Mardock Scramble

Boiled’s car accelerated and sped into the night.

The flicker of anticipation that he’d felt earlier was crystallizing into something more definite. He knew where his quarry was now. He was sure of it.

He felt like he had left something behind and needed to hurry in order to retrieve it before it was too late.

A word floated into his mind—curiosity. The word that Faceman had used back in Paradise.

Suddenly, Boiled was overflowing with curiosity. It replaced the emptiness that usually passed for emotions inside him.

Boiled raced uptown, like a shark swimming full speed ahead on the trail of blood. Toward Shell’s casino.

04

“One of the key factors that will influence our odds of winning is whether we understand clearly the difference between tactics and strategy,” the Doctor pontificated.

He was walking straight toward a certain part of the casino. As if he knew exactly where he was heading at a single glance and this was something he did on a daily basis.

“Tactics are the individual choices made in response to the situation in hand, as it develops,” the Doctor continued, index finger held aloft. “The first such choice is to stay. The choice not to draw any more cards.”

Then he raised his middle finger. “The next choice is to hit. This means choosing to add another card to your hand.” He waited until he saw Balot nod, then continued. “The third choice is to double down. With this choice you make your next card your last, and double your bet.”

Balot nodded again. She’d already had the rules beaten into her in plenty of detail. They were simple enough. But that very simplicity meant that the game demanded complex calculations from a player if they wanted to master its subtleties.

The Doctor raised his pinky. “Fourth, split. When you have two cards of the same number, you can divide them into two different hands, so you have two bets riding. To do this, you need to double your original stake.”

–That’s fine. I’ve got it.

“Ah, there’s one more.” The Doctor spread his thumb out to join the rest of his fingers. “Surrender. Not all casinos accept it, but it’s part of the house rules here. You pay half your original stake, pull out from your hand, and get the other half of your stake back.”

–What about re-splitting?

“Unrestricted. You can split as often as you get the cards to do so.”

–Doubling down after a split?

“Permitted according to the official rules here. Well, it certainly looks like you’ve got it all covered.”

Balot scowled, but there was a cheeky smile hiding underneath.

–It’s not exactly hard, you know. I’m not an idiot!

“All I’m saying is a good grounding in basic tactics is a necessary foundation for strategic planning. Now, what’s the most important factor in choosing one of the five tactics?”

–The ten factor.

Balot answered as if she were solving a child’s riddle.

–The ten is the greatest card of all.

“Exactly—the opposite of baccarat. Now, the second factor is—”

–Whether we have a pat hand or a stiff hand. Good or bad.

Indeed, the Doctor nodded, the teacher satisfying himself that his charge had absorbed all the relevant information. “Furthermore, the presence or absence of which particular card has an influence on our tactics?”

–The ace. If you have one it’s a soft hand, without it’s a hard hand.

“And what’s the rule that we use to decide who has the advantage over the other between the player and the dealer?”

–If the dealer has a seven up, don’t stand pat.

The Doctor nodded, evidently satisfied. With his hand to his chin and his stooped shoulders, shuffling along the corridor, he looked just like a scholar lost in thought.

Or so it seemed, but then he checked his appearance and immediately transformed his demeanor into that of a player. He thrust his hands casually into his pockets and with a joyous expression walked toward the VIP room with Balot.

“As for our strategy, well, we keep it simple for now. Play tactically, and always keep our ultimate goal in mind. As long as we get our timing and our teamwork right—screw it to the sticking post—we’ll not fail. From now on, we’re in it to win it, not to enjoy ourselves.”

The Doctor was still putting on his happy punter act for everyone they passed, but Balot could see that his eyes were serious.

Balot tried to look as humble as possible to show she understood the gravity of the situation. Not that she needed to, for the Doctor continued, “Although I suppose it’s all right to enjoy ourselves a bit. It’s not every day we get a chance like this, after all.”

They had arrived at the entrance to the VIP room.

“O brave new world, that has such people in it!” said the Doctor, after they had taken a single step inside. Balot realized instantly from the air in the room that they were, indeed, in a whole new world.

This was a place designed for people used to luxury.

The dealers in this room were like sculptures carved out of ebony and ivory, and they dealt their cards on brilliant green tables against a backdrop of plush vermilion. In between were floor managers, stolid guardians looking out over all the luxury, and elegant waitresses that made all the others in the casino seem like country bumpkins.

This wasn’t excess designed to impress or dazzle. It was luxury designed to make those accustomed to the lap of luxury feel at home—to make the big spenders feel comfortable, to give them the sort of environment they were used to. You’re one of us, the room seemed to say, sit down and stay awhile.

As soon as the Doctor stepped into the room he was immediately accosted—ever so politely—by hostesses who had honed in on him. He brushed them away, indicating that he was used to all this and could find his own way around, thank you very much. He wandered straight into the room, as if to say I fit right in here.

The other players in the room all made a distinct impression on Balot. There was, for example, an elderly couple who gave off an aura of leisure—this was probably the only real excitement, real stimuli, they had in their lives. Then there was the surprisingly young man who had an older lady in tow.

“Pay the line!” and similar cries were heard all around, and whenever a player collected their winnings they did so with a casual sense of entitlement—not for them Balot’s furtive glances all around to see if she had really won…

Balot followed after the Doctor, and soon they arrived at a table. Excitement was bubbling up. The dealer was praising a player who had two cards in front of him and a triumphant air. The other customers looked on—and that was, indeed, what they were doing: looking but not touching.

The Doctor peered down at the cards on the table. “Normally, whenever a player’s cards total twenty-one, the payout is three to two, of course.” As he spoke, the man at the table was showered with a pile of chips. “This casino also has a pair of special house rules. When the player makes twenty-one by drawing three sevens, you get triple your money back. And, best of all, when the ace and ten are both spades, the payout is eleven to one. Now technically, this pushes the odds right into the player’s favor; play your cards right—it’s not a house edge, but a player edge. Theoretically, anyway. No casino would dare offer such incredible odds unless its dealers were the best in the world. The dealers here don’t have to rely on the odds—they have other ways of parting players from their money.”