Gold Standard

by Kyell Gold

  “Well, hello, Slim,” the fox said. “Welcome to the table.” His lapel pin was a Club, and his name tag read “Jack.”

  Sean indicated it with his muzzle, and grinned. “Thanks, Jack.” Of course his name was Jack. What else could it be? He pushed three hundred over the table, two fifties and a bunch of twenties, and then took one more crumpled twenty from his pocket and added it to the stack. “Hope this is enough to let me play for a while.”

  Jack scooped it up and riffled the stack of bills casually. “Three twenty,” he said, dropping it into his till and sliding a stack of chips back over to Sean. “Good luck, Slim.”

  Sean experienced an odd and powerful urge to breach casino protocol and touch the fox’s fingers before he withdrew them from the chips, but he held back until the chips sat alone on the table, and only then did he pull them all back. He made a show of looking at the minimum for the table--twenty-five dollars--and then slid out a single $25 chip in front of him.

  “Everybody in? Cheer up, Angel, your luck is about to turn. I feel it.” The fox shuffled the cards in his paws, and almost effortlessly dealt. Sean’s cards seemed to appear in front of him: Three of Clubs followed by the Eight of Diamonds. An interesting combination, he thought, reading them automatically. The Three of Clubs again: a wealthy partner, but in conjunction with the Eight, it meant that the money would arrive through practicing an art or skill, jointly between both partners.

  Of more practical import, of course, was the fact that he’d been dealt an eleven. He glanced at the fat wolf and saw an Eight of Spades and the Ace of Hearts. Nineteen--not bad. The other players had less promising hands: two that added to seven, and the busty female wolf just to his left had drawn a Nine and Six for fifteen. He saw her frown and saw Jack’s apologetic smile in response; apparently she was “Angel.”

  The dealer had the King of Diamonds showing. That would have been a good significator for the fat wolf, Sean thought. Rich, influential person. Influential in this case, because it promised a good hand for the dealer, especially given the lack of face cards on the table. Dealer’s twenty was a hard hand to beat.

  Apparently reading the odds the same way he had, the fat wolf used the flexibility of his Ace to hit again, and got a Six for fifteen. He scowled, hit again and busted. The next two players both hit and ended with seventeen and twenty, and Angel looked much happier with her twenty than she had with fifteen.

  Sean slid another chip out beside his first. “Double down,” he said.

  Jack grinned at him. “Good to listen to the cards,” he said as he flipped the Jack of Clubs to Sean’s hand. “Well, look at that. Twenty-one, and with my namesake at that.”

  Sean leaned back, one paw just resting on the edge of the table. “That Eight wouldn’t lie to me,” he said, almost to himself.

  Jack paused in the act of turning to the coyote seated to Sean’s right, then completed the motion, but as he dealt out a Five and then an Eight to the coyote, leaving him with twenty, Sean noticed that his eyes flicked over once or twice to meet Sean’s own. With the coyote’s deal done, the fox returned his full attention to his own hand.

  “Oh, my,” Jack said, “I’ve got a twenty-one and a couple twenties on the table. And dealer has…” He turned over the Queen of Clubs. “Twenty. So sorry, ladies and gents, a bad round for the table. I promise the next one will make up for it.” He raked in everyone’s chips, sent two of them to Sean, and followed them with a look that made Sean’s ears flick back in surprise. It wasn’t one of the casually flirty looks he obviously had in his extensive repertoire. It was a look of honest curiosity, and even though it lasted only a second, Sean sat up straighter and perked his ears.

  “So, Slim,” Jack said as he dealt the cards, not looking at Sean now, “haven’t seen you around before, I don’t think.”

  “I don’t gamble much.” He took his winnings and left a single chip out as ante again.

  “You know the cards, though.” That remark was delivered with the same tone as the look: curious, not flirty, though he threw in an empty smile.

  “I play lots of Gin Rummy with my mother,” Sean said. He reminded himself that he especially should not be flirting now, not with the fat wolf sitting right down at the other end of the table glowering at him.

  It was hard not to, though, especially when Jack stopped in front of him, vest hanging open to reveal his smooth chest and tight, flat stomach. Sean kept having to shake the image of his paws sliding behind that vest to hold the fox against him, and it didn’t help that he couldn’t remember the last time he’d been on an honest-to-goodness date with someone he’d chosen to spend the night with. It also didn’t help that Jack seemed to pause longer in front of his seat than any of the others.

  “Is your name really Jack?” Sean said during one pause while a new player took Angel’s place. The female wolf had finally cashed in her last few chips, taking Jack’s apology that the “cards just weren’t falling tonight” with a smile and a bounce of her chest. Sean had no doubt that she’d find someone to make her and her painted-on dress feel better.

  “Sure as the skies are blue,” the fox said.

  Sean chuckled. “It’s nighttime out now,” he pointed out, just to keep the conversation going.

  Jack riffled the edge of the deck with his thumb and grinned back. “Nothing but blue skies do I see,” he said.

  The red wolf, whose eyes were blue, smiled. “Irving Berlin,” he murmured as Jack dealt the cards out.

  “Him and ol’ Blue Eyes,” Jack said, pointing to the ceiling, where Sean could now hear the strains of “Strangers In The Night,” and he wondered if Jack had waited to point out the music until that song came on, or if the casino just played a lot of songs that encouraged people to hook up.

  “Not a bad choice,” Sean murmured, and then caught a glare from the fat wolf, who had to be down four hundred already, and looked at his cards.

  He lost that hand, but won the next two, and was actually up a hundred fifty after half an hour. He usually bet conservatively enough not to lose, but the cards were falling well for him tonight. Along with Jack’s flirting, it gave him a sense of well-being that was not unlike being buzzed.

  The wolf finally stood and walked away, and that was Sean’s signal to do the same. He had been hoping the wolf would stay because he was enjoying himself so much, but on the next hand he was dealt the Four of Hearts, a change or journey card, and he tapped it when Jack came back around. “I’m being called away,” he said casually, as if the card had nothing to do with it.

  Jack looked at the card and smiled. “Sorry to lose you, though my bosses won’t be,” he said, nodding at Sean’s pile of chips. “Hope it’s not for a couple more hands, though. I hate to see those blue skies go.”

  Sean couldn’t see the fat wolf any more, but he could make excuses for remaining at the table. He pushed ten chips out and grinned. “Deal me in, tall, dark, and handsome.”

  The eyebrow the fox raised was black with silver edging. He smiled and dealt out the next hand, and though he made a point to flirt with the other players and not with Sean, the Jack of Clubs he dealt Sean said more than any words could. The Jack of Clubs, in addition to signifying a dark-furred youth, also signified a reliable friend, and Jack had as much as announced in that first hand that it was his card. The next card Sean got was the Seven of Diamonds, which meant a surprise or a reward from consistent effort. Again Jack delivered the card without a word, after telling the dhole to Sean’s left how his eighteen was a good hand. He went on to deal an eleven to the coyote to Sean’s right, who eyed Sean’s stake and then prepared to double down.

  Seventeen, Sean thought as Jack went back to the beginning of the table. He should stay on seventeen, but that card combination was tempting him. A surprise or a reward from a reliable friend. Was Jack telling him to hit? He tapped his fingers on the table. That was the feeling he was getting, and if he had learned nothing else in his line of work, it was to trust his feelings.

 
“You’ll stand on seventeen?” Jack had come quickly around to him, but was hesitating.

  “Hit,” Sean said.

  The coyote next to him said, “Hang on!” to Jack, and then laid a paw on Sean’s arm. “Son,” he said, “you got seventeen. You always stay on seventeen.”

  “I know,” Sean said. “I just have a feeling.” The coyote tilted his muzzle and put his ears to the side, so Sean made something up. “That girl who took the wolf’s place, she’s a red fox, and whenever a new red fox joins the table, if I get a red card, I have to hit on it.”

  The coyote grinned, and slapped a paw on the table. “Here I took you for a tenderfoot. You go on ahead and hit. Don’t let me mess with your mojo.”

  Sean was watching Jack’s muzzle, while everyone else was watching the cards, and he could swear that Jack’s grin started before he even flipped the card over. “Four of Diamonds,” Jack said. “Looks like your finances are definitely improving.”

  That was the meaning of the Four. Sean tapped his fingers on the cards, not even bothering to hide his grin as the coyote next to him whooped. Jack knew the cards, and it sure felt like he was dealing out whatever cards he wanted. Sean would never be able to follow those nimble paws with just his eyes, though he kept imagining them on his tail, his rear, his thighs. He collected his winnings and cleared his head of those thoughts, but even though he watched the next deal closely, he couldn’t follow the movement of the black fingers. If he was cheating, Jack was good.

  He was good anyway, of course, and that was the problem. The next hand the red wolf got was the Seven of Hearts and the Seven of Diamonds, and that had to be intentional. Apart they were good cards, the Heart somewhat less than the Diamond, but together they meant love and pleasure.

  Jack grinned down at him. “Quite a pair,” he said. “Want to split those up?”

  Sean gave him a wide, answering smile. “No, I’d like to keep these together. Don’t think I need anything else.”

  The coyote scratched his ears. “Son, I can’t argue with your winnin’s, but you got some mighty peculiar superstitions there.”

  “Whatever keeps him happy,” Jack said, and Sean noticed the tip of the fox’s tail twitching back and forth.

  “Winnin’s what keeps me happy,” the coyote said. “And another one o’them sevens would just about do the trick right now.”

  Jack skipped a card towards the coyote’s thirteen, and the three of them watched as the Seven of Clubs came to rest. “Usually I don’t take orders,” Jack said. “But for the gentleman, this once…”

  The coyote shook his head at Sean. “You’d have hit twenty-one, son. Maybe you should re-think.”

  “Oh, I don’t know,” Sean said, his eyes on Jack. “I have a winning feeling.”

  Jack winked, unmistakably, but just as the coyote was saying something like, “Hey,” Jack revealed the dealer’s eighteen, and the coyote’s objection vanished as Jack swept Sean’s chips over to his.

  “And I think that’ll do it for me,” Sean said. He pushed four of his chips forward and smiled at Jack. “For you,” he said.

  “Sorry, sir,” Jack said, and pushed the chips back. “I don’t take tips at the table.”

  Sean’s ears stayed up through an effort of will. Of course they were allowed to accept tips at the table; he knew that. But if Jack didn’t want his money, there was nothing he could do about it. He took the chips back and then tilted his muzzle to one side. “Is there anywhere you can accept tips?”

  The fox’s tail jumped, but Jack didn’t react otherwise. “It’s very kind of you to ask,” he said. “But you seem so familiar with the cards that I can’t help but think you already know the answer.” He gave Sean a wink, and started the deal again.

  As Sean got up from the table, confused, the coyote turned and laid a paw on his arm. “Y’aint the first to try to get into Black Jack’s pants, and you won’t be the last,” he said in a low voice. “But shoot, you got closer than anyone I seen in a while. I thought for a minute you two was old friends.”

  “No,” Sean said. “Just met.” He smiled and nodded. “Good luck.”

  At the newer casinos, it was all done with electronic tickets, but at the Persian, they still had chips and cashiers. Sean leaned on the cashier’s window ledge looking at Jack as she counted out his money. He felt obscurely disappointed, not in Jack, but in the cards. Had Jack been manipulating them to get Sean to stay longer? Had the whole flirting just been an act? Sean was pretty good at reading people, and he’d thought there was some genuine attraction there, but maybe he’d been fooling himself. Jack was a professional just like he was.

  The cashier had to say “Hey” twice to get his attention.

  He turned. The plain wolf behind the grille was holding up a white chip. “This isn’t one of ours.”

  Sean blinked, and saw writing on the chip that said, “Full House Café.” An image of Jack’s paws sliding his tip back to him flashed through his head. “Oh, sorry,” he said, and took the chip back. A gold-embossed ‘1’ was all that was on the other side. “Don’t know how that got in there.”

  She slid his money over to him, and he pocketed it and walked quickly to the sports book area. The fat wolf was there at the bar, pretending to watch some game. His tail was twitching; it was definitely not wagging. One paw was tapping the bar, and Sean could feel the intensity of the wolf’s attention in how studiously he was not looking around.

  The red wolf slid a rumpled ten into the video poker machine next to his client. “Took long enough,” the wolf growled under his breath.

  “Just doing my job,” Sean said.

  “Looked like you were enjoying yourself a little too much,” the wolf replied, and then shut up as the bartender came over to take Sean’s order. When he’d delivered the club soda, the wolf started up again. “I’m not paying you to flirt.”

  Sean sipped his drink and tapped the video poker buttons almost at random. “You’re paying me to do a job,” he said, “not for the privilege of telling me how to do it.”

  The wolf didn’t respond to this, just kept tapping his paw on the bar. “Look at that,” he said to the screen. “Goddamn Holy Cross can’t buy a bucket.” The bartender moved away again, and the wolf lowered his voice. “So, did you spot anything?”

  You’re terrible at being sneaky, Sean wanted to tell him. Instead, he said, “No. If he’s cheating you, he’s good enough that I can’t spot him and he’s even fooling the casino cameras.”

  The wolf made a growling noise, a frustrated snarl that drew some looks. He gestured at the screen again. “They’re terrible!” he said loudly, and the other patrons turned back to their own business. “So what next?”

  Sean could feel the weight of the white chip in the pocket of his shirt. “I might be able to get a little closer,” he said. “All that flirting wasn’t for nothing, you know.”

  “How’s that going to help? He doesn’t cheat unless he’s at the table.”

  “No, but he might keep something elsewhere that would help us.”

  “Like what?”

  “If I knew that, I wouldn’t have to go look.”

  The wolf took a drink of his beer and was silent. Finally, he said, “I’m not paying for you to go screw the guy who’s screwing me.”

  Sean restrained his initial reaction. “You want me to keep investigating or not?”

  Another long drink, and the beer was gone. “Tomorrow, same time. I’ll expect a full report.”

  “I have your number. I’ll call you if anything develops before then.”

  The wolf pushed himself gracelessly off the chair and left without a word. Sean shook his head and played the video poker machine until his money was gone, then headed out to the dark Las Vegas night. His work day was just beginning.

  The Full House Cafe, like any other place in Vegas where someone might stop for more than twenty seconds, featured automated gambling machines. Sean was amused to see that in addition to the table-top video poker, the cafe
had a video slot in the corner on which a cartoony rendition of an old yak in white robes with a long beard was dancing on a pile of gold coins. Above the old yak was written the name of the game: “Philosopher’s Stone,” and beneath that, in smaller letters, “turn wisdom into gold!!”

  At the counter where he ordered his coffee, black, he saw a pile of white chips similar to the one in his shirt pocket, and realized that they were a clever type of business card. “Take one,” the rabbit behind the counter said when she saw Sean looking. “They’re lucky.”

  “Got one.” He patted his shirt pocket.

  “All right, then. Good luck,” she said, which seemed to have replaced “good-bye” as a parting expression in some parts of Vegas.

  The “Philosopher’s Stone” machine featured Nietzsche, Hegel, Locke, Descartes, and Rousseau, as well as various symbols, and if you got four in a row of one of the philosophers, you got to debate him for extra credits. The game looked too silly for Sean to pass up.

  Being a slot machine, of course, it was long on promise and short on delivery, but he finally lined up four Nietzsches. The machine display sprang to life with a picture of the old wolf and three phrases that were apparently attributed to him. Sean chose “Error has made man of animals,” and got 40 credits and moved on to another set of three phrases. The actual “debate” was somewhat of a letdown, but he made most of his starting ten dollars back.

  “I like a fellow who can take on Neitzsche,” said a voice behind him.

  He turned to see Jack, still wearing his vest with the club pin but without the name badge, his scent lost amidst the strong coffee smell of the shop. Sean grinned, feeling his tail wag. “You did show up.”

  “Of course,” Jack said. “The cards said I would.”

  “I have a feeling they had a little help,” Sean said as they cashed out and returned to the table. The initial feeling of delight was fading and now he was a little wary. The flirting at the table was nice, but here they were in a different element, on equal footing. Jack sipped some sort of latte while Sean lapped at his now-lukewarm coffee.