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“We have watched the man play for a hundred hours,” Mabel read from the letter. “He plays with different dealers, which rules out collusion. We are also convinced that he is not card-counting. Sometimes, it appears he is reading the backs of the cards. We have examined the cards, and they appear absolutely clean. I have enclosed four decks for your inspection. Your help in this matter is most appreciated. Sincerely, Jacques Dugay.”

“Jacques Dugay? He worked in Atlantic City once.”

“Were you friends?”

“No, he’s a jerk. Go into my study and turn on the black light next to my desk.”

“I’m in your study,” his neighbor said. “There, the light’s on.”

“Place one of the decks under the light.”

“Okay. Oh, my. The cards lit up like a Christmas tree. Even I can read them, and I can hardly see. All right, how did you know that?”

“I did some work for a casino in South Africa last year. I noticed that they were using playing cards manufactured in the next town. It struck me as really stupid, so I told the management. They said they did it to save money.”

“You’re saying the cheats went into the playing card factory and marked all the decks that went to the Jungle Kingdom?”

“Yes. The cards are called luminous readers. The cheat marks them in the factory before they’re shipped. Cards treated with luminous paint can be read with special glasses or with tinted contact lenses, but not with the naked eye.”

“How do you know the cheater isn’t marking the cards at home, then having an employee bring them in?”

Mabel had been running his business for two months and already sounded like a pro. He explained how he’d reached his conclusion. “That employee would have to be a dealer or a pit boss. It’s a risky play, especially with the eye-in-the-sky. The safest way to get marked cards into a casino is by going to the plant and marking them there.”

Valentine felt a tug on his sleeve.

“The cake is melting,” Zoe said.

He cupped his hand over the mouthpiece. “You got a cake?”

“Chocolate ice cream. From Carvel.”

He took his hand away from the phone. “Mabel, I’ve got to beat it.”

“You still enjoying being a wrestler?” his neighbor asked.

“It’s a blast,” he said.

Zoe’s cake had started to sag, the inscription MEAN GIRLS RULE running down one side. Donny was holding an empty plate, waiting for Valentine to take a slice before going for seconds. Donny’s career as a pro football player had been cut short by injury, and he was the humblest guy Valentine had ever known. Kat and Gladys ate their cake leaning against the wall, looking bushed but happy.

Valentine found a chair and dug in. For him, the wrestling had been a welcome relief. He’d opened his consulting business to give himself something to do after Lois had died, having no idea of what he was in for. Back in ’78, when he’d started policing Atlantic City’s casinos, two states in the country had legalized gambling. Now there were thirty-eight, plus casinos on three hundred Indian reservations. Every one had been ripped off at least once, usually for huge sums. Most never knew it. Those that did, called him.

Which was why he enjoyed the wrestling. No pressure, no worries, his role a minor one. Best described, his life was a breeze, and when the dressing room door opened a minute later, he wasn’t ready to have it end. Especially by the handsome guy who waltzed in carrying a bouquet of flowers.

“Daddy!” Zoe yelled.

She rushed across the dressing room and hugged her father. As he tousled her hair, she let out a joyous squeal, and Valentine felt something drop in his stomach. In the six weeks he’d known Zoe, the best he’d done was a lame high five. Donny and Gladys tossed their plates in the trash and left.

“Hey, Ralph,” Kat said.

“Hey, beautiful,” her ex-husband said. “That was some show.”

“Didn’t know you liked wrestling.”

“No? I think I mentioned in one of my letters that I did.”

Valentine blinked. Ralph had deserted Kat and Zoe two years ago. Except for the monthly checks, Kat had said there had been no contact. Ralph crossed the room and handed Kat the flowers.

“Congratulations on your newfound fame.”

Zoe was hanging on to both her parents, a smile illuminating her face. It was as happy as a Norman Rockwell painting, and as Valentine pushed himself out of his chair, he caught his reflection in the dressing room mirror. The only thing out of place was the clown in the yellow suit. Kat followed him into the hall.

“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you,” she said.

“How many?” he asked.

“Four or five. We also talked a few times.”

The cop in him wanted to grill her. Had they chatted when Valentine was sleeping, or doing errands with Zoe? “You should have told me,” he said.

“I was afraid you’d leave.”

“Should I?”

Her lower lip trembled. “Damn it, Tony. Zoe asks about him. If my being nice to Ralph means he’ll be nice to Zoe, then I’ll do it.”

“How nice?” he said without thinking.

Kat slapped his face. Hard. Valentine stepped back, fearful of falling into the chasm that had opened between them.

“You want me to leave?” he asked.

“I want you to stop acting this way,” she said.

He took his car keys from his pocket. “You shouldn’t have lied to me,” he said. Then he walked away.

Ralph was eating the last slice of cake. Kat pulled up a chair, her head spinning. Tony had never been divorced and didn’t understand that you could hate someone, yet still care for them deep down. Although their marriage had ended ugly, with Ralph getting loaded and her dialing 911, there had been some bright spots.

Ralph took some quarters from his pocket and handed them to their daughter.

“Go buy your daddy a soda pop, okay?”

Zoe skipped out of the room, her feet barely touching the floor.

“So how do you like selling cars?” Kat asked.

Ralph undid the button on his jacket. His belly fell out, as round as a party balloon. “I quit last week.”

“What happened?”

He snorted contemptuously. “A man can’t soar with eagles when he has to wallow with pigs.”

It was Ralph’s favorite line. He’d used it after he’d quit as a bartender, fast-food restaurant manager, real estate salesman, and stockbroker. He removed some legal papers from his jacket and handed them to her. Kat read the first page, then looked up in disbelief. “What the hell is this?”

“I’m cutting off my alimony payments. You’re making a good buck, and I’m not. My lawyer said you won’t have a snowball’s chance in hell if you take me to court.” He took out a Bic and handed it to her. “So, if you’ll do me the pleasure of signing the last page.”

“Is this why you wanted to see me and Zoe?”

“It wasn’t the only reason.”

“This is so low.”

He shrugged. “Happens every day in America.”

“What am I going to tell Zoe?”

He shrugged again. “I really don’t like the makeup, if you want to know the truth.”

Kat felt something inside of her snap. Zoe had appeared in the doorway, a Mountain Dew dangling in her hand. Her mother ushered her into the hallway.

“Go get in the car,” Kat said.

Zoe glanced into the dressing room. Her father held a handful of legal-looking papers in one hand, a cheap pen in the other. Shit, she thought.