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“Shut her up!”

Fuller did not want to die. He shoved Krista’s face into the pillow, silencing her.

“Guess who,” the man said.

Fuller hesitated, his mind racing. “You’re the Dresser.”

“Yes, I am. I followed you from your motel. You were so anxious to see your friend, you didn’t even see me.” The Dresser waved his shotgun. “Release her.”

Fuller let her go, and Krista pulled her face out of the pillow.

“Oh, god,” she sobbed.

“I need to have a chat with Special Agent Fuller. I hope you don’t mind.”

“Please, let me go.”

“I’m afraid that’s impossible. In fact, I’d like you to help me. You see, Special Agent Fuller is with the FBI. I need to search his clothes, and find his gun. Then, I’m going to drop his gun in the toilet. Special Agent Fuller may try and run. And that leaves just you and me. Am I making sense?”

“What do you want me to do,” Krista said.

“You appear to be a limber young lady. I’m going to have Special Agent Fuller put his legs between yours. I want you to tie his legs up with your legs. Think you’re up to it?”

“Okay.”

The shotgun’s cold barrel touched the crack in Fuller’s ass. Fuller moved his legs between Krista’s, and she wrapped him up. The Dresser crossed the room and proceeded to search through Fuller’s clothes. Finding his gun, he disappeared into the bathroom, and they heard a loud plop in the toilet.

“I can disarm him,” Fuller whispered.

“Don’t even dream of it,” she said.

“But —”

“Shut your mouth.”

The Dresser returned to the bedroom and stood by the bed. From the pocket of his Army jacket he removed a cheap Polaroid camera, and held it with one hand.“Say cheese,” he said, and began snapping photographs. As each one popped out of the camera, he placed them in a row on the bed. He was close enough for Fuller to punch in the stomach, only Krista had him in a death grip. As the snapshots developed, the Dresser showed them to Fuller. In every one, he’d included Krista’s arms being tied to the headboard.

“Pick your favorite,” he said.

“I don’t have a favorite,” Fuller said through clenched teeth.

“Pick one anyway. I’m going to send it to your boss in Washington.”

“You’re not going to kill me?”

“That would be a taint on my resume. No, I prefer to ruin you.”

Fuller stared at the snapshots. He’d already been put on leave for beating up his wife. These pictures would be the end of the line, at least at the government trough. He didn’t want that. He liked being in the FBI; it gave him a power that no other job in the world afforded him. He didn’t believe in truth and justice the way Romero did. He believed in power, and holding onto it. “Maybe we could make a deal,” Fuller said.

“I’m listening,” the Dresser said.

“I’ll leave Atlantic City and drop the investigation.”

“Is that in the realm of your power?”

“Yes. I’ll tell my superiors I’ve traced you to another city. They’ll never know.”

“What about the wet back?”

Fuller had to think. Getting Romero to leave wouldn’t be easy, but he saw no reason to tell the Dresser that. “Romero will do as I tell him,” he said.

The Dresser ran the shotgun’s barrel between Fuller’s legs. “Is that a promise?”

Fuller grit his teeth. “Yes.”

“Scout’s honor?”

“You have my word.”

“And I’m sure your friend will also keep her mouth shut.”

“I won’t say nothing,” Krista said.

The Dresser picked up the snapshots from the bed and slipped them into his pocket. “I’ll keep these, just in case you change your mind. Have a nice day.”

He went to the door, opened it, and another blast of cold air invaded the room. It was snowing outside, and he walked backwards out the door, and disappeared.

Fuller felt Krista’s legs untangle themselves from his own. Climbing off the bed, he went to the open doorway and stared outside. The snow was coming down hard, the giant flakes covering everything in sight. He envisioned himself running naked down the street after a man with a shotgun. He shut the door and locked it.

“Let me go,” Krista said.

He untied Krista from the headboard. She grabbed her clothes from the closet and started to throw them on. Grabbing her by the shoulders, he shook her violently.

“You’re not going to go to the police, understand?”

She looked into his eyes. “You’re just as crazy as he is.”

“Answer me.”

“You’re hurting me…”

“This is nothing.”

“Okay… no police. I promise.”

Fuller let her go, and she ran half-naked out the door.

Chapter 27

There was a cork bulletin board hanging in Resorts’ surveillance control room. Pinned to it were pictures of known cheaters. Each cheater had been christened with a nickname. That way, if one of them came into the casino, a tech could put out an alert, and everyone would know who he was talking about. It was another Bill Higgins trick.

Valentine awoke to a ringing phone. The bedroom was dark, and he stared at the luminous clock on his bedside table. Midnight. He snatched up the receiver.

“This had better be good.”

“The Marx Brothers are in the casino,” a tech named Romaine said.

The Marx Brothers were the nickname Valentine had given the Hirsch brothers. He’d stuck their photo on the cork board, hoping they’d show up again. He threw his legs over the side of the bed. “What are they doing?”

“One’s playing craps, another blackjack, and the third is in the bar.”

“Keep watching them. I’ll be right over.”

“What if they try to leave?” Romaine asked.

“Have security grab them.”

He killed the connection and called Doyle’s house, woke him from a dead asleep, and told him to meet him inside Resorts’ casino in twenty minutes. Hanging up, he glanced over at Lois’s side of the bed. His wife’s eyes were wide open.

“You don’t have to explain,” she said.

Normally, he wouldn’t have left his bed for the likes of the Hirschs. Security could detain them until he got there in the morning. But the Hirschs were his thread to the man they’d seen with Mickey Wright, and he needed to pump them before they started screaming for lawyers. Leaning over, he kissed his wife on the lips.

“Thanks,” he said.

He broke every speed limit on the island getting to the casino. Leaving his car with the valet, he hurried inside. Just off the front doors were the house phones. He picked one up, and was connected to the surveillance control room.

“Marx Brothers are still here,” Romaine told him.

“Keep watching them.”

“I won’t let them out of my sights.”

Two minutes later, Doyle hobbled through the front door with his cane. Valentine pulled his partner to the side. “Here’s the deal. We’re going to pretend we’re gamblers. I’ll run into Izzie Hirsch and strike up a conversation. I’ll introduce you as my buddy.”

“Then what?” Doyle said.

“We improvise.”

They entered the packed casino. Watching people gamble reminded Valentine of a movie he’d seen about the Titanic. In the movie, everyone on the ship was having a great time, not knowing they were about to go down. Resorts’ casino was no different. Nearly every player would go down tonight as well.

He spotted Izzie Hirsch standing next to a blackjack table. Izzie had beefed up since his Catskill days, and was as fat as a tick. Izzie was chatting with a high-roller with a castle of black hundred dollar chips. Valentine approached him with a smile on his face.

“Izzie? Izzie Hirsch?”

Izzie took a giant step away from the table. “Who are you?”

“Tony Valentine.”

“Who?”

“Tony Valentine. We hung out in the Catskills when we were kids.”

Izzie feigned recognition and slapped Valentine’s arm. “Tony Valentine! How the hell are you? You haven’t changed a bit.”