Read Online Expatria: The Box Set by Keith Brooke - Free Book Online
Authors: Keith Brooke
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back-room and closed the door behind him, breathing deeply in the clearer air and wishing his head would stop swimming.
The room was more crowded than Sukui would have preferred and the game was already in progress. A space had been made at the table and a chair squeezed into it.
Sukui took his seat and studied the players.
There were four of them. One was old and balding; his face grey and swollen and netted with burst capillaries. This was Salomo—Sukui had played him before. His game was sloppy and he was easily distracted; he was there because of who he was.
Opposite Sukui was a younger man, curly black hair, stubble, the physique of a labourer. This one was laughing and merry and needed continual reminding of when it was his turn. Despite this, he had a good stack of coins in front of him; Sukui was reminded that the game involved luck as well as skill.
The third player was tall and her features were pointed and tightly controlled. Her eyes followed every move, every flash of expression on her opponents' faces. She had already acknowledged Sukui's presence with a brief, appraising glance.
His fourth opponent was mature and strong-featured, a pragmatist, a grafter. This one would take no risks and would miss no openings. He would probably break even on most occasions.
Sukui opened his notebook and marked down his preliminary observations in the margin of the previous page, keeping his paper consumption to the minimum. Over the years he had learnt the value of first impressions in the statistical science of gambling. Technique was intimately tied to a player's approach to life and this was one of the first things that could be observed.
Sukui closed his book and sat upright. He would join the game when the round was complete. He watched the play. He felt confident tonight.
There were seventeen other people gathered in the room. Sukui knew that he must keep his cards close to his chest; he had studied the tactics of deceit closely on his visits to Orlyons. He knew few of the faces, other than Mono's. She was like a firefly, full of energy, flitting from person to person about the room. She was entirely different in company—her wildness was more evident. Eventually she settled behind the young man, opposite Sukui. He was not surprised when she put a hand on the man's shoulder, he knew she maintained other relationships, both business and private. He had never pursued the matter, it was irrelevant. Still, he felt pleased that he had not allowed himself to ask her back to Alabama City. He saw it now as no more than a sexual response, an emotional erection. He returned his attention to the game. The round was over.
The players each nodded formally to Sukui and then Salomo threw the stones into the centre of the table. Each player followed in turn and Sukui threw the final combination. This part was purely luck and it went the way of Mono's manfriend. Salomo dealt him four cards, face up, face down, up, down. The combination bore potential. The man glanced at his concealed pair, tossed the face-up jake into the centre and then turned back to his noisy group of friends.
The cards went round until Sukui received his own, a modest configuration. He discarded a red nine, probabilities flashing across his mind. The stones went round again, the players shaped their hands and Sukui felt his own intensity grow as the game moved out of the realm of luck and into that of logic.
As the round progressed, Sukui made brief calculations in the margins of his notebook, noting the moves of his opponents on a fresh page. Salomo was the first to put money on the table, even though his hand was unlikely to come to anything. The pragmatist to Sukui's right followed with a matching bet, the safest move. Two rounds later, Salomo withdrew.
The sharp-faced woman played correctly, even cleverly, but her starting hand had handicapped her. She recovered her stake money on a side-bet with an onlooker and then modestly withdrew.
For a first
The room was more crowded than Sukui would have preferred and the game was already in progress. A space had been made at the table and a chair squeezed into it.
Sukui took his seat and studied the players.
There were four of them. One was old and balding; his face grey and swollen and netted with burst capillaries. This was Salomo—Sukui had played him before. His game was sloppy and he was easily distracted; he was there because of who he was.
Opposite Sukui was a younger man, curly black hair, stubble, the physique of a labourer. This one was laughing and merry and needed continual reminding of when it was his turn. Despite this, he had a good stack of coins in front of him; Sukui was reminded that the game involved luck as well as skill.
The third player was tall and her features were pointed and tightly controlled. Her eyes followed every move, every flash of expression on her opponents' faces. She had already acknowledged Sukui's presence with a brief, appraising glance.
His fourth opponent was mature and strong-featured, a pragmatist, a grafter. This one would take no risks and would miss no openings. He would probably break even on most occasions.
Sukui opened his notebook and marked down his preliminary observations in the margin of the previous page, keeping his paper consumption to the minimum. Over the years he had learnt the value of first impressions in the statistical science of gambling. Technique was intimately tied to a player's approach to life and this was one of the first things that could be observed.
Sukui closed his book and sat upright. He would join the game when the round was complete. He watched the play. He felt confident tonight.
There were seventeen other people gathered in the room. Sukui knew that he must keep his cards close to his chest; he had studied the tactics of deceit closely on his visits to Orlyons. He knew few of the faces, other than Mono's. She was like a firefly, full of energy, flitting from person to person about the room. She was entirely different in company—her wildness was more evident. Eventually she settled behind the young man, opposite Sukui. He was not surprised when she put a hand on the man's shoulder, he knew she maintained other relationships, both business and private. He had never pursued the matter, it was irrelevant. Still, he felt pleased that he had not allowed himself to ask her back to Alabama City. He saw it now as no more than a sexual response, an emotional erection. He returned his attention to the game. The round was over.
The players each nodded formally to Sukui and then Salomo threw the stones into the centre of the table. Each player followed in turn and Sukui threw the final combination. This part was purely luck and it went the way of Mono's manfriend. Salomo dealt him four cards, face up, face down, up, down. The combination bore potential. The man glanced at his concealed pair, tossed the face-up jake into the centre and then turned back to his noisy group of friends.
The cards went round until Sukui received his own, a modest configuration. He discarded a red nine, probabilities flashing across his mind. The stones went round again, the players shaped their hands and Sukui felt his own intensity grow as the game moved out of the realm of luck and into that of logic.
As the round progressed, Sukui made brief calculations in the margins of his notebook, noting the moves of his opponents on a fresh page. Salomo was the first to put money on the table, even though his hand was unlikely to come to anything. The pragmatist to Sukui's right followed with a matching bet, the safest move. Two rounds later, Salomo withdrew.
The sharp-faced woman played correctly, even cleverly, but her starting hand had handicapped her. She recovered her stake money on a side-bet with an onlooker and then modestly withdrew.
For a first
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