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“I was supposed to be leaving this afternoon,” she said. “I used that ticket. Look, I’ll get right to the point. I need to air my story in a few hours.”

“Time’s a-wasting, huh?”

“Yes. I have a deadline to meet, and I’m hoping you’ll accommodate me.”

“Off camera, as we agreed,” he said.

“Yes. I rented one of the airport’s conference rooms.”

Valentine shook his head.

“Would you prefer one of the casinos, instead?” she asked.

He shook his head again. If there is anywhere in the world where the expression “The walls have ears” is true, it is in Las Vegas.

She made an annoyed face, and he said, “Don’t worry. I know the perfect place we can talk.”

There was something deliciously sweet about taking a woman that you’d always admired for a drive ten minutes after meeting her. But that was what Valentine was able to do, having rented a convertible at the Avis counter while convincing Gloria that a car would be the safest place to have their conversation about cheating at World Poker Showdown. As he opened the passenger door for her, she smiled.

“How nice. You’re also a gentleman,” she said.

Outside of the airport he got onto Tropicana Avenue and took it to Las Vegas Boulevard, then headed south, away from town. The pattern of two- and three-story condominiums broke after a few miles, the scenery changing to desert fields that lay in dusty rest. He glanced at his passenger and saw her eyeing the scenery.

“This feels like a date,” she said with a laugh in her voice.

“Does that mean the interview’s off?”

She turned in her seat, the shoulder harness pulling at her blouse.

“Don’t try to wiggle out of this one.”

He stared at the highway. “Fire away.”

“First of all, I’m pretty sure that Skip DeMarco cheated during the first day of the tournament,” she began.

“How did you do that?”

“I got my hands on the tournament registration logbook. DeMarco registered with the same seven guys he played with. I looked at the tapes from their table. They all folded to him, and gave him a huge advantage because he had so many chips. That let him beat Rufus Steele, plus a number of other top players. It was such an advantage that he’s currently the chip leader in the tournament. I also ran a background check on him. His uncle is a gangster from Newark named George ‘the Tuna’ Scalzo. Scalzo is out here, backing him.”

Gloria folded her hands in her lap, obviously pleased with herself.

“So what’s the question?” Valentine asked.

She shot him a bite-your-head-off look. “Are you trying to be funny? I want you to confirm what I just said.”

“Confirm what?”

“That DeMarco is a cheater.”

“Can’t.”

“Why not?”

“Because you don’t have any proof,” Valentine said.

“But I just told you my proof.”

“It won’t hold up. Play devil’s advocate with me for a minute. DeMarco registers with seven guys, and they end up at the same table. It looks suspicious, but maybe it’s a coincidence. He is blind, so you can’t blame him. Unless you can get one of those seven guys to admit it was done on purpose, you’ve got nothing.”

He took his eyes off the road and glanced at her. “Agreed?”

Gloria bit her lower lip. “I guess.”

“Now, those seven guys fold to DeMarco. Or did they just lose to him? Unless one of them says they gave him their chips, you’ve got nothing. Agreed?”

“Come on. You and I both know that DeMarco cheated.”

“That doesn’t mean anything. There are plenty of cheaters playing in the World Poker Showdown, including your source, Rufus Steele.”

“He is?”

“Yes. Rufus has been conning people for fifty years. Having one crook accuse another crook of cheating isn’t credible.”

“But Rufus has never been arrested,” she said. “I checked him out.”

“He’s still a crook.”

“But—”

“Trust me on this, okay?”

She acted wounded, and Valentine guessed she’d already written her story, and was just hoping he’d verify it so she could get in front of a camera and blow the lid off DeMarco’s scam. That wasn’t going to happen if he had a say in the matter, and he saw a gas station ahead and turned his indicator on.

“Look, Gloria,” he said when they were sitting in the gas station’s parking area. She had refused his offer of a hot drink, and stared coolly at him as he spoke. “A lot of gamblers are crooks. They try to get an edge whenever they can. Sometimes it means doing things that aren’t kosher.”

“And Rufus is one of these people.”

“He sure is.”

“Give me an example.”

The gambling world was replete with stories of how Rufus Steele had conned suckers out of their hardearned dough. He sensed that Gloria had taken a liking to Rufus, and he tried to pick a story that wouldn’t offend her too badly.

“Rufus is the master of the proposition bet. Know what those are?”

She shook her head.

“A proposition bet is one that you can’t win, even though it looks fair. Here’s one of my favorites. Rufus showed up at a dog track in Miami one day. It was early in the morning, and the track wasn’t officially open. With him is a greyhound with a big, lumpy belly. The dog looks like it’s pregnant. Rufus starts chiding the trainers, and tells them that his dog is faster than theirs. Within five minutes, he’s got everyone riled up, and a bunch of trainers willing to bet him otherwise. Needless to say, Rufus took them on.”

“Did he win the bet?”

“Of course he won,” Valentine said.

“But I thought you said the dog was pregnant.”

“The dog looked pregnant. Rufus had fed her a bowl of hard-boiled eggs for breakfast. For some reason, they blow up a dog’s stomach, but they don’t affect their movement. The dog was also a world-class runner. It beat the field by two lengths.”

“How clever.”

“Clever like a fox. Rufus won thirty grand on that bet.”

“Thirty grand? That’s cheating.”

“It sure is.”

Gloria stared out the windshield at the convenience store. She looked defeated, and glanced at her watch, then across the seat at him.

“I think I’ll take you up on that hot drink,” she said.

Valentine bought two cups of coffee and shared a cinnamon doughnut with her. He felt he needed to impress her, yet at the same time, didn’t want to get too close and blow his investigation. He pointed at the last piece of doughnut and said, “That’s got your name on it.”

She popped the piece into her mouth and smiled as she chewed.

“You sure know how to show a girl a good time,” she said.

“I get the feeling that I’ve put you in a bad spot.”

“Sort of.”

“Tell me what the problem is. If I can help you, I will.”

“Do you really mean that?”

“Of course I mean it.”

She wiped her mouth with a paper napkin. “It’s like this, Tony. Next year, I turn fifty. In the broadcast news business, that’s a mature age for a man, ancient for a woman. I’m being put out to pasture. No more major league baseball games or NFL football analysis or any plum assignments. It’s billiards tournaments and lumberjack competitions these days. Covering the World Poker Showdown was a favor by the head of the network. And I blew it.”

“You mean by saying there was cheating.”

“Yes. Based on what you just told me, I can’t prove it. Mark Perrier, the guy who runs Celebrity, is threatening a lawsuit if I don’t recant the story. If I do recant, I’ll lose my job with the network. What’s the expression? I’m stuck between a rock and a hard place, and I don’t know what to do.”