Mardock Scramble

guard is at its lowest.

Balot’s cards were now K

and Q

. Nobody had noticed.

–Looks like clubs really are your lucky suit.

Oeufcoque’s words were simultaneously an observation and a prediction.

The third round of betting began. The Doctor and the potbelly had both already folded, so it was now a four- horse race. The turn card was J

. This made a pair with the jack in the flop, so anyone who had three of a kind on another number would automatically end up with a near-unbeatable full house. The hand now came down to a battle of wits as each attempted to guess whether the other players were nearly there, already there, or just bluffing.

The old gentleman raised, and the suit called. The cowboy called and raised again.

–Raise to the limit.

Balot entered her money to call, then raised a further $120. The calls went round the table, the cowboy raising and Balot re-raising. By the end, the pot contained over two thousand dollars.

The calls finished, and with them the third round of betting.

Balot couldn’t stop her chest from throbbing.

The dealer put his hand to the card shoe.

The fact that his eyes glanced at the hand signals of the man on the far left didn’t escape Balot.

The river card was flipped over.

A

.

Incredible—and for a moment, Balot really couldn’t believe it.

–That’s what I thought—I figured our chances were about one in four for this one, Oeufcoque whispered to Balot as she continued to raise the stakes throughout the round.

–It’s a peculiarly human characteristic to be biased toward a certain suit or number, to give off a particular smell whenever confronted with it. The man on the far right gives off relief whenever a spade is dealt, for example. The others, too, give off distinctive odors whenever they see a certain suit. It seems that clubs aren’t very popular at this table.

–Is that why so many are coming to me? I’m getting everyone’s leftovers?

–I suppose you could call it the inevitable surplus, yes. But, you know, this is what many people would call luck, or destiny.

Oeufcoque was as wishy-washy as ever.

The old gentleman folded. Just the suit and the cowboy left to beat.

They both raised to the end, as did Balot.

The cowboy was the first to show his hand.

6

and J

. Full house. The gloating grin that covered his entire face contrasted sharply with the curt smile of the suit.

The suit then opened his hands to reveal his hand: A

and A

. A full house, aces over jacks. Virtually unbeatable. To do so would require a now-impossible full house of aces over kings or queens, an incredibly rare four of a kind, or an even rarer straight flush or a royal straight flush. And four of a kind was also impossible at this point in the hand, the cowboy having played the third jack. All that was left was the infinitesimally small chance of a straight flush or a royal straight flush.

So everyone was confident that the suit would now win.

The cowboy gritted his teeth, rolled his eyes, and watched as the suit leaned over to claim his chips.

–I do believe I’ve won, Balot said aloud. Nobody quite seemed to understand her at first. A second later, the old gentleman sitting next to her let out a loud cry. All eyes were now on Balot, and all were silent.

K

and Q

.

The suit, the potbelly, and the dealer were all horrified.

The king and queen of clubs, joined by the jack, ten, and ace.

The hand so rare that it could, for all intents and purposes, be discounted for normal playing purposes. The odds against it were roughly 65,000 to one. A royal straight flush.

–I have won, haven’t I?

Balot appeared uncomfortable under everyone’s gaze. She looked as if she were worried that she might have gotten it wrong and was visibly relieved when the dealer nodded in affirmation.

Suddenly there was a burst of excitement all around. Passersby were stopping to gawk at Balot’s hand.

Balot started raking in the mountain of chips—over three thousand dollars total—when the dealer added a number of thousand-dollar chips to the pile, along with some sort of certificate. It seemed that the house provided a special prize to anyone who made a royal straight flush. On top of the bonus cash was a free night in the suite of the casino’s sister hotel, a number of tokens to exchange for prizes at reception, and instructions on how to arrange for the commemorative photograph at the table.

The dealer seemed calm and composed enough, but Oeufcoque had different ideas.

–He smells of anger and fear.

The table had originally been selected by the Doctor after he had carefully scrutinized the casino records. He chose it because its patterns diverged slightly from the house average. Not quite enough to draw the suspicion of the house—yet—but any further deviations from the norm would be likely to result in a lot of interest in the dealer’s actions.

And it wasn’t only the winners who caused the averages to go askew.

When a plan to swindle marks goes bad, it can go really bad—and that was when the most extreme outcomes emerged.

–They’ll probably start to get serious about now. And that’s when we go in for the kill. Cheaters have it tough in legal casinos, in a very different way from illegal ones.

Balot felt Oeufcoque’s explanation in the palm of her hand.

–Legal casinos consider cheats to be the worst hazard there is—they’re bad for business, and they interfere with the family-friendly image that the casinos try so hard to cultivate. A cheat who is caught faces immediate expulsion, a permanent ban from all casinos, and he’ll never be able to work in the gaming industry ever