Spaceland by Rudy Rucker Page A

Maybe feeling me down for a weapon or a computer.
    I had a streak of good hands and then I was twenty thousand ahead. A skinny talkative guy with nicotine breath and a New York Jets T-shirt sat down on my left. “I been watching you,” he said. “I’m gonna do just like you do.” He had a pile of thousand chips as big as mine. Even though he kept losing, it didn’t seem to bother him. And he was talking to me all the time. His name was Gus. A low-class loudmouth.
    The waitress came back with a new drink for me. This time it was ginger ale and vodka. I complained again.
    â€œWhat is wrong with me tonight?” she said, laughing and leaning way down so I could see her breasts. “Can’t you just be a good boy and drink this one up? I’m gonna get in trouble if I keep taking drinks back.”
    â€œNo,” I said.
    â€œDude’s a lightweight,” said skinny Gus. I almost went for the challenge, but then I remembered something Jena had told me on the plane. The further I got ahead, the more the casino would mess with me. Gus was a hired shill whose sole purpose was to screw up my concentration.
    â€œI don’t drink like a fish,” I told Gus, tossing a thousand-dollar tip to the dealer. “But I play like a whale.” Clever line, Joe. I was feeling pretty cool. I wished Jena was there to hear me. I shouldn’t have been so harsh with her.
    Just to teach the shill a lesson, I put down twenty thousand for my next bet. If I lost, I’d still have the seventeen I started with. Sixteen, minus the tip. The dealer gave me a look, and the pit boss walked over. A handsome, muscular guy with a good tan. The kind of casino heavy I was scared of. His name tag said Sante Machado.
    â€œPardon me, Mr. Cube,” he said. “We’re gonna have to close
down this table. Come on over here; we’ve got a fresh table and dealer all set for you.”
    I tried to think if I’d told anyone my name. I’d had to show ID and give my name at the Hog Heaven, but I hadn’t mentioned it to anyone at Nero’s, had I? Oh yeah, come to think of it, Gus the shill had gotten a business card out of me. He’d mentioned COMDEX and out of reflex I’d given him a Kencom card. I guess he’d passed it up the chain. Gus stayed right on me as we switched to the new table.
    The new dealer was a black guy with a shaved head. “Let’s keep it going now,” he said to me encouragingly. “Don’t let up, Joe. Break the bank.” The dealer always acted like your friend. I set down my twenty-thousand dollar bet again.
    The dealer drew a nine face up and a jack for his hidden hole card. Nineteen. I got a five and a three. Tuning out Gus’s manic chatter, I focused my subtle vision on the cards in the shoe. A king was next. “Hit me.” Eighteen. Not enough to beat nineteen. The obvious strategy was to stand pat, but my subtle vision showed me that the card face-down on the top of the deck was a two. “Hit me,” I said again. Twenty. Home free.
    â€œThe guy’s got brass balls!” shouted Gus, slapping me on the back. Gus busted his hand, the dealer flipped his hole card to show his nineteen and now I was forty thousand dollars ahead.
    â€œYou’re lucky!” said Sante the pit boss, looking me over once again.
    â€œClean living,” I said, my heart pounding in my chest.
    The waitress was at my elbow again with a rum and ginger ale. “Could you just get me a large coffee?” I asked her. “And a hamburger?” I gave her a hundred dollar bill for encouragement. She patted the inside of my leg. Frisking me some more, no doubt. This was all so unreal.
    By the time I’d finished my burger I was up a hundred thousand
dollars. Time for a break. I gave the dealer a chip and put the rest of the chips in a little cloth sack he gave me. I walked around in the dizzying noise, peering through things to look