by Ubukata, Tow
“It’s funny—I can feel that I’m about to start winning, but I never quite seem to get there…” the woman grumbled.
The dealer consoled her with platitudes. “Perhaps we haven’t quite served enough time at the game for the cards to start taking a liking to us yet, madam?”
“What do you think I need to do in order to start winning more?”
“My best advice is to try out a number of different things for yourself, all the while taking advice from a player who knows the game well,” replied the dealer.
On the surface the scene seemed straightforward—a case of the dealer gently flattering his two customers. This was only the tip of the iceberg, though; much more was going on under the surface.
–The dealer is appealing to the old man’s sense of chivalry. He’s being set up as the white knight in shining armor, with the woman being set up as the damsel in distress.
This was Oeufcoque’s analysis of the scene as it played out.
–The dealer didn’t really have to do much to make things go his way. The old man already felt chivalrous, and the woman has long suffered from damsel-in-distress syndrome. There were plenty of opportunities for the dealer to hand them the poisoned apple.
–But the old man’s been contradicting the dealer!
–That’s all part of the dealer’s plan…
–What do you mean?
–The dealer’s deliberately been feeding him half-mistakes, getting the old man to correct him. In doing so, the words are coming out of the old man’s mouth. It’s much easier to get him to act accordingly. After all, if the old man is the one saying the words, he’s hardly going to expect that they’ve been planted in his mouth. He thinks he’s acting of his own free will, but really he’s at the dealer’s beck and call.
Balot’s head started to spin. She couldn’t help but be impressed at how meticulously the dealer had planned the whole situation.
Not only that, to look at him you wouldn’t have the slightest inkling that he was being so manipulative. Ingenious.
–Now then, back to our little game. Let’s see how it’s progressing.
Oeufcoque was talking about the game where they guessed who would leave the table first, of course, not the card game.
–I still think it’ll be the woman.
Balot stuck to her guns. The old man might have been passing on some of his chips to the woman, but he showed no sign of running out anytime soon. And if the old man’s pride was indeed the key to the dealer’s success in manipulating him, well, wouldn’t that very same pride ensure that he wouldn’t run out of chips in the near future?
Before long the game was over—the red marker card appeared again, just at a point when the dealer had bust. There was a pause. Just as Balot thought, the old man still had his large pile of chips intact.
“Hmm, couldn’t quite increase my pile as quickly as I would have liked,” said the old man, apparently out of nowhere. As he did so he called over one of the attendants to have him fetch his hat and coat. It was all Balot could do not to show her disbelief on her face.
The old man rose. He did have plenty of chips left, of course. But—incredibly, to Balot—he passed them all over to the lady. Grinning, the lady took hold of them all. The old man was telling the whole table, in deed and in word, that he’d had his fill of fun for the day. Then he sauntered over to the bar.
–The inevitable conclusion for a proud player. He knows himself well enough, including his own limits. Rather than tire himself out, carry on past the point of his concentration, and start losing, he’d rather quit while he’s ahead. He presents his lady with her bounty, the spoils of his conquest, then withdraws while the going is still good, his head held high.
Balot was stunned. She hadn’t even considered the old man’s psychology, his inner workings. It was only now that Oeufcoque pointed all this out that she started to wonder how the old man had come to be with the lady in the first place—what he offered her and what he sought from her in return.
–So, how did you enjoy our little game?
–Not much. I didn’t win either time.
–Still, it’s fulfilled its objective.
–Objective?
–You were talking to me, focusing on our little side bet, which meant that your mind was taken off the dealer’s wiles. I was concerned that he might have left a powerful impression on you otherwise—one that might have distracted you from our ultimate goal.
Balot had had an inkling all along that this was what Oeufcoque had been doing, but now that he had confirmed it to her so bluntly she wasn’t really sure what to say to him. As she searched for the words, Oeufcoque continued in a somewhat mischievous tone.
–You see, when it comes to influencing you, I’ve got a massive advantage over the dealer. He doesn’t have any way of speaking to you directly, after all.
Balot’s brow wrinkled ever so slightly at Oeufcoque’s tactlessness.
–There’s no need to tease me about it.
–The thing is, now that you know how this sort of manipulation works, you’re going to be on the lookout for it. It’s going to be much easier for you to resist. Not only that, if you play your cards right—metaphorically as well as literally—then you’ll be able to turn the tables, work out exactly what the dealer is trying to do, and use it to manipulate him.
Oeufcoque casually added a throwaway remark:
–Because neither the Doctor nor I would be able to manipulate the dealer in the way that we’ll need to in order to win big.
This wasn’t a question of impressions or influence or manipulation anymore. Neither was it a matter of whether what they were doing was right or wrong—it wasn’t a big deal, in the grander scheme of things. The only really important question now was this: was Balot up to the task?
–I want to believe you, Oeufcoque. Both you and the Doctor. Is that a bad thing? Am I being manipulated?
–That’s a judgment call for you to make, after you’ve honed your own decision-making faculties. All I can say is that this is the path that you’ve chosen in order to try and solve your case.
–But I don’t think I can win on my own!
–You won’t have to. One of our chief tasks is to be here to support you. And it’s your free will, your choice, that determines exactly how, and if, you want to use us. Whether you want to use the plan that we suggest.
–Are you trying to influence me right now? Manipulate me into acting the way you want me to?
–Yes, I am. I want you to use me. To let me prove my usefulness.
Oeufcoque answered without a moment’s hesitation. He continued, –I’m a Living Unit. A tool.
Balot’s eyes narrowed.
–My pride is not that different from the sort of pride that old man had. I can define my own sense of self-worth—my usefulness—only in terms of how my actions affect other people. I may have my own values, but I need to constantly put them to the test, to see if they have any value in relation to other people, the real world.
–But I do want to use you. Because…because you make me feel like I could do things for myself, even without you.
As far as Balot was concerned, this was the ultimate usefulness that Oeufcoque could provide for her. Oeufcoque never tried to dominate people in body or in mind. He always did his utmost to treat them as equals.
–I want to use you properly. I never want to betray you again.
–Thanks, Balot.
Oeufcoque’s words rose once more in her hand.
–Looks like I’ve ended up with a good partner.
04
The dealer finished shuffling and the Doctor placed the red marker into the cards.
–I’m going to display a running point tally.
Oeufcoque’s instructions couldn’t have been more decisive.
–We’re ramping the plan up to the next stage. We need to let the Doctor know.
Balot placed her chips down and casually tapped the table with her fingertips.
; The Doctor picked up on this immediately. As would anyone steeped in his current adopted persona of the aging playboy.
“Can’t wait for the next set of cards, eh?”
–Yes, Uncle. It’s starting to get really interesting. I’m going to try super hard from now on.
The Doctor’s expression was that of a man thoroughly intoxicated by his surroundings. You had to look very closely indeed to notice that his eyes were still steely and clear.
“That’s quite a statement, young lady! Your uncle’s most proud of you.”
The Doctor’s act was as convincing as ever—the indulgent uncle watching benevolently over his promising young charge.
Everyone could now see that Balot was concentrating terribly hard on the game. As if she were trying her damnedest to win. Nothing unusual about that, of course. Most people who sat down at this table felt the same way. The only difference was that most people weren’t working toward a plan that would help them win with absolute certainty. Even Balot didn’t understand the full implications of what it meant to have such a plan in place.
The players had all placed their chips on the table, and just as the hand was about to commence, a whole new set of figures floated up on Balot’s hand.
–Do you know how to read this point system?
Balot sensed that her whole left hand was now wrapped in a list of numbers. The current point tally and the breakdown of the cards. Each point total had a corresponding minimum and maximum bet.
–No problem. I can work it out.
Balot absorbed the data in the table deftly. Basically, the higher the point tally the more chips you bet on a particular hand, and the lower the points the less you bet. A rudimentary card-counting system called the ace-five count.
The principles were that the ace was the most advantageous card for the player, and the 5 was the best card for the house. The other cards were also ranked, in varying degrees, according to how advantageous they were for either the player or the house. So, whenever an ace was drawn, you subtracted two points, and whenever a 5 was drawn you added two points. Any card between 2 and 6 (other than 5) gave you one point. The 7, 8, and 9 were neutral. Any card worth ten meant you subtracted a point. And so you came up with an overall point tally. Every time the tally moved past a certain milestone, you changed the amount you bet on a single hand. Ten points and above, between five and ten points, fewer than five, between zero and minus five, lower than minus five; each point tally was allocated a different betting increment.
This rudimentary card-counting system was entirely compatible with the playing system they already had in place; the bankroll management system on Balot’s right hand would now also serve to keep track of their profits and losses according to the new card-counting system. Whereas previously they had been more or less reliant on luck in order to win, now they were going to be able to take the game to the casino.
Balot placed three hundred dollars on the table.
Right at that moment, taking into consideration all the cards that were on the table, the point tally was plus two.
The cards in front of Balot were 8 and 6, bringing her total to fourteen.
The dealer’s upcard was 9. The correct tactic, according to the grid, was to hit.
The lady had sixteen but fought on, resolute, with a hit. She drew a 2, bringing her total to eighteen.
The point tally on Balot’s hand shifted as an extra point was added—the total was now plus three.
The Doctor drew a 4 on thirteen, taking his total to seventeen. The point tally changed to plus four.
Balot hit, drew a 6, and was now at twenty. Stay, obviously. Point tally: plus five.
The dealer flipped over his hidden card. A 9. The point tally remained unchanged.
The dealer’s total was eighteen—Balot and the lady were the winners this hand.
The cards on the table were moved to the discard pile, and Balot picked up her chips. Now the point tally became meaningful. Plus five. In accordance with the new tally, Balot increased her bet from three hundred to six hundred dollars.
Balot’s cards were 6 and 7, total thirteen. The lady and the
Doctor both had small cards, 6 or less. The dealer’s upcard was 6.
The woman and the Doctor both drew steadily until they bust. Balot played in accordance with the tactical grid on her hand and stayed. The dealer revealed a 2, then drew another card in accordance with the rules, a 4. He drew again, a 5 this time, bringing his total to seventeen.
Balot had lost. The player had been at the disadvantage in this hand due to the run of small cards. At this point, Balot had to grin and bear it, in hope of a better future. For the point tally had now increased to plus eight. Patience was, in this instance, a virtue that was going to reap its reward before too long.
Balot put forward another six hundred dollars’ worth of chips as her stake for her next hand, just as the point tally demanded. She was waiting for her opportunity. Suddenly she realized that the dealer was looking at her. Without a moment’s hesitation, the Doctor chimed in with his two cents’ worth.
“That’s right, good, good. Where’s the fun in betting in drips and drabs all the time?”
Balot raised her head a little and leaned to one side.
–You were the one who said that this was a game of endurance, Uncle…
“Sure, sure. But there’s no point in enduring needlessly, just for the sake of it. You’ll just end up fit to burst with all the stress that builds up. No need to hold back here—let it all out!”
The Doctor’s cover story had its desired effect of drawing some of the dealer’s attention away from Balot.
The Doctor had sixteen, and hit. The card was a 3. Stay.
It occurred to Balot for the first time that the Doctor wasn’t doing too badly, considering that he didn’t have Oeufcoque to help him out, and he had managed to hold on to his chips and more.
His bankroll, tactics, and chip stats must have been firmly there, inside his head, the Doctor computing furiously behind his facade.
Balot hit on her sixteen, just like the Doctor, but she drew an 8 and bust.
Her six hundred dollar stake disappeared along with the cards.
That seemed to do the trick—the dealer appeared to take his eyes off Balot.
He wouldn’t have imagined in a million years that she was actually card counting. But as soon as anyone showed the slightest signs of playing like they might be doing so, the dealer was programmed to hone in on them, just in case. Proof that he was, indeed, a first-class dealer.
The point tally hovered around the plus five mark for some time. At one point it reached plus nine, but a number of minus cards followed in quick succession. Balot started to feel a little worried—what if the cards continued in this way, never showing a decisive opening? But all she could do was sit there and play the hands that she was dealt.
Then, just as they started getting into the game, something happened. The woman won big—well, it had been bound to happen sometime, probably—and drew a blackjack on a stake well in excess of a thousand dollars. The dealer congratulated her—conspicuously—and at the same time consoled the Doctor, who had bust, the dealer suggesting that he was so close.
“That’s the way the game goes, I’m afraid, sir. Whenever someone wins big, there’s always going to be someone next to them who loses. On the other hand, the opposite is also true, so that’s something you have to look forward to.”
In response, the Doctor turned away from the lady and toward Balot. “It’s not as if we’re going to keep on losing forever. If we need to pay our dues before Lady Luck finally decides to smile on us then so be it—let’s not begrudge her.”
So saying, the Doctor bet on the next hand. Big.
Balot snarced Oeufcoque.
–Did the Doctor do all that deliberately?
–Of course. He waited until the dealer honed in on his target and pounced. He’s playing the dealer in return, turning the dealer’s tricks back on him. This ide
a that when one player loses, the other inevitably wins. What the dealer is trying to do is to get the Doctor to bet big once the woman starts losing. The woman is caught in the dealer’s snare right now, and the dealer is going to move straight on to the Doctor once the woman’s sucked dry. He’s leaving you till last.
Leaving her till last. The very thought brought up nauseating memories for Balot. The idea that she was dessert, something to be savored at the end of everything. She remembered how one of her customers back in the old days told her that her name made her sound delicious…
Something inside Balot stirred. Something ruthless. So, you want to leave me to enjoy at the end, do you? Well, I’ll be waiting for you, smiling sweetly. I’ll be a juicy, ripe apple, ever so inviting, right up until the moment you bite into me and discover the razor blade waiting for you inside…
These thoughts spun around in Balot’s head as she assiduously tracked the ebb and flow of the point tally. A casual onlooker wouldn’t have been able to spot any rhyme or reason in the fluctuations of Balot’s betting patterns, and neither could the lady, who commented, “What a fickle little thing you are, my dear, flitting from one thing to another. I remember a time when I myself was like that, once…”
Whether it was because she had just won a big payout, or whether it was her natural high spirits, the lady seemed in exceedingly good humor. Balot nodded meekly, as if to acknowledge that she was indeed feeling adventurous, wanting to try out all sorts of different things. The lady nodded back—good for you. Her large hands grabbed an even larger handful of chips, and she poured them out onto the table.
“I wonder if luck is flowing my way yet? I can feel something big about to burst…” The lady’s chips might as well have been large hunks of bloody meat that she was throwing to the piranhas that were the cards.
Far from satisfying their hunger, though, all she was doing was whetting their appetite.
She was right about one thing, though—something big was coming. Balot felt it too. Something from beyond the point tally. Balot tried to pin down this indefinable something of a feeling.