“What’s Vinny’s connection, besides his undying love for Jack?”
“Vinny agreed to buy the scam from Jack, with the money going to Jack’s mother. She lives on federal assistance.”
“And Vinny wants you to fly with him to Las Vegas, and get the scam back.”
“That’s right,” his son said.
“I hope you weren’t considering going.”
“It crossed my mind.”
“That’s dumb, Gerry.”
His son made a face like he wanted to argue, but knew it wouldn’t get him anywhere. He said, “Jack was my buddy. I owe it to him.”
Friendship had a way of making a person blind to certain realities. George Scalzo was a ruthless criminal who’d killed scores of men over the years. Vinny Fountain and his bumbling buddies were no match for someone like that.
“I’ve got a better idea,” Valentine said.
“What?”
“Take your wife and daughter to Puerto Rico and lie low for a while.”
A wall of resolution rose in his son’s face. “You’re saying I should put my tail between my legs, and run?” Gerry said.
“That’s exactly what I’m saying. Whenever George Scalzo gets involved with something, dead bodies turn up. I don’t want you to be one of them.”
“I can take care of myself, Pop.”
“What about your family?”
“I can take care of them, too.”
Valentine stared long and hard into his son’s handsome face. Gerry was thirty-six, and still young enough to think that nothing could harm him. Only age was going to teach him otherwise.
“Just do as I say, okay?”
“That doesn’t sound like a partner talking to me,” Gerry said.
Valentine took another deep breath. His son had joined his business with no money, and had been living off his father’s largesse while he learned the ropes.
“No, it’s your father talking,” he said.
His son rose from the couch with a dark look on his face.
“Gee,” he said, “and I thought we were in business together.”
He walked out of the room before Valentine had a chance to reply.
6
Valentine went to his study and shut the door. Gerry had a way of getting under his skin that left him feeling battered, and he wished Mabel was there. His neighbor was good at refereeing when their arguments got heated.
He sat down at his desk. Sticking out of his computer’s hard drive was the CD from the oil man that contained a clip of suspected poker cheating. Normally he didn’t work late, but he felt out of sorts and decided to have a look.
His computer whirred as it accepted the disc. Within seconds he was studying a grainy film of a poker game in the back room of a neighborhood bar. Eight middle-aged guys smoking fat cigars sat around a table with a castle of colored chips in its center. It was not something Valentine normally dealt with, and he found the letter that had accompanied the CD.
A Houston oil man had been invited to join an ongoing high-stakes game at a local watering hole. He had lost his shirt three weeks running. Suspecting foul play, on the fourth week the oil man secretly filmed the game with a video camera hidden in a briefcase.
Valentine put the letter down, and stared at the film playing on his computer. Cheating at private poker games was the largest unchecked crime in America. It cost unsuspecting players millions of dollars a year. He watched the game for a few minutes, then noticed a plastic Budweiser sign behind the table.
The oil man’s cell phone number was given at the bottom of the letter. He punched the number into his phone, and moments later was talking to an older gentleman with a drawl so thick he could have cut it with a knife.
“You work fast, Mr. Valentine. You figure out what’s going on?”
“Maybe,” Valentine said. “Let me ask you a couple of questions first.”
“Be my guest.”
“I’m staring at the CD you sent me. There are eight players at the table. Are you the player wearing the string tie and twirling a toothpick in your mouth?”
“Well, I’ll be darned. How did you know that?”
“It’s because of where you’re sitting at the table,” Valentine said.
“It is?”
“Yes. You’re in what gamblers call the hot seat. You sat in that chair every week, didn’t you?”
“How the heck did you know that?”
“The guy who owns the bar is running a peek joint. The Budweiser sign behind the table is made of Plexiglas. It’s tinted on the front, but not the back, and works like a two-way mirror. Someone standing behind the wall can see through the sign, and spot the cards you’re holding. That information is transmitted to the guy who owns the bar either by radio or by a waitress who delivers it to him on a cocktail napkin.”
“You’re saying this whole thing was a setup designed to fleece me?”
“I’m afraid so. Did you lose much money?”
“Sixty grand, but that’s not the point. The man who owns that bar swore to me that he ran a clean game. He gave me his word.”
“May I make a suggestion?” Valentine said.
“By all means.”
“Show your local sheriff the film. Then have him call me. I’ll explain what’s going on, and he can file charges against the bar owner. If you’d like, I can fly to Texas, and act as an expert witness at a trial.”
“That’s awful generous of you, Mr. Valentine, but I have a better idea.”
“What’s that?”
“I’ll just go and shoot the son-of-a-bitch.”
Valentine hung up the phone, then picked up the oil man’s check and endorsed it. He hadn’t made much money as a cop, and felt a certain satisfaction each time he signed the back of a check that he’d received for solving a scam. His bank account was growing fatter by the week, and he supposed one day he’d go out and buy himself a new car, or some nice new clothes, or maybe even a boat. Someday, but not today.
As he started to shut down his computer, he remembered why he’d come back to his study in the first place. Digging into his pocket, he removed the sheet of paper on which he’d written down Vinny Fountain’s and Frank DeCesar’s social security numbers, driver ID numbers, and addresses. He canceled the shut down and went into his e-mail, hitting the button for NEW MESSAGE. Then he typed in the recipient’s name: Eddie Davis.
Eddie was an undercover detective with the Atlantic City Police Department, a hip black guy whose resemblance to the actor Richard Roundtree from the first Shaft movie was uncanny. Eddie had joined the force after Valentine had retired. They’d never worked together, and had no mutual friends in the department. But they did have bond. Eddie had helped Valentine catch the people who’d murdered his partner, and they’d become good friends.
Valentine copied Vinny Fountain and Frank DeCesar’s information into the body of the e-mail, and hit SEND. Picking up the phone, he called Eddie at home.
“Am I getting you at a bad time?” he asked when Eddie answered.
“Just entertaining a lady friend.”
“I can call back.”
“She was just leaving, weren’t you, honey?”
Valentine heard a woman’s angry voice, followed by an unpleasant exchange. The conversation ended with a door being slammed.
“I’m back,” Eddie said.
“I hope I wasn’t the cause of that,” Valentine said.
“Not at all. She was starting to use offensive language, so I figured it was time to end things.”
The mean streets of Atlantic City were as bad as any in the nation, and Valentine couldn’t imagine any language that Eddie might find upsetting.
“What kind of offensive language?”
“You know, words like marriage and commitment. That sort of thing.”