Chapter 6

Freeze frame. I sat in the seat of my power. The chips in my hand were crackling with latent energy. The room around me was filled with the future courses of hundreds of millions of possibilities. For anyone else, this was their future, the strange blurring of multiple possible courses diverging from the here and now. They shimmered around everyone’s bodies, giving the appearance of auras. I could see the waitress handing the dentist a drink, and the chance that the distraught man would go home with her that night. Focus hard enough, and I could sense the individual molecules dancing in the glass. A lot more effort, and I could know the potential of individual atoms.

I was a house built in worship to chaos. I was empowered. I didn’t care about the hundreds of thousands of outcomes around me, only the one. I focused on the croupier, on the ball in her hand. She hadn't even begun throwing the ball, but it was in her hand. I could see the wheel only as a blur even here, every number a possibility. I couldn't make the ball go anywhere, but I could see where it would go. I focused on the ball, and saw the ball as it would travel. I followed the path of the ball, as it would travel in the croupier's hand, the path it would follow through the air, and around the roulette wheel. I saw all the possibilities as the ball travelled, and eliminated the ones the ball wouldn't actually follow. I felt the familiar pressure as I reached further into the future, the beginning of an ache as I reached inside to focus on the course of the ball as it would finish spinning around the roulette wheel, watching to see where it would land. I followed the bounce against the wheel as it dropped into the pockets, making its final bounces randomly among the numbers and landing in--

I snapped back to the now, and my hand continued its trajectory, dropping two hundred on five, another two on seven, four on twenty three, and finally another four on eleven -- where I knew the toss the croupier was just beginning would end up. I stayed in the present as the ball followed the trajectory I had already seen for it, the pressure that had started builing in my head fading to a dull throb as I sipped my drink. The ball landed in eleven, and I nodded to the polite applause around me. I collected my fourteen thousand dollar winnings, updating my running balance while sipping my Jack and Coke. I lost the next seven throws, dropping ten thousand over the course of the runs.

The pain in my head faded enough after throw seven, and I saw again. I watched the random elements align, the bouncing of the ball, the land in three. I won seven thousand this time, losing an additional thousand in lost bets. My head was pounding, but I was halfway to my goal of leaving the Bellagio up twenty thousand dollars. I lost six thousand over the next six spins, then accidentally won three thousand on an outer. I made up for that with two more losses before following the ball, savoring the longer delay before my headache redoubled. Thirty more throws and I was at fifty- four thousand, two- hundred and fifty dollars, and it was time for me to move on. The casino host nodded to the croupier to approve payout, and my chips were racked. Unasked, a security guard appeared to accompany me to the cage. I threw two five- hundred- dollar chips to the dealer, "Will you be here this afternoon, dear? I could use a lucky charm after my meetings."

"I'll be working until seven. Feel free to come by this afternoon; I'd love to see you again!" the dealer said as she pocketed the thousand dollar tip. Yeah, I bet you would.

The security guard escorted me to the cage; but not back to Tammy. The cage I was escorted to had no lines, and I knew it to be the high- roller's area. I glanced around, bored, as the cashier counted out my chips.

"How would you like this paid, sir?"

"I'd like it redeposited into my bank account. Take any fees out of the money, but leave me, oh, three grand in cash."

"Very good, sir."

Brittany clearly was more familiar with the mechanics of a wire transfer, and even handed me a remote keypad to key my account number into. I was handed a receipt for the fifty thousand and change that had been deposited into my account, and three thousand in cash.

"Will you be returning, sir?" I know Brittany didn't particularly care, but I'm sure her management would be interested in being sure I returned to the Bellagio.

I threw five hundred dollars in her tip slot. "Of course! I had a wonderful time. I have a day full of meetings, but I'll be back this afternoon, and can play into the night!" Brittany would take that to mean the money would return to the casino, I knew the fun was just getting started. I left the Bellagio, and entered a waiting cab. "Mandalay Bay, please." The cabby pulled out onto Las Vegas Boulevard. I had walked into the Bellagio with thirty thousand dollars, and left with fifty- thousand. I was on my way to the five hundred thousand, and not by way of any meetings.

I did the same process over the course of my day, up and down the strip. I left Mandalay Bay with seventy- five- thousand, Paris with just over one-hundred thousand, and one hundred twenty thousand when leaving the Monte Carlo. I ended my loop at the north end of the strip, leaving the Wynn with one- hundred- seventy- five- thousand and the Venetian with the final piece of my stake, with two- hundred- fifty thousand.

I juggled the money through the same wire- transfer bank account; leaving everyone with the impression I would soon return. The casinos were all very professional; I was chump change to them, and had put up enough of a stake that they didn't see me as a risk. Keep me happy, and I'd return, and I'd lose the money that time. Not hardly...

I took a break at Hamada, snacking on a few pieces of exquisite sushi. I mostly enjoyed the relative quiet in the post-dinner restaurant crowd, and let the shade, quiet, and a few sips of sake aid the Excedrin in reducing the pounding in my head to more manageable levels. I had done this before, but never for this long. I wasn't concerned about being flagged by casino security nearly as much as I was that I wouldn't be able to finish winning the money; it was painful to look where chance would take me -- I was half- human.

I walked back to the Strip, still as bright as at noon, but now because of the lights of the casinos. I flagged a cab, and took it back to the Bellagio, my randomly chosen target. I walked in just as security escorted someone out. I felt a twinge of guilt, recognizing one of the cheats I had told Styles about the previous night. Of course, he shouldn't have gotten caught.

The casino was far busier than it had been; the week-day morning crowd had given way to the frenetic pace of visitors and locals alike, looking for some way to forget themselves for the night. I, on the other hand, was thankful for the crowd, as it made it easier for them to forget me. I walked through the casino to the high- roller's area, and the cage where Brittany was no longer. The casino host looked at me slightly curiously, but I could see him decide to wait as I walked directly to the cashier. He could always have me escorted elsewhere if I didn't belong there, but he would give me a chance to prove I belonged. I walked up and spoke laconically, "I'd like to withdraw some funds to game with."

Her name tag read Cindi, and she looked like she dyed her hair with the same color both Brittany and Tammy used. "Very good, sir." I provided her with my account information, and the same passport. "How much would you like to withdraw?" I knew her screen would show how much I had played with this morning, and her subtle gesture of approval to the casino manager did not go unnoticed.

"Oh, I had such fun this morning. Say... two- hundred- and fifty- thousand?"

Cindi blinked, and smiled. "Of course, sir." She began pressing buttons, one of which must have summoned her supervisor, who carefully watched the funds being counted out. A security guard appeared without verifying that I wished the assistance; it wasn't in the casino's interest to be exposed to the liability of a lunatic wandering around with a quarter of a million dollars. It was fine with me. Cindi was tipped two hundred dollars, and I carried the stack of racks to the roulette table, pleased to find a table with a two- thousand dollar maximum.

"Would you like anything to drink, sir?" The waitress had appeared before I was even fully settled; the service was far more responsive in the high roller's room.

"Johnnie Walker Blue, neat."

"Very good, sir." I may not plan on making any money for the day's excusion, but I could certainly enjoy the free alcohol.

The croupier was professional, and the roulette wheel was a single zero. Others might have increased the probability change, but it really meant nothing to me. I would win, it was just a question of how big my headache would be. I shared the table with four others, two of whom had roughly as many chips showing as I did, and the last was clearly at the lower end of the high- roller's area. All four were dressed remarkedly similarly to myself, with only minor changes in colors. The low- roller was clad in bright pink, as was one of the big money players. The other was in a green shirt with a tan suit. There was a universal aura of well- manicured, well- cared- for among the four of us. Even the croupier seemed a bit better put together in this room.

I smiled slightly to myself, and picked up two thousand in chips. It turned out one of the well- funded players wasn't proficient at placing bets, but the rest of us finished in moments. The croupier threw, and I lost. I gambled without any tricks, and peaked at three hundred thousand, and dropped to one hundred seventy five. The inexperienced player lost thousands, and rose back up. The other moneyed player stayed remarkedly stable; no real losses, no real gains. The least- funded gamer at the table seemed on a roll, nearly doubling his chips in the time it took me to finish my first glass of Johnnie.

I was just slightly up when I decided to make my push. It was nearly eleven at night, and I wanted to finish up before the following morning. I focused, and watched the ball on its future course, and placed my bets accordingly. I won, I lost, I won. Winning without suspicion is a suspicion game. The computer wouldn't notice any pattern; they weren't programmed to expect someone to actually predict where the ball would fall. I only had to worry about winning to quickly. I bet the maximum across the board on individual numbers, ten numbers at a time. I focused once every seven losses, with random play in between to break up the profile. My head hurt more and more each time, but my columns of chips multiplied in turn. My vision in real time was starting to get blurry, but I was nearing my goal. I focused and deliberately lost fifty thousand in a row, and recovered the monies over the next. As the night went on I mirrored the increasing emotion of my fellow players, but inwardly I was calm. This was my place, and nothing was a surprise.

My mental tally had me at four hundred ninety thousand, and I stopped focusing for a while. My balance yo- yoed, but wouldn't rise on its own. Everyone else who had started with me had retired for the evening, but a few late- comers were keeping me company. My head had calmed somewhat, and I focused, intending to push myself to the five hundred thousand mark.

I placed the bet on the outside, a variation on what I had usually been doing, and won with black, and lost the next bet. I won the next two, and then finished off with a bet on odd. I had reached my five hundred thousand dollar target. I sat out one spin, eyeing my profits for the day. I had won all that I needed, and while my head was pounding, I was on a high. I made a mistake. I kept playing.

I focused on the next throw, planning on just picking up enough to make up the thirty thousand I had begun the day with. I Saw the ball travel through the air, bounce through the cups, and end up in the twenty-three. I placed the maximum bet, and sat back, a napkin to my bleeding nose. The stress had gotten to me, and my headache had transitioned from throbbing pressure to feeling as if an ice pick had been shoved into my ear drums. I finished my final Johnnie Walker, and watched the ball spin around the wheel, dropping from the outside to the bounce around the cups.