Spaceland by Rudy Rucker

the seven of clubs face down on the top of the shoe’s fat deck. If I stood pat, my sixteen would lose to the dealer’s eighteen. If I drew, I’d have twenty-three: too high, busted. Lose-lose. I drew a card; I figured it might look suspicious if never ever busted.
    â€œJoe!” said Jena sharply. She was watching over my shoulder. “You’re not supposed to go over twenty-one! Maybe your sixteen would have won!” Had she already forgotten everything we’d discussed on the plane? Like about being cool in the casino? AIl I had was an edge, with no certainty of winning any given hand.
    â€œEasy, Jena,” said Spazz, who was watching over my other shoulder and making a little throat-clearing noise at each card I got.
    The dealer glanced over at us, then finished giving the other players their extra cards. The woman next to me stood pat with nineteen. She’d bet two hundred dollars.
    The dealer flipped over her hole card, showing her eighteen. If you’re not used to casino blackjack, you might think the dealer would want to draw another card to try and beat the player’s nineteen, but the rules are that the dealer has to act mechanically. Fairer all around, with less chance for collusion or rancor or massive dealer error. With one exception, the dealer always draws to a total of sixteen or less, and stands pat with a total of seventeen or more. The one exception to the rule comes if a dealer’s seventeen includes an ace counted as eleven; in this case the dealer must take a hit as well, changing the ace to a one if necessary.
    But right now the dealer had eighteen, so there was no question of taking a hit. The woman with nineteen points won two hundred dollars—blackjack pays the same as your bet—and I lost my first thousand.
    As the dealer took my chip. I stared at the shoe of cards, trying to see ahead to the next hand. If I was going to win the next one,
then why not bet five thousand? But just now, counting that far into the deck took more concentration than I had. The situation was too stressful. And having Jena hover over me and be doubtful wasn’t helping things a bit. To make looking ahead even less practical, players kept coming and going, affecting which card I would get. Keep it simple, stupid. I bet another thousand.
    This time the dealer had a three in the hole and a seven showing. I wasn’t going to be able to predict what she’d end up with, because she’d be drawing after all the players got done, so this time I’d just draw as many cards as I could without going over twenty-one. I got a ten and a seven for starters. When I got my chance to ask for a hit, I saw that the facedown card on the top of the deck was a queen, which would have busted me. So I stood pat. When all the players had taken their cards, the dealer flipped over her hole card and drew a ten. She had twenty to my seventeen. Another thousand gone.
    â€œYou’re not doing this right, Joe!” said Jena.
    I really didn’t like it when Jena doubted me. I lost my temper. “Shut up, you bitch,” I hissed. “Leave me the hell alone.”
    â€œHey, let’s chill,” said Spazz. “Joe knows the rules, Jena. Don’t stress him out. And watch your mouth, Joe. That’s your wife you’re talking to. The woman you love.”
    â€œGo away,” I repeated. “Both of you. You’re bad luck.”
    Jena glared at me, hooked her arm into Spazz’s, and stamped off.
    I started winning then. As soon as I was up two thousand dollars, a cocktail waitress appeared, wanting to give me a drink. I asked for ginger ale. When she got back I was four thousand up.
    â€œHere’s your drink, honey,” said the waitress.
    I took a sip. It had rum in it—a lot.
    â€œI wanted plain ginger ale,” I said, setting the drink back down onto her tray.

    â€œOh, I’m sorry,” she said, giving me a lingering pat on the back.