player. They called her the Recluse, on account of her withdrawn personality. But no one could say they actually knew her. I might have been the closest thing she had to an actual friend.
She relaxed, raising her bowl of tea to her lips with both hands before answering. "Nothing wrong with being careful, Mick. Too many players have been detected not because of their lack of skill, but their lack of discipline. Impatient with the slow game. Too eager to win the big score. The result is making mistakes. Burning and crashing. I don't want to make that mistake."
I downed my shot of baiju. "That's a smart way to look at things. Guess what I'm getting at is: what will you do when it's over?"