_There couldn't be a better
tip-off system than mine--it
wasn't possible--but he had one!_
[Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from
Worlds of If Science Fiction, July 1960.
Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that
the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.]
I wouldn't take five cents off a legitimate man, but if they want to
gamble that's another story.
What I am is a genius, and I give you a piece of advice: Do not ever
play cards with a stranger. The stranger might be me. Where there are
degenerate card players around, I sometimes get a call. Not dice--I
don't have a machine to handle them. But with cards I have a machine to
force the advantage.
The first thing is a little radio receiver, about the size of a pack
of cigarettes. You don't hear any music. You feel it on your skin. The
next thing is two dimes. You stick them onto you, anywhere you like.
Some like to put them on their legs, some on their belly. Makes no
difference, just so they're out of sight. Each dime has a wire soldered
to it, and the wires are attached to the little receiver that goes in
your pocket.
The other thing is the transmitter I carry around.
My partner was a fellow named Henry. He had an electronic surplus
hardware business, but business wasn't good and he was looking for
a little extra cash on the side. It turns out that the other little
wholesalers in the loft building where he has his business are all
card players, and no pikers, either. So Henry spread the word that
he was available for a gin game--any time at all, but he would only
play in his own place--he was expecting an important phone call and he
didn't want to be away and maybe miss it.... It never came; but the
card players did.
I was supposed to be his stock clerk. While Henry and the other fellow
were working on the cards at one end of the room, I would be moving
around the other--checking the stock, packing the stuff for shipment,
arranging it on the shelves, sweeping the floor. I was a regular model
worker, busy every second. I had to be. In order to see the man's
hand I had to be nearby, but I had to keep moving so he wouldn't pay
attention to me.
And every time I got a look at his hand, I pushed the little button on
the transmitter in my pocket.
Every push on the button was a shock on Henry's leg. One for spades,
two for hearts, three for diamonds, four for clubs.
Then I would tip the card: a short shock for an ace, two for a king,
three for a queen, and so on down to the ten. A long and a short
for nine, a long and two shorts for an eight ... it took a little
memorizing, but it was worth it. Henry knew every card the other man
held every time. And I got fifty per cent.
* * * * *
We didn't annihilate the fish. They hardly felt they were being hurt,
but we got a steady advantage, day after day. We did so well we took on
another man--I can take physical labor or leave it alone, and I leave
it alone every chance I get.
That was where we first felt the trouble.
Our new boy was around twenty. He had a swept-wing haircut, complete
with tail fins. Also he had a silly laugh. Now, there are jokes in a
card game--somebody taking a beating will sound off, to take away some
of the sting, but nobody laughs because the cracks are never funny. But
they were to our new boy.
He laughed.
He laughed not only when the mark made some crack, but a lot of the
time when he didn't. It got so the customers were looking at him with a
lot of dislike, and that was bad for business.
So I called him out into the hall. "Skippy," I said--that's what we
called him, "lay off. _Never_ rub it in to a sucker. It's enough to
take his money."
He ran his fingers back along his hair. "Can't a fellow express
himself?"
I gave him a long, hard unhealthy look. _Express_ himself? He wouldn't
have to. I'd express him myself--express him right out of our setup.
But before I got a chance, this fellow from Chicago came in, a big
manufacturer named Chapo; a wheel, and he looked it. He was red-faced,
with hanging jowls and a big dollar cigar; he announced that he only
played for big stakes ... and, nodding toward the kid and me, that he
didn't like an audience.
Henry looked at us miserably. But what was he going to do? If he didn't
go along, the word could spread that maybe there was something wrong
going on. He had to play. "Take the day off, you two," he said, but he
wasn't happy.