House Operator — Story, Setting & Ideas

Rafferty was a gambler of the old school. He didn't believe in any of the fancy electronic gadgets that the casinos went in for these days, didn't much care for the psionic games of chance and other tricky and probably rigged affairs. Give him a good poker game any time, and he would be happy.

He stood in the door of the Ganymede Casino, outlining himself against the gaudy lights flashing within, standing there patiently. Inside, the rich and would-be rich of a dozen planets were enjoying themselves, playing the brightly-lit games and throwing money around in handfuls.

Rafferty waited for some attention. His hand slid to the bulky roll in his pocket--one hundred hundred-credit bills, 10,000 smackers in all. It was all Rafferty had. He was here to triple it, or else.

Tomorrow 30,000 had to be handed over to Lee Walsh. It was the result of the one mistake Rafferty had made.

Walsh was a big-time gambler, with ulcers and high blood pressure and ten million in the bank. Rafferty was straight middle-time, a man who genuinely enjoyed his chancy profession. And Walsh had said, "Why don't you play something _I_ like to play? All the time poker, poker, poker. Why don't you switch to something else."

"I like poker," Rafferty said. "I win at poker. Why switch?"

Walsh seemed to stiffen. "Let's have a little game of planet-faro, Rafferty. Just you and me. I'm tired of all this poker."

"I don't like planet-faro. It's a lousy game. All those flashing lights--it's more like pinball than honest-to-darn gambling."

"You ain't chicken, Rafferty?"

"Yeah. Let's try some planet-faro."

So they did--and Rafferty had sat by leadenly while Walsh cleaned him out. Thirty thousand shiny credits down the drain, and the debt due tomorrow at noon. You didn't welsh on Walsh, either. It was sort of a slogan.

Rafferty didn't have the thirty thousand. He had two alternatives: he could scrape up the cash somewhere and hand it over, or he could grab an out-system liner and get going toward Aldebaran, and hope to live. He wouldn't--not for long.

He decided to scrape up the cash. And there was one sure way to do that. Poker.

Poker was getting to be an unpopular game, and there were two reasons for it. One was the advent of more popular new types of gambling devices; the other reason was that Rafferty was so good it didn't pay to compete against him. He often had trouble getting up a game. People tended to slink away when they heard Rafferty wanted to play poker. He played it hard and he played it mean, and he didn't lose too often.

That was why he had come to the Ganymede Casino. On the big pleasure-moon, anyone could find some sort of game going--and if he couldn't, the house would be glad to provide some competition. Rafferty didn't much like the idea of playing a house operator, but he was confident.

He patted the ten g's and waited. After a couple of minutes an impeccably-dressed man in tails came over to him and smiled courteously.

"My name is Rafferty. I'm looking for a poker game in the house. There one around I can get into?"

The impeccable man frowned slightly. "I don't think so, Mr.--ah--Rafferty. Wouldn't you care to try our Roto, or the planet-faro, or robot roulette? We--"

"I want to play poker," Rafferty said. The chips were down now; he had to stick to his specialty.

"Well, I'll see what I can do. Would you wait here, please?"

Rafferty waited. He waited while the impeccable man cruised around the huge gameroom, murmuring gently to someone here, someone there. In all cases the response was the same: a shrug, a curious glance in Rafferty's direction, a quick and emphatic shake of the head.

No one wanted to play. Usually Rafferty could count on some fool millionaire anxious to try to best the great Rafferty at five-card stud. Not today, though. There were no takers.

"I'm sorry, Mr. Rafferty; I couldn't seem to promote a game. But the planet-faro--"

"Poker," Rafferty said.

"Would you object to playing a two-handed game with one of our employees?" the usher asked suddenly. "Naturally he'll be staked by the house, and I think you'll find him fit competition for you."

Rafferty chewed at his lip. He needed the money--and if the house operator was staked by the casino, it might be possible to cart off quite a load.

"Okay," he grunted. "Bring on your shill."

The usher led him to a small, highly-polished card table in the back, and signalled to a man waiting to one side.

"Mr. Steel, this is Mr. Rafferty."

"Hello," Rafferty said.