believe you actually signed that.”
Balot didn’t watch the retreating Marlowe, nor did she look at the man, dressed as a dealer, who had just dismissed him. Her gaze was fixed on the cold figure of the old woman.
“Good evening. Miss. Sir.” Ashley stepped up to the table and bowed gracefully. “It seems our young man is having quite the tantrum. He wanted to keep on playing with you, but we have rules here. Now, if you don’t mind, I’ll switch out the cards with new decks.”
Not to be topped, the Doctor graciously replied that it wouldn’t be an issue. Ashley nodded and tossed the used cards into the proper slot beneath the table. He withdrew six fresh decks, cleanly removed their seals, and displayed the cards. The Doctor nodded his approval, and Ashley began carefully shuffling the decks.
Balot looked at Bell. Since Bell had been staring at her the whole time, their eyes naturally met. The old woman didn’t smile, but she spoke with a certain fondness.
“Good evening, Rune-Balot. We meet again.”
Without realizing it, Balot had broken into a grin. More than wondering why Bell had come, she was happy to see the woman again.
A curious sense of security came over her—and a feeling of relief at seeing the old woman out of her croupier’s uniform. Bell’s appearance made it clear that she had indeed been dismissed from her job. Strangely, Balot felt no remorse. The girl knew that the battle between her and Bell was already in the past.
“So you really were after something big, weren’t you?” Bell spoke in a tone clear of any clouds of hostility or regret.
“You seem like the sort of person who can learn anything. You’ve got that kind of face.”
Bell turned her eyes to the shuffle, as if to tell Balot,
Bell, keeping her attention on the shuffle, answered, “No, this man just persuaded me to come watch.”
“His name is Ashley Harvest. He’s something of a bodyguard for this kind of business. For him to show up, this must be no ordinary matter. So I’m here to see how well you can stand up to his skills.”
Ashley glanced at Balot. “She’s here to make sure we have a fair match. So please don’t be concerned.”
Even if he didn’t exude the same fighting spirit as the previous dealer had, he seemed even more indomitable. More than Bell Wing, even.
“This man’s luck doesn’t spin counterclockwise like mine. He has no weaknesses. Remember that.”
“I’ll be watching over you. Over the whole game. You don’t have a problem, do you, Ashley?”
Taking it as a signal to begin, Ashley nodded and calmly assembled the cards into a neat stack. He spoke softly, but his voice carried.
“Right. From this point on, this table is reserved for you two only. Think of it as a modest gesture of appreciation for retiring that mechanic in the poker room, Bell Wing right here, and the fine young dealer who sat at this table.”
He might as well have just come out and said,
Dr. Easter, as if on cue, spread his arms fearlessly and, sounding quite pleased, said, “Our very own private table! Why, that is quite the luxury!”
Ashley raised a finger and, beaming a smile as if he were their accomplice, said, “That should make it easier for you to win, right?”
His candidness was startling—indeed, a sustained number of matches was required for card counting to be effective.
“If it’s all right,” said the dealer, “the minimum will be ten thousand dollars.”
“Is that a table rule?” The Doctor crossed his arms and, as calmly as if he were haggling over vegetables at the market, shook his head. “Maybe I want to try my hand at another table, then.”
Ashley replied without hesitation. “Fine, we’ll go with a ten-dollar minimum bet.” He pointed at Balot’s chip. “That way you’ll be able to play a hundred thousand games with that single chip.”
“Then we’re agreed,” said the Doctor. “Ten dollars it is.”
Ashley nodded and set the transparent red card on the table, inviting either Balot or the Doctor to place it in the deck.
Reaching for the card, the Doctor said, “You’re quite the unusual dealer, aren’t you? I’m eager to see you deliver on what you seem to promise.”
He casually inserted the red card into the stack of cards.
Ashley shrugged and effortlessly cut the deck. He then inserted the cards into the shoe and placed his rough but eminently graceful hands on top of it.
Balot and the Doctor placed their chips. Ashley drew the first card. The game had begun. Their last game— the one they had to survive.
?
“We have a push,” Ashley said.
The cards disappeared. With just a wave of his hand, the dealer had returned all the cards on the table to the discard pile.
Nothing else moved. Not their chips. Not their determination. Not their tactics.
All that passed by were time and cards.
The Doctor blinked twice and placed his chips on the table.
Balot stared blankly at hers.
The cards were distributed. Ashley’s upcard was a 7.
The Doctor had a 9 and a jack, totaling nineteen—stay.
Balot had a 7 and a 3—hit. A 9 card came, and with nineteen, she stayed. A decent hand. But Balot and the Doctor were in no position to make quick judgments.
The dealer revealed his hole card—9. That made sixteen. Following the rules, he drew another card—3. Ashley surveyed the table.
“We have a push.”
The watching crowd let out a collective gasp. It was formless, not quite wonder, not quite amazement.
Since the first card Ashley drew, this was the sixteenth hand.
They hadn’t won a single hand.
They hadn’t lost a single chip.
Both Balot and the Doctor had lost nothing.
Sixteen tied hands, with only the value of the count changing.
Placing his chips on the table, the Doctor cleared his throat and grumbled, “This is quite amazing. There’s not even the slightest movement.”
With a serious expression and a tone of admiration, Ashley responded, “Just proof that your fortune is an even match for this casino. It’s incredible. You’re a tough opponent. I’m riveted.”
Oeufcoque’s unexpected answer terrified her.
