Balot quickly reviewed her count so far. The upcards and aces were running extremely low, but the cards helpful to the dealer were also dwindling. Oeufcoque’s instant internal calculations were showing an increase in her bet amount and her winning percentage.
Her fatigue dispelled by anticipation, Balot refocused on the game. Just as Balot had fully exhaled, Ashley’s casually stated words cut through her like a blade:
“By the way, your left hand…”
Balot took in a deep breath.
“…it’s got some device measuring my pulse, doesn’t it?”
Her heart skipped a beat. It was too sudden. Before she knew it, she had raised her head and said,
–Why?
As soon as the word left her mouth, she stopped herself. But it was already too late.
Ashley grinned. He mouthed the word Gotcha.
Balot got goose bumps on her arms.
The sudden shock of it had stood her hair on end.
≡
“It seemed,” said the dealer, his tone dripping congeniality, “like you were conversing with your own hand, not your cards.”
Terror welled up deep within Balot. Would she fail and leave empty-handed because of the tiniest of blunders? If she were any more afraid, her hands would have been shaking.
Oeufcoque read Balot’s emotions and tried to calm her, saying,
–Don’t let it get to you. You don’t need to tell him anything. Even if he believes it to be true, he can’t do anything about it but use it as a diversion. Without any proof, he can’t lay a hand on patrons’ clothes. He has no way to separate us.
Balot was reassured, but a peculiar irritation settled over her.
And it was peculiar, for she had no means of surviving without Oeufcoque.
She felt Bell’s stare bearing down upon her. And she wondered what look the Doctor had on his face. She drew up her shoulders and stared at the cards.
Ashley’s upcard was a 4. Balot’s cards, 7-6.
As she took slow, steady breaths, she looked at the tactical analysis. Hit. The obvious choice. But she didn’t make the move right away. Quietly, she readied herself, and then, she hit.
The card was a 7. Balot held her breath and stayed.
Ashley turned over his hole card.
A 9. He drew a 6. They both had twenty. Suddenly, they had tied.
Balot began to wonder why Ashley had made such an aggressive move. Was the ordering of the cards beginning to strain? Had she finally arrived at the deciding moment of their match?
In the next hand, Ashley’s upcard was a 3. Balot had a J-9 and stayed.
Ashley revealed his hole card, a 5. He drew an ace. Nineteen.
Another tie. Suddenly, Balot sensed that she was standing at the brink.
She couldn’t stand down. Impulsively, she added chips to the table. Even a little more than Oeufcoque’s displayed amount. She was fine with that. She’d be fine if she lost. She just wanted to follow her feelings.
The cards came out. Ashley’s upcard was a 10.
Balot had a 2 and a jack—the black jack of spades, the one-eyed jack.
Her eye flashed to the dealer’s hole card. Then, she noticed that the red card had reached the top of the shoe. As she stared at it, she declared her hit.
Ashley removed the red card and turned over the card below it. A 9.
Balot stayed. She glanced at the red card lying next to the shoe.
Previously, the ordering of the cards had been so perfect that not even a single extra card was wasted. But now the slightest of cracks was showing.
Ashley revealed his hole card. It took Balot a moment to see it. The ace of spades sat there, like a sword waving in the air without its master.
Beating the dealer to the punch, she said simply:
–We have a push.
The clean split of the ace and jack of spades—a blackjack—seemed to Balot to be evidence of something.
Ashley shrugged. Balot took deep, slow breaths and spread her senses across the surface of the table. She didn’t have any desire to sense anything occurring beyond its confines. Not even Bell Wing’s stare.
Ashley opened the card shoe and withdrew the remaining cards.
He joined them with the discard pile and began his smooth, natural shuffle.
Balot focused her senses on his movements. The cards, Ashley’s fingers, his shoulders, his pulse, his breathing. With senses so finely tuned she could feel each mote of dust as it settled onto the table, she followed his every movement.
Silence testified to the steady tension that filled the table. The only sounds were the calm music flowing through the room, the sharp noise of the cards coming together, and the stir of the crowd.
Balot sensed her own breathing and pulse calm so much that she almost could have fallen asleep. But just then, Ashley spoke to her.
“Can I ask you a question?”
It was almost as if he were asking, “Please, can I do this job like any other dealer would?”
–What is it? she said guardedly. Her eyes were open now.
She hadn’t needed to respond to him, but she thought understanding this man might be necessary to read him.
“Well, I say question, but it’s more like a riddle. If we let the air hang this heavy, then the game stops being fun, am I right?”
Balot tilted her head. Taking that as a yes, Ashley nodded and said, “First, I want you to imagine you are driving in a car on a long, long trip.”
–All right.
“And during the trip, your car breaks down. It’s the worst possible situation. There are no houses around, just an endless desert. What do you do?”
Balot, with no idea of Ashley’s purpose, kept focused on the cards as she answered.
–I’d wait for someone to come help me.
She didn’t feel much of an improvement in the mood at the table.
“You’d hitchhike?”
–Yes.
“All right. Now, same scenario, what would you do if you drove by and found someone on the side of the road looking for your help?”
–I’d decide based on if they looked trustworthy or not.
“I see.” He nodded, pursing his lips as if he were about to whistle. “Those are both fifty-percent answers. I’d say you’re just about average.”
The way he said it tugged at her. She wrinkled her brow.
–Are there other answers?
Ashley returned a meaningful smile and said, as if reaching the meaning of the riddle, “Couldn’t you imagine a carjacker posing as a hitchhiker?”
Subconsciously, Balot bit her lip again. Ashley was trying to make a point. And whatever it was, it seemed dangerous.
–You mean, what would I do if the other person is a carjacker?
“No, not quite. Who would be able to know if the other person was a carjacker or not? If he was, he’d try his best to hide it, wouldn’t you think?”
–So you’re saying not to help?
Ashley, still shuffling, laughed.
“The reason I said it was a fifty-percent answer was because, depending on which side of it you’re on, your response changes. Let’s see… For example, a different fifty-percent answer would be to say that you wouldn’t help anyone and you wouldn’t expect anyone to save you. Or that you would save them, fully prepared that they may kill you.”
Clenching her hands, Balot pressed forward in an attempt to shake off the pressure. Just as the Doctor had pressed him on the cards.
–What’s a one-hundred-percent answer?