“Not to be impolite, but that doesn’t mean much,” Rufus said.
“Would you care to explain to our viewers?”
“This is a tournament, and you play for these little plastic coins called chips. I’m talking about playing for cold hard cash, the way we play down in Texas.”
“Do you think that would give you an advantage?”
“Ma’am, that young man would be like a missionary with a bunch of hungry cannibals. I’d eat him alive.”
Gloria knew an ending when she heard it, and faced the camera. “This is Gloria Curtis, reporting from the World Poker Showdown in Las Vegas. Back to you.”
“I owe you a steak and an ice-cold beer,” Gloria said a few minutes later. “That was really wonderful.”
The room had emptied, leaving Gloria and Valentine and the empty mayonnaise jar. Gloria’s cameraman stood off to the side, breaking down his equipment.
“I’ll take you up on the steak,” Valentine said.
“You don’t drink?”
He shook his head. She looked surprised, like all cops were supposed to drink.
“My father was a drunk. I swore off the stuff before it ever touched my lips.”
“Then I guess we’ll just have to settle for a steak. Maybe over dinner I can bribe you into telling me how Rufus pulled that little stunt.”
Valentine was not about to tell Gloria that he didn’t have the slightest idea. She went to speak with her cameraman, giving him the opportunity to pick up the ten sugar cubes on the table. Most animals were attracted to sugar’s sweet smell, and he wondered why the fly hadn’t hopped around from cube to cube, instead of landing on the cube third from the left. He remembered his office manager once predicting where a fly would land on a table, and had the sneaking suspicion that the scam was older than he was. He went over to where Gloria stood with her cameraman.
“Would you do me a favor?” he asked.
“Name it,” she said.
“Would you consider interviewing DeMarco, and informing him of Rufus’s challenge? I’d like to see his expression when you break the news to him.”
Her eyes sparked. “Think you’ll see something in his face?”
“Yes, that’s exactly what I’m thinking.”
“What do gamblers call those?”
“Tells.”
“Ooh,” she said. “This is fun. If DeMarco really is a cheater, you think he’ll cringe at the idea of playing Rufus again.”
“I sure do.”
“Will that help your investigation?”
“Let’s just say it will put me one step closer to the truth.”
“Ooh,” she said. “I love it.”
They went into the lobby, and found DeMarco standing outside the card room being interviewed by a Japanese TV crew. He was a shade under six feet, and looked like he worked out, his shoulders tapering down to a thin waist. He held a long metal cane in his hand, and was wearing thick dark glasses. Valentine had seen plenty of blind people in casinos — most liked to play the slot machines — and he’d seen people pretend to be blind as cover for a scam. DeMarco’s body language said he was the real thing.
DeMarco’s handlers stood behind him. One was big and looked like a bodyguard, the other an old man carrying a canvas bag. The old man was dressed in black, and had silver hair slicked back on both sides and lizard eyes. He was the epitome of an old-time gangster, and Valentine guessed this was George “the Tuna” Scalzo.
“Someone’s done a marketing makeover on DeMarco,” Gloria said under her breath. “New haircut, new wardrobe. Very smart.”
“Think he’s being groomed?”
“Sure looks that way.” To her cameraman she said, “Zack, ready to rock?”
“Uh-huh,” Zack said, hoisting the camera onto his shoulder.
DeMarco was wrapping up his interview as they approached him. Hearing them, he turned his head and offered the thinnest of smiles.
“Gloria Curtis, WSPN Sports Television,” Gloria said, sticking the microphone in his face. “Congratulations on being the tournament money leader the second day in a row.”
“Nice perfume,” he said.
“Do you still feel confidant that you’ll win the tournament?”
“Shouldn’t I?”
“There are over two thousand players left in the field.”
“And they’re all chasing me,” he said.
“Rufus Steele, an old-timer who accused you of cheating the other day, has issued a challenge. Are you aware of it?”
DeMarco froze, the bluster leaving his face. His Adam’s apple bobbed, and then he squared his shoulders and shrugged it off. A nice recovery, Valentine thought.
“Rufus is challenging me?” he said.
“Yes,” Gloria said. “He wants to play you heads up for cash.”
“If I played every person I beat in this tournament, I’d never leave,” he said. “No thanks. I’ve got more important things to do.”
“Would you play him after the tournament was over?”
“You mean, after I win the tournament?” he said.
“Very well. After you win the tournament.”
“Sure, I’d play him. A million bucks, heads up. Neither of us leaves the table until the other guy has all the money.”
Gloria turned to the camera. “And there you have it. A pair of gamblers, one old, the other young, ready to lock horns and play poker for two million dollars, cash. It doesn’t get any better than that. Back to you.”
“That was great,” Zack said, lowering his camera.
“We done?” DeMarco asked.
“Yes,” Gloria said. “Thank you.”
DeMarco lowered his cane and walked away. He was either blind as a bat, or up for serious Academy Award consideration for Best Actor. He entered one of the casino’s noisy bars with his handlers behind him. Valentine felt a hand on his arm, and turned to find Gloria standing beside him.
“Did you ever think of being a producer?” she asked.
“No, should I?”
“Yes. You’re filled with good ideas.”
Gloria needed to review and edit the film before Zack sent it to the network. Still holding Valentine’s sleeve, she said, “How about dinner tonight? The hotel has a steak house. I’ll buy you a New York Strip, and you can explain how the sugar trick works.”
“You’ve got a deal,” he said.
“Eight o’clock at Bogart’s,” she said. “I’ll make the reservations.”
He watched her walk away. Then he crossed the casino, and found a bank of phone booths. He entered one, shut the door, and pulled out his cell. Mabel, his office manager, was coming home from her cruise today. He wanted to say hi, hear how it had gone, and find out how the damn sugar trick worked. He finished punching in her number when the white courtesy phone in the booth rang. Out of curiosity, he answered it.
“Tony, this is Bill Higgins,” the caller said.
Valentine nearly dropped his cell phone on the floor. “How did you find me?”
“I’m in the Celebrity surveillance control room, watching the casino floor on the monitors,” Bill said. “I saw you enter the phone booth, and called you.”
Valentine stared at the domed ornamental light in the ceiling of the booth. If there was a hidden camera in the light, he couldn’t see it.
“I know this is going to sound strange,” Bill went on, “but I was just watching you in the bar.”
“But I wasn’t in the bar,” Valentine said.
“Well, I saw you in the bar, drinking a beer. Then on another camera, I saw you duck into the phone booth. And I asked myself, how can he be in two places at once?”
It took a moment for what Bill was saying to register. His son was in the bar. Bill had never met Gerry, which explained the confusion. “This guy in the bar who looks like me,” Valentine said. “Is he sitting with three Italian guys?”