Read Online Expatria: The Box Set by Keith Brooke - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Keith Brooke
Ads: Link
game, the tension was high. Sukui revelled in it, sitting calmly and observing how it affected the people around him. He knew that some players believed the adrenalin sharpened their performance, but in his experience they were deluding themselves. Rationality was the key.
As the game progressed, Sukui became more aware of how it was being moulded by the absent-minded actions of the young man opposite. Casually he would throw away a card that was almost the one Sukui needed; sometimes he even placed bets without counting out how much money he was putting down. The pragmatist would always trail behind, copying and shadowing, never trying to seize control.
Sukui's own hand was maturing well. By his calculations he just had to stall the opposition for another two rounds, maybe three.
The pragmatist withdrew, his losses moderately heavy. Sukui caught his opponent's eye and discarded a red three and a black twelve. 'It is your move,' he said. 'Please, would you tell me your name? I am Sukui-san.'
His opponent laughed and drew a card from the pack. 'Sukui? I've heard the name. Me? I'm Matt Hanrahan.' He threw a pair of red aces on to the discard pile.
Sukui's surprise at his opponent's name was blown away by the sight of the two aces. They were just what he needed! But nobody would discard a pair at this stage... Was Hanrahan playing to his own devious rules? Sukui scanned his notes, tracking the game's progress. The aces would give him victory.
But this was Hanrahan . Why bad he offered the pair to Sukui?
Sukui was not accustomed to such a situation. Logic told him to accept the pair and follow his calculations. But logic also told him that Hanrahan was intelligent, his game was good, and no one could throw away a pair at a time like this!
Sukui drew a card from the pack. It was no good. He should have taken the aces. He felt humiliated.
Hanrahan was laughing with his friends, his back to the table. Sukui cleared his throat. Then he knocked on the table. 'Mister Hanrahan,' he said. 'I believe the game is still in progress.'
Hanrahan turned back to the table and glanced at his cards. 'Hey, did I do that? ' He slapped himself on the forehead and laughed. Then he drew a blind card, sorted his hand and laid it out on the table. 'Mister Sukui,' he said quietly, 'I believe the game is no longer in progress.
Kasimir Sukui remained calm as Hanrahan sorted the money before him. He scanned his notebook, spotted where he had begun to lose control. The money was immaterial, Sukui's benefactor was wealthy. 'We will play again?' asked Sukui. 'MidNight has three more hours to pass.'
They played again. Salomo withdrew early, along with the pragmatist, who managed to recoup some of his earlier losses in a side-bet. The night progressed and Hanrahan appeared to pay little attention, yet he always managed to slip through Sukui's net, with moves no serious player would ever employ.
When the back-room at Salomo's finally emptied, the sky was lightening and the streets had returned to their normal, workaday bustle. Sukui felt drained. He had not lost so heavily in six years. He could not work out where he had gone wrong, why his system should fail him so drastically.
Standing outside the bar, be heard a voice he now knew and, without thinking, he hurried over and caught Hanrahan by the arm. Mathias was still laughing and, in the morning light, his face looked warm and open. He did not look at all like a man who could so casually humiliate Sukui and take all of his money.
'Please, Mathias,' said Sukui. 'Will you tell me how you did it? What system did you use?'
Hanrahan shrugged Sukui's hand from his arm. 'System? No, Kasimir, I just played the game. That's all. Listen, you play well, you're just a bit stiff , that's all. Are you stuck for money or something? This isn't your place, I know how it is. Here,'—he held out a handful of money—'take it back. I don't play for the winnings.'
Sukui could take no more. He turned and strode away
As the game progressed, Sukui became more aware of how it was being moulded by the absent-minded actions of the young man opposite. Casually he would throw away a card that was almost the one Sukui needed; sometimes he even placed bets without counting out how much money he was putting down. The pragmatist would always trail behind, copying and shadowing, never trying to seize control.
Sukui's own hand was maturing well. By his calculations he just had to stall the opposition for another two rounds, maybe three.
The pragmatist withdrew, his losses moderately heavy. Sukui caught his opponent's eye and discarded a red three and a black twelve. 'It is your move,' he said. 'Please, would you tell me your name? I am Sukui-san.'
His opponent laughed and drew a card from the pack. 'Sukui? I've heard the name. Me? I'm Matt Hanrahan.' He threw a pair of red aces on to the discard pile.
Sukui's surprise at his opponent's name was blown away by the sight of the two aces. They were just what he needed! But nobody would discard a pair at this stage... Was Hanrahan playing to his own devious rules? Sukui scanned his notes, tracking the game's progress. The aces would give him victory.
But this was Hanrahan . Why bad he offered the pair to Sukui?
Sukui was not accustomed to such a situation. Logic told him to accept the pair and follow his calculations. But logic also told him that Hanrahan was intelligent, his game was good, and no one could throw away a pair at a time like this!
Sukui drew a card from the pack. It was no good. He should have taken the aces. He felt humiliated.
Hanrahan was laughing with his friends, his back to the table. Sukui cleared his throat. Then he knocked on the table. 'Mister Hanrahan,' he said. 'I believe the game is still in progress.'
Hanrahan turned back to the table and glanced at his cards. 'Hey, did I do that? ' He slapped himself on the forehead and laughed. Then he drew a blind card, sorted his hand and laid it out on the table. 'Mister Sukui,' he said quietly, 'I believe the game is no longer in progress.
Kasimir Sukui remained calm as Hanrahan sorted the money before him. He scanned his notebook, spotted where he had begun to lose control. The money was immaterial, Sukui's benefactor was wealthy. 'We will play again?' asked Sukui. 'MidNight has three more hours to pass.'
They played again. Salomo withdrew early, along with the pragmatist, who managed to recoup some of his earlier losses in a side-bet. The night progressed and Hanrahan appeared to pay little attention, yet he always managed to slip through Sukui's net, with moves no serious player would ever employ.
When the back-room at Salomo's finally emptied, the sky was lightening and the streets had returned to their normal, workaday bustle. Sukui felt drained. He had not lost so heavily in six years. He could not work out where he had gone wrong, why his system should fail him so drastically.
Standing outside the bar, be heard a voice he now knew and, without thinking, he hurried over and caught Hanrahan by the arm. Mathias was still laughing and, in the morning light, his face looked warm and open. He did not look at all like a man who could so casually humiliate Sukui and take all of his money.
'Please, Mathias,' said Sukui. 'Will you tell me how you did it? What system did you use?'
Hanrahan shrugged Sukui's hand from his arm. 'System? No, Kasimir, I just played the game. That's all. Listen, you play well, you're just a bit stiff , that's all. Are you stuck for money or something? This isn't your place, I know how it is. Here,'—he held out a handful of money—'take it back. I don't play for the winnings.'
Sukui could take no more. He turned and strode away
Similar Books
