“Yes. He’s with the newswoman, Gloria Curtis.”
“Are you taping their conversation? I want to know what they talking about. That woman is poison, and so is he.”
Perrier shut his eyes. Jasper had a pattern. He would ask you to break the law, then explain why it had to be done. The reasons were always logical.
“Wiretapping is illegal in Nevada,” Perrier said.
“I thought that was just for telephones,” Jasper said.
“All private conversations.”
“What’s he doing now?”
Perrier opened his eyes. Valentine was talking to the waitress. The resolution of the picture was so clear, Perrier could see a tiny stain on his blue shirt.
“Nothing much,” he said.
“I want you to keep watching him,” Jasper said. “This goddamn situation has to go away. Rufus Steele is stirring the pot, and Valentine is sniffing around the bushes like a bloodhound. That son-of-a-bitch could spoil a picnic if you gave him the chance. He’s cost more casinos money than any cheater he’s ever busted.”
“Cost them how?” Perrier asked.
“By making them play by the rules,” Jasper said. “What’s he doing now?”
Perrier stared at the screen. The waitress had brought the check, and Valentine and Gloria were fighting over it, only they were doing it in a way that was making them both laugh. They liked each other. He groaned.
“What’s the matter?” Jasper asked.
“You really want to know?” Perrier asked.
“Yes.”
“This tournament is what’s the matter,” Perrier said.
“What the hell is that supposed to mean?”
“I’ll tell you. First, your tournament director screws up, and lets DeMarco play with his friends. Now everyone thinks he’s a cheater. Then, your dealers forget to get Sheriff’s Cards from the Metro Las Vegas Police Department, and the chief of police is calling me every hour. Oh yeah, and your dealers keep dropping like flies. I feel like I’m sitting on a nuclear bomb, Jasper.”
“Last night’s ratings were through the roof,” Jasper said.
Perrier didn’t think Jasper had heard a word of what he’d just said. Television ratings were all Jasper talked about, and cared about.
“So I heard,” Perrier said.
“Where is Valentine now?”
Perrier stared at the screen. Valentine and Gloria Curtis had settled the bill and were getting up from their table, sharing meaningful looks.
“He’s leaving the bar,” he said.
“I need to get him out of Las Vegas,” Jasper said. “And that goes for Rufus Steele, and that newscaster woman. My ass is on the line, and so is yours, my friend.”
Perrier shook his head. One of his great assets was his ability to watch his mouth. Then he’d had drinks with Jasper, and let it slip that he thought the hotel was a dog. He’d regretted it ever since.
“What do you want me to do?” Perrier asked.
“Keeps tabs on Valentine and the newscaster,” Jasper said.
“We’re already watching them.”
“Beef it up,” Jasper said. “Record everything they do, who they talk to, the works.”
“What about Rufus? Isn’t he the one causing all the trouble?”
“I’ve got Rufus taken care of,” Jasper said.
Perrier didn’t like the sound of that. He played with his keyboard, and checked the hotel’s res system. Rufus Steele had left his room a few hours ago, and was now sharing a room with Valentine. The information had been filed by a maid.
He typed a command into his keyboard, and found the hallway outside Valentine’s room. As luck would have it, Rufus was coming out of the room. Perrier followed him down a hallway to an elevator. He switched cameras, and watched Rufus get into the elevator, and push the button for the sixth floor.
“You going to beat him up?” Perrier asked.
“No, no,” Jasper said. “No rough stuff.”
“Then what?”
“Trust me. He won’t give us any more trouble.”
Perrier watched Rufus depart the elevator, and walk to a room on the sixth floor. The door opened, and a guy with a grin on his face greeted him. Perrier saw a card table inside the room. Then the door closed. They were going to fleece him, Perrier thought. He could live with that.
“Will you do it?” Jasper asked.
“Do what?” Perrier asked.
“Keep tabs on Valentine and Gloria Curtis. Come on, Mark. Help me out here.”
Perrier hesitated. He could get in a ton of trouble for spying on people. But if he didn’t do it, Valentine and Gloria Curtis might bring the tournament down in flames, and he’d be out on the street looking for work.
“All right,” he heard himself say.
Jasper exhaled deeply on the line.
“I knew I could count on you,” the president of the WPS said.
28
“Your father is crazy,” Vinny said after Gerry explained his father’s solution.
“No, he’s not,” Gerry replied. “This is the best way to handle what’s happened.”
Vinny shook his head in exasperation. “Go back to the scene of the crime? Call the cops and tell them what happened? Those are suicide tactics.”
Vinny, Gerry, Nunzie, and Frank were sitting in the rental in the convenience store parking lot. Vinny was sweating like he was going to the electric chair, and dabbed his forehead with a napkin stained with jelly doughnut. The jelly was cherry, and made Vinny look like he’d been stabbed in the face. Gerry tilted the mirror so Vinny could see what he’d done to himself.
“For the love of Christ,” Vinny said, and went inside to clean himself off.
Gerry turned so he was facing Nunzie and Frank in the backseat. They didn’t looked too thrilled with the idea of going back to Lucky Lou’s, either. They’d been running away from the law since they were teenagers. A minute later, Vinny returned to the car. “Explain it to me again, will you?” Vinny asked.
“It’s like this,” Gerry said. “My father has already told Bill Higgins, the director of the Nevada Gaming Control Board, that we’re in Las Vegas helping him with a job. My old man fronted for us, okay?”
“I thought your old man hated us,” Nunzie said.
“That’s beside the point,” Gerry said. “He did it, which means when we talk to the police, Bill Higgins will back our story. My father just gave us a Get-Out-of-Jail-Free card.”
“But why go back to Lucky Lou’s?” Vinny asked. “We didn’t see a single camera in that section of the parking lot. There wasn’t one at the exit, either. We got away without being photographed.”
Vinny didn’t know it, but he was dead wrong. Gerry’s father had explained it to him. Every major intersection in Las Vegas had a surveillance camera hidden in its traffic light. It was part of a massive surveillance campaign that had begun right after 9/11. The police would review the tapes of the intersections around Lucky Lou’s, and match their departure time with the approximate time of the shooting. They’d also get the license of the rental they were driving, and eventually track them down.
“Because it’s the smart thing to do,” Gerry said. “My father has established an alibi for us. We’re law-abiding citizens, working for my father’s company. That’s our story, and I’m sticking to it. Now, are you in, or are you out?”
Fifteen minutes later, Gerry’s father pulled into the lot and parked by the front door to the convenience store. The look on his father’s face was one Gerry had seen countless times before. Frustration mixed with anger mixed with resignation. Gerry walked over to his father’s car, and knelt down by the open driver’s window.
“Hey, Pop, thanks for coming so fast.”