Valentine leaned forward in his chair. He remembered Rufus once telling him about poker games in Texas where they’d put guys with machine guns on the roof of the house to protect the players inside. Rufus had seen plenty of thieves in his day, and would undoubtedly run across plenty more. “Rufus, you’re taking this personally. That’s not like you. There will be other tournaments.”
“This is different,” Rufus said.
“How so?”
“That kid bad-mouthed me on national television. My ninety-eight-year-old momma called me from the Sunset Nursing Home. She said, ‘You need to teach that loudmouth a lesson, Rufus.’”
Valentine put his soda on the windowsill. Then he pulled his chair a few inches closer to his host. “I want you to do me a favor.”
“Name it.”
“Stop calling DeMarco a cheater. That’s my job.”
“So what should I call him?”
“A worm, a toad, a snot-nosed schoolboy who doesn’t know his ass from third base, a rank amateur, whatever you want.”
Rufus grinned, getting his drift. “I’ll do it, provided that you return the favor, and let me go about my business.”
“Meaning what?”
“I made a bet with a guy in the tournament which I’m about to go downstairs and settle.”
“A sucker?”
“I suppose you could call him that. He fancies himself a professional poker player.”
“What’s the bet?”
“I bet him ten thousand dollars that I could make a fly land on a sugar cube. The sucker thinks I’m off my rocker. I ask that you not tell him otherwise.”
“I thought you said you were broke,” Valentine said.
Rufus put down his drink, then pulled out both his pockets. There was nothing in either of them. “I am. That’s what makes the bet so intriguing.”
There was an impatient knock on the door. Rufus took his time getting to his feet, his old bones moaning and creaking. He’d been a cowboy all his life, had a wife and a bunch of screaming grandkids, and still called Texas home. He’d once told Valentine that he didn’t permit gambling around the house, and Valentine had believed him.
Rufus opened the door and stuck his head into the hallway. A hotel maintenance man stood outside accompanied by a beefy security guard. The guard did the talking.
“Mr. Steele? I’m with hotel security. We’d like to come into your room.”
“What for?” Rufus asked.
“The general manager informed me that you swore at him a few minutes ago,” the guard said.
“All I did was ask him to shove the phone up his ass,” Rufus said.
“He was deeply offended by the remark.”
“Guess he doesn’t spend much time inside his casino, huh?”
“The general manager has instructed our maintenance man to take your phone out of your room,” the guard said.
“You’re kidding me, aren’t you?”
“Afraid not,” the guard said. “Please step aside.”
Rufus’s shoulders sagged. He turned and looked back into the room at Valentine sitting by the window. “Can you talk to this guy, Tony?”
“I’m afraid it won’t do any good,” Valentine said.
“I thought you were here on behalf of the hotel.”
“The Gaming Control Board hired me.”
Rufus’s shoulders sagged some more. He stepped away from the door, and gestured weakly with his arm. The two men entered the suite. The maintenance man took an electric screwdriver off his belt, and placed it on the bed. Then he dropped to his knees, and peered behind the bed, looking for the electrical outlet that the phone was plugged into. Valentine got out of his chair, and came over to where Rufus stood. He felt bad for Rufus, but didn’t know how to express it without offending him any further. Take away a man’s pride, and there wasn’t much left.
Rufus turned to the guard. “Can I make one last call?”
The guard scratched his chin. “Is it local?”
“It’s right here in the hotel,” Rufus said.
“I don’t see why not.”
“I have your permission?”
“Sure,” the guard said. “Go ahead.”
The maintenance man got off the floor, and gave Rufus some room. Rufus picked up the phone’s receiver, and punched in zero. An operator came on the line, and Rufus asked to speak to the hotel’s general manager. A few moments later, he was put through.
“This is Rufus Steele,” he said when the GM came on. “Remember that phone I suggested you shove up your ass? Well, hold on, son. They’re about to deliver it to you.”
16
The sucker was waiting for Rufus in one of the tournament side rooms. He was in his mid-twenties, wore his shirt out to hide his round stomach, and had yellow spiked hair. He was extremely loud, and jabbered away like he’d already won the bet. With him were a pair of tanned guys sporting expensive clothes and nice haircuts. Valentine guessed these were the hairy legs backing the sucker’s play.
Hairy legs were a big part of gambling. They were the money men, and often had more capital than common sense. In Valentine’s opinion, they were a major reason why high-stakes poker had exploded around the country. Most had gotten their wealth from the stock market or the high-tech boom, and frittered it away backing egotistical movie projects and professional poker players.
Introductions were made, with Rufus telling the sucker and his backers that Valentine was “an ex-police detective from the fair state of New Jersey who I asked to be here to keep things honest.” The sucker eyed Valentine skeptically, as did the hairy legs.
Valentine nodded politely to them.
“I want to establish some rules before we start,” the sucker said.
“By all means,” Rufus replied.
“First of all, we get to provide the sugar cubes. We’ll put them on the table, then you get to pick which cube you think the fly will land on.”
“How many sugar cubes do you want to put on the table?” Rufus asked.
“Ten,” the sucker said.
“That’s a lot.”
“Does it matter?”
“Yes, it makes it harder. Let’s make the bet twenty thousand,” Rufus said.
The sucker’s mouth dropped down, as did his backers’ mouths.
“You want to bet twenty thousand dollars instead of ten thousand?” the sucker said.
“That’s right,” Rufus replied. “If you put ten sugar cubes on the table, it will be harder for me to persuade the fly to land on a particular one. I’m willing to take the gamble, provided we bet twenty thousand dollars on the outcome. I think that’s fair, don’t you?”
One of the hairy legs let out a laugh. “Sure, why not?”
“There’s one other stipulation,” the sucker said. “We get to provide the fly.”
Rufus tilted his Stetson back like he couldn’t believe what he was hearing. “Excuse me, son, but I figured we’d use one of the flies that was buzzing around the place. It’s never too hard to find a fly inside a casino, you know.”
The sucker shook his head. It was obvious he’d thought this out, and decided that Rufus was somehow going to provide a trained fly to win the wager. They were standing beside a round table with a tablecloth draped over it, and the sucker reached beneath the table, and triumphantly came up with a glass mayonnaise jar. The jar had the lid on, into which were poked several airholes. Buzzing around inside the jar was a large house fly.
“We’ll use this one,” the sucker said.
Rufus extended his hand, and the sucker handed him the jar. The old cowboy stared at the buzzing fly, then held the jar up to the light, and stared some more. After some thoughtful consideration, he handed the jar back to the sucker.
“You’re on,” Rufus said.