There were four tens on the table in front of them now. Balot tapped the Doctor’s arm—twice.
–You’ll never beat me unless you stop being so stingy with your chips.
The Doctor put on a troubled face before eventually coming to a decision. Not hitting, not staying, but rather the third option.
“Split.”
The Doctor used his two index fingers to signal his cards being pulled apart.
Then he placed another pile of chips, equal to his original stake, on the table, beside the card that no longer had a stake covering it.
The dealer drew and placed a third card next to one of the Doctor’s. Incredibly, this card too was a 10.
“Stay.”
The Doctor was dealt yet another card. Yet again another 10.
–Look, you can go again if you want, Uncle! If you have the guts, that is…
Balot tapped the Doctor’s arm again.
“Of course…” said the Doctor, and the dealer’s face showed a flash of panic when he saw the Doctor take yet another pile of chips in his hands. “Split.”
Another 10.
The Doctor peered at the dealer’s upcard and hummed, “I think I’d better stay this time.”
In response the dealer now moved on to the second of the Doctor’s two original cards and dealt again. Another 10.
“Split,” the Doctor called again, and again he thrust forward more chips. The dealer was breathing heavily now and seemed to be in some pain. Still, he managed to deal another card to the Doctor. A 10 again. The Doctor stayed. Then another card, for the last split, and yet another 10.
“Stay, I think…” the Doctor said casually. Then he turned to Balot and laughed broadly. “Well, I’ve had a good enough run for my money, don’t you think? Now let’s see if you can do any better.”
–I’ll split too.
The dealer’s face was now drained of all expression, and he was staring at the pile of chips that Balot was preparing to add to the table.
Her card came. It was another 10. The dealer had done his best to contain them, but he couldn’t get them all, and here was the surplus, spilling out uncontrollably, just where he didn’t want them—like the clubs in poker that nobody seemed to want. Like stray dollar bills sticking out the sides of a hastily closed trunk.
–Stay.
For a moment the dealer seemed relieved. But then Balot’s other card received a 10 to go with it.
Balot re-split, received another 10, and stayed. Her second re-split card also received another 10, and she re-split again. And so on and so on. It was only when she came to the sixth split that she drew a 7 and finally stopped.
The dealer looked like a bank robber hemmed in by police on all sides. Police with advance notice of when the break-in was due to take place. The dealer’s shaking hand moved toward his own cards now, slowly turning over his hidden card, well aware that it was the pin to a hand grenade that was about to blow up in his face.
The dealer’s hidden card was a 10. Bringing the total number of tens on the table up to twenty.
The dealer’s total was eighteen. Of the ten bullets that Balot and the Doctor fired toward him, one missed and the other nine landed with deadly accuracy. The dealer was at death’s door.
–The prize is within our grasp now.
Oeufcoque’s words floated up on Balot’s hand as if he were giving her his blessing. Balot was truly thankful to have Oeufcoque silently watching over her.
–All we need now is a couple more good chances and you should be able to pin it down.
By “it,” Oeufcoque of course meant the thing that they had come to this casino for. The four million-dollar chips. The Doctor’s instructions came to mind again—they must steal the yolk without touching the white or the shell.
The payout came. Between them Balot and the Doctor were looking at over half a million dollars. The plump lady might have lost big to the house, but in one fell swoop Balot and the Doctor had won almost five times as much from the casino.
–See, it’s like I said. Stop being stingy with your chips, and they stop being stingy to you!
Balot grinned cheekily, as if to say that this was only natural.
–But it’s going to be a little tricky now, isn’t it, Uncle? With all these chips cluttering up the table, I mean.
“Fine, well, once we manage to win a bit more we can exchange our chips for larger denominations.”
–Okay, Uncle! We’ll just have to win some more then!
“Sure. I think that if we could double what we have now then that ought to do it.”
That bizarre conversation out of the way, Balot gave a convincing show of bracing herself for the next set of cards. Likewise the Doctor.
The dealer stared at the pair of them in shock, as if they had each just grown a pair of wings.
–Now we need to make sure this dealer stays put at this table.
Instructions from Oeufcoque flashed up.
–We need to convince the house that we’re a useful set of customers, ready to be milked for all we’re worth. Otherwise they might switch dealers on us or even ask us to leave the casino.
At this point Balot noticed that the dealer was listening to instructions being sent to him through his earpiece. It seemed that the dealer had asked an attendant for more chips, and that the attendant reported this back to the floor manager. The dealer was being subjected to a lecture from an authoritative-sounding voice.
The floor manager’s analysis was that the pair at the table were probably ordinary punters, high rollers who had somehow slipped through the net of the casino’s usually comprehensive VIP screening. But until their identities could be confirmed for sure, the dealer’s orders were to try and contain them. Keep the bets as low as possible, set a house maximum limit, and distract them with prizes and trinkets—free-stay coupons at the hotel, first-class plane tickets, and whatnot. Balot, though, had no intention of being contained by such things. She had to come up with a plan. She thought about what her opponent wanted. How she could act as if she were about to fulfil their needs.
–Hey, Uncle? Why don’t we play a different sort of game now? First to use up all their chips?
Balot gave her best impression of a spoiled brat who always got her way, however capricious.
“Come again?”
–A battle between me and you. First to get rid of all their chips wins.
The Doctor was visibly stunned. As was the dealer. “That’s not, er, what this game is really about, you know? Or rather, I should say that’s not how you play at a casino…” said the Doctor.
–What about lowball poker, then? When the weakest hand is the winner?
“Well, sure, but even then, the aim is still to win the chips…”
–But it’s so boring right now!
“Well, then, if you insist, why don’t we go for something like a high-low split? First to either reach the target or get rid of all their chips wins? If you manage to beat me I’ll buy you whatever you want on the way home.”
–You’re on, Uncle! I’m going to thrash you!