by Ubukata, Tow
The dealer froze, while the spectators seemed to boil over with excitement.
Some of them understood the significance of the sequence of cards that had just passed. The magic of sevens and eights. When the remaining cards were a couple of sevens and at least four eights, the dealer was doomed by the rules to lose, no matter what.
All the players had to do in this situation was stay. Whether the dealer had fourteen, fifteen, or sixteen, he’d have to draw and would end up busting.
Such was the power of percentages. The rules that had been so meticulously crafted to give the house its edge; this was the one moment when they were turned upside down, guaranteeing the house certain defeat. It was a gun fired at point-blank range: absolute.
–Hmm, I don’t seem to be able to use the chips up. They just keep on growing.
Balot was so casual as to seem offhand. The Doctor smiled at her. “Well, then, we’ll just have to ask for a nice big special container to fit everything in.”
The Doctor spoke as if he were ordering a particularly rare vintage wine, and the crowd responded accordingly. The whole floor—up until a few moments ago so serene and tranquil—was now buzzing.
Amid the noise the dealer located another radio to speak to an attendant. To ask him to comply with the Doctor’s request. To bring out the casino’s greatest treasure.
Eventually the attendant emerged from the other side of the floor, carrying a scarlet box.
He placed it down on the table and opened it, reverentially, for Balot to behold. No sooner had he lifted the lid than a golden light spilled out into the room. The light from twelve golden chips.
“Now, choose whichever one you like,” the Doctor said in an encouraging tone.
Balot knew exactly what she was doing. Gingerly, she reached out and took one of the chips that had the OctoberCorp company emblem etched onto it. The crowd bubbled up again.
“Oh, and leave the box on the table, will you? We may need a few more of those chips before long.”
The Doctor’s words caused yet another stir in the crowd. A match with million-dollar chips at stake! Normally such a thing was unheard of outside the special Shows.
Far from worrying about his catastrophic loss, the dealer seemed to be getting angrier and angrier. He started shuffling again, with a vengeance. Fully intent on taking back what he had just lost.
As he shuffled, Oeufcoque was surreptitiously dissecting the contents of the chip. He caused part of the glove to turn, gently fixing Balot’s hand so that it made a fist shape, with the chip packed away safely in her grip out of view.
Miniature laser cutters appeared inside her fist, moving about inside the space of a few millimeters to scan the contents of the chip, extracting its contents.
–Got it. This is where Shell’s memories are stored.
Oeufcoque extracted the contents of the chip carefully, cutting them out with absolute precision, taking care not to damage any of the contents. He then transferred the contents into a little pocket in the gloves he made specially for the purpose that moment. The pocket was sewn up behind the memory chip, and the hole left in the original was filled up with identical material so that no one would ever have been able to guess that it had been tampered with. The whole process was done in absolute silence.
To take the yolk without touching the white or the shell. This was what it was all about. The whole operation took slightly less than five minutes.
Balot’s right hand was released, and she slowly opened her hand that held the chip.
–One down, three to go.
The words floated up inside Balot’s left hand, and she squeezed back in return.
At that moment, Balot was assailed by a sensation she hadn’t experienced before.
Oeufcoque’s writing was always inside her glove, never on the outside. The letters themselves were inside out. Furthermore Balot’s hand was bunched tight. Their conversation should have been utterly undetectable to the outside eye.
And yet, at that very moment, Balot felt that their conversation was being watched.
Chapter 10
MANIFOLD
01
“I can’t tell,” remarked the man watching the screens, “which of them is the mark.” He slumped down into his fake leather chair.
The control room was bathed in the light of countless screens set into its walls. The room wasn’t made for a large number of staff—it was for this man alone.
Behind the man stood a floor manager trembling with anxiety and fear.
“Look at this,” said the man in the chair. “It’s like he’s being toyed with. You’re the floor manager—if you had to say which one of them appears to be getting roasted, who would you go with?”
“W-well, Chief, it seems to me that maybe it might be Marlowe?”
“Yes, I agree. With the incidents in the poker room and at the roulette tables, how many people are going to have to be fired today?”
The floor manager recoiled. Management of the dealers was his responsibility, and to him, there was nothing as chilling as a runaway dealer.
“Well, it’s no use,” sighed the chief, running his finger along a shiny black moustache. “Run a graphical search for any images we have of these guests.”
“S-so, you’re saying they’re cheats, Chief?”
“No, we can’t tell just from these screens. All I need to have is an excuse ready for the boss, if it comes down to it. Say they’re later found to be cheats, and we haven’t done anything about it. You and me and Marlowe, all three of us will get to be real swell pals, just three more dupes on the next bus to the employment agency.”
“R-right. So, how many people do you want on this?”
“Just you will be enough. Get twenty or so videos, send them to me, and go to sleep. But make it look like a few dozen others worked on it. Got it?”
“R-right. But, do you…when you say I can just sleep…”
“Once you’ve done what I’ve said, I’ll have my excuse, if it comes down to it. You, on the other hand…”
He made an exaggerated gesture of slashing his finger across his neck.
The floor manager gave a hurried bow and turned to leave, when a figure appeared before him. He took a misstep and froze in place.
A frantic voice came booming into the room. “Why are you calling for me when I’m in the middle of important business?”
The voice’s owner had swarthy skin and wore Chameleon Sunglasses the turquoise color of a robin’s egg.
“What’s going on? House Leader? Chief? Special Consultant?”
All of those titles belonged to the man seated in the fake leather chair—the question seemed to ask, “Which do you prefer being called?”
Not responding to the rapid-fire bluster, the chief turned to Shell-Septinos, slowly pushed two palms in the air, then looked at the floor manager and said, “You called for him?”
“Y-yes. Th-that’s what the regulations say to do.”
“Yes, that’s right,” said the chief, as if condescendingly praising a little child. “That’s the regulations.”
The floor manager, caught between the chief and the owner, scrunched down his shoulders, as if he were shrinking into himself.
Shell barged into the control room, glaring at the two men, and barked, “Some rich person is winning like crazy, and that’s got your spines all bent out of shape?”
“Some show-off prick with a girl along. Not that he’s a show-off prick because he has a girl with him. What I’m trying to say is, he’s a show-off prick. Word from the floor is they’re uncle and niece.”
“What’s their winning percentage?”
Shrugging his shoulders as if it were nothing, the chief answered, “A little more than sixty percent.”
Shell took off his sunglasses, and his Emperor Green eyes shone with rage.
“Sixty percent? Over how many games?”
“Last time I checked, two hundred sixteen.”
“What’s their method?”
“We don’t have any theories. We don’t know. They use the basics, sometimes. They don’t seem like anything more than a couple of amateurs throwing their chips around.”
“I see. Like someone who, after throwing their chips around, turns one hundred dollars into more than seven.”
“Well, it can happen sometimes.”
“I suppose. I’ve seen it myself. But what are the chances someone can randomly throw chips around and win more than sixty percent of the time?”
The chief, as if the motion were more of a bother than it was worth, made a circle with his right pointer finger and thumb. The circle itself had no meaning, but the space between his two fingers carried his silent message.
Shell nodded. “Right. Not one in thousands.”
“But not zero, either.”
Shell bellowed, “Are you trying to be funny with me, Ashley?”
The floor manager trembled, but the chief, like a scolded child unrepentant, simply scratched his cheek.
“Take care of them,” Shell continued. “As if they were pros who came with clear plans. That’s an order.”
“Pros, you say… They don’t look like pros to me.”
“I’m the one who will decide that. Show him to me, that show-off prick.”
Shell leaned forward, looking over the chief ’s shoulder at the screens on the wall. With a shocked expression, he said, “I see. That is one show-off prick. Like some cream puff playing dress-up as a hustler. You’re right, a pro coming in here looking as stupid as that, that would be…”
His voice trailed off into silence.
For a moment, the low buzz of running electronics was the only sound in the room.
The floor manager, unable to withstand the silence, asked, “Boss?”
But just then, Shell exploded, “What the fuck is this?!”
The floor manager jumped. The chief, calm as ever, simply furrowed his brow as he gazed at Shell.
Shell was staring at the screen with a dumbstruck expression, his face pale.
“What the fuck! What the fuck are they doing here?”
“What, you know them?” the chief deadpanned.
Shell, his face tense, as if a loaded gun were pointed at his head and the safety had just flipped, stared down at the chief and said, “Ashley, kill them. Chop them up with your cards. Give them your usual.”
“What? You mean, kill them dead, kill them?”
The chief formed a gun with his fingers. He aimed his index finger at the screen and mimed the pulling of the trigger.
Shell shook his head condescendingly. “That isn’t your job. I’m talking legally. With cards. There’s no need to take their lives here.” He straightened his posture and took a deep breath to calm himself.
His voice dropped to a whisper. “They came here to completely waste my time. Time is vital. And I’m not talking about the regrettable wastefulness of the passage of time. Time is dreadful. Because time that’s passed affects the time that’s left.”
The chief lazily tilted his head.
“Don’t you understand?” Shell continued. “I’m running from time’s curse. That’s how I’ve been able to climb this far. But my method isn’t perfect. That’s how I end up in situations like this. Things I’m supposed to have forgotten flash back. Flashbacks—this world’s foulest curse. And I hire men like you to cast them away. Men like the card killer. Do you understand?”
“Yes, well, sort of,” the chief muttered. Then, remembering something, he said, “By the way, Boss, about the people we had to let go today—”
“You mean the mechanic in the poker room?”
“No, no, who gives a damn about a little twerp like that? But down in the roulette area, someone else was fired.”
Shell nodded curtly. “What about her?”
“For a casino around these parts to fire Bell Wing? That’s unbelievable.”
“Get to the point.”
“Couldn’t you let her stay? I’m asking as a representative for the employees here.”
Shell aimed a scornful smile at the chief. “And what kind of representative are you?”
“One who’s loyal to his boss, of course.”
“Good. I’ll consider it. But only once you’ve completed your work. Now, I have to greet the partners in my important business deal. Understand? While I’m gone, do your job. To the fullest of your abilities. That’s why I pay you so well.”
“Understood, Boss.”
The chief bowed respectfully. Without getting up from his chair, of course.
“That’s an order, Ashley. Don’t let them any closer to me.”
Shell put his sunglasses back on and stormed out of the room with such force that, had the door been closed, he would have kicked it right down.
The chief muttered, “Flashbacks, huh. I don’t want a job where the trigger’s being pulled on me.” He turned to the still-cowering floor manager. “Hey, you. I’m changing the plan.”
“H-how so?
“Split the files into two thousand pieces and mobilize all the dealers currently on break. Track all of their movements since the moment those two entered the casino, and report everything directly to my ears.”
In time with the last two words, the chief tapped his headset.
“I’ll be with you. Don’t let them leave here alive.”
The floor manager’s face tightened in an instant, like a soldier just given orders to launch the assault in a battle where victory is assured.
“Yes, sir!”
He swiftly did an about-face and left at full speed, not stopping to look over his shoulder.
“What’s with those two?” the chief grumbled. “One’s the dog wagging its tail, and the other’s the tail wagging its dog. How insipid.”
He leaned back into the chair and returned his attention to the monitors. Noticing something in the picture, he touched his finger to the screen. The ConsoleView, responding to his touch, froze the image. He slid his finger right, and the playback rewound.
“Ah, that’s too far back.”
This time he slid to the left, and the image moved forward frame by frame.
The chief stared at the screen. On the other displays were playbacks from other, random points in time. As he looked from screen to screen, he snorted like a dog on the scent.
“So she’s left-handed.”
But the girl on the monitor was taking in a chip with her right hand. Not just any chip, but one of the most valuable chips in the casino—in all of Mardock City, even.
“Hmmm… I see,” he said, nearly yawning. His eyes were affixed to her left hand.
“I don’t know what your trick is…” he muttered with indifference, “but those gloves are well made.”
The chief—Ashley Harvest—hauled himself up out of his chair and slid his feet out the door of the control room.
≡
Shell dashed into his office and, like the fleeing heroine of a horror movie hiding herself in a room, closed the door with the slightest of sounds.
With one hand he snatched a microphone and into it shouted orders to his staff to take over his hosting duties, and with the other hand he mashed the redial button on his cellular phone.
Finally the line connected, and a low voice came over the phone—the steadfast voice of a man charged with erasing Shell’s flashbacks.
–It’s me. Weren’t you supposed to be in the middle of a deal, Mr. Shell?
“Boiled! It’s awful! Where the hell are you?”
–I’m investigating them. What’s wrong?
“Investigating? Investigating? What are you talking about? They’re here, right now!”
Boiled was silent.
“They’re here, all dressed up, like they’re going to a party!”
–I see. I thought so, Boiled said under his breath.
Now Shell was silent.
–I’ve been searching for them in your casinos. Of the four, I just finished up at the second. You’re at Eggnog Blue, right? I’ll
head over immediately.
“Y-you knew? That they would come to one of my casinos?”
–I found a card game crib sheet in their hotel room.
With a trembling hand, Shell removed his sunglasses. His eyes were wide with the dawning realization of his current situation.
–Are you there? Boiled asked, and Shell jolted back to attention. Please answer me this. Whatever is involved with your business deal—is it there or not? That’s all I’m asking.
Shell’s mouth worked open and closed and open again, and finally, he took a deep breath and said, almost in a moan, “This is where my first Show was. It was my first step… Everything always begins here.”
After a brief pause, Boiled said, –I will be there within an hour. I will take them down. My usefulness will prove that you’ve made the best decision.
Boiled disconnected.
For a time, Shell remained still. Then he muttered a single word.
“Usefulness…”
A bold smile spread from cheek to cheek.
“Yes,” he whispered. “Your existence is indispensable. You’re the hammer of God, and you’ll shatter that filthy rotten egg.”
He put his Chameleon Sunglasses back on. The lenses had turned a harsh red color.
≡
“Isn’t it a little early to leave?”
Just as Bell Wing had finished packing up her things in the anteroom, Ashley called out to stop her. He was rugged, well built with wide shoulders. An oddly charming expression spread across his normally stern face.
He coolly looked at Bell.
“I didn’t know Ashley Harvest was the kind of man to waste time on someone who just got canned.”
“You know, I’d like nothing more than to have all the other high-paid staff besides me gone.” Ashley made an embarrassed shrug. “But you’re a renowned croupier in the industry. You attract customers, and besides, isn’t there such a thing as duty in this business? Are you going to leave without training a successor?”
“I don’t know when you decided to start acting like a manager, nor do I care. I’ll have you know, I’m not particularly unhappy with my dismissal.”
“Oh, that’s the first I’ve heard that.”