In a turnabout, gambling revenues move out of red and nudge towards black. There is an increased sense of satisfaction on the part of the players although Rose can’t pinpoint why. New clients fill the tables. They can’t all be shills, she guesses.
They can’t all be shillsOne Man in particular stands out for his costume as much as his inconceivably good luck. An unusually shaped maroon top hat compliments his matching velvet coat and striped, red vest. His hands are big as hams but gracefully shuffle, fan, and deal even the slickest of new cards.
From table to table, game to game, Man wins and tips the croupiers handsomely. This is good for the House. Rose earns twenty per cent of those tips, which becomes a handsome take at the end of a trip.
“You are new to my gambling hall,” Rose says
