The Volvo raced across the flat, sun-baked desert, the engine starting to breathe around ninety. Valentine tilted his seat back and stared at the endless highway ahead. Years ago, he’d considered retiring out west with his wife, having often heard it referred to as God’s country. Seeing it unfold in this morning light, he understood why.
Fifteen minutes later, they sat in the parking lot of a roadside gas station that sold hot coffee and fresh doughnuts. The woman behind the counter had made them out as law enforcement, and given them freebies. It made their day.
“Listen, I’ve got some bad news,” Bill said.
Valentine stared into his friend’s face while biting his doughnut. Bill was a Navajo, and kept his emotions well below the surface. “I hate to start the day with bad news. Tell me something funny first.”
“Why does it have to be funny?”
“Because you’re about to give me bad news. I’d like a good laugh first.”
Bill scrunched up his face. “Okay. Here’s a joke I heard. How do you get an eighty-year-old woman to say ‘Shit!’”
Valentine should know this one. He lived in Florida.
“I don’t have a clue.”
“Get another eighty-year-old woman to yell ‘Bingo!’”
He laughed. Definitely a Floridian joke. He washed down his last bite of doughnut with a gulp of coffee. It hit his stomach like a bomb, and he felt himself wake up. “Okay, I’m ready for your bad news.”
“I know this is going to sound harsh, but I’m taking you off the case,” Bill said.
“You’re firing me?”
“Yes,” Bill said.
Valentine didn’t know what to say. He stared out the windshield at the big, cloudless Nevada sky. Bill started the engine and pulled onto the highway, pointing the Volvo back toward town. A long minute passed.
“It’s like this, Tony,” his friend said. “Yesterday, I was given twenty-four hours by the governor of Nevada to produce hard evidence that there was cheating taking place at the World Poker Showdown. If I couldn’t prove there was cheating, I was told in no uncertain terms to leave the tournament alone. That also meant letting you go.”
“The governor told you to end the investigation?”
“That’s right,” Bill said.
“Is he being pressured?”
“Yes. The World Poker Showdown is helping every casino in town get business.”
“So the casino owners asked the governor to squash the investigation.”
“Bingo.”
“Shit.” Valentine’s eyes shifted to the ruler-straight highway. It resembled a tunnel, the desert scenery compressed. If he left Las Vegas, George Scalzo won, and Valentine wasn’t going to let that happen. He had never run away from a fight in his life.
“What if you could prove there was cheating at the tournament? Would the governor let the investigation continue?”
“He’d have to,” Bill said.
“Would you keep me on the job?”
“Of course I’d keep you on the job.”
From his jacket pocket Valentine removed the Silly Putty and paper clip he’d discovered in Celebrity’s poker room the night before. Sticking the Silly Putty on the dashboard, he plunged the paper clip into it like a flag.
“I didn’t know you were into toy figures,” Bill said.
“They help pass the time,” Valentine said. “Guess what this one is.”
Bill stared at the dashboard. “A bug?”
“That’s right. Rufus Steele found it stuck beneath a table in Celebrity’s poker room last night. There’s a mucker scamming the tournament.”
The Volvo slowed so they were actually doing the speed limit. Bill removed the bug from the dash and held it in his hand.
“Skip DeMarco?” he asked.
“No, it’s someone else. The folks running the World Poker Showdown should be watching for stuff like this, considering there’s already been one allegation of foul play. But they’re not. They’re running a loose ship.”
Bill frowned. He had joined the Nevada Gaming Control Board twenty-five years ago, and had spent much of that time changing Las Vegas’s image from a mob-run town to a family-friendly destination. One bad incident could change that overnight.
“Are you suggesting I ask the governor to stop the tournament?” Bill asked.
“No. Tell him you want him to keep the tournament going so you can nail the mucker, and show everyone that Vegas doesn’t tolerate cheating. It would be good for business, and there will also be another benefit.”
“Which is?”
“While we’re catching the mucker, we can scrutinize DeMarco’s play, and figure out what the hell he’s doing.”
“What about Scalzo? I’d bet my paycheck he’s going to hire another hitman to whack you.”
“I’ve got a bodyguard, remember? Rufus cracks a mean bullwhip.”
“Be serious.”
Valentine was being serious. The truth was, Scalzo was afraid of him. That gave him the upper hand, and he planned to take full advantage of it.
“I’ll deal with Scalzo,” he said.
12
“Detective Davis wasn’t seriously hurt,” the doctor at the Atlantic City Medical Center emergency room told Gerry. “He landed on a piece of glass on the pavement that put a gash in his back. He’ll be good to go once we stitch him up.”
Gerry wanted to give the doctor a hug but instead just nodded. She was a fiftyish woman with steel gray hair and sunken eyes that had seen their share of heartache. She gently touched Gerry’s sleeve. “You look pale. Are you going to be okay?”
“Just a little shook up,” Gerry admitted.
“Here. Come with me.”
She led him to a visitors’ area where they sat on a small couch. An ambulance had shown up outside Bally’s before any police cruisers, and Gerry had ridden to the hospital with Davis. Watching Davis bleed all over the back of the ambulance, Gerry had realized that he was partially responsible for what had happened. Davis had picked him up at the airport as a favor to his father. Davis should have been home, and not on the street.
“Did the sight of all that blood bother you?” the doctor asked.
“Yeah, how did you know?” Gerry said.
“It’s a common reaction. The human body has a hundred quarts of blood. Eddie lost a tiny fraction of that. He’ll be fine. Trust me.”
Gerry gazed into her kind face, and found it in him to smile.
“You’re a Valentine, aren’t you?” she asked.
His smile grew. “That’s right. Gerry Valentine.”
“Faith Toperoff. I knew your parents. How are they doing?”
“My mom passed away two years ago,” Gerry said. “My dad runs a consulting business out of Florida.”
“I’m sorry for your loss. I always admired your parents for staying on the island after the casinos came,” she said. “Not many people had the stomach for it, especially those first few years.”
“How long have you been here?” Gerry asked.
“All my life.”
There weren’t many like her left on the island, and he said, “My folks talked about packing up and leaving, but my father couldn’t do it. He said he’d be a traitor.”
“It was especially hard on the local cops,” she said. “The crime rate shot up every time a casino opened, and it was already the highest in the nation. I remember the night your father shot to death the man who’d shot his partner. Your father took it hard, even though he’d done the right thing. New Jersey struck a devil’s bargain the day it decided to let casinos take over this island.”