Michele Bravo and the Mystery of Mr. Largo, Ch 6

Chapter Six: Cat? or Mouse?

The Thunder Sky’s sole video roulette machine was placed in an out-of-the way bay, surrounded on all sides by rows of slot machines… penny, nickel, quarter and dollar machines were aligned in rows. Five and ten dollar machines had their own “high stakes” area.

The false Mr. Largo sat at a penny machine, so placed so that he could watch Taran Tula at the roulette machine without her being able to see him. He’d watched her for an hour now, impressed as ever by her total calmness, her total control. He could tell, from here, what was going on. The other five players would spin their trackballs and press the button to make their bets, so busily. Usually they would continue betting their money until the time limit was up. Not her. Sometimes she wouldn’t bet at all. Most times she wouldn’t bet. Then, by some alchemy, she’d choose her time and place bets on two or three numbers, and then sit and wait.

The ball would spin, and if the others won, you could tell by their faces, by their body language. Not with her. Win or lose, she was impassive, except for a mischievous smile now and then, like when he’d sat opposite her earlier that day. When he’d started mimicking her bets, she’d grin at him when they both won, shrugged when they’d both lost. But they’d won more than they lost.

He’d come down to the casino three hours ago. He’d had no instructions about not gambling, so why the hell not gamble? He’d tried his hand at blackjack – it hadn’t taken him more than ten minutes to lose $100 (at night there were no $2 tables, the lowest table minimum was $5.) Before risking another $100 he’d decided to wander around to the $10 tables, see how the skilled players did it. The skilled players all lost.

Then he’d wandered around the slot machines, shaking his head at the rows and rows of elderly men and women, and young men and women, staring so hopefully at the rows of little cartoon figures, or cherries, or whatever games they were playing. When he’d been young, he’d heard of one-armed bandits. You put in your money, then you had to grab a machine-arm and pull it down to set the reels spinning. That at least would have been fun. But these slot machines? All the player had to do was press a button.

And the ever-present noise. Bells jingling, each different slot machine had its own theme song, it was enough to drive you crazy.

Then he’d decided to go back to the roulette table, to see if he could do on his own what he’d seen Taran Tula doing earlier that night, only to see her sitting there. He’d decided to watch from afar for a few minutes.

She was winning. You couldn’t tell that from her body language, but every twenty minutes or so she’d print out a slip, and then feed more money into the machine, so he knew she was winning.

And no one else at the table was smart enough to follow her lead. He could tell that from their body language. Plus the fact that they bet every single spin, instead of picking and choosing, like she did.

It had to be hard, he thought. To sit there and wait, and wait, and wait some more, and then bet. And if you lost, not to start betting wildly, but to wait and wait and wait some more. Especially with that ever-present music in the background, and the sight of your fellow players – sometimes winning money (before they lost it back). Jesus, she had iron self control.

What had come first, he wondered. Did the iron self-control lead to her profession as a master art thief and sometime assassin, or had she developed that self-control once she’d entered a life of crime?

Hell, if she could win with such ease at roulette, why even steal? She didn’t seem to be the kind of woman who liked to live in luxury, although she obviously liked to eat. But maybe that was it… winning at roulette…gambling…presented no challenge to her, whereas stealing millions of dollars worth of art objects obviously did.

The false Mr. Largo snagged a cup of Pepsi from a passing waitress, downed it in a single gulp, and decided it was time to bit the bullet.

Did he dare…?

He walked up behind Taran Tula, and gently placed his hands on her shoulders.