The Grand Wheel

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There was a concave stripper in the game.

Cheyne Scarne, as he shuffled the deck preparatory to dealing, covertly sized up the player sitting opposite him. The stripper who faced him over the green baize table was not much over twenty-five years of age, and with his pale face and thin nose had an icy sort of self-assurance about him. Earlier he had introduced himself as Skode Loder, from off-planet, a newcomer to Io – one of the new breed of players who never stayed long in one spot.

Already Scarne had gauged Loder to be a card mechanic, but he hadn’t been sure just what the particular gimmick was. Now that he held the deck in his own hands, he knew that, too.

Several of the trump cards had been finely shaved on their short edges, so that the stripper – or, now that he knew the secret, Scarne himself – could on his deal drop them out of the pack and distribute them whichever way he wanted. The job had been artfully performed: the slight concavities made no perceptible dent. But Scarne had found the right touch, the slight difference in pressure, that made the trick work.

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