The cowboy left the table, spitting in disgust, and it was all the mechanics could do to watch him as he disappeared.
Other customers milled around the area, but none of them came near the table directly—there was a general sense that all was not quite right with the table. So now it was just Balot, the Doctor, and the three cheats.
Before long, though, the dealer stopped paying any attention to the other two mechanics. And soon enough, one of the remaining mechanics slipped up with a hand signal—or was it the other one who misread it?—and the trust between them completely broke down. All three mechanics were fit to burst. Oeufcoque noted everything, sliced away at their innermost feelings, and ruthlessly took their chips.
It wasn’t long before the potbelly was out of chips. He rose up and left the gaming table without a word.
The suit watched him go before getting up himself, his handful of remaining chips clenched tightly in his hands. He looked as if he could murder the dealer, but in the end stormed off in the opposite direction of the potbelly.
“Well, well—didn’t that game turn out all fine and dandy?” the Doctor roared.
The dealer just about managed a smile, though it took his every last remaining drop of self-restraint to do so. When the Doctor rose and turned his back to leave, the dealer’s eyes went black immediately.
For, at that precise moment, this was indeed how the dealer looked.
04
“Truly marvelous!” bellowed the Doctor.
They were at the baccarat table. The high rollers’ corner. Men puffing on cigars, women sporting jewels and low-cut dresses, all in thrall to the mountainous piles of high-value chips.
The Doctor answered Balot’s question as he was raking in the pile of his winnings. “The side whose hand adds up to the number closest to nine wins. The player side only had a four so was obliged to draw another card, which turned out to be a six.”
“A hand that adds up to ten is called
Balot nodded vaguely. Baccarat wasn’t one of her designated games, and the rules were now only a faint memory. She was standing right behind the Doctor now, left hand on his shoulder. Her knavish left hand. Oeufcoque could read almost any game in progress and pass the message on through Balot’s left hand to the Doctor—this was the setup.
Baccarat was supposed to be a game of pure chance; participants would bet on the player or banker side, trying to guess which one would draw closer to nine. But, of course, once Oeufcoque entered the game the rules went out the window.
He was able to sniff out the people who drew on the player side or the banker side, and use this to work out roughly what cards they had drawn, what numbers they had seen, and what sort of plan they were hatching.
The Doctor had completely grasped every little habit and tell of every player at the table, and said to Balot, “Here you go—some of the winnings. Go have some fun.” He passed a whole basket of chips over to Balot.
This was a cue to say that he no longer needed Oeufcoque’s help and could manage perfectly on his own now. Balot was impressed as ever by the Doctor’s superhuman memory and observational skills, but she couldn’t help feeling a little disappointed that she would be walking away from this game without really getting it, without understanding why it was supposed to be so absorbing.
She tapped the Doctor’s shoulder as she left. What she really meant, of course, was that he should come and find her if he needed Oeufcoque’s help again, but the Doctor just smiled back at her to show that he was invincible.
Oeufcoque seemed to be able to read Balot’s thoughts as perceptively as ever, and he communicated this lecture through her left hand again.
