Perrier was the same guy who’d threatened him over the phone two nights ago. Valentine was seeing a pattern that he didn’t like. Perrier should be trying to get to the bottom of these allegations instead of covering them up. He reached over and touched Gloria’s sleeve. She looked into his face, her eyes hopeful.
“Do you know what the bad part about getting old is?” he asked.
“The wrinkles?”
“People don’t think you count anymore.”
“Oh,” she said.
“As a result, you spend a lot of time showing people you do count. Sort of like when you were a kid, and no one took you seriously.”
“You’re saying growing old is like regressing.”
“To other people it is. Now, I’m going to level with you, and I don’t want it going any further than this car. Understood?”
“Certainly,” Gloria said.
“I didn’t travel three thousand miles to investigate some pissant scam. There’s something seriously wrong with this tournament and I’m going to find out what it is. It might take me a few days, so here’s what I suggest you do. Have your boss at the network call me. I’ll tell him what I just told you. I’ll also promise him that you’ll get an exclusive once I’m done. That should get you off the hook.”
“You mean that?”
“Of course I mean it.”
The look on her face was something special. Surprise and happiness and something akin to admiration all rolled into one. She brought her body across the seat, placed her hand against his chin, and planted a kiss on his cheek. Her lips were soft, and brought back long-buried memories that made his heart stir.
“Thank you, Tony,” she said.
14
Valentine took out his business card and wrote his cell number on the back. He’d only given his cell number to a handful of people over the years, yet handed it readily to Gloria Curtis. He started the car and pointed it toward Las Vegas.
“Tell your boss to call me anytime,” he said.
“I will. His name is Ralph. He has a tough exterior, but deep down he’s a real jerk.”
Valentine laughed. “He ride you hard?”
“Like a mule.” She pulled a pack of Kools from her purse and banged one out. “Mind if I smoke?”
“I might attack you.”
“Trying to quit?”
“Yes. I kicked the habit when I was a cop, didn’t smoke for twenty years. Two years ago I started again. Now, I’m not sure if I’ll ever quit.”
“Why did you start again?”
“My wife died.”
“I’m terribly sorry.”
“Then my son joined my business,” he added, forcing a smile. “I think that was the clincher.”
“May I ask you a question about your son?”
Valentine stiffened. Talking about Gerry with strangers was never a favorite subject: too many surprises came up. He pointed out the window at the buff desert ringed with bluish mountains. “Sure is beautiful scenery,” he said.
“Did you bring him to Las Vegas to help you with this case?”
The road back to town was as straight as an arrow. He stared at the double line in its center while playing her question back in his head. The first part was a statement of fact — Gerry was here, and somehow Gloria had found out — the second a question.
“How did you know my son was in Las Vegas?”
“Guess,” she said. “I already gave you a clue.”
“You did?”
“Yes. Remember how we met?”
Valentine continued to stare at the road. “You met me at my plane, meaning you have a contact with the airlines who told you what flight I was on.”
“That’s right,” she said, lighting up.
“That’s illegal, you know.”
She choked on the cigarette’s smoke. “You sound like a cop when you say that.”
“Sorry.”
“Do you want a cigarette or not?”
“Can I just have a puff of yours?”
She shook her head, and he took one and let her light it. He filled his lungs with the great-tasting smoke, and for about five seconds the world felt right again. It wasn’t long, but sometimes that was all you needed.
“Your airport contact must have seen that Gerry flew here, and told you,” he said.
“Your powers of deduction are amazing,” Gloria replied, holding her cigarette like a movie starlet. “So, do you work cases often with your son?”
“Sometimes.”
“Bringing a kid into a family business must be hard,” she said.
The road had become super-sized, as had the cars passing by. Gerry was supposed to be in Puerto Rico, looking after his wife and baby, and not here in Sin City, doing whatever the hell he was doing. Valentine took several deep breaths and felt himself calm down.
“You have no idea,” he said. “Where are you staying?”
“Celebrity,” she said.
“Me too.”
A mile before town he got onto Highway 105, and ten minutes later pulled into Celebrity’s main entrance. Las Vegas casinos were designed like carnival attractions, the casino willing to say or do anything to get you inside its doors. Celebrity was no different. Its exterior looked like the entrance to Tarzan’s lair, with elephants and giraffes and other jungle beasts roaming the grounds, the animals kept in check by natural deterrents. A valet dressed like Jungle Jim hustled over to take his car.
Gloria started to get out, then turned to face him. “I’m going to need filler to run while I’m waiting for your case to break. Any suggestions would be greatly appreciated.”
“Filler?”
“Stories, human interest stuff.”
“I can make some introductions. I know a lot of the famous players.”
“Let’s talk later about it, okay?”
The words were slow to sink in. He’d been wondering what kind of impression he’d made on her, and guessed it was several notches above what he’d thought. She scribbled her cell phone number on the back of her business card, then stuck the card between his fingers. “Call me when it’s convenient,” she said.
He watched Gloria walk away, then got out of his rental and pulled his garment bag from the trunk. Every dark cloud had a silver lining. Hearing that Gerry was in Las Vegas was bad news, yet meeting Gloria was not. There was a bounce in his step as he went inside.
Celebrity’s lobby had an enormous atrium filled with screeching macaws and giant yellow-headed parrots. It was fun for about five minutes, which was how long he had to wait in line to get registered. After that, the panicked look on the birds’ faces started to bother him, and he stopped looking at them.
His room wasn’t clean, so he parked his garment bag with the concierge, and crossed the lobby to the casino. Like every joint in town, Celebrity’s casino offered the same money-losing games, except for one difference. They had built a huge card room designed exclusively to hold the World Poker Showdown. It was as long as a football field, and had plush carpeting and real crystal chandeliers. Considering that most poker players would rather drink out of a toilet than tip a cocktail waitress, Celebrity’s management had made a huge investment.
Two armed guards stood outside the card room. The WPS’s main prize was ten million in cash, and it was on display inside in a Plexiglas box. Each night, the money was put into a vault. As publicity gimmicks went, there was nothing like it.
A giant-screen TV showed the action inside, with thousands of men and women sitting at green baize tables. The game was Texas Hold ’Em and each player was dealt two face-down cards to start. After a round of betting, three communal cards, called the flop, were dealt face up in the center of the table, followed by another round of betting. Then two more cards, known as Fourth Street, or the turn, and Fifth Street, called the river, were dealt face up, with a round of betting after each card. The five cards in the center were common to all players, who used them with their hole cards to make the best hand.