“If I had a dime for every time I lost a bet…” mused the Gambler, bouncing a deck of cards in his free hand.

The Memorant replied, “You would have sixty-two dollars and eighty cents.”

“Hmm. Not all that much, really.”

The Memorant could access a vast store of knowledge and numbers – but only when dealing with the phrase, “If I had a dime for every time…”

It was a blessing and a curse, a powerful but frustrating ability, but one the Gambler intended to put to good use.

“If I had a dime for every guard in that complex…”

“A buck fifty, sir.”


The Gambler, contrary to popular belief, was not a betting man. Or so he liked to think. Why waste your money on chance and fortune when you can stack the odds in your favor?

(You might wonder why a man with such a philosophy would have lost six-hundred and twenty-eight bets. Unfortunately, the Gambler was good at planning, but prone to catastrophe in execution, and even the best laid plans of mice and supermen…)

The complex below them was small and outfitted with the latest state of the art security. Within it held a collection of rare dinner plates prized by antique collectors – fragile, but worth a fortune.

Unfortunately, its current owner had paid for the best defenses around, in electronics and manpower. The Gambler sought to find a hole in those defenses.

“If I had a dime for secret entrance into that lair…”

“Nothing, sir.”

“…for every minute the guards were lax in their duties…”

“Just one dime.”

“…for every guard open to bribes and blackmail…”

“Hm. Ninety cents.”

The Gambler smiled, caught his deck of guards, and began to really focus his questions. They had a long night ahead of them, but by morning, they’d be wealthy men.