Mardock Scramble

find a way of turning right. That’s why I ended up staying here, rolling the ball.”

–Sinister?

Balot asked the same question she had before.

Bell Wing averted her eyes from Balot. Balot thought that she was going to refuse to answer again, but Bell Wing did speak, with her eyes fixed to the roulette wheel. “The wheel of fortune can spin two ways. When it spins counterclockwise, to the left, it’s sinister. It brings bad luck. Clockwise, to the right, brings joy. My life now is about trying to find what happiness I can by calling up the right.”

She sounded almost as if she were talking to the wheel.

Then she touched the wheel. She spun the numbers for another battle, and released the ball. The wheel spun to the left, the ball to the right.

Balot picked up on the movements and grabbed her chips. She was ready to place her thousand-dollar chips down, and she thought to herself that this was something that she had decided on for herself. Oeufcoque had suggested they switch tables, and even Bell Wing had warned her to leave. Yet Balot had stayed—it was what she wanted and what she valued.

It was just like when she was back at Paradise, when she took on the giant pool and all its attendant risks in order to determine the whereabouts of Shell’s lost memories. Her choice.

Balot’s chips were placed on North West 13-1.

Straight bets, one thousand dollars on each.

Bell Wing looked at the ball as it spun around the circumference of the wheel, then closed her eyes. “My luck seems to have taken a turn for the sinister again,” she said, her voice detached. “No more bets,” she called out, her voice as clear and soft as ever.

The ball touched a pin, then fell to the right.

It hit the bowl that was spinning counterclockwise, slid over the dome, and was sucked in.

The atmosphere at the table was electric. The dealers could only stop and stare. They were like market stallholders helplessly standing by during a riot, watching their shops being looted bare by the angry crowds.

Bell Wing picked up the crystal. “One red,” she called.

The chips on the table seemed to dance around wildly before settling down in a single location: right in front of Balot. A total of thirty-four thousand dollars after deductions.

Bell Wing watched the pile of chips with silent eyes.

–Could you please spin the wheel clockwise this time, ma’am?

Balot spoke.

Bell Wing lifted her gaze from the mountain of chips to Balot’s face.

–I’ll try and win again.

Balot spoke without arrogance, without pride. Just matter of fact. One of the dealers turned to Bell Wing with a jolt when he heard this.

Bell Wing just stood up straight. “What’s your name?”

–Rune-Balot, ma’am.

“I’ll take note of it. I’m Bell Wing.”

Balot nodded.

“I was just thinking how nice it would be to have a granddaughter just like you. All my grandchildren are boys, you see.”

Balot was a little surprised at this sudden revelation. So, it seemed, were the other dealers at the table.

Bell Wing continued. “If you ever feel like spinning the wheel for yourself, come and see me. Whatever casino you like—just head for the best croupier there and say you want to become Bell Wing’s apprentice. With a little bit of luck you might find I’ll teach you everything I know.”

No doubt the dealers who were working the table with her had never heard such words from her before. They just stood there, slack-jawed, looking from Bell Wing’s face back to Balot’s.

–Thank you.

Balot answered, and Bell Wing’s eyes narrowed.

“Now, I’ll spin to the right.” Bell Wing waited for the previous round’s chips to be fully distributed, then touched the wheel with the opposite hand from before.

That was the cue for the table to quiet down again. Bell Wing’s fingertips spun the cylinder ever so softly. Clockwise, to the right. Balot watched, missing nothing.

Bell Wing did her job with a master craftsman’s pride. Like a prima donna taking to the stage.

And, in fact, this would be the last time Bell Wing would perform at this casino.

“I’m just a Continental croupier, born and raised. From one of those small towns where everyone worked either at the casino, the golf course, or the whiskey distillery.” Bell Wing was murmuring now. “And do you know what? I think I’d like to carry on plying my trade for some time to come. Maybe in a casino with a better atmosphere.”

Balot placed her chips as she listened to the words being spoken. All on one number. She felt no inclination to bet on any other number or add any more chips to the pile. The crowd around the table responded immediately to the ten thousand dollar bet she had placed. The number she had laid her bet on was inundated with various hues of chips, like ants to sugar.

“Rune-Balot,” Bell Wing called.

–Yes, ma’am.

“Keep on striving to ensure your luck turns to the right.”

–Yes, ma’am.

“Don’t fret too much about it. It’s just like striving toward womanhood.”

–What do I need to do?

“Be where you need to be, when you need to be there. Wear the clothes you need to wear, say the words you need to say, have the right hairstyle, the right jewelry. Womanhood and luck are essentially the same thing. The better you are at riding your own luck, the more of a woman you’ll become. Make your luck turn to the right.”

She spoke calmly, and by the end of her speech the ball was starting to slacken.

“No more bets.” Bell Wing’s voice echoed clearly.

The ball, moving to the left, hit a pin.

The blur of the wheel was starting to slow, and that which had been an indistinct mass now separated out into individual numbers.

The ball found its way home into the bowl, toward the pocket, its final destination. From counterclockwise to clockwise. Or so it seemed to Balot.

A roar went up at the table.

Bell Wing cut across the noise with the crystal in her hand.

“Two black.”

As she called out the result, she placed the dolly right next to the pile of accumulated chips; there wasn’t even space on the layout anymore. The whole table was cheering as if they had hit the jackpot on the slots and won one of the luxury cars. Chips clattered all around, but Bell Wing’s voice still cut clearly across the hubbub of the celebrating crowd.

“I couldn’t see it,” she said, looking at Balot. “Which way is it turning?”

Balot looked at the three-hundred-something-thousand-dollar payout in front of her and answered.

–If you’re talking about my luck, I think it’s turning to the right, ma’am.

Quietly, Bell Wing nodded. “Now, it’s time for you to go. This table’s dead to you now, and to me too, for that matter. You’ve just experienced the last game Bell Wing will ever run at this casino.” She looked straight at Balot as she said this, calm and collected to the end.

One of the other dealers stood behind Bell Wing, distributing the table’s winnings. The dealer that had just listened in on their conversation. Dealers from the other tables gathered around, and one of them took over at what had been, up until that moment, Bell Wing’s roulette table.