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. "Pleased to meet you," said the other. His voice was a soft purr; his face, an expressionless mask. Rafferty smiled. He was quick to size up his opponents, and this time he could tell he was up against a good one. "Chips?" A house girl had come by. She was clad only in a strip of something filmy across her breasts and another round her middle, and she had a trayfull of chips. Rafferty casually handed her the hundred bills and accepted his stack of chips. She also gave him an unopened deck of cards. "Care to?" Rafferty asked, offering the cards to his opponent. "No. Go ahead." Methodically Rafferty broke the seal, spilled the cards out, flipped the jokers to one side, and riffled through the deck. There were fifty-two of them, all right, and they looked good. He started to shuffle. The first few hands passed quickly. Steel was a quiet, noncommittal player who seemed to have a tremendous reserve of calmness. It wasn't too surprising, thought Rafferty, considering it wasn't his dough at stake. But a shill has professional pride. The first three deals were in the nature of warmups, and Rafferty emerged from them twenty or thirty credits to the good. He felt the cards moving the right way; luck was with him tonight. He wondered if he could come away with a million. The Casino had no limit.
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