One of the armed men tapped Vinny’s window with the tip of his silencer. Vinny rolled down his window while keeping his other hand visible on the wheel.
“Which one of you is Gerry Valentine?” the man asked.
Gerry said that he was. He’d put his hands on the dashboard and was trying to stop his bowels from exploding. The only thing worse than getting whacked was soiling yourself before it happened, and he struggled to retain his dignity.
“You and the driver get out of the car,” the man said.
Gerry got out of the rental and faced the man doing the talking. He’d inherited a lot of things from his father, one of which was his phenomenal memory. He’d seen this guy before, then it clicked where: the guy was a valet at the Sugar Shack. The fact that he wasn’t wearing a mask did not bode well for what was about to happen to them.
The valet made them empty their pockets, frisked them, led them to the back of the Firebird, and made Gerry and Vinny climb into the open trunk. He slammed the trunk down hard, and they were instantly enveloped in suffocating darkness.
They listened to Nunzie and Frank being put through the same drill, and put in the trunk of another vehicle. This was how hoodlums executed people, and they both knew it.
“It’s been nice knowing you,” Vinny said.
37
Valentine had never used an alarm clock in his entire life. When the sun rose, so did he.
His hotel bedroom wasn’t big enough for him to get on the floor and do his exercises, so he went into the living room, and did his push-ups and sit-ups to the accompaniment of Rufus Steele’s apocalyptic snoring. He’d told Rufus off before going to bed, and sensed the old cowboy was faking sleep, his Stetson conveniently hiding his face. Valentine stole glances at him while he worked up a sweat.
He’d always thought of Rufus as a man born a hundred years too late. He had uncanny street smarts, and a century ago might have become a prominent businessman or politician. But those days were long past, and his lot in life was playing cards.
Finishing his exercises, he sat on his haunches in front of the window, watching the sun rise. Dawn was the best part of the day, the first rays of sun filled with promise and hope. His mother had taught him that, and he had never forgotten it.
He shaved, then took a hot shower. His exercises consumed twenty minutes of every day. That, his walking, and his judo classes kept him sharp. He wasn’t the man he used to be, but he was a hell of a lot closer than most guys his age.
He took his time dressing, and was ready to go downstairs to have breakfast with Gloria Curtis at eight. His cell phone was on his night table, and he powered it up and found a message from Gerry. He listened to it, his son’s overapologizing making him smile. If only his wife were alive to hear this. He walked out of his bedroom with the cell phone in his hand. As he passed the couch, Rufus spoke up.
“You ain’t running out on me, are you?”
Valentine reached over and removed the Stetson from Rufus’s face. The old cowboy was wide awake and twirling a wooden toothpick between his gums.
“Wouldn’t dream of it,” Valentine said, tossing the hat into Rufus’s lap. “I’m meeting Gloria Curtis for breakfast, and then we’ll both come over to the poker room to film you and your X-ray eyes. I sure hope you know what you’re doing.”
“Well, there is one thing I failed to mention, come to think of it.”
The words had a serious tone to them, and Valentine stared at him. “What’s that?”
“The boys who fleeced me last night — the ones I’m about to fleece back?”
“What about them?”
“I told them they could invite their friends to the demonstration this morning, and that if their friends wanted in on the action, they could have some.”
Valentine felt something drop in his stomach. He’d reluctantly agreed to front Rufus the hundred grand he was going to need to fleece the boys who’d cheated him at poker. Now, Rufus was telling him that there was going to be more action, and that he was going to have to cover it, since Rufus was flat broke. He pulled up a chair and sat in it so he was facing his guest.
“Their friends?”
“You know, some of the boys.”
“In other words, more suckers.”
“Now, I didn’t say that, but I wouldn’t call these boys the most knowledgeable gamblers who’ve ever lived, just some of the greediest.”
“How much additional action will I have to cover?”
Rufus scratched the steel-gray stubble on his chin. His posture on the couch reminded Valentine of the uneasy sleepers he used to have to run off from the public places in Atlantic City when he was a street cop. “That’s hard to say,” Rufus said.
“Take a wild guess.”
“Okay. Another hundred and fifty grand. Maybe two hundred, if we’re lucky.”
Valentine blew out his cheeks and stared at the carpet. He’d retired on his pension and social security and a little money squirreled away in the bank. Opening Grift Sense had been a windfall, and the last time he’d checked his bank statement, the account was hovering at three hundred thousand dollars. The notion that he might lose all of it covering Rufus Steele’s bet did not seem real, and he forced himself to his feet.
“You look slightly perturbed,” Rufus said.
“I am,” Valentine said. “This is my life savings we’re talking about.”
“Stop worrying, pardner. This is a sure thing.”
If there was any lesson Valentine had learned from the gambling business, it was that you didn’t mail in the results, and there was no such thing as a sure thing. People who believed otherwise ended up in the poorhouse, and he left the suite without saying another word to his guest.
Talking to Rufus had made him late for his breakfast with Gloria Curtis, and he found her sitting at a secluded table in the hotel restaurant, the simmering look in her eyes suggesting she was ready to walk out. He slid into the seat across from her.
“Oversleep?” she asked.
Her question had a bite to it, like a guy as old as him might need to get his rest.
“Actually, I was up with the sunrise,” he said. “My roommate dropped a bombshell on me, and I needed to have a chat with him. I’m sorry I’m late.”
“Care to share?”
A waitress filled their cups with coffee, then glanced into their faces, and said she’d come back. She was the first competent person Valentine had encountered in the hotel.
“Rufus has bet some guys that he has X-ray vision,” he said.
“So I’ve heard.”
“Well, it appears I’ll be fading the action on his wager. Since we’re talking about several hundred thousand dollars, I wanted to talk it over with him.”
“Fading the action?”
Valentine sipped his coffee and nodded. “It’s one of gambling’s little secrets. A gambler will use another gambler’s money to play with, only he doesn’t tell anyone. The problem with this wager is that Rufus didn’t bother to tell me.”
His words slowly registered across Gloria’s face, and her anger was replaced by a look of concern. Her hand came across the table and encircled his wrist.
“How much money are we talking about?”
“Three hundred thousand dollars.”
“Are you serious?”
“I’m always serious.”
“Can you cover it?”
He was tempted to say just barely, but nodded instead. Her fingers felt comforting against his skin, and he suddenly knew exactly what she was thinking. Before the words could come out of her mouth, he said, “I know, he’s wrong, and I shouldn’t be backing him, but these guys cheated him in a poker game, so Rufus is going to cheat them right back.”