The dealer said, “Victory is such a subjective concept. Everyone should set their own definition of ‘victory,’ and aim always for that.”
The lady, in turn, would throw back questions at the dealer, only to have them answered in the dealer’s smooth, inimitable way.
“Do you think I’m playing in a way that’s keeping my lucky streak at bay?”
“It’s difficult to say, madam, as only you know for sure exactly how far away you are from being able to ride your own lucky streak. It’s like being with a lover—only you can know how close you really are to them.”
“Ah, yes. Like when you only realize your true feelings for them after you’ve left them and the moment has passed.”
“Exactly, madam. And, forgive me for saying so, but it seems that as a woman of the world, you’re experienced enough to know your own feelings.”
Even as the dealer was replying, the lady had another fistful of chips in her chubby hands, ready to continue.
–He’s not bad.
Oeufcoque’s tone of voice was that of a professional athlete praising the winner at a junior sports day.
–He’s got natural talent, I’ll give him that. He smells as if it’s the most obvious thing in the world that he’s able to manipulate people.
–You mean through the double bind and preying on people’s breathing patterns?
–Yes, that, but other techniques too. He knows what he’s doing, all right.
–Other techniques?
–His choice of words. “Tonight,” “in the end,” that sort of thing. It’s distracting her completely from her bankroll. Classic misdirection. What it comes down to, though, is that he’s using any means possible to get her to bet more and more of her chips. His metaphor of a lover was a good one. She swallowed it hook, line, and sinker—the idea that the only way she’ll get the chips back is if she puts out…
–Yes, I can believe that about her…
–It could even be that she’s experienced just the reverse of that in real life and is now subconsciously trying to put something right the second time around. The dealer is proving an affirmation of that, making her relax her grip on her chips. A simple type of manipulation, but effective nonetheless.
–So you’re saying that the dealer is good with words, and that’s why he’s winning?
–Words, yes, but that’s only one part of the picture. What he’s doing is selling a dream, a fantasy. He’s taking what’s in their minds and encouraging them to try and turn it into reality.
Before too long the lady did manage to win big on a hand. For a moment, her fantasy had been fulfilled. She won $7,500, but more importantly she was now in a trance, almost an ecstatic state. As if the lover that she had reluctantly parted company with when he hadn’t two cents to rub together had now returned to her as a multi-millionaire and conquering hero.
As the game entered its final stages, the old man who had been playing until recently returned to stand behind the lady and watch her play.
It was almost as if the old man had placed the lady there so that she could lose. His pride was an immovable boulder on this point; when he wasn’t there to support her, she was helpless. This was how it was, and how it should be.
Jack Sprat could eat no fat, his wife could eat no lean—and so betwixt the two of them they licked the platter clean.
This was the sort of couple they were.
The red marker appeared and the round came to a close. The woman staggered to her feet. Her face looked thoroughly satiated.
She was spent.
“A good evening to you all,” she bid them.
The Doctor replied in kind, “Good evening, madam. I guess we two will have to be the last ones here, with only the cards to keep us company.”
The lady smiled, still in high spirits. “I’m afraid I’m through for the night. Though I’m sure the cards will keep calling me back—I do love them so.”
Cards probably weren’t the only things that she loved, of course.
Balot politely bid the lady good night and turned her attention to the tables on her left hand.
The lady had lost well in excess of a hundred thousand dollars. As she had been destined to do from the start.
Balot wiped the lady’s data from her hand in order to make way for information that would be more useful at this stage.
“Well, well. It looks like it’s just us now. But we’re still good to enjoy a game with you, right, Marlowe?” The Doctor spoke to the dealer as if he were an old friend, not someone he had just met for the first time a short while ago.
“Of course, sir. I wouldn’t have it any other way.” The dealer was as friendly as ever with his banter, but as he shuffled in preparation for the next round, he glanced at his wristwatch. How long would he need to serve these two up on a plate? Then he turned back to look at Balot and the Doctor. Oeufcoque would have picked up instantly on the look of deep greed—desire, even—that twinkled at the back of the dealer’s eyes. Balot noticed it too.
Balot focused on sensing what the dealer was trying to do with the shuffle. His fingers were moving smoothly, deliberately, creating intricate patterns. Patterns that represented the dealer’s will, as he manipulated the rules, stacking the odds in his favor. This must have been the intangible sense of unease that Balot had felt ever since sitting down at the table.
–I can feel it, Oeufcoque.
–Feel what?
–This dealer isn’t just shuffling the cards.
–You mean he’s manipulating their order?
–He’s changing the way he shuffles them according to which customer he’s targeting.
–I doubt that even he could memorize the entire contents of the card shoe, though.
–Maybe not. But he is at least thinking about the patterns of play, I’m sure of it.
–You think you know what the dealer’s plan is?
–Pretty sure.
–Really?
Oeufcoque’s reply came from within the glove. He seemed impressed—amazed, even. Balot nodded in confirmation, then realized that she had done so in reality, not just in her heart. Hurriedly she made a shaking movement with her head to cover it up, and it seemed that she succeeded. She continued her conversation with Oeufcoque, more carefully this time.
–Not in terms of exact facts and figures like you, of course. Just in a general sense.
–Enough to put it to use to your advantage?
–I just tried it out back then. I was right half the time. With a bit more practice, I think I’ll get even better.
–Right, then. I’ll do what I can with the numbers and the dealer’s odor. You use your senses. We’ll use our combined skills to ramp things up and move on to the next stage. Are you ready?
For a moment Balot thought she could hear Oeufcoque’s growly laughter.
Laughter that suggested a hint of mischief—but laughter that she could rely on.
Balot nodded. Firmly inside her heart, this time.
The dealer had finished shuffling and had stacked the mountain of cards into a neat pile. He turned to Balot. For a second she had no idea what he wanted, and then it dawned on her: the red marker was held toward her, neatly, for her to take.