The cards came.
“You’re you.” Bell’s words struck right through Balot’s heart. “You don’t have to hold back for anyone. Especially in a big match like this. In a match, restraint is like shit. It stinks and it distracts you.”
Then Bell was again silent.
Once more, the Doctor carelessly hit, until finally he bust.
As if hiding behind him, Balot hit.
With a 2 and a queen, she got a 7, making nineteen. She stayed, and Ashley revealed his hole card.
With a 4 and a jack, he drew a 5, making nineteen.
Ashley’s voice, announcing the tie, seemed to come from somewhere far away.
Subconsciously, Balot bit her lip. The next hand, the Doctor once again bust himself before her turn.
Balot received a 2 and a 9. She doubled down and drew an 8. Nineteen.
Ashley’s upcard was a 9. The hole card, jack. To no one’s surprise, a push.
Again she bit her lip, hard. The next hand, the Doctor bust, Ashley revealed his hole card, and as he announced the tie, the pain of her teeth gnawing at her lip snapped her back to reality.
Slowly, she pulled her lip from her teeth, and as she wet her lips, she felt a realization come over her. She had chosen this game. The game of whether she would live or die. And that was one answer to her question
It took a moment for Balot, distracted by those thoughts, to realize that there had been a change in the cards. The change occurred when the Doctor returned to the optimal tactics.
Balot’s eyes were focused on the reveal of the dealer’s hole card.
The upcard was a 5. The hole card, 9. He drew a 3. Seventeen.
“A loss…and a push.”
Confused, Balot checked the Doctor’s cards. Jack-3-3. Sixteen.
Balot’s cards were 5-7-5. Seventeen. Only the Doctor had lost.
Dr. Easter silently placed his next chips. Balot bit her lip again.
Ashley dealt the cards. Balot had no clear sense of his fingers. No sense of his fingers. Scathing doubt washed over her.
For the first time since the beginning of the game, Balot sensed the cards. The stack of cards, how they were ordered. She thought again about whether the cards had been arranged into a certain order.
She heard the Doctor say, “I’ll stay.”
He had 7-6-6. Nineteen.
Ashley’s upcard, an 8.
Balot had J-3. She hit and got a 7.
The card in front of her, Balot was silent.
She felt one with the table. Her nerves spread through it, and she sensed the weight of each card upon her skin.
Speaking gently, as if inviting something, Ashley said, “Will you draw another card? Feel free to ask the man next to you, if you want him to tell you what will happen.”
Balot slowly raised her head and sensed the dealer’s presence. She wondered if drawing her senses into his fingers alone had been a part of his strategy.
Quietly, she said,
Ashley casually flipped over his hole card.
A 4. With 8, that made twelve. He drew an ace and then a 7.
“A loss—”
Balot completed his sentence. There wasn’t a meaning behind it—she just wanted to see how the dealer would react. She wanted to sense his movements, his mood, everything. Ashley shrugged.
“Precisely.”
Balot grinned at him. At first, he looked taken aback, then he returned the smile. At the same time, he swept up the Doctor’s chips.
The cards came. Ashley’s upcard, a jack.
The Doctor’s cards were 5-9. He drew an 8 and bust.
Balot kept her senses upon Ashley and transmitted everything to Oeufcoque.
On her left arm, along with the running tally of the true count, the tactical instructions, and other data, was a hastily compiled report of information on the dealer.
Balot’s cards were 8-J. Somewhere, she felt Ashley’s pulse.
Ashley responded without delay. His movements casual—truly, those were the iron wall.
Balot had drawn a 2.
Following Balot’s choice, Ashley revealed his hole card.
Two jacks—twenty.
Something was matching up, she sensed. In the following hand, the Doctor didn’t bust, but his J-8 was defeated before Ashley’s and Balot’s twenties.
“It seems like we’re starting to see whom luck favors,” Ashley said, sweeping up the cards. “Those who take even the slightest wrong turn will find themselves immediately parted from luck. She’s nearly impossible to latch on to. No one can ridicule those whom luck has deserted, for it is just that easy for her to leave you.”
He spoke as if the Doctor’s loss had been his plan all along. It certainly wasn’t out of the realm of possibility for that man.
But the Doctor knew his role. He knew what he had to do.
He lowered his bets and determinedly went bust.
Balot bet the same amount again and again. The game wouldn’t end.
