Balance - Book one
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Jack’s Panic was located smack in the middle of town, residing in the type of neighbourhood that seemed always populated by an endless stream of pedestrians.
As we approached, having had to park two blocks away, forests of fluorescent lights blinked into life around us, a ritual that ushered in an anticipation pregnant night time.
“Just up ahead,” Benny told me.
We weaved through a throng of loiterers and entered the front doors, greeted by thumping music and the buzz of murmured conversations that were the anthem of city nightlife.
Cleverly, I noted, the place doubled as a gambling den/strip joint, offering those who had recently lost their life savings an erotic distraction by which to accept bankruptcy. The gambling portion of the establishment was accessed via a low archway, guarded and regulated by two enormous suit wearing men.
“Just a minute,” Benny said into my ear, raising his voice above the music, “Step aside for a moment.”
He led me across the dimly lit main area towards the bar, skirting a catwalk on which two bleached-blonde women imitated drunken belly-dancing.
“Two beers,” he said to the barman, then turned to me with a sombre expression. “Here, this is what we’ve got to work with.”
A small roll of cash was pushed into my palm, maybe a few hundred. I made a vain attempt to detect if it was authentic before shoving it into a pocket.
“Is it real?” I asked, keeping my voice down.
He scowled in response. “Never try pass-off fake cash in a place like this, buddy. The consequences are often a lot worse than being turned in to an Enforcer.” He took a moment to ogle one of the dancers and continued in a conspiratorial whisper. “Just make one big score then we’re out. Okay?” I nodded. “Good. The two bouncers are professional Spotters; they prevent any magic users getting in.”
“Okay. What’s the plan?”
“Well in all honesty this will be the least professionally planned event of the evening.”
The bartender delivered the two beers. Benny took a swig and glanced casually around at the other patrons.
“Define unprofessionally,” I muttered.
“Drink up your beer.”
“I prefer coffee.”
“This is a bar, Jet.”
I opened my mouth to respond, but was cut short as he covertly raised an index finger and pointed it under the other arm. A tiny bolt shot off and clipped the high heel of a dancer. She stumbled, almost regained balance with a pin-wheeling of both arms, then toppled from the stage and crashed onto a table. Two bottles were sent smashing to the floor and one unfortunate man fell sprawling onto his back. This dramatic improvisation of traditional stripping drew a roar of horrified gasps from onlookers. Chaos ensued as people rushed to assist her.
I gaped at Benny and judged, mostly by the grimace on his face, that it had not entirely been the desired effect.
“This is your plan?” I growled.
“Just wait, roll with it,” he muttered back.
After a few seconds of fumbling, yowls of pain and one horny patron using the distraction to grope a waitress, the bouncers moved in to restore order. Taking the cue, Benny grasped my sleeve and pulled me towards the restricted area.
We slipped through the doors and were assaulted by a fog of cigarette smoke. Around us stood half a dozen gambling tables. We approached one with two empty seats.
“About time,” the dealer said, regarding us with an impatient frown, “You’re nearly half an hour late.”
“My apologies,” Benny replied brightly, “We were caught up in an incident with a stripper.”
I took my seat, located at a corner of the table, while Benny occupied his two spaces up.
The cash was swapped out for chips and, as the cards were dealt, I took a moment to steal a look at my five victims, Benny excluded. My initial reaction was that pickings would be easy. None looked especially threatening. In fact, I would go as far as to say they looked like the proverbial “fish in a barrel”. Two were already drunk enough to be lazy eyed. One, a moustached man in his mid-forties, looked ready to either burst into tears or alternatively commit suicide. Another, sitting directly across from me, was a young man who ruined any credibility created by his mirrored sunglasses with the unconvincing “tough” act he was trying hard to do professionally. And finally there was the player to Benny’s right; a wide eyed, blotchy faced teenager who appeared to be in the throes of a serious hangover.
All in all my confidence was high.
The proceedings got going and we played a few hands, conversation being kept to a bare minimum. After round four and feeling comfortable with the basic flow of events, I decided to get busy with business.
Step one: create a betting friendly environment.
This was the easy part and I didn’t hesitate, allowing my mind first to be populated with friendly energy, then pushing it out with my Spirit.
The effect was not instantaneous, but after another round the general mood began to swing toward the positive. The dealer, who had maintained a fairly dedicated scowl up till then, dealt the fifth hand with marked enthusiasm, declaring each card with a hearty; “and there’s one for you”. The players responded to this with chuckles.
I looked at my hand and was pleased to see a pair of queens, even more so when the pair became a triple.
Step two; build up a big pot.
This went easier than I had anticipated, with almost everyone calling my bold bet of fifty. Only the moustached man folded, and even this he did with a shrug and cheerful apology to the table. Proof positive that step one had been a success.
And now the final step. It was time to thin the crowd.
I bumped up the bet, pushing a hundred into the table’s centre and, aiming to hold the positive mood, accompanied the action with an attitude of friendly daring. As intended the reaction was good natured mutters and gasps.
Two more folded, including Benny, but the two who remained created a pot that was equal to my entire reserve of chips. The mood of the table was now interested enjoyment, with everyone focused on events and participating in the feelings of jovial game playing.
Now since my actual invasion of a mind took a break of flow in events, I was limited to a single person. And if I wanted to not raise suspicion it required also that I choose my moment carefully. I had decided beforehand on a sneaky solution.
I chose a remaining player, the hung-over teenager, and focused on him, clear for all to see. Then with a playful grin I studied his face like a clichéd psychic, making a show of “reading his mind”.
“What you got there, junior?” I said, drawing chuckles from the others. He shook his head in response, glowing brightly at being the centre of attention. I now made the commitment and slipped into his mind, passing it off as an extension of the joke. His hand, unfortunately for junior, was a high pair.
I pushed up the bet now for the last time, and again was met with enthusiasm. Junior called and the other folded. An easy win. The cards were laid down and to a barrage of hoots and laughter.
The winnings were pushed over to my section of the table and as I went about stacking the chips into little towers, Benny caught my eye and gave a covert nod of approval. The whole process had been not only easy, but enjoyable.
Five more hands were played in which I purposefully let go of a hundred, being sure not to even participate beyond the first round of betting. The mood of enjoyment proceeded throughout, requiring no further tweaking from myself. In fact the only real drawback was that the players gradually became too loud and boisterous, drawing annoyed glances from the other tables.
Soon after Benny cashed out, having done nothing more than lose and make a bit of small talk. I took it as a sign we were done and followed suit, sensing that enough time had passed for my big win to be forgotten. I shook hands, got a few pats on the back, and by the time I left felt as though I was honestly leaving the table in much higher spirits than most of the men had exper
ienced in some time.
I stepped past the bouncers back into the bar and found Benny waiting, his grin at full Cheshire-Cat level.
“Expertly done,” he said proudly, “If this wasn’t all to save the ass of my brother we’d be on the way to retirement.”