THE FIRING HAD GONE RATHER quickly, Kal thought, considering most of the administrative team had left for the day. Perhaps the gears of bureaucracy had been greased by the surveillance holorecording of his rant, which extended well after the thrown coin—and which he’d been forced to painfully watch while listening to Vestry’s angry narration to the administrator. Or possibly the motivation had come from where the coin had landed: in the cocktail glass of a surprised agricultural baron of some renown.
Whatever the reason for his termination’s swiftness, he wouldn’t have been able to fulfill his function anyway. He’d spent all his money on the last hand, and the casino had no use for a proposition player who couldn’t afford to play. And since he had “failed to comport himself in a manner consistent with Canto Bight’s standards for hospitality and decorum,” there wouldn’t be any more money coming to him. He was out.
Just not out of the casino—not yet. Yes, he had surrendered his fine cape and jacket, which were property of the house; that had been the worst of it, in some ways. He’d loved looking suave. But there was documentation to finalize, requiring him to be back in the office in the morning—and as he had nowhere else to go, he found himself in Ganzer’s Grotto, off the main card room. Music was playing, thrumming from a band famous enough to be at Canto Bight but not worthy of a larger room; Kal wished for the quiet of the daylight hours, but there was nothing to be done. He’d sat at the counter to face away from everyone else, open bottle in front of him and head in his hands—and fortunately everyone had understood that bit of interplanetary language and left him alone.
Except, of course, for the one person paid to intrude. “You were cashiered?” Ganz asked.
“That’s a funny word. Sounds like they give you money.” Kal tugged at his shirt. “They took my jacket.”
“The cravat doesn’t really work without it.” Ganzer didn’t look directly at him as he wiped down the bar. “You all right?”
Kal shook his head. “I don’t know. It’s as I told Vestry: I’m normally so disciplined. Every day, every hand. No ups, no downs. That’s who I have to be.”
“And you ran into something that didn’t make sense.”
“I don’t get it,” Kal said, looking up. “Who are those guys? Vestry acted like the casino knew them.”
Ganz grinned. “No, I guess playing day shift you wouldn’t have seen them. They’re normally in later. We call them the Lucky Three.”
“The Lucky Three?”
Rag in hands, Ganzer leaned against the back counter. “The way I hear it, they’ve turned up in casinos and at tracks across the galaxy. When they win big, they win real big. When they lose, they don’t care—because they know they’ll get it back.”
“Are they cheating?”
“Not that anyone can tell,” Ganzer said. “Canto keeps a close eye on them. A few winners can be good for business.”
Kal concentrated. If even Vestry thought they were clean, that said something. It also explained why she’d been hanging around so much. “How are the brothers doing it, then?”
Ganzer shrugged. “I don’t think even they know. They’ll win it all and then lose it—and never stop smiling. Management’s asked them to stay away from the high-limit games against the house—but they’re hard to control. Minds of their own, those boys.”
“I don’t think they’ve got a brain among them. But they’ve got my money!”
“Not anymore. Canto Bight’s won it back.”
Kal’s eyes went wide. “No!”
“Yep. Your big winner just threw it all away on the jubilee wheel. The one with the big ears and big ideas—”
“Thodi.”
“—talked him into dividing up the money and betting every single possible outcome. The wheel stopped on Black Hole.”
“The one space you can’t bet.” Kal was enraged anew. “That was eight hundred thousand!”
“They don’t care. The two of them came in here and told the third—and all of them were off immediately to the hazard toss table. Winning again, my server tells me.”
They only lose when they have a plan? Kal entertained the thought for a moment and dismissed it. It wasn’t worth further thought. “They blew up my life. I’m busted out.”
Ganzer sighed and nodded. “Only hard thing about life on Cantonica is figuring out a way to never have to leave.”
It was an aphorism among those on the planet who worked—or played—for a living. So many, the two of them included, had lived in places torn by poverty, sickness, or war. Cantonica’s dry air was a magic elixir, allowing one to forget—and ignore—all the sufferings of a crowded galaxy that had too much history and was making more every day.
Ganzer took Kal’s empty bottle. “Where will you go? You’ve still got your ship, right?”
“That’s—uh, complicated,” Kal said.
The bartender accepted that answer.
Kal frowned. “You’re sure they’re not cheating?”
Ganzer sighed. “It’s a strange galaxy. When I was young—”
“Here we go,” Kal said. Ganzer had the bartender’s love of tales.
“—back when I worked construction in the Core Worlds, I used to go to this diner where these two hustlers were always winning free meals off the other customers by rolling chance cubes at the counter.”
“Low stakes.”
“Which is why people took the bets. After I’d lost to both of them enough times, I was sure they were cheating—switching in loaded dice or something. So then one day this Jedi Knight came in. You heard of them?”
“Not much.”
“They were a sort of peace officer before the Empire. People said they used some kind of magic. Anyway, this Jedi Knight offered to play both of the gamblers. The first took off and never came back; the second played him and lost.”
“So he used his magic on the second guy’s dice.”
“No, he said he didn’t do anything. He didn’t have to. What was it he said?” Ganzer spoke next in a solemn voice. “The honest person only fears losing. The cheater fears discovery, and does so long after the die is cast.”
“Pithy.”
“So what did the Lucky Three fear earlier?” Ganzer asked. “Losing, or discovery?”
“I don’t think they were afraid of anything.”
“Then odds are they’re not cheating.”
Kal groaned. “Don’t mention odds to me.”
Ganzer snapped his fingers. “I almost forgot. I have something for you.” He reached for his pocket.
“I won’t take your money, Ganz.”
“It’s not mine, it’s yours.” He produced a single coin. “It’s the one you threw. I fished it out of the baron’s glass.” He passed it to Kal. “Actually, it was the brother that was in here who suggested I give it to you. The happy one.”
“Dodi, I think. I’m sorry I know.” Kal studied the coin. “They must really want me to have it. Severance pay, I guess.”
Seeing a group of partiers enter, Ganzer stepped out from behind the counter. He called back, “Do yourself a favor. Don’t spend it here.”
“In the casino or at the bar?”
“Neither!”
Kal studied the coin—and then realized he was being watched. He turned his head quickly to a table in a dark alcove on the side of the room, where a long-limbed crimson-skinned woman had stopped dead in her solitaire play to study him.
“What?” Kal blurted.
“Looking to see if you were going to throw that one.” She gestured into the card room. “You’d get more elevation out there.”
Kal rolled his eyes. The woman collected her cards and rose to approach him. Against the monochromatic styles of the casino, she immediately stood out. Everything about her was red: hair, dress, satchel—and eyes, narrow and watchful. He’d seen several members of her species here, all either employed as entertainers or being escorted by others. That only reminded him that company was yet another thing he could not afford to keep.
“Look, this isn’t a good day,” he said as she reached the bar. “And you’re not my type. Or species.”
“If that’s how well you read people, it’s no wonder that’s your last coin.” The woman claimed the seat next to him and started dealing a solitaire zinbiddle hand on the bar. “You’re Kaljach Sonmi. We need to talk.”