Mardock Scramble полностью

The dealer’s upcard was a 6—playing by the book, the man should have stayed.

It was the beginning of the end for the monocled man. He might have been crumbling silently up to this point, but now he started crashing down with a roar. Perhaps he was playing with “scared money”—money he shouldn’t have been touching, money meant for living expenses or even to pay his hotel bill during his stay. Either way, he was now on the edge, in sharp contrast to the woman, who seemed to be enjoying herself in a far healthier manner, even as she frittered away her chips.

The man started doubling down on hands such as fifteen and sixteen, busting left, right, and center. He bet large amounts on single hands and then seemed largely oblivious even when the dealer had an ace as his upcard, recklessly doubling down regardless. The dealer started commenting on the man’s choices, bolstering up his recklessness, and the man clung to these crumbs of comfort.

In true Confucian style, the dealer said, “Doubling down is an extremely aggressive move. Some hands are suited more for attacking, others for defending.”

The dealer said, “Of all the players I’ve ever met, sir, may I say that an attacking style seems to suit you the best.”

The dealer said, “Do please take all the time you need to decide whether this is the place to press your advantage, sir.”

The dealer said, “Regrets at what might have been are the surest way to ruin your game. Do make sure you play as your heart tells you—that’s the best way to ensure you have no regrets. Going with your gut instinct is often best.”

The dealer had the monocled man by the snout, well and truly. The lady, too, seemed to be responding—she was slowly but surely increasing her bets. Oeufcoque, on the other hand, responded to each of the dealer’s precepts with increasingly disdainful commentary.

Thus:

–Attacking, defending. What does that even mean in the context of this game? Nothing—they’re completely ambiguous terms. As is the idea of hands “suiting” a particular style of play. All this sort of talk does is hook the player into going along with the dealer.

Then:

–“Do take all the time you need to decide”—that’s just a bind to force his hand. The only “choice” left in the man’s mind is to double down.

And:

–A bust is a bust, full stop. You can give it whatever name you like, call it “regrets” or what have you, but it’s not going to help you one bit. Even if the game does throw him up the odd high-paying blackjack, that’s not going to change the fact that overall the man is hemorrhaging money.

At each step Oeufcoque was warning Balot, but he was also teaching her the game. And in a far easier and more effective manner than any sort of long-winded plan concocted at the planning table.

The monocled man and the fat lady were now losing money hand over fist. Both were down well over thirty thousand dollars.

–What sort of person is this dealer?

–A bit of a prima donna. Good at his job, a real rainmaker. He knows the game inside out and he’s good with the customers. As far as the casino is concerned, he’s a real golden goose—and he knows it.

–I don’t like him.

–Fine. Just don’t let him know that you don’t like him.

–What do you want me to do?

–When you win, smile. When you lose, sulk.

She did just that for the next few hands, and the card shoe started running low.

The monocled man had switched to lower value bets, a hundred dollars a hand or even less.

–Looks like I win our little game. Oeufcoque’s voice was confident.

They entered the final game of the card shoe—they had hit the red card, signifying time to reshuffle at the end of the hand.

It was also the end of the road for the monocled man. He had hit on twelve, drawn a 10, gone bust, and run out of chips. The reason he had switched to lower bets was simply because he had started to run out of money. Now he had run out.