Mardock Scramble полностью

The next hand saw Balot with a total of twelve, and she hit. She received a 5. When would her luck change? It was all about trying to pin down the precise moment.

Balot stared at her cards, then made her mind up.

According to Oeufcoque’s tactics the right move was to stay. Yet Balot chose to hit. She received a 6. Bust. But this was no longer about the hand. There was a bigger picture.

The dealer quickly collected Balot’s spent cards. As he did so, Balot intuitively grasped the thickness of the pile of remaining cards and chose her moment carefully.

She promptly reconfirmed her bankroll, then plucked out a handful of chips as if she were wrenching them from the mountainous pile. Then she waited.

The dealer revealed his cards. He had eleven and drew a 7 to bring his total up to eighteen.

As a result the Doctor lost, and the dealer collected the Doctor’s cards too.

Balot placed her chips on the table as the dealer made his move. The clink of the chips as they landed on the table distracted the dealer for a moment, causing him to take his eyes from the discard pile. He looked somewhat stunned.

Balot ignored the dealer and turned to the Doctor.

–I have to use them up, really, it’s not fair to the chips otherwise.

The Doctor grunted and appeared to be thinking deeply, but then he announced, “Very well, then. Bring it on!” Throwing caution to the wind he placed a pile of ten-thousand-dollar chips on the table in front of him.

Up until this moment Balot and the Doctor had both been extremely cautious with their opening bets.

This was the correct tactic when counting, after all. The true count was zero at the start of a new round, so it was only prudent to start the betting low and increase their stakes only when the cards started to play in their favor. Balot and the Doctor had been doing their best to cover up the fact that they were doing just that, but even so the dealer would have surely worked out by now that they always started each new game cautiously, even if he didn’t suspect that the tactic was part of their card counting.

The dealer may have worked us out, thought Balot, but we have him worked out even better.

The dealer seemed in better spirits as he put his hand to the card shoe.

First the dealer’s upcard appeared. An 8.

Then the Doctor’s first card. A 10. Then Balot received her card. Also a 10. Then the dealer’s hidden card was dealt. Then the Doctor’s second card. Another 10. Balot’s second card came. Again, a 10.

There were four tens on the table in front of them now. Balot tapped the Doctor’s arm—twice.

–You’ll never beat me unless you stop being so stingy with your chips.

The Doctor put on a troubled face before eventually coming to a decision. Not hitting, not staying, but rather the third option.

“Split.”

The Doctor used his two index fingers to signal his cards being pulled apart.

Then he placed another pile of chips, equal to his original stake, on the table, beside the card that no longer had a stake covering it.

The dealer drew and placed a third card next to one of the Doctor’s. Incredibly, this card too was a 10.

“Stay.”

The Doctor was dealt yet another card. Yet again another 10.

–Look, you can go again if you want, Uncle! If you have the guts, that is…

Balot tapped the Doctor’s arm again.

“Of course…” said the Doctor, and the dealer’s face showed a flash of panic when he saw the Doctor take yet another pile of chips in his hands. “Split.”

Another 10.

The Doctor peered at the dealer’s upcard and hummed, “I think I’d better stay this time.”

In response the dealer now moved on to the second of the Doctor’s two original cards and dealt again. Another 10.

“Split,” the Doctor called again, and again he thrust forward more chips. The dealer was breathing heavily now and seemed to be in some pain. Still, he managed to deal another card to the Doctor. A 10 again. The Doctor stayed. Then another card, for the last split, and yet another 10.

“Stay, I think…” the Doctor said casually. Then he turned to Balot and laughed broadly. “Well, I’ve had a good enough run for my money, don’t you think? Now let’s see if you can do any better.”

–I’ll split too.

The dealer’s face was now drained of all expression, and he was staring at the pile of chips that Balot was preparing to add to the table.

Her card came. It was another 10. The dealer had done his best to contain them, but he couldn’t get them all, and here was the surplus, spilling out uncontrollably, just where he didn’t want them—like the clubs in poker that nobody seemed to want. Like stray dollar bills sticking out the sides of a hastily closed trunk.

–Stay.

For a moment the dealer seemed relieved. But then Balot’s other card received a 10 to go with it.