“Neither have you. This is my buddy, Doyle.”
“Nice to meet you,” Izzie pumped Doyle’s hand.
Izzie introduced the high-roller. He was a jeweler named Moskowitz, and was playing a hundred bucks a hand while banging the table with his fist. Moskowitz was drunk, and had sucker written all over him.
Josh and Seymour Hirsch appeared a few minutes later. Introductions were made, and soon everyone was having a swell time. The Hirsch brothers were as smooth as snake oil salesmen, and Valentine wondered where this was heading.
At two A.M., a groan went up inside the casino as the house lights were raised.
“Closing time,” Izzie said. “Let’s go to our place.”
Everyone agreed to follow Izzie home. Moskowitz took his chips to the cage and cashed out, then went outside stuffing the money into his pockets. He climbed into the back of the Hirsch’s car, and it pulled out of the valet area.
Valentine and Doyle followed in the Pinto. Valentine had been around some smooth operators before, but the Hirsch brothers were in another league. They were funny and smart and impossible not to like.
“What do you think these guys are up to?” Doyle asked.
“I don’t know. But I think we’re about to find out.”
They drove to a small house on the outskirts of Ventnor. Parking in the driveway, Valentine realized he knew the place. Up until a few months ago, it had housed a gang of drug dealers. They followed the Hirschs and Moskowitz inside.
The place had been spruced up. A coat of fresh paint hid the cracked walls and misshapen door frames. There was a pool table in the living room, two card tables in the den. Valentine found a triangle and racked up the balls. Taking a twenty dollar bill from his pocket, he slapped it on the felt.
“Hey, Izzie. You ever play a game called Watermelon Seed?”
Izzie entered, and spied the money on the table. “No. How do you play?”
Valentine took two balls out of a pocket and placed them on the table. “ Each of us puts a ball on the rail. Then we push down on our balls like a watermelon seed. Whichever ball goes farthest wins.”
He saw the hint of suspicion in Izzie’s eyes.
“Do we have to use these balls?” Izzie asked.
“Use any balls you want,” Valentine replied.
Izzie took two balls out of another pocket and rubbed them on his shirt. Valentine came down to his end of the table. They lined their balls up, then shot them. Izzie’s ball went a foot, while Valentine’s ball went a few inches further.
“You owe me twenty bucks,” Valentine said.
“Double or nothing,” Izzie said.
They played five more times. Each time, Valentine’s ball went a few inches farther on the felt. As a kid, Valentine had learned a few tricks from his old man. The secret to playing Watermelon Seed was moisture. By wetting your shooting finger with saliva, the ball lost its backspin, and could be shot anywhere on the table.
Izzie was not a good loser, and demanded a chance to win his money back. Valentine agreed, and they sat down at one of the card tables.
“Shuffle them.” Izzie handed him a deck.
Valentine mixed the cards and gave them a cut. Most card cheating required misdirection, and he knew Izzie was going to have to “move” during the game in order to steal his money. He slid the deck towards his opponent.
“They’re made.”
“You ever hear the joke about the Polish peeping Tom?” Izzie asked.
“Afraid I haven’t.”
“He got caught looking down his own pants.”
Valentine acted like it was the funniest joke he’d ever heard. He saw Izzie drop his hands into his lap, then bring his hands back up, and start to deal. The deck had been out of sight for a few seconds. It was so obvious.
Valentine glanced over his shoulder. Doyle stood behind the table with Moskowitz, shooting the breeze. His partner hadn’t seen a thing.
It was time for the charade to end. Valentine took his wallet, and dropped it on the floor. Bending down, he stuck his head under the table, and saw a black velvet bag hanging underneath. He grabbed it, and heard the fabric tear. Bringing his head up, he tossed the bag on the table. The deck of cards he’d just shuffled spilled out.
“Game’s over,” he announced.
Chapter 28
It was illegal to run a private card game in Atlantic City. They let Moskowitz go with a warning, then took the Hirsch brothers to the station house, put them in separate interrogation rooms, and sweated them.
The brothers did not act terribly concerned. They were pros, and quoted the law during the ride in: The crime they were accused of was a misdemeanor, and would cost them a few hundred dollar fine and a warning from the judge. It was a slap on the wrist, which was why Valentine asked the DA, a local legend named Stump Hammer, to prosecute them for cheating. Stump had gotten his name after a heroic goal line stand during a high school football game. When he dug his heels in, there was no getting around him.
“Tony, I can’t prosecute them for running a card game, much less pulling some hanky-panky,” Stump said over the phone. “You’re have to let them go.”
“But they’re crooks,” Valentine protested.
“We’re a casino town, Tony. These guys were gambling after the casino closed. You think the governor wants me prosecuting people for doing that?”
“This is different. These guys are professional cheaters.”
“How am I going to pick a jury? ‘Sir, have you ever cheated at cards? You have? Well, you’re excused.’ It won’t fly, Tony. Sorry.”
Valentine felt the cold plastic of the phone seep into his hand. Justice wasn’t blind, but sometimes it was stupid as hell. “These guys are siphoning off players from the casino and stealing their winnings. It’s hurtingthe casino.”
“The casino is making twenty million a month. How much are these guys taking?”
Valentine had found the strongbox with the Hirsch’s money when they’d searched the house. “About five grand a week.”
“Pleeease,” Stump said.
“You’re not going prosecute?”
“No. Sorry.”
Valentine had learned never to let a DA end a conversation by saying ‘No.’, so he said, “How about coming down to the station house, and rattling their cages?”
“You want me to threaten these guys?”
“Just the ringleader. I need to get him talking.”
“All right. I’ll be right over.”
Stump worked over Izzie in one of the interrogation rooms. By the time he was finished, Izzie had sweated through his clothes, and looked like he might get sick.
Stump left, and Valentine remained in the interrogation room with Izzie. The room had a window covered by a grille, and furniture bolted to the floor. It also smelled of fear.
“I want a lawyer,” Izzie demanded.
“No, you don’t,” Valentine said.
“Yes, I do. You hustled us with that pool trick. You stole my money, and I tried to win it back. That’s entrapment. I’m going to get the best lawyer this two-bit town has. You’ll rue the day you pulled that crap with me. And so will that DA.”
“If you get a lawyer, then I’m going to formally charge you, and your brothers. And so far, I haven’t done that.”
Izzie thought it over. “You offering me a deal?”
“Maybe.”
“Whatever it is, it’s got to include my brothers.”
“How touching.”
“I’m not kidding around. All or none.”
“It will include all of you.”
Doyle entered with two steaming cups of coffee, then left. Valentine handed one of the cups to Izzie, and watched him gulp it down.
“I finally remembered you,” Izzie said when the coffee was gone. “You came up to the Catskills with your folks one summer. Thought you knew how to play ping pong.”
“I beat you,” Valentine reminded him.