I had taken to dinner before
joining the game at Nick's. It had gotten to be a sort of weekly
date--although this night had given signs of being the last one.
For a while that spring, desoxyribonucleic acid had begun to take
second place in my heart. This is a pitiful admission for a
biochemist to make--DNA should be the cornerstone of his life.
But Shari was something rare--a gorgeous woman, if somewhat
distant, who was thoroughly intelligent. She had already earned
her doctorate, while I was still struggling with the tag ends of
my thesis.

"Poker, Tex?" Shari had asked, when the waitress was bringing
dessert. "Is this becoming a problem? You've played every night
this week."

"No problem, Shari," I said. "I'm winning, and I see no point in
not pocketing all that found money."

"Compulsive gambling is a sickness," she said, looking at me
thoughtfully. She was wearing a shirtwaist and skirt that had the
bright colors and fullness you associate with peasant dress.

"The only sick thing about me is my bank account," I grinned,
relishing her dark, romantic quality. "I need the dough, Shari.
I've got a thesis to finish if I ever want to get a job
teaching."

Her thick eyebrows fluttered upward, a danger signal I had
learned to look for. "That's a childish rationalization, Tex,"
she said with a lot more sharpness than I had expected. "There
are certainly other ways to get money!"

"So I'm not as smart as you," I told her.

"Smart?" She didn't think I was tracking.

"I wasn't as shrewd as you were in picking my parents," I said.
"Mine never had much, and left me less than that when they died."

She threw her spoon to the table. "I'll remind you of how silly
these remarks sound, after you've hit a losing streak," she told
me.

I laughed at that one. "I don't lose, Shari," I said. "And I
don't intend to."

Her lashes veiled her violet eyes as she smiled and said more
quietly, "Then you are in even worse trouble than I thought. I
hear a lot about what happens to these strange people who never
lose at cards or at dice or at roulette. Aren't you afraid of
winding up in the gutter with your throat slit? Isn't that what
happens to people with psi powers who gamble?" she insisted.
"What's your trick, Tex? Do you stack the deck with telekinesis,
or does precognition tell you what's about to be dealt?"

"That crack isn't considered very funny in Texas," I growled.

"Is it any more silly for me to think you might b