Perhaps Milady truly had what people call "beginner's luck." Her first hole card was a 10, and her second, the upcard, was surprisingly also a 10, giving her twenty points right away.
"Hit me," she said, her voice hoarse.
The third card was an 8. Someone among the onlookers said with absolute certainty, "She's busted."
The other two players had stopped hitting long ago, but when the dealer looked her way again, Milady said, "Hit me."
"Still hitting?" an onlooker behind her laughed. "Has she forgotten what she's trying to make?"
Although everyone knew she had busted, her upcards had not yet exceeded 21, so theoretically, she could continue to hit. The dealer's brow furrowed for a moment, then relaxed. He dealt her another card—a 5. At this point, the sum of her upcards alone reached 23. Milady had automatically lost the round and couldn't hit again.
"You lost! Push your chips forward!" a gambler next to her cackled. "I've never seen someone who hates money so much. What was your hole card?"
When Milady bit her lip and flipped over her hole card, the crowd fell silent for a moment before erupting into a clamor mixed with confusion, jeers, and sighs. But the onlookers' chatter and speculation didn't faze her in the slightest—she hadn't sat down to win money. She knew exactly what her goal was.
Thanks to Terry's boyfriend, Wei Lian, Milady's pockets were full tonight. She had exchanged her cash for a good forty or fifty chips. She only bet two at a time, so even if she lost every round, she had enough to stay at the table for a long while.
In a money pit like a casino, winning was difficult, but losing consistently was as easy as could be. This was especially true for her, as she only had the most rudimentary understanding of Black Jack and no real skill to speak of. To avoid arousing the dealer's suspicion, Milady couldn't bust every single round. Sometimes she busted, other times she lost on points. On two occasions, she somehow even managed to win five or six chips. Nevertheless, after an hour, one of her moneybags was empty, and her hands had finally touched more than half of the deck.
When she saw the crew from the White Shark Ship walking toward her from the other end of the casino, Milady knew it was almost time.
"I'm done," she said, standing up with a dejected look, her right hand clenched into a fist. "I'm out of money."
"Then hurry home. This is no place for a kid," someone nearby jeered.
Amidst the onlookers' chatter, Milady quickly left the table. A glance back confirmed her seat had already been taken by another gambler, and the dealer was starting to shuffle. He hadn't noticed that she'd tampered with the cards, and just as she'd hoped, he wasn't swapping in a new deck.
Milady looked down at the nail of her ring finger. The thin black line that had been packed into the crevice was now interrupted by a clean, white gap.
'It worked... Just one more step. Just one more step, and I'll be able to force a path open.'
She kept her head down, clutching her bag tightly, until she bumped right into a burly man's arm. She stopped short as he barked at her.
"Watch where you're going?"
On his broad face, flushed red with liquor, bulging veins, brutish muscle, and a palpable aura of hostility stood out in sharp relief. He looked even more like an unstable volcano than he had a moment ago—Milady's gasp of surprise was entirely genuine.
"I'm sorry," she apologized, glancing from the Black Jack table back to the burly man. "Um... excuse me, are you heading over to play Black Jack?"
"What's it to you?" He seemed surprised that a young woman could face him without flinching.
"I just came from that table..." she said, lowering her voice. "I lost a lot of money. I think they might be cheating."
At that, the heads of his entire crew snapped toward her.
"What did you say? Who's cheating?" The burly man leaned down, the corners of his eyes bloodshot. His breath was a thick stench of alcohol.
"The house," Milady said. The dealer was just a stranger who happened to work here; it was a shame that things had come to this, but she had no choice but to drag him into it. "When the dealer is dealing, sometimes he draws from the top of the deck, and other times from the bottom. I noticed his technique is different each time... Could it be that he's looking for cards they've marked beforehand? It's not just Black Jack, either. The dealers at the other tables seem to be doing the same thing."
"What kind of marks?" the tattooed, bald man asked. "Those cards are smooth and clean. How could they be marked?"
This was the very thing that had nearly driven Milady to despair earlier.
The coating on the cards was not only smooth but also somewhat hard, protecting them well. Any scratches or creases would be immediately obvious. As for marks made by something like charcoal, they wouldn't stick; a single wipe would remove them. Besides, if the dealer noticed his fingers were dirty while shuffling, wouldn't he realize right away that someone at the table was tampering with the cards?