Teeth bared, the cowboy laughed coarsely and declared his hand.
A
and A
—that was what was in the hole for him. Three of a kind, aces. The cowboy had won. This pushed the cowboy’s winnings to just shy of four thousand dollars.
Balot could no longer see the cowboy as anything other than the mechanic.
How are the Doctor and Oeufcoque planning on beating him? she wondered.
The next hand commenced. We’ll get him this time, she hoped.
Balot was dealt 6
and 3
. The dealer’s button was in front of the Doctor now.
Balot made her blind bet without a moment’s delay. Yet again the potbelly folded in the first round. The cowboy raised, and everyone else called, and the first round was over.
The flop was dealt to the center of the table and turned over one by one.
10
, 5
, and 4
.
It was hard for Balot to contain her excitement. She now had six-five-four-three, and all she needed was a two or a seven to make her straight—or she could use the 5
to aim for a flush.
–Fold.
The instruction came just as she was about to bet. Unbelievable. Oeufcoque’s order directly contradicted every natural impulse Balot felt. She closed her eyes and placed her cards down on the table.
–Why?
She spoke directly to Oeufcoque now. Folding at this point meant that all she could do for the rest of the hand was watch the other players as the hand progressed.
–I’ve worked it all out.
This was Oeufcoque’s answer.
–You’ve worked out who the mechanic is?
–I’ve worked out everything.
Balot frowned.
–You mean that the man who’s winning is the mechanic? she asked, as if to say I’ve worked that much out for myself.
But Oeufcoque’s answer couldn’t have been more different.
–The man to the far right and the man on the end at the left are partners in crime.
Balot was amazed. He was talking about the suit and the potbelly.
As they talked, snarcing to each other, play had progressed to the third round.
The turn card was J
. Balot and the potbelly were out, so it was between the other four now.
–Looks like clubs are a lucky suit for you.
Not that Balot was remotely interested. It was Oeufcoque who’d squashed her two chances for a flush, after all.
–More importantly, won’t you tell me how you know? Why do you say those two are the mechanics?
–I can tell by their odor and their actions.
–Even though they’re losing?
–There’s not much mileage in winning from the outset. The best way to make money is to let someone start winning, hook him, then take it all back and more. That’s what these three seem to think anyway.
–Three?
–The dealer is in on the action too.
Before she could stop herself, Balot had glanced at the dealer. He was just in the process of dealing the river card for the last round. It was A
. She didn’t know whether to be disappointed or relieved; the card meant that she would have had neither a straight nor a flush.
–So the cowboy isn’t a mechanic?
–No. He’s a rabbit in the headlights, just waiting to be mowed down. You just watch—he’s about to start losing heavily.
Oeufcoque’s blunt words seemed to put Balot in a slightly better mood, and she asked him another question.
–How can you tell when people are cheating?
–I’ll show you, but you have to act nonchalant. The suit is going to win this hand.
Balot looked at the suit. He had a poker face on—the term could have been coined for him.
The old gentleman raised, and the suit called and re-raised. The cowboy went red in the face and called, and the Doctor looked toward Balot as he called too.
“So, do you think you’re starting to get the hang of it? The important thing is to get used to the ambience.” The Doctor spoke to her as if he were some sort of great authority, and everyone else around the table listened.
Balot, though, was the only one who understood the subtext—what he really meant by this.
–Yes, I think I’m starting to get it. What about you, Uncle? I hope you win this hand!
She was growing into her role.
–The pile of chips are ordered in such a way to show what numbers he has.
Oeufcoque explained. He was referring to the first pile of chips that the suit had used in order to call. And, indeed, the numerals on the chips ran parallel to the white lines on the table.
–The man on the far left is holding a chip between the middle finger and ring finger of his left hand.
The potbelly was indeed doing that.
–The man in the suit is the designated winner of this hand—he has three aces. The Doctor has two pairs, fives over fours. The cowboy next to the Doctor has three jacks. And the old man next to you has two pairs, tens over fours.
–How can you possibly know all this?
It was hard to believe. Reading emotions through odor was one thing, but surely there was no way he could accurately work out what every card was?
–The man on the far left is exchanging information with the dealer and the man wearing the suit. I just picked up on that. As for the rest, I just observed for a while, and I can tell how certain people start to smell when they get dealt a certain hand.
Balot found herself growing more and more impressed as Oeufcoque’s words appeared on her hand.
–The man on the left is broadcasting who has what pairs in relation to the community cards. He’s using the position of the chip in his right hand to show the others the strongest hand among us marks. The shape and posture of his left hand is showing them what the other people have, and whether the dealer is able to deal the man in the suit a stronger hand or not. The man in the suit placed his chips the way he did to signal for the river card to be an ace.
–They can manipulate the cards that are dealt too?
–They have certain cards concealed in the card shoe. Marked cards. The sort you can identify by touch—a funny shaped corner, or one card slightly bigger than the others. They don’t need to mark every single one; as long as they have a couple of high cards such as aces and kings, and know which suit is which, they have an overwhelming advantage.
Balot noticed that the dealer’s hands did indeed brush against the cards in the card shoe now and then. The move was disguised so that it looked entirely natural, but she could see that he was definitely feeling the shape of the cards.