Chapter 7: Cardshark

Mal opened the door to Standish's cubicle and stepped in without knocking. "Got a job for you."

"When don't you?" he muttered. Louder, he replied. "Yes, sir?"

Mal heard the sotto voce comment, but chose to ignore it. "This job you're gonna like."

Standish raised a raven-black eyebrow, and waited for the captain to continue.

"Poker."

Despite himself, Standish's eyes lit up. The ancient game of poker had fallen out of fashion, but he preferred it to Tallcard, when he got the chance to play it.

"One of Inara's clients took her to this nightclub. Nice place -– restaurant, dance floor, casino. Some of the games are for pretty high stakes. You as good with cards as you think you are?"

"Yes." Mal stared him down until he added: "Sir."

"I'll gather all the liquid assets I can. You parlay it into some serious cash," Mal ordered.

"What's my cut?" Standish asked.

"Your cut?"

"Do not bind the mouths of the kine that tread the grain," Standish quoted. "If there's nothing in it for me, I might be tempted to lose deliberately just out of spite."

"You'd regret it afterwards, if you did," Mal warned.

"I don't doubt it," Standish admitted, "but at least I'd have the satisfaction of seeing you wounded in your most sensitive spot –- your pocket book -– first."

"How much did your attitude cost you the last time I fined you?" Mal asked, his voice deceptively mild.

"A day's pay. Captain."

"Ain't seemed to have learned your lesson yet. Let's see if two days' pay will teach you to respect your betters."

"It'll be an icy day in Hell when you're my better, Captain Reynolds."

"Better make that a week's pay."

Green eyes smoldering, the gambler shut his mouth, before he talked his way into forfeiting a month's pay.

"Guess you'd best win, if you want to earn back all that pay you're losing," Mal told him, jingling the manacles hanging from pipe as he spoke.

Standish took a deep breath. He looked up at the manacles. "When I first came aboard Serenity, you mentioned the possibility of bonuses if you could make use of my talents. Would not an event like this qualify?"

"Might could," Mal allowed.

The thought of a good game of cards, even if the stake came from Malcolm Reynolds and the winnings went back to him, was too tempting to resist. "I'm yours to command, Captain Reynolds."

"Speak up, Standish. You're talkin' too quiet to hear."

"I'm at your command, sir." As you well know, Captain Reynolds, sir. Another thought occurred to him. "I lack the sartorial splendor to pass without comment in such circles. A visit to a haberdashery will be required."

"You wanna try that again? In English, this time."

"I can't barge into a high stakes game, uninvited, dressed like a field hand," Standish informed the captain.

Mal frowned. Standish was wearing his hand-me-downs. "What's wrong with the way you're dressed?"

"My attire must inspire confidence in my fellow players that I can easily afford to pay my debts, in the unlikely event the cards go against me." Putting it in monosyllables, he explained, "I need to buy new clothes."

Mal thought a moment, then nodded. "I'll pick you up something."

"Captain, with respect," Standish hesitated a moment, not wanting to offend his bondholder and forfeit another week's pay, "I have more experience in matters sartorial than you do. Please permit me to select my own garments for this assignment."

"You saying I don't know how to dress proper?"

Properly, Standish mentally corrected the captain's grammar. "I said no such thing, sir."

"But you meant it." Mal considered a moment. "You can buy new duds. But I'm going to the store with you, and the price of the clothes comes out of the bonus you would've gotten from the game."

Standish nodded. It was probably the best deal he could expect.

"Maybe take the doctor with us. He's used to mixing in society, and knows the way such folk dress."

So do I, Standish thought, but it wasn't worth arguing the point. "What if I lose?"

"Then Jayne'll have to have a little talk with you. He ain't the most articulate man in the 'verse, but there are certain forms of nonverbal communication he positively excels at."

Suppressing a sigh, Standish lowered his eyes. Threatening to lose on purpose had been a tactical error.

Clothes shopping took much more time and money than Mal had anticipated. His plan had been to go to a thrift shop, and pay three credits for a used suit. Standish had agreed to that, but only as a starting point. As far as the gambler was concerned, the thrift shop was where he upgraded his wardrobe enough to go to a men's clothing shop that sold clothes off the rack. That permitted him to dress in a proper style to go to a proper tailor, and buy evening clothes.

Mal, who'd always considered clothes something to keep him warm and/or cover the tattoo on his rear, couldn't believe the emphasis Standish was putting on proper attire, nor the money he was spending on them.

After Standish had turned Mal's one thousand, six hundred, forty-three credits into five thousand, three hundred credits, he handed half of his winnings to Zoe. Then, with the fair Inara on his arm, he discreetly approached the casino manager. "Might there be a game with more interesting stakes? I find your establishment quite charming, but the thrill of the game is increased, I find, when one plays for more than matchsticks."

The manager looked Standish over. The dark-haired gambler was dressed like a gentleman, and the lady accompanying him was a Registered Companion who'd been a guest of nightclub regulars before. He nodded. "I shall make inquiries, sir."

He returned a few moments later, and led them to a back room. Zoe and Wash tried to follow, but were stopped by a casino employee.

"Sorry, sir, ma'am, this room is for a private party."

Wash just smiled and led his wife off. "Mal ain't gonna like this," he whispered. "He trusts Standish about half as far as he can throw him."

"Inara's with him," Zoe pointed out. However, she, too, was concerned. Mal had asked them to keep an eye on Standish.

Meanwhile, the manager was introducing Standish and Inara to the players in the other room.

Standish was courteous to the gentlemen, and gallant to the ladies. Inara renewed her acquaintance with one or two men she'd met before, either professionally or socially. Once the social niceties were out of the way, they got down to the business of serious card-playing.

Outside, Zoe and Wash enjoyed as close to a date as they'd had in a long time, all the while keeping watch on the door to make sure Standish didn't slip out with the captain's money.

"I've just made you fifteen thousand credits. Couldn't you at least give me a few hours' shore leave?" Standish asked.

"Something tells me that shore leave would turn out to be more than just a few hours. Likely to never see you again," Mal pointed out.

"If I gave you my word?"
Mal shook his head. "Your word's no good. Got no reason to trust you, and you got every reason to run."

Standish bit his lip to keep from swearing. He was damned if he'd do anything as undignified as begging. "Maybe if my working conditions were better, I wouldn't have any reason to run."

"All work and no play makes Jack a dull boy," Mal quoted. "All right, a few hours of shore leave … chaperoned. Jayne can go with you."

"Jayne?" The gambler repeated in dismay.

"You go chaperoned, or you don't go."