Red Queen by Christopher Pike Read Free Book Online Page A

five hundred or fifty.
    Of course, Russ told me when to place the big bet. But that didn’t stop my hands from shaking every time I pushed it out.
    I assumed he was counting the cards, but based on what Ted had told us, he was winning far too often for an ordinary counter. No, I thought, he must be using another kind of system. But what?
    I wasn’t the only one who was stumped. His winning streak naturally attracted the pit bosses. We had at least two standing over us from the time Russ passed a hundred grand in winnings. Eventually the floor manager appeared, a big burly guy with a neck as thick as his thighs. He had “mob” written all over him.
    The manager occasionally glanced up and signaled with his hands. I realized he was communicating with the “eye in the sky” that Ted had told me about. All the casinos had people watching the tables from above with special cameras, searching for cheaters, for counters in particular. Yet none of them seemed to feel Russ was counting. They let him play, even though he kept winning. I assumed they hoped his luck would change and he’d lose it all back, and then some.
    I leaned over and whispered in Russ’s ear.
    â€œDoes it bother you, all this attention?” I asked.
    â€œNah. They’re like everyone else. They hate parting with their money.”
    â€œWhat if they ask us to leave?” I asked.
    â€œThese are private clubs. We’d have to leave.”
    The alcohol went to my brain and danced. I suspected the bar had upped the juice in our drinks so Russ would play recklessly, although to be honest, I was drinking more than he was. I was playing like a robot that had an internal happy switch broken in the on position. The money we were making made me want to sing. It felt unreal. I stared at the stacks of chips piling up in front of me and I told myself that they had not given me real chips. That I was playing with Monopoly money. The idea did not disturb me because, well, in real life no broke eighteen-year-old chick from Apple Valley ever went to Las Vegas and won huge sums of money.
    Our dealer went for a break and never returned. It seemed we had a new dealer—a hard-looking fifty-year-old female who wore her makeup so thick it looked like it held her nose on her face. Russ instructed me to keep my bets low. Ten minutes later he leaned over and spoke in my ear.
    â€œWe’re leaving. This woman is what’s called a mechanic. Her hand and eye coordination are extraordinary. She’s the best I’ve ever seen. She’s hitting us with cards that are two, three, or four deep in the deck. Trust me, if we stay, we’ll keep getting losing hands.”
    I nodded. “Okay.”
    The woman, along with the floor manager and pit bosses, waited for us to make our next bet. Russ pushed all our stacks of chips forward and told the dealer to count us out.
    â€œExcuse me, sir?” the woman said, clearly unhappy.
    Russ stayed cool. “Do you want to count us out here, or should we do it at the cashier’s window?”
    The floor manager stepped forward. He offered his hand to Russ and they exchanged names and other pleasantries. He ignored me completely. He seemed concerned that Russ didn’t want to leave his winnings in the hotel vault, so he could play again at a later date. From my side, I would have brought up the fact that they were trying to cheat us with a mechanic. But Russ apparently knew better.
    He told them we wanted checks for the amounts we had won, and insisted the chips be counted in front of us so that they never left our sight.
    Our chips were loaded into two glass racks: one for Russ, one for me. We followed the loot and the floor manager to a cashier’s window. The manager wanted to take us in the back but Russ insisted he count the chips right there on the counter. He seemed reluctant to pass through any door that could be locked behind us.
    The manager agreed to Russ’s terms.