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The One that Got Away by Kristine Kathryn Rusch It happened at the Thursday night blackjack tournament, and we were miffed. Not because it happened, but because of when it happened. And to get to that will take a bit of explaining, both about the tournament and about us. There are about ten of us, and we call ourselves the Tuesday/Thursday regulars because we never miss a tournament. The local Native American casino—the Spirit Winds—held an open tournament every Tuesday and Thursday. Anyone could play if he put up twenty bucks, and if he won, he got a share of the pot. The pot consisted of the buy-in fees, and the buy-back fees plus another hundred added by the casino. The casino made no money on the tournament. The game was a freebie designed to get people into the casino—and it got me there twice a week. Me, and nine others. There were more regulars than us, of course, but we were the ones who never skipped a week. I was a pretty good player—I'd made a living counting cards in the mid- seventies—and I'd swear that Tigo Jones had professional card-playing experience as well. Five more of the regulars played basic strategy |
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