Queen of Spades

by Michael Shou-Yung Shum

  “Let me provide a deceptively simple example, one based on what high-school math teachers might describe as the so-called ‘gambler’s fallacy.’ A coin is tossed ten times, and it comes up Heads each of the ten times. The ignorant bettor, believing that Tails is bound to appear after so many consecutive Heads, bets Tails on the next flip and loses, for the coin comes up Heads again. The explanation provided by the high-school teacher is that each flip is an independent event, with fifty percent probability of Heads and Tails each time (excluding, of course, the minuscule likelihood of the coin landing on its side). There is a fundamental flaw in this logic, a gap between our knowledge and the laws of the universe that has served as the basis of my research.

  “One important aspect of this flaw stems from the fact that no coin is exactly the same as any other coin, even when straight from the presses at the mint, much less after years of common usage, with its everyday scratches and discolorations—some sides are smoother than others, the weight is unbalanced, et cetera. No coin is a true fifty-fifty proposition. (This also holds, as you might suspect, for the ball and the wheel in roulette, a pair of dice in a Craps game, a deck of cards in Blackjack—any physical object that is supposedly ‘standard.’) The astute gambler, seeing a coin land Heads ten times in a row, knows instinctively that it is more likely to land Heads than Tails on the eleventh flip, both due to a bias in the coin, and also an understanding that patterns of outcomes always occur in streaks.

  “For there is no such thing, mathematically speaking, as an independent event. Everything coheres with what happens before, and also what happens after. Time is a fluid substance, and can be manipulated to a certain extent by our physical bodies, despite our retention of memories and the fact that we decay. How much more true, then, is it for physical objects such as dice, coins, and cards, who do not have memory?

  “Returning to our example, the fact is that it is just as likely, in ten flips of an unbiased coin, for the pattern of ten consecutive Heads to emerge, as it is for any specific pattern of five Heads and five Tails, as, for example, five consecutive Heads followed by five consecutive Tails, say, or five Tails followed by five Heads. But you are aware of this already, I am sure. What you may not be aware of, however, is that specific patterns appear more than others depending on what I can only call ‘external agents.’ The appearance and movement of every object or thing on this planet, from a paper clip to a locomotive train, is to a certain extent determined by the interaction between our planetary core’s magnetism and the gravity exerted upon it by the various celestial bodies in our galactic vicinity. Different patterns emerge more readily under different conditions—in a deck of cards, for example, where each card’s weight is unique due to the amount of ink imprinted upon it. The Ace of Diamonds is the lightest card, the Ace of Clubs the next lightest, and so on—the Queen of Spades is the heaviest.”

  “I have heard this mentioned before,” Chan said.

  The Countess reached behind her on a shelf, and removed a deck of cards from a small wooden box. Chan watched as she shuffled the cards with her long, spotted fingers—there was no sign of arthritis he could detect. She handed him the shuffled pack. “Deal these out face down into two piles,” she said. “Based on their weight.”

  Chan closed his eyes and held the pack lightly in his left hand. He slid the top card off with his right, and weighed it gently in his hand, feeling it. Then he put it down, and slid the next card off, comparing its weight to the first. It felt the same, and he put it in the same pile as the first. The next card, the third, felt just the slightest bit heavier and he placed it on its own, in a second pile. Chan went through the rest of the cards in this fashion, steadily increasing his pace, until there were two piles on the table, the first with approximately three times as many cards as the second.

  “Now let us see how you did.” The Countess took each pile and fanned them face up on the table. Chan was impressed to find that the first pile contained all the cards from Ace through Ten. The second pile contained all the paint: the Jacks, the Queens, and the Kings. There was only one interloper in the second pile, the Ten of Spades.

  “This card contains almost as much ink as the royal cards,” the Countess said, holding it up. “If you can focus your concentration, you’ll be able to tell the difference.”

  “I’ve never tried before,” Chan said. “I’ll be better.”

  “You wouldn’t be much of a dealer if you didn’t improve,” the Countess said. “You handle cards daily, repetitively. For you to be insensitive to their weights would suggest you are not the kind of dealer I am seeking.”

  “Thank you,” Chan said. “I’m glad I haven’t wasted your time.”

  The Countess placed the cards back into the wooden box and closed the lid. “Let us get down to brass tacks, as they say.” Her voice became low and serious. “Two weeks from Friday,” she began, “on December 21, the winter solstice will occur at precisely 1:59 a.m. For a few seconds, our location on Earth will be at its farthest from the Sun, meaning the gravity exerted by that celestial body will be at its weakest.

  “Moreover, this upcoming solstice is unlike the standard solstice. You may remember from astronomy class the phenomenon of celestial precession—the precession of the equinoxes. Not only is our planet revolving around its axis, its axis itself is revolving—one revolution every 26,000 years. We are in the middle of this revolution, in the thirteen thousandth year, so to speak. This upcoming winter solstice is a convergence of these celestial events, a moment when the Earth’s gravity will be at its most skewed since 7000 BC.

  “You could say,” the Countess added with a slight touch of humor, “that I’ve been waiting for this solstice my entire life. Based on these celestial factors and the extreme patterns that are more likely to occur under these circumstances, I am predicting a very specific and particular pattern to emerge during the dealing of cards at that moment in time.”

  “I understand,” Chan said. “What is the pattern you expect on December 21?”

  “Around 1:59 a.m.—in the three minutes before and after—a new deck of Faro will be dealt. After seeing the first dozen turns in the deck, I should be able to ascertain the order the remaining cards will appear in, based on what has come before. As an example, one of the potential patterns—the simplest to grasp—is all fifty-two cards in order of their weight. I suspect the pattern that will emerge that night will be more complicated, for instance the series Ace-Trey-7 followed by Deuce-4-8, and so on. Mind you, these specific patterns will depend on the dealer as well. The more consistent the scrambling, shuffling, and cutting performed on the deck, the more likely the order of cards will conform to one of my calculated patterns.”

  “Consistent in what way?” Chan asked.

  “Consistently random. You should know as well as I that many dealers are profligate in their technique—the cards become sticky and remain alongside one another even through multiple, inefficient shuffles. What I require of you is to perform your job as cleanly and precisely as possible. Make sure the cards are completely scrambled once you receive the setup. When you shuffle, one card from one hand must interlace with one card from the other. When you strip cut, you must remove thirteen cards at a time, each time. And the one-handed cut onto the cut card must be exactly twenty-six cards deep into the deck.”

  “I can do that,” Chan said. “I will practice.”

  “Certainly you will,” the Countess said. “But I hope I have not adjudged incorrectly in presuming your entire dealing life has been practice.”

  “I will do my best not to disappoint you, madam.”

  She waved off his remark. “It bears repeating, Arturo: this is gambling. We can prepare our best—my calculations can be as mathematically correct as possible, and your dealing can be as physically precise as possible, yet the outcome remains fundamentally unknowable.” She smiled and looked at Chan. “I believe I have made everything clear.”

  “You have. Still, madam, as you know, I work in the
pit—not the High Limit Salon. Nor have I ever officially dealt a hand of Faro.”

  “Those are my concerns—not yours. I am going to create an opening in the Salon for you. Focus on preparing yourself for that moment. When it comes, it will be quick.”

  Chan had more questions—many more—such as what she planned to do, how she lived in the car, and why. But these matters of curiosity did not seem necessary to raise at that moment. Instead, he nodded. The Countess pressed a button on the console and spoke into it: “Thomas, I believe we have come to a satisfactory arrangement. Please take us back to Mr. Chan’s residence now.”

  The Sacking of Chimsky

  After spending several nights in the secret room inside the Royal, Mannheim found he slept much better in his new quarters, which were quite cozy and comfortable. Perhaps due to the boxes of old cardstock, the space had remained very dry despite the natural dampness of Snoqualmie, and Mannheim only had to clear it of cobwebs and the undisturbed dust of years to reveal the immaculate surfaces underneath. He slept on a thick pallet laid on the floor in the center of the room, and when the door was shut, he was enveloped in utter darkness and the smell of pulp, an odor he now strongly identified with this last period in his life.

  Little Theo was glad to hear of the move. Dr. Eccleston, on the other hand, seemed less enamored of Mannheim’s decision. “Of course, I am primarily thinking of your comfort,” she said. “And the maintenance of your hygiene.”

  “It’s strange,” Mannheim told them. “I sleep better in that room than I ever have in my house. And I wake up feeling refreshed and clean, not disoriented. The only time I leave the Royal now is to come here, and the experience of walking into the world is like I’m entering another realm, a murky swamp I have to wade through just to arrive here. Then I come inside, and I feel like I do at the Royal. Like I’m home.”

  “We’re happy to hear that,” Dr. Eccleston said. “It is true we have become close these past few months.”

  “I’m very grateful,” Mannheim said. “I think of you two as my closest confidants.”

  Theo asked to look at Mannheim’s hand again. Mannheim was surprised: the boy hadn’t read his palm since their very first meeting. As before, Theo intently traced the palm with his fingers.

  “What do you see?” Mannheim said.

  “Your aura.” The child turned to Dr. Eccleston for confirmation, and she nodded. “It’s expanding as we speak.”

  On Wednesday evening, as her entourage passed through the pit, the Countess halted and sent her driver to inform Mannheim she would like a word with him in private. Mannheim was surprised by this request, and wondered what it could be about—they had not spoken since their previous meeting. As before, they met near one at an empty table in the corner of the Salon, but this time, she told Lederhaus to proceed with the next shoe instead of waiting.

  There was another difference from their previous meeting. She was seated this time, an arm’s length from Mannheim, and she leaned closer and said in her clipped, efficient tone: “I confess I was not completely forthright with you on the earlier occasion of our speaking. I told you your dealer Chimsky’s affairs were not my concern.”

  “I remember,” Mannheim said.

  “Yet I omitted something that may affect how you conduct your business with Chimsky in the future.” She looked at Mannheim gravely, and he nodded.

  “Please go on.”

  “Chimsky has been dealing to me six nights a week over a period of eight years, and I am observant if I am anything—it is in my nature,” she said. “I believe I am as attuned to a dealer’s normal rhythm of shuffling as they are themselves—perhaps more so, as I can merely watch, while the act for them has become automated. That night, Chimsky was not shuffling in his normal way—for one particular deck, the one that resulted in the winning hand. It was impossible not to notice.”

  “You saw him do this?”

  “I felt something was different,” the Countess said. “And it drew my attention.”

  “Did anyone else notice?”

  “Lederhaus appeared to sense something too. But he allowed the hand to go on.”

  “What about the other player at the table—Murphy?”

  “As I told you previously, he was a complete stranger to me. But it was apparent there was something going on between him and Chimsky. They were trying too hard to convey the opposite impression.” The Countess looked toward the Faro table, and then back at Mannheim. “I have told you all I know about this matter.”

  “Thank you, madam,” Mannheim said. “Your information is very important—critical, even—to our ongoing investigation. Would you be willing to sign a deposition we can forward to the gaming commission?”

  “If it comes to that,” the Countess said, “my driver will testify. He was standing behind me the entire time and witnessed it happen.”

  “Certainly,” Mannheim said. “That should be sufficient.”

  “We will do as you ask on one condition.” The Countess lowered her voice to a near whisper. “No doubt Chimsky will at the very least be fired from his position.”

  “Yes, and possibly jailed.”

  “There will be an opening in the Salon then.” The Countess pursed her lips. “I would like one of your pit dealers, Arturo Chan,” she continued, “elevated into that position.”

  From her manner, Mannheim thought she was not used to asking for favors. “He’s only been here six months,” he began to explain. “And we have an established schedule of promotion based on seniority.”

  The Countess frowned and raised her hand as Mannheim spoke. “That is mere policy,” she said. “Not law.”

  Seeing her displeasure, Mannheim quickly added, “But we will take your recommendation under advisement, madam.”

  “Please see that you do.”

  “May I ask why Chan?”

  “He is a good dealer,” she said, slowly rising from the chair. “And I trust him—as I suspect you do already.”

  Although it was quite late, Mannheim phoned Gabriela at home, waking her up to convey the information he had learned, although he withheld the Countess’s last request. Gabriela asked if Chimsky was working that night, and Mannheim consulted the shift calendar and said yes. She told him she was coming in, and to let both Lederhaus and Chimsky know she wanted to meet as soon as possible, during the next dealer change.

  After he hung up, Mannheim returned to the High-Limit Salon and told Lederhaus about the meeting with Gabriela. He seemed surprised, but nodded and said Chimsky was most likely in the break room. Mannheim found him there, scrutinizing a Daily Racing Form and circling entries.

  “Am I in trouble?” he asked when Mannheim informed him of the meeting.

  “I won’t lie to you,” Mannheim said. “You must be for Gabriela to come in so late.”

  “May I ask what about?”

  “Sorry, Chimsky. I can’t say. But we’ll both find out in due time.”

  A half hour later, there were four people in the general manager’s office: Gabriela sitting behind her desk, Mannheim standing beside her, Lederhaus in the chair across the desk from Gabriela, his head bowed, and the principal himself, Chimsky, standing with his hands clasped in front of him, prayer-like.

  “Let’s dispense with the preliminaries,” Gabriela began. “The reason you’ve both been called in is due to a discrepancy in the dealing of a deck of Faro approximately three months ago. This discrepancy occurred while you were dealing, Chimsky, and under your watch, Lederhaus.”

  Chimsky smiled nervously. He folded and unfolded his hands. “Did you catch an error?”

  “No,” Gabriela said. “We noticed something deliberate. If you do not recall the hand, the Countess and a new player named Murphy both called the last turn and won.”

  “Oh?” Chimsky said. He wiped at his forehead with the palm of his hand. “Deliberate, you say?”

  Gabriela leaned forward and placed a video cassette on her desk blotter, within reach of Chimsky. “This video tap
e contains evidence you preset the deck. Which, as I’m sure you’re aware, qualifies as tampering. You may also be aware that this is a felony in the state of Washington. You can take a look at the video if you’d like.”

  “No,” said Chimsky, swallowing hard. “That won’t be necessary.”

  “We could send this tape to the gaming commission, Chimsky. The evidence is circumstantial, we admit, which is why we have waited. But tonight, an individual present during the hand came forward of their own volition, and stated to us they saw you intentionally set the deck. You can rest assured the commission will conduct an investigation, during which time you would be suspended without pay. You might be exonerated—but if you aren’t, we would be obliged to bring criminal proceedings against you. Even if you avoided prison, you would never deal again.”

  “I understand,” Chimsky said softly.

  “The thing is, Chimsky, we like you. You’ve worked here for over eight years, and everyone testifies to how outstanding a dealer you are. We don’t want to railroad you—we just want to know the truth.”

  “Will I still be able to keep my job?” he asked.

  “Unfortunately, there is no possibility of that. It would send the worst kind of message if our staff ever found out, which as you know is guaranteed in a community like ours. But we might just allow you to resign instead of forwarding this information to the gaming commission. Things will blow over, and you may eventually be able to get a job somewhere else—far away. But only if you tell us what happened. For example, who is Murphy?”