Mardock Scramble полностью

–His choice of words. “Tonight,” “in the end,” that sort of thing. It’s distracting her completely from her bankroll. Classic misdirection. What it comes down to, though, is that he’s using any means possible to get her to bet more and more of her chips. His metaphor of a lover was a good one. She swallowed it hook, line, and sinker—the idea that the only way she’ll get the chips back is if she puts out…

–Yes, I can believe that about her…

–It could even be that she’s experienced just the reverse of that in real life and is now subconsciously trying to put something right the second time around. The dealer is proving an affirmation of that, making her relax her grip on her chips. A simple type of manipulation, but effective nonetheless.

–So you’re saying that the dealer is good with words, and that’s why he’s winning?

–Words, yes, but that’s only one part of the picture. What he’s doing is selling a dream, a fantasy. He’s taking what’s in their minds and encouraging them to try and turn it into reality.

Before too long the lady did manage to win big on a hand. For a moment, her fantasy had been fulfilled. She won $7,500, but more importantly she was now in a trance, almost an ecstatic state. As if the lover that she had reluctantly parted company with when he hadn’t two cents to rub together had now returned to her as a multi-millionaire and conquering hero.

As the game entered its final stages, the old man who had been playing until recently returned to stand behind the lady and watch her play.

It was almost as if the old man had placed the lady there so that she could lose. His pride was an immovable boulder on this point; when he wasn’t there to support her, she was helpless. This was how it was, and how it should be.

Jack Sprat could eat no fat, his wife could eat no lean—and so betwixt the two of them they licked the platter clean.

This was the sort of couple they were.

The red marker appeared and the round came to a close. The woman staggered to her feet. Her face looked thoroughly satiated.

She was spent.

“A good evening to you all,” she bid them.

The Doctor replied in kind, “Good evening, madam. I guess we two will have to be the last ones here, with only the cards to keep us company.”

The lady smiled, still in high spirits. “I’m afraid I’m through for the night. Though I’m sure the cards will keep calling me back—I do love them so.”

Cards probably weren’t the only things that she loved, of course.

Balot politely bid the lady good night and turned her attention to the tables on her left hand.

The lady had lost well in excess of a hundred thousand dollars. As she had been destined to do from the start.

Balot wiped the lady’s data from her hand in order to make way for information that would be more useful at this stage.

“Well, well. It looks like it’s just us now. But we’re still good to enjoy a game with you, right, Marlowe?” The Doctor spoke to the dealer as if he were an old friend, not someone he had just met for the first time a short while ago.

“Of course, sir. I wouldn’t have it any other way.” The dealer was as friendly as ever with his banter, but as he shuffled in preparation for the next round, he glanced at his wristwatch. How long would he need to serve these two up on a plate? Then he turned back to look at Balot and the Doctor. Oeufcoque would have picked up instantly on the look of deep greed—desire, even—that twinkled at the back of the dealer’s eyes. Balot noticed it too.