–Who are you and what have you done with Oeufcoque?
–What have I done with…
–Oeufcoque. Half-baked, wishy-washy. That’s what you’re supposed to be, it’s what your name means, isn’t it? And yet here you are!
–Hmph, you mean I’m going too far instead of not far enough for once? Maybe you’re right. But needs must—this is a case where the ends justify the means.
The mouse doth protest too much, Balot thought to herself.
She giggled inside, then squeezed her glove to show that it was okay, she was with him. Then she did as he had suggested.
–Hey, Uncle?
She waited until the dealer was just about to finish exhaling and was at his most defenseless before continuing with her killer blow.
–I’m bored here. Won’t you take me someplace where there are some nice men around?
She was no longer rejecting the place. This was a personal rejection: she found the dealer unappealing. The dealer’s expression didn’t change. Instead, he stopped breathing. As if he’d had his breath sucked out of him. Indeed, for all practical intents and purposes Marlowe was now dead as a dealer; no longer was he the invincible master of the gaming table. He was a private individual, and a snubbed one at that.
The Doctor tried awkwardly to persuade Balot to stay. “Let’s just try and enjoy the game, no? Look, you are winning, after all. If you give up now you’re turning your back on the rainbow that could lead to the pot of gold.”
Then he turned to the dealer and shrugged apologetically.
It was the dealer’s turn to speak. “I do apologize most sincerely for any way in which you find me lacking, my lady…” It was a small miracle that he could still muster up the self-restraint necessary to maintain his composure and keep smiling.
Then the dealer removed his earpiece with his hand and crushed it beneath the table. He was out of radio contact with the rest of the casino. But Balot had managed to catch the last transmission that the dealer had received.
It was from the floor manager, a frantic order to let another dealer take his place.
≡
Outwardly calm but seething with rage and shame on the inside, the dealer was now losing hand over fist without even noticing that he was doing so.
–Just as well that he’s usually such an accomplished dealer. The casino really is on the defensive—they don’t know how to play this one.
Oeufcoque too had noticed that the dealer had rid himself of his earpiece.
Despite this fact, and somewhat surprisingly, the casino had yet to send along a replacement.
–They must be finding it hard to decide whether this dealer has lost the plot or whether he still might be able to pull it back for them. They should have checked us out by now.
–Do they still think we’re suckers? Easy marks who just happen to be on a lucky streak?
–They must. The one person in the whole casino who should be able to identify us accurately is Shell-Septinos. He’s supposed to be the owner here…
Balot shrugged inwardly.
–He’s probably forgotten all about us, right? With that operation that sucks out his memories…
–It doesn’t suck them out, exactly…
Oeufcoque chuckled grimly.
–According to our sources, he’s preoccupied with this transaction he’s trying to set up. This really is our chance right now.
–Transaction? You mean his marriage?
–Exactly. Or rather the de facto promotion that he gets by marrying into the family of the house he works for. If we can pull the rug from under his feet then we may be able to bring his bosses down too—they’re the real target, after all.
Bring them down and send them to hell—that was what Oeufcoque wanted to say, but he just managed to restrain himself.
It would have been easy enough to simply batter the enemy into submission, after all. They had the means right in front of them. But it was more complicated than that, however thrilling the prospect was of seeing the enemy squirm.
To be burnt out. It meant something. To know. It wasn’t so much the question of good versus evil that concerned Oeufcoque and the Doctor—it was the question of innocence and experience. What you could learn from seeing the world, with all its wonders and horrors reflected back at you. Could Balot learn, could she respond? If not then Oeufcoque wouldn’t have gone out of his way to help her as he did.
Balot sat there silently, waiting for her moment. The point tally was rising steadily. She was winning at a rate of over 60 percent of the hands, and this winning streak showed no sign of abating. The nines in the pile of cards had all been used up, and the number of cards worth seven or below had been depleted massively. The ratio of tens to other cards changed massively, and then suddenly there was a run of aces, appearing like a sudden gold rush and then disappearing again, a flash in the pan.
The cards were plunging toward an inevitable equilibrium. Balot maintained her calm breathing, but inside her heart was pounding.
Then there was a succession of small cards—the calm before the squall. The moment had arrived.
–This is it. Time to go all-in.
Balot took her cue from Oeufcoque and placed her hands on the pile that she had been keeping safe. One of the three piles she had created from her bankroll. Her troops that she had held in reserve, ready to be deployed in the moment of certain victory.
It wasn’t a huge pile in physical terms, as the individual chips were all of high denominations. But when the dealer clocked just how much was now at stake, his hand that had been resting on the card shoe jolted as if he had been struck by lightning.
–Might as well use them up…
Balot spoke to the Doctor, but it was the dealer she was watching.
“Very good. I accept your challenge, O niece of mine!” The Doctor responded as if he were calling a raise in poker and piled his chips onto the table to follow suit.
And then there was half a million dollars’ worth of chips in front of Balot, with the Doctor not too far behind, with a stake of roughly three hundred thousand dollars.
Passersby couldn’t help but stop in their tracks when they saw the extraordinary sums that were now at stake. They whispered among themselves. The dealer somehow managed to drag his hand back to the card shoe and force out a smile for the benefit of Balot and the Doctor.
The atmosphere around the table had certainly taken a strange turn.
The cards arrived. An 8. That was to say, the majority of the cards now on the table were eights.
The Doctor had an 8 and an 8, a total of sixteen. Balot had an 8 and a 7, total fifteen.
The dealer’s upcard was also an 8.
“Stay,” said the Doctor.
–Stay.
The dealer gulped and turned over his hidden card.
It was a 7. He drew again: 8. Then the red marker appeared.