An Infallible Method for Winning at Roulette

Introduction

Zero, Green!

The dealer couldn't help but note the least sought-after wager on the table. He quickly swept away a pile of chips that represented nothing but losses and resumed his routine of stacking the chips neatly. Meanwhile, the spirited elderly Asian lady on his right wasted no time in rearranging her chips in her own methodical way. She puffed on an oversized cigarette, creating a dense fog of smoke that wafted toward him.

At the far end of the table sat the only other player. His betting style was chaotic and unpredictable. He would casually toss his chips as the ball began its relentless spin, embodying a disorganized approach to the game. He was a young man in his late twenties, bald and with a shrill, somewhat anxious voice. Often, the elderly lady chastised him for his questionable bets. He might have complained about her smoking, but with the Oxygen Enhancers in place, any drifting smoke was quickly absorbed, keeping the table a smoke-free zone, even with the seasoned woman, just inches away, persistently indulging in her unhealthy habit, seemingly unfazed by possible health risks.

The dealer mused that at least the players were opting for the Double-Zero roulette wheel, despite its higher minimum bet of $2500 per hand. Most players preferred the lower threshold of the $500 tables, which boasted a Quadruple-Zero layout. Those tables were a goldmine for the casino! Yet, the Quadruple-Zero wasn’t entirely unfavorable. It featured a unique 'en-prison' rule: if a green zero, double-zero, triple-zero, or quadruple-zero appeared, all even money bets would be held for the next spin. If the green number appeared again, the bet would double while remaining held in 'en-prison'. Should a third green show up, the bet would triple but be held again. The fourth occurrence of green decided the outcome, quadrupling the bet and offering players a significant payout.

Although it happened often enough for any dealer to notice, landing four greens in a row remained a rare occurrence, making the Quadruple-Zero table a financial trap for the casino. The odds of a 35-1 win on a table with forty numbers made overcoming the steep house edge nearly impossible. Contrarily, the Double-Zero tables presented the safer bets in Roulette. The dealer had once encountered a single-zero roulette table in a museum and understood there had even been a zero-less table in the game’s earlier days.

Out of the corner of his eye, the dealer spotted a nondescript man with a hook-shaped nose lurking in the shadows of a pillar, carefully documenting the results of each spin. He had been there for nearly four hours, a somewhat common sight. This kind of behavior often indicated that the person had gone broke but still wanted to remain at the casino, watching others gamble their money away and dreaming that everyone but them was winning.

Clearly, this man was among the unfortunate individuals who believed a foolproof strategy for winning at Roulette could be formulated—despite the game having consistently devoured players' funds for twelve centuries. He attempted to discreetly log the results of each spin into a Memory Recorder, though his awkward efforts to be inconspicuous made it painfully obvious. The large device lacked any subtlety; it recorded spins directly into the man's mind for later retrieval, which would have been considered illegal at a casino if doing so enhanced one's chances of winning. However, since recognizing previous spins offered no actual benefit, casinos allowed these devices, chuckling at those who adhered to the Gambler's Fallacy.

Initially designed for military and governmental applications, Memory Recorders had quickly fallen into the hands of college students looking to cheat on exams, giving the technology a bad reputation. Nowadays, though, Memory Recorders served many legitimate purposes, particularly in fields like medicine, where their usage was essential. No one would trust a surgeon who didn't employ a Memory Recorder; it ensured a level of performance that was uncompromising. In high-stress professions, individuals who didn’t use such technology were viewed as relics of the past, while politicians who messed up their speeches without one faced the audience's scorn, reminiscent of mockeries aimed at past leaders.

Nevertheless, many users preferred to keep their reliance on these devices a secret, likely due to the myth that Memory Recorders could give a player an edge in Blackjack. Yet, the holo-shufflers rendered any potential advantage null and void by making every game an entirely random occurrence. Casino security chuckled at the players who relied on them.

However, tonight, the security team was probably not closely observing the hook-nosed observer. Earlier that day, a robbery and murder had taken place in one of the hotel elevators, and while gaming continued normally, a part of the establishment had been sealed off, and news came an hour later that the suspect had been apprehended. This timely update had brought a sense of relief amidst the turmoil of disgruntled gamblers.

As his shift finally wrapped up, the dealer yawned. The hook-nosed man continued to note his observations when the dealer noticed four imposing casino staff members surrounding him, although the head of security, Dexter Masterton, was notably absent. Curiosity piqued, the dealer observed the hook-nosed man looking anxious, hesitant to comply with the insistence of the odd team escorting him away.

Hmmm, mused the dealer. Nothing about the man seemed suspicious enough to deserve a backroom interrogation. There was also the possibility that he might have some connection to the earlier murder; standing around for hours in the casino with cameras on him could serve as an excellent alibi. But the dealer sensed this was for some other reason. He spun the wheel one last time for the audience at the table. The oriental lady won again - this time on the Double Zero. Hmm, perhaps some individuals are starting to grasp the game.

---

The hook-nosed observer wiped the sweat from his brow with a robotic tissue. The dissolving material was environmentally friendly but emitted a strong odor until it fully evaporated. He glanced at the stocky man stationed at the entrance to the room he had been brought into. The man's appearance suggested he had spent time behind bars or was perhaps a former professional wrestler.

The guard regarded him with an unreadable expression. 'Security Chief Masterton will be here shortly. He’s waiting for the police to arrive. Would you like some caff-coff?'

'No, thank you,' the hook-nosed man replied. How could he think about accepting caff-coff with the police approaching? A fresh wave of sweat trickled down his face.

'What’s your name then?' the guard inquired.

Is he genuinely trying to be friendly? 'Uh, Aaron Tommy Baker,' the hook-nosed man responded, though it wasn’t his real name. His first name was Tommy, with no middle name. A little voice inside him nudged him to fabricate that answer. The guard flashed him a sickly sweet smile that sent chills down 'Aaron's' spine. He had to find a way out of this situation. He figured he wouldn’t face serious repercussions for having the Memory Recorder, as he had read that they were allowed in casinos. His primary fear was the illegal contraband that authorities would discover if they searched him thoroughly. That would land him in serious trouble.

He formulated a plan.

"Can I use the restroom, please?\"

'Alright,' the guard nodded, as if he believed him.

Aaron Tommy Baker stood up and went into the restroom attached to the office space. The restroom was relatively small, with a solitary window cracked open, allowing a chilling breeze to seep in as raindrops splattered against the sill. Security bars reinforced the window, and the only potential escape route was through the door leading back into the office. The security team showed no concern that 'Aaron' Tommy Baker would make a swift getaway. He peered out at the pitch-black night.

'Here goes nothing,' he thought. He activated a hidden compartment in his wristwatch, took a deep breath, and triggered the covert contraband device concealed within. As 'Aaron' Tommy Baker stepped out, he was temporarily blinded by the harsh sunlight bombarding him.

After exiting the restroom, he cautiously looked around. The space was deserted, the spot where the ex-con/wrestler security guard had been earlier now unoccupied. Clearly, the room wasn't utilized when no one was being questioned.

'Aaron' Tommy Baker quietly slipped out of the casino and headed home.

---

"You what???\" bellowed Sammy.

'I experienced a time slip,' Tommy Baker repeated as he sat at the kitchen table opposite his son. Sammy, now twenty, fixed his dad with a skeptical glance. Sam had matured into a competent and seasoned adult. At eighteen, he had enlisted in the military, risking everything in the outer space conflicts that consumed the planet, trusted with high-caliber weapons and first-class star vessels. A decorated soldier, he had eliminated numerous alien threats in the name of freedom, justice, and the values of his home planet. Returning home unemployed, he had quickly turned to a career as a porn star, making money through widely circulated adult films.

Even so, Sam remained hopeful as he counted down the days to his twenty-first birthday, which would finally grant him the legal ability to make significant choices concerning his life, such as placing bets on whether to wager on black or red at the roulette table. This milestone would also mean that he'd be allowed to rent those adult films he had featured in, since the law stipulated that while you need to be over eighteen to act in them, you must be over twenty-one to watch them.

"You traveled through time? That's against the law! Where on earth did you obtain such a device?\"

"I got it from the black market, obviously. Check this out,\" Tommy said as he rolled back his sleeve to reveal the watch that contained the device.

Sammy gazed at it, clearly puzzled. \"So, you refuse to use hallucinogenic drugs because they break the law, yet you're okay with this highly illegal technology?\" Tommy shrugged, clearly a little embarrassed. \"Using this technology could land you in prison for fifteen to twenty years. Meanwhile, I’ll get maybe five days in jail for my mushrooms.\"

"Listen, the only reason time travel is banned is to prevent people from going back and altering history, like saving Lincoln, Obama, or Kennedy...\"

"Which Kennedy?\"

"Or even worse, saving Hitler. As long as we don't alter the past, it shouldn’t cause any side effects.\"

"That's not entirely accurate, dad. Setting aside the repercussions on the time-stream, there are health risks as well. Each time you time-slip, you lose some of your lifespan. Sure, it's just a tiny bit, but like smoking, it has a way of catching up with you in the long run.\"

"Well, that’s why I’m finished with it. This was a one-time experience for me,\"

"Until you find yourself reliant on time-slipping to escape from every challenging situation that comes your way in life,\"

"I assure you, I won’t become addicted. It was just a minor leap, a mere day into the future, and then back again,\"

"Understood,\" Sammy replied. \"So, you skipped ahead to tomorrow, went to the casino, and used a Memory Recorder to capture all the winning bets for four hours of gameplay, then jumped back so you could hit the casino once more tomorrow and cash in on your winnings?\"

"Exactly. We're going to be rich! I plan on making big bets. We may even become billionaires!\"

"If you don't get caught.\"

"But how? Now that I’m aware of the winning numbers, I can just show up and bet them. I’ve already imprinted the numbers in my mind. I know every result before it even happens,\"

Sam considered this for a second. \"I’m not so sure about that. What leads you to believe the future is predetermined? Could it not be the case that you alter the future just by playing? You will certainly disrupt the flow of the chips and the payout dynamics, meaning the spins will occur at different times and with different speeds dictated by the dealer. You might end up with different outcomes tomorrow.\"

"I’m aware that the future isn’t fixed. That’s something everyone knows...\"

"No, it's more of a common belief. No one truly understands if the future can be changed. Whenever someone claims it has, they can’t point to anyone else who remembers how it was supposed to be in the first place. So, who can say if the future is truly bound to happen or not?\"

"It isn't fixed! It can indeed change! That’s precisely what makes it the future, and that’s why my scheme will succeed. I will approach the table, already aware of the winning bets, and I will reshape the future by betting money in a way I didn’t before. I’ll ensure that my bets are placed before the other players complete theirs so that they are the ones dictating the dealer's spins. That’s how I’m confident the spins will remain consistent.\"

"I’m not sure. It still feels rather uncertain to me,\"

"I’ll start with a few trial bets. If I come out ahead, then I’ll know it works,\"

"Alright, I guess at this stage, it's worth trying out the theory with a couple of spins. So, you didn’t see yourself playing at the table when you time-skipped?\"

"No, I didn’t. I hadn’t altered the future yet — I was merely gathering the numbers. But I’m certain there will be plenty of space for me at the table. There’s an elderly Asian woman at one end and a man at the opposite side. I’ll just slot myself in between them, raking in money while they lose their bets once again.\"

Tommy chuckled loudly. Sammy cringed. \"Hey, I’m intrigued. Why not turn around and see if you can catch a glimpse of yourself jotting down the numbers while playing?\"

"No, I honestly prefer not to do that. I wouldn’t want to see myself nervously taking notes on the spin outcomes in the corner. I’ll just assume my seat and play as though I’m not aware of my own presence behind me.\"

"By the way, what’s the weather forecast for tomorrow?\"

"Rain, all day.\"

"Oh man, I’ve got a game to attend. Looks like it’ll get canceled due to weather. Any other vital updates for tomorrow?\"

"How would I know? I wasn’t really paying attention; my only purpose was to capture the numbers and then zip back here.\"

"Understood. Well, good luck — this seems like a more promising strategy than the various systems you’ve tried in the past. Definitely better than that Martingale nonsense!\"

"No, it's not luck this time. This time, I'm destined to win. I’ve got the ultimate strategy for beating roulette!\"

---

Tommy adjusted his outfit in the mirror of the hotel casino. He had booked a room on the thirteenth floor under the aliases Tommy Baker and Aaron Baker. If the cameras happened to capture him at the table while recording the spins from a distance, he would simply claim that it was his twin brother, Aaron.

It was an ingenious cover. Tommy recalled the spin outcomes lodged in his memory, visions visible only to him. He had left the Memory Recorder at home so that it wouldn’t be discovered in case someone questioned his winning streak.

Memory Recorders were designed to be user-friendly, so simple that even a child could operate one. In fact, some educational districts provided Recorders with their textbook packages to assist students in enhancing their learning abilities. Traditionalists argued that this was not a genuine way of learning, but many considered it just another method of education. Ultimately, no one cared enough to debate it.

The Memory Recorder actually stored information on a safe disk, allowing users to access or remove the info if needed. Data could be entered through a keypad, as he had done, or by means of scanning or photography. Technicians were discussing that the next generation of Recorders would enable users to record entire films, so they could enjoy the latest uncut blockbusters directly in their minds. This innovation was particularly interesting to filmmakers creating more adult or violent versions of their projects, as individuals could choose what they wanted to see without anyone else looking on. Theoretically, one could view adult films (preferably not those featuring his son) while traveling in a crowded public transit vehicle. Meanwhile, studios were the only ones complaining about copyright violations and the ease of unauthorized copying, particularly pertaining to pirated digital memory records. Yet, it was something likely to occur — it was unavoidable.

Once the information was finalized on the safe disk, it could be uploaded to one’s brain, making it easier to recall than one’s own memories, almost as if they were original memories. The recorder timestamped every entry, ensuring Tommy was aware of exactly when each result occurred (or at least when he recorded them, directly afterward).

He felt ready. With a large stack of cash in hand, he tucked it securely in his pants pocket and locked the door behind him as he exited the room.

He stepped into the elevator, which was already holding a disheveled man whose wet clothing bore witness to the rainfall outside. It struck Tommy as peculiar that this man was heading down after recently coming from outside. Perhaps he had lost something down below?

The man glanced at him with a mix of nerves and embarrassment. \"Are you going to the tables?\" he inquired politely.

"Absolutely,\" Tommy responded. \"Roulette is my game! I’m not a fan of slots or any other table games, really. Tonight’s the evening I hit it big at Roulette. What about you?\"

Suddenly, Tommy turned to confront him. \"Robbery!\" The man leveled a blaster at him. \"Fork over all your cash!\"

Tommy flinched. Here he was, excitedly approaching what he believed would be his big night at the casino, only to find himself being held up? It almost felt absurd. \"The security here is a joke. Just yesterday there was a robbery with a murder, and now...\"

A chilling sense of dread enveloped Tommy. \"That wasn’t yesterday,\" he muttered under his breath.

His mind raced with countless thoughts, including hundreds of potential outcomes on the small wheel of fate known as roulette, and Tommy lunged forward, fully aware of his impending doom.

Change it!!!

In that instant, a burst of pink light burst forth, momentarily blinding him!

---

Dexter Masterton, head of casino security, sank into his chair behind the sea of cameras monitoring every movement of the patrons within the casino. His junior aide, Telly, was glued to the screens as he had been all night long. Telly turned to Dexter, offering a sympathetic smile. \"It’s been a long night, hasn't it?\"

Dexter nodded solemnly. \"The crime scene has been cleared, and things seem to be returning to normal. The only issue left is the victim's supposed brother. He checked in at the casino, but we have no contact information or means to reach him. His room is empty. It’s so upsetting when a law-abiding customer meets such a tragic end over trivial matters.\"

"Did he try to resist?\"

"Yeah, that’s precisely why he was killed. Unless you’re already aware that you’re about to be murdered, just hand over the cash; your life is far more valuable than money. So, anything noteworthy while I was handling this mess?\"

"Nada. Pretty quiet.\"

"Anyone acting suspicious?\"

"No, nothing out of the ordinary. There’s just this guy using a Memory Recorder to track roulette spins, another one of those system believers,\"

"Let him give it a shot!\" Dexter observed the video feed clearly showing the man with the distinct nose sporting a Memory Recorder. \"Son of a gun! He resembles the murder victim. It has to be the brother we’ve been searching for. The likeness is astonishing!\"

"Identical Twin?\"

"Has to be.\"

"So much for being able to know when your sibling is hurt or killed. This guy seems utterly unconcerned, merely focused on recording his numbers. He has been in the same spot for nearly four hours now.\"

"Indeed, he clearly thinks he’s safe. Dispatch a security team to take him to the back-room. I’ll go and break the news to him gently. And let’s get the detectives back here. I’m sure they’ll want to interrogate him soon enough.\"

"Understood. I wonder if his brother crossed his mind at all when he, you know, met his demise. Given that they are identical twins and all,\"

"I can guarantee what his last thoughts were.\"

"Oh yeah. How's that?\"

"The law enforcement team conducted a mental scan right at the scene. It's a usual practice in murder cases to verify if the deceased had utilized a Memory Recorder within the previous month. If they did, a psychic impression is left at the moment of passing, which can provide valuable clues for the homicide investigation.\"

"I understand. So, what were his final thoughts?\" Telly inquired.

"Dexter appeared somewhat unsettled. 'The future is predetermined. The future is predetermined.' Those were the last words he repeated, which is odd to contemplate at such a moment,\" he explained.

"Telly grinned. 'Let’s keep our fingers crossed that the future isn’t really set in stone. There’s bound to be some average Joe who will get his hands on a TimeSlipper one day and throw us out of the game.'\"

"They both laughed at the absurdity of the idea. 'The security team has him in custody,' Telly informed Dexter.

"'I'll hold off until the detectives arrive. I wouldn’t want to intrude on their inquiry. Oh, look at that Asian woman; she just hit the jackpot,' Dexter said, gesturing towards the screen.

"'Absolutely,' Telly responded excitedly. 'She really struck it big. And it was on Double Zero as well! Seems like she changed her bets around. Some folks do learn from their experiences,'\" he noted.

---

"Additional Short Stories by Aaron Denenberg\"

• An Infallible Method for Winning at Roulette .
• "An Alternative Reliable Strategy for Winning at Roulette\" .
• A Newcomb Being's Paradox .

Books by Aaron Denenberg

• Dark Oz .

Written by: Aaron Denenberg