The hardest part of going straight was having to tell the truth. Gerry didn’t like it—the truth made you vulnerable—but in this case, he saw no other choice.
Taking out his wallet, he showed Dopking a recent snapshot of his wife and daughter.
“I’d say you made a smart choice,” the judge said. “Is there anything else you wish to add?”
Gerry couldn’t tell which way Dopking was leaning, and didn’t want to leave his chambers empty-handed. “Yes, Your Honor. Bruno Traffatore has made other items used to scam Atlantic City’s casinos. If Detectives Davis and Marconi search the tailor’s business, I believe they’ll find the records of these other scammers.”
“So we’re talking about more than one crime, here?”
“Many crimes, Your Honor.”
“Would you be willing to sign a sworn affidavit supporting the need for a search warrant? You can do it anonymously, with the detectives attesting to your honesty.”
Gerry hesitated. He was about to take a bunch of crooks down, and had a feeling that some people he knew were going to get burned as a result. He felt bad about it, but wasn’t going to let that stop him. “Yes, Your Honor, I would.”
Without further discussion Dopking issued the warrant to the detectives. As they started to leave, the judge said, “I heard about your mother’s passing. How’s your father holding up?”
“He’s back to his old tricks,” Gerry replied.
Dopking picked up his cigar and sucked on it. “Good. Tell him I miss him.”
Bruno Traffatore lived on the east side of the island in a depressing neighborhood of 1950s shotgun-style houses. Gerry remained in Marconi’s car while the detectives went inside the house and searched the premises.
After ten minutes, a black Cadillac Eldorado pulled up in front of the house and parked in front of Marconi’s vehicle. The big Italian guy who climbed out was the epitome of a goombah, and carried a crumpled paper bag. Seeing Gerry, he sauntered over.
“Yo,” the goombah said.
Gerry rolled his window down. “Hey.”
The goombah scratched his stomach. “You waiting to see Mr. Traffatore?”
Another customer, Gerry thought. “Yeah,” he said.
“Let me go ahead of you,” the goombah said, removing a Yankees cap from the paper bag. “I’m in a rush, you know?”
Gerry hid the smile forming on his lips. They’d hooked a live one. “Sure,” he said.
The goombah stuck his meaty paw through Gerry’s open window and they shook hands. Gerry guessed his age to be about thirty, his rank in Scalzo’s organization no higher than a soldier. He watched the goombah walk up the brick path to Traffatore’s house and punch the bell. Moments later, Davis opened the front door. From the car, Gerry pointed at the goombah while mouthing the words Arrest him.Davis flashed him the okay sign, then ushered the goombah inside.
Fifteen minutes later Davis emerged from the house, the look of exhaustion on his face having been replaced by one of glee. He knelt down next to Gerry’s open window. “Looks like we hit the mother lode. Traffatore keeps records of all his clients in a shoe box. We’ve got the names, phone numbers, and addresses of every member of Scalzo’s gang.”
“What about the goombah?” Gerry asked. “Did you arrest him?”
“Yeah. Name’s Albert Roselli. He’s screaming for a lawyer.”
“Screaming?”
“Yeah. I’ve never seen anything like it. Marconi told him to shut his yap or we’d tape it shut. Guy’s sweating, too.”
Gerry stared at the Eldorado parked in front of him. I’m in a rush.Was Albert going to work, and needed to get his baseball cap fixed? He relayed his suspicion to Davis, and saw the detective’s face light up.
“Wait here,” Davis said.
Roselli’s vehicle was unlocked and Davis gave it a thorough search. When he finished, he came back to Marconi’s car and tossed Gerry a black address book.
“The hits just keep coming,” Davis said.
Gerry thumbed through the address book, his eyes scanning the pages. It was Scalzo’s play book, and it contained the names of the island’s casinos and the dates and times they were to be ripped off by his gang.
“Beautiful,” Gerry said.
It took Davis two hours to marshal the necessary manpower to start making the busts. Over half of Scalzo’s gang were working that afternoon, and over a hundred police and casino security forces were needed to arrest them.
Gerry stayed with Davis and Marconi as they went from casino to casino and systematically apprehended Scalzo’s gang. The baseball caps made the gang members easy to locate and allowed the detectives to march up to the tables, speak to the gang members by name, and arrest them. As Gerry watched the gang members being led away to vans waiting outside, he was surprised the gang hadn’t retired the scam after the incident at Bally’s the night before. His father said that what usually brought cheaters down was the greed factor. Once a cheater started stealing, it was often hard for him to stop.
The final arrests were made at Resorts International, the island’s oldest casino. By now it was dark, and Gerry stood outside on the Boardwalk, sipping a double espresso to stay awake. He’d scored a big victory, but it felt hollow. He still didn’t know how Scalzo was ripping off the World Poker Showdown, and suspected that none of the people who’d been arrested knew, either. Davis came out through the double doors and gave him a whack on the arm. “I owe you dinner, man.”
Gerry forced a smile. The busts were going to make Davis and Marconi into heroes. That was worth celebrating, even if he wasn’t in the mood.
“You’re on,” he said.
37
It was quitting time, and Mabel was heading out the door when the phone on Tony’s desk rang. Glancing at the Caller ID, she saw that it was Special Agent Romero of the FBI.
“It’s about time,” she said aloud.
She’d called Romero earlier, gotten an impersonal voice mail, and left a message saying she urgently needed to speak with him about George Scalzo. She’d expected a prompt call back, having done Romero a huge favor a few days ago. The fact that he’d taken over half a day to respond was annoying to say the least.
“Grift Sense,” she answered.
“Hello, Ms. Struck,” Romero said. “I apologize for not getting back to you sooner, but I had to testify in court today, and they don’t permit cell phones at the federal courthouse.”
Mabel smiled into the receiver. An immediate apology, and a believable one to boot. “Thanks for calling back. I need your help.”
“I’ll do what I can,” Romero said.
She settled into her chair. “I’m assisting my boss with a case which involves a murder I believe George Scalzo was involved with.”
“A recent murder?”
“Yes. It took place two weeks ago at the Atlantic City Medical Center. I’m trying to determine Scalzo’s whereabouts during the time of the murder. When we spoke a few days ago, you told me that the FBI watches Scalzo, which I assume means you follow him whenever he goes out in public.”
Romero cleared his throat. “That would be a logical assumption.”
“Good. I realize that this is all hush-hush, but figured since we’re both trying to accomplish the same thing—”
“Which is?”
She hated when men turned dense, and she let her tongue slip. “To put the murderous bastard in jail.”
Romero laughed softly. “Yes. That’s the FBI’s goal as well. Please continue.”
“I was hoping that you could look at your records and see if Scalzo visited the Atlantic City Medical Center the night of the murder. It would be a tremendous help in putting another piece into this puzzle we’re wrestling with. Of course, it would remain strictly confidential.”
There was silence as Romero weighed her request. Mabel picked up a pair of misspotted dice lying on Tony’s desk and rolled them across the blotter. The dice had the numbers 2, 4, 6 printed on both sides. Because the human eye could see only three sides of a square, the duplication went unnoticed, allowing the cheater to win 90 percent of the time that he used them in a game of craps.
“I will need to speak with the agent in charge of monitoring Scalzo,” Romero said. “It will be his decision whether or not to release the information you’re asking for.”