“So the lights were turned out on purpose,” Gloria said.
Sammy nodded.
“That’s unethical,” Gloria said.
“No one out here saw it that way,” Sammy said. “Just smart business. You’re probably asking yourself, what does this have to do with the World Poker Showdown? The answer is simple. Every casino boss in town knows DeMarco’s cheating. But if he’s exposed, it will hurt their business. So the town is going to let it slide until the tournament is over. After that, it will get cleaned up.”
“But what about the other players in the tournament? Or the fans?” Gloria asked, unable to hide the indignation in her voice. “Don’t they matter?”
Sammy shook his head sadly. Valentine pushed himself off the couch. Las Vegas doesn’t gamble.It was another way of saying that Las Vegas wasn’t in the business of losing. He supposed someone had to pay for all those fancy casinos and flashing neon signs. He shook Sammy’s hand and thanked him for his time, then escorted Gloria out of the apartment.
36
Gerry Valentine was surprised. He’d expected Detectives Eddie Davis and Joey Marconi to drive to the address of the tailor who Angelo Fountain had fingered and grill him. But the detectives had instead driven to the municipal courthouse on Atlantic Avenue and gone upstairs to the second floor to see a judge in his chambers.
Marconi and Davis had an interesting theory that they’d presented to Gerry during the drive. The detectives had originally thought that the baseball caps were being manufactured on an assembly line. But while sitting outside Angelo Fountain’s house, they’d had a change of opinion.
If a tailor was making the caps, then the caps were custom jobs. If that was true, then George Scalzo’s blackjack cheating gang were coming to the tailor’s place of business, getting fitted, then returning when the cap was done. That meant the tailor probably had records containing the gang’s names and phone numbers. It would be enough evidence to show that the gang was conspiring to cheat the island’s casinos, and land them in jail.
“A slam dunk, ” Davis had said in the car.
Gerry hadn’t seen it that way. The tailor wasn’t going to rat out the mob.
“ Ifthe tailor has records,” Gerry had replied.
“Every good tailor keeps records,” Marconi said, handling the wheel. “It’s part of the business. The only thing we need is a warrant to search the tailor’s premises. That’s where you come in.”
“Me?” Gerry said.
“Yes. We’ll need to have you explain the scams to the judge. You’re the expert.”
Gerry had shifted uncomfortably in his seat. “Whatever you say.”
The judge they went to see was named Alva Dopking. Dopking was a lanky, cleft-chinned former prosecutor who’d been making criminals’ lives miserable in Atlantic City for thirty years. Gerry had come up before him in juvenile court and had not enjoyed the experience. Sitting in Dopking’s book-lined chambers, he kept his eyes glued to the floor while Davis and Marconi stood in front of Dopking’s desk, and argued their case.
Dopking listened while sucking on an unlit cigar. His wavy dark hair had turned snow white; otherwise, he looked the same as Gerry remembered. He was a tough nut, and he didn’t like it when his directions weren’t followed.
“I’m just not buying your argument,” Dopking said, tossing his cigar into an ashtray on the desk. “First of all, the tailor who gave you the information—Angelo Fountain—how do you know he doesn’t have a gripe with this other tailor, Bruno Traffatore, and isn’t out to make the man’s life miserable?
“Second, I’m not comfortable with your theory that these gaffed baseball caps are being custom-made by Traffatore. I’ve had cheating cases brought before me in the past, and the equipment came from magic shops or companies that mass-produce this stuff.”
Davis stepped forward. “Your Honor, we have an expert who’s been helping us with this case. The consulting firm he works for specializes in catching casino cheaters. He’ll confirm everything we’ve said to you this afternoon.”
Dopking looked Gerry’s way. “Him?”
“Yes, Your Honor.”
Dopking shot Gerry an unfriendly look, and Gerry felt himself squirm. Dopking had a reputation for unflinching honesty, and as a result, commanded more respect than all the island’s politicians rolled together.
“What is this expert’s name?” Dopking asked.
“Gerry Valentine,” Davis replied.
The hint of a smile played on Dopking’s lips. “I’d like to hear what Mr. Gerry Valentine has to say,” he said.
Davis turned around, and motioned for Gerry to come forward. Gerry wedged himself between the two detectives and identified himself.
“Tony Valentine’s son?” Dopking asked, as if wanting to be sure.
“That’s right. I mean, yes, Your Honor.”
Dopking’s smile vanished. “I thought you were a bookie.”
Gerry opened his mouth but nothing came out. The judge leaned forward.
“I do keep track of the people who step before me, you know,” Dopking said.
Gerry found his voice. “Yes, Your Honor. I gave up the rackets and now work in my father’s consulting business. I’m here to ask you to grant the detectives’ request, and give them a warrant to search Bruno Traffatore’s place of business. I will personally vouch for the integrity of Angelo Fountain, the informant who gave us the name. He offered up the name only after I pressured him.”
“So he has no gripe with this other tailor?”
“No, Your Honor.”
Dopking studied him. “I’m still doubtful of the detectives’ claim that Traffatore is custom-making cheating equipment. Aren’t these things mass-produced?”
“The items that are mass-produced are junk. The real work is made by pros.”
The gaffed baseball cap was sitting on the desk. “Give me an example besides this baseball cap,” Dopking said.
Gerry removed a five-dollar casino chip from his pocket and handed it to the judge. The chip was actually a shell with a hollowed-out interior. Dopking examined it, then said, “Explain how this works.”
“It’s a dealer/agent scam, Your Honor. Let’s say a blackjack dealer wants to rip off his own game. His agent plays at his table, and bets the shell. Every time the agent loses, the dealer picks up the shell and places it over another player’s losing bet. The shell is put in the dealer’s tray, and the agent buys the shell back. What he gets in return is the shell, and whatever denomination chip the dealer just stole off the table.”
Dopking tossed the shell back to him. “And these shells are custom-made?”
“Yes, Your Honor. They have to be.”
“Why is that?”
“Because of the extremes casinos take to ensure their chips aren’t counterfeited, Your Honor. A shell must be made from one of the casino’s own chips.”
“Do you know this from experience?” the judge asked.
Gerry flushed. He’d thought a lot about the file Marconi had shown him that linked his name to numerous scams on the island. He guessed there were a lot of law enforcement people who had a bad opinion of him as a result of that file. “No, Your Honor. I’ve never used that scam, nor have I ever scammed a casino. My father explained it to me.”
Dopking leaned forward. “That was inappropriate of me to ask. Please accept my apologies.”
“Of course, Your Honor.”
“Tell me something. You did well as a bookie, didn’t you?”
Gerry didn’t know what to say. Part of the success of being a bookie was his ability to hide the success of his operation. From the law, the Internal Revenue Service, and his father. Telling a judge how well he’d done didn’t seem like a good idea.
“My uncle was a bookie, used to work out of the Marlborough-Blenheim Hotel,” Dopking went on. “He did well, so I’m assuming you also did well.”
“It wasn’t a bad way to make a living,” Gerry conceded.
“I’d like to know why you left that and joined your father’s business.”