“Sure,” she said.
Sissy popped open the glove compartment and sifted through his junk. She wasn’t paying attention to him, and he reached into the pocket on his door, and removed a flask of chloroform and a piece of folded cloth. In one practiced motion, he doused the cloth and waited for her to turn. That was the important part. Wait for them to turn into you.
Which Sissy did. She was holding the vial of medicine in her hand, and he pressed the cloth to her mouth and saw her eyes go wide. Her head rolled back, and she collapsed into her seat.
“Sleep tight,” he said.
He started to pull out. A police car blew past on Atlantic Avenue, its siren wailing. He froze, terrified. He thought about the phone call she’d made. Had she called the cops? He stuck his head out his window, and listened to the siren fade away. He was being paranoid. Of course she hadn’t called the cops. He leaned over and lifted up one of her eyelids with his thumb.
“Fucking tramp,” he said.
He grabbed her by the hair and shook her head. He felt giddy, like he’d gone into the woods and shot a deer, and was now dragging its carcass back to be gutted and its head proudly displayed on a wall. He noticed her purse lying beside him. Normally, he would have waited until later to check its contents. But something inside of him just had to know if she was carrying the same items as the others.
He dumped the purse onto the seat. A lipstick and some rubbers fell out. And a sheet of paper, folded in half. It looked like a promotional flyer, and out of curiosity he unfolded it.
He found himself staring at a composite of a man that bore a strong resemblance to himself. The flyer called him a serial killer, and said he liked hookers. On the bottom of the flyer was a phone number to call, and a name. Detective Tony Valentine. He couldn’t believe it: He had gone to high school with Tony Valentine, and had hated him. And now Valentine was chasing him.
Another wailing police car blew past on Atlantic, and he felt himself start to panic. Had Sissy called Valentine, and alerted him? He decided he couldn’t risk it. Leaning over, he unfastened Sissy’s seat belt, opened her door, and gave her limp body a shove. She rolled out of the van, and moaned as she hit the gutter.
Her precious purse followed. He started to shut the door, and stared longingly at her lovely body. He’d earnedthis one, and it hurt to let her go. For a few moments he listened to her tortured breathing, her lungs struggling with the freezing cold air. Perhaps no one would find her until morning, and she’d die of exposure.
He could only hope, and quickly drove away.
Chapter 33
“Do you have any idea how much trouble you’re causing me?” Banko asked.
Valentine had come to the station house to pick up his messages, and found a note from Banko scotch-taped to his phone. SEE ME IN MY OFFICE, it read.
“What did I do?” Valentine asked.
Banko loosened his neck tie and pulled the knot to one side. Their relationship had been going great recently, and Valentine guessed it was because he spent his days at the casino, and they rarely saw each other. Banko’s eyes did a slow burn on his face.
“You busted Louis Galloway in the casino. The same Louis Galloway that owns Galloway Insurance, and has bankrolled half the politicians’ elections in this state. Your arrest report says you caught Galloway cheating at blackjack. His lawyer claims that all his client did was spill a rum and coke on his cards. Please tell me this isn’t true.”
“Afraid so.”
“For spilling his drink?”
“That’s right. He spilled his drink on three different occasions.”
“And you arrested him.”
“On the third time, yeah.”
Banko shut his eyes like he was about to faint. He was usually not prone to such dramatics.
“He was cheating,” Valentine added.
Banko’s eyes snapped open. “You can prove it?”
“Absolutely. Did Galloway file a beef?”
“He did better. He called Nancy Pulaski, the chairperson of our illustrious Casino Control Commission. They’re old pals. Pulaski has asked me to appear in front of the commission tomorrow morning, and explain what the hell’s going on.”
Banko looked worried. The CCC was typical of the modern American representative committee. The board consisted of two high-powered attorneys, one heir to a pharmaceutical fortune, the owner of a car dealership, and Nancy Pulaski, the wife of a well-connected heart surgeon. The fact that none of them knew anything about casinos had made them a perfect rubber stamp for the governor.
“Want me to go with you?” Valentine asked.
“First tell me why you arrested Galloway,” Banko said.
“I’ve put in several new procedures in the surveillance control room. One of them is called JDLR. It stands for Just Doesn’t Look Right. If a player does something that looks suspicious, we rewind the video, and watch it until we determine what the JDLR is.
“Usually, it’s something innocent. Or, it can be cheating we’ve never seen before. In Galloway’s case, a camera caught him spilling a drink on his cards. It looked rehearsed. Then I noticed that Galloway had won a lot of money.”
“How much?”
“Five grand.”
“Couldn’t it have been luck?”
“That’s what I first thought. Galloway came back the next night, and we taped him. Sure enough, he spilled his drink on the cards again.”
“How much did he win this time?”
“Six grand.”
“You figure out what he’s doing?”
“Not right away. But I knew he wasn’t drunk. It was his first drink of the night.”
“So you let him go.”
“Couldn’t prove anything, so I had to. Then he came in yesterday, and spilled his drink again. And I nailed it.”
Banko hunched his shoulders and leaned over his desk. For all his shortcomings, he still took tremendous pleasure out of arresting people who broke the law. “Tell me.”
“Galloway always played two hands,” Valentine said. “When he got dealt baby cards in both hands, he spilled his drink, and took the cards out of play.”
“Baby cards?”
“The two through six. Those cards favor the house in blackjack. If a cheater depletes the deck of baby cards, he alters the odds in his favor.”
“How many baby cards did Galloway take out?”
“Eight. It gave him an unbeatable edge.”
“Why didn’t the casino replace the cards?”
“They should have. It’s standard procedure in most casinos.”
“But not Resorts.”
“No, sir.”
Banko leaned back in his chair, the tension melting from his face. He had not disguised his dislike for the CCC over the past eighteen months. They had invaded his turf, and not once consulted him. “Why doesn’tResorts replace the cards?” he asked.
“Commission rules. I guess they think it slows the game down.”
“Think we should get that rule changed?”
“Yes, sir.”
The office door opened, and Banko’s secretary came in. She was a Polish woman named Sabina who’d worked for Banko for many years. It was no secret that she disliked practically everyone, and she glanced impatiently at the clock on the wall, then frowned at her boss and walked out. Valentine guessed Banko’s next appointment was waiting.
“We’re meeting the CCC in their offices,” Banko said. “I’ll pick you up at your house at seven-thirty tomorrow morning.”
“Do I need to bring anything? Valentine asked.
“Just wear a suit,” the sergeant said.
Valentine found Doyle waiting for him in the lobby. The Pinto was in the shop, and Doyle had driven him to work. His son had suggested burning the Pinto to collect the insurance. Valentine wanted to burn the car just to put it out of its misery.
Standing with Doyle was a woman dressed in a leather mini-skirt, red leggings and a fake fur draped seductively around her neck. As he got close, he realized it was Mona. She had painted enough make-up on her face to almost look attractive. He didn’t know too many hookers with the guts to walk into a police station house, and he smiled at her.