–I’m bored here. Won’t you take me someplace where there are some nice men around?
She was no longer rejecting the place. This was a personal rejection: she found the dealer unappealing. The dealer’s expression didn’t change. Instead, he stopped breathing. As if he’d had his breath sucked out of him. Indeed, for all practical intents and purposes Marlowe was now dead as a dealer; no longer was he the invincible master of the gaming table. He was a private individual, and a snubbed one at that.
The Doctor tried awkwardly to persuade Balot to stay. “Let’s just try and enjoy the game, no? Look, you are winning, after all. If you give up now you’re turning your back on the rainbow that could lead to the pot of gold.”
Then he turned to the dealer and shrugged apologetically.
It was the dealer’s turn to speak. “I do apologize most sincerely for any way in which you find me lacking, my lady…” It was a small miracle that he could still muster up the self-restraint necessary to maintain his composure and keep smiling.
Then the dealer removed his earpiece with his hand and crushed it beneath the table. He was out of radio contact with the rest of the casino. But Balot had managed to catch the last transmission that the dealer had received.
It was from the floor manager, a frantic order to let another dealer take his place.
≡
Outwardly calm but seething with rage and shame on the inside, the dealer was now losing hand over fist without even noticing that he was doing so.
–Just as well that he’s usually such an accomplished dealer. The casino really is on the defensive—they don’t know how to play this one.
Oeufcoque too had noticed that the dealer had rid himself of his earpiece.
Despite this fact, and somewhat surprisingly, the casino had yet to send along a replacement.
–They must be finding it hard to decide whether this dealer has lost the plot or whether he still might be able to pull it back for them. They should have checked us out by now.
–Do they still think we’re suckers? Easy marks who just happen to be on a lucky streak?
–They must. The one person in the whole casino who should beable to identify us accurately is Shell-Septinos. He’s supposed to be the owner here…
Balot shrugged inwardly.
–He’s probably forgotten all about us, right? With that operation that sucks out his memories…
–It doesn’t suck them out, exactly…
Oeufcoque chuckled grimly.
–According to our sources, he’s preoccupied with this transaction he’s trying to set up. This really is our chance right now.
–Transaction? You mean his marriage?
–Exactly. Or rather the de facto promotion that he gets by marrying into the family of the house he works for. If we can pull the rug from under his feet then we may be able to bring his bosses down too—they’re the real target, after all.
Bring them down and send them to hell—that was what Oeufcoque wanted to say, but he just managed to restrain himself.
It would have been easy enough to simply batter the enemy into submission, after all. They had the means right in front of them. But it was more complicated than that, however thrilling the prospect was of seeing the enemy squirm.
To be burnt out. It meant something. To know. It wasn’t so much the question of good versus evil that concerned Oeufcoque and the Doctor—it was the question of innocence and experience. What you could learn from seeing the world, with all its wonders and horrors reflected back at you. Could Balot learn, could she respond? If not then Oeufcoque wouldn’t have gone out of his way to help her as he did.
