Little Myth Marker By Robert Asprin

By now the deck had been rough mixed. The Kid scooped up the pile, squared it, then gave it several quick shuffles. His moves were so precise he didn’t even have to re-square the deck when he was done… just set it on the center of the table.

“Cut for deal? “he asked.

I repeated my earlier gesture. “Be my guest.”

Even this seemed to impress the Kid . . . and the crowd. A low murmur rippled around the room as the pluses and minuses of my move were discussed. The truth of the matter was that after watching the Kid handle the deck, I was embarrassed to show my own lack of skill.

He reached for the deck, and the cards sprang to life again. With a hypnotic rhythm he began cutting the deck and riffing the cards together, all the while staring at me with unblinking eyes. I knew I was being psyched out, but was powerless to fight the effect.

“For the ante, shall we say one thousand?”

“Let’s say five thousand.” I returned.

The rhythm faltered. The Kid realized he had slipped and moved swiftly to cover it. Setting the cards aside for a moment, he reached for his chips.

“Five thousand it is,” he said, tossing a handful into the center of the table. “And … my trademark.”

A small white breath mint followed the chips into the pot.

I was counting out my own chips when something occurred to me.

“How much is that worth?” I said, pointing at the mint.

That surprised my opponent.

“What? The mint? One copper a roll. But you don’t have to…”

Before he had finished speaking I added a small coin to my chips, pushed them into the center of the table, grabbed his mint, and popped it into my mouth.