“Even if I end up getting fired?”
“Yes,” she said firmly.
He’d thought of a dozen surreptitious ways of getting the information about Mona to Banko without getting involved. As if reading his thoughts, Lois said, “He may not be happy with you Tony, but he will believe you, and that’s what counts.”
It made him feel better, knowing his wife was behind him. He told her that he loved her, then hung up and called his superior.
“Let me get this straight. A hooker drove to your house, and gave you this information?” Banko said incredulously a few minutes later. His tone was severe, and Valentine could feel an invisible noose tightening around his neck.
“That’s right,” he said.
“You entertain hookers at your house often?”
“She dates a cop. Said he gave her my address.”
Banko swore like he’d banged his thumb with a hammer. “Did she tell you this cop’s name?”
“No, sir.”
“Why —”
“I didn’t ask her.”
“If there’s a bad apple on the force, I want to know about it.”
Valentine was standing at his sink, looking at his postage stamp of a backyard filled with cheap kid’s playthings. It was what thirty-six grand a year bought you, and he said, “I was more concerned about Mona, if you want to know the truth.”
There was a long pause on the other end.
“All right, here’s what I’ll do,” Banko said. “I’ll file a Missing Person report on Mona, and distribute it to the force, along with her mug shot. In return, I want you to promise me you’ll stay off this case. If you get a lead, you’ll call me. No more rogue police work, understand?”
Valentine gripped the receiver and felt his vision blur. Banko had called him a rogue cop. He was finished as a detective, and they both knew it.
“Yes, sir,” he said quietly.
The phone went dead in his hand.
Putting his overcoat on, Valentine went outside, and got a shovel from the garage. Crossing his backyard, he stopped at the birdbath, and used his muscle to move it a few inches. It was ugly as sin, and had only stayed because he couldn’t afford to replace it.
Then he began to dig. Two feet down, he put the shovel aside, and used his fingers. The address book and video tape were buried in plastic zip-lock bags, and he removed them from the hole, then refilled it and went back inside.
He found a pencil and a legal pad in a kitchen drawer, and spent the next hour writing down everything he knew about the skim at Resorts. In language anyone could understand, he explained how the skim was being reported on the books, and included how Resorts’ hotel routinely over-charged customers, a practice which he’d known about, and now guessed let the hotel off-set giving away an occasional free room to a high-roller.
Finished, he wrote up the cast of characters, which included Crowe, Brown, Freed, Mickey Wright, Vinny Acosta, the names of the runners in the address book, and the names of hotel and casino employees who did the books, and who he believed were involved. Only one name didn’t make the list, and that was Mink. Losing Marcus was punishment enough for what he’d done.
Then he reread the report. It was four pages long. The crime he was painting would be easy for anyone to understand, including any of the local reporters he knew. But, there was also a problem. It contained a lot of insider information, and if the papers did publish it, people would know he’d written it, and he would be labeled a disgraced cop with an axe to grind. If that’s what it takes to get the truth out, so be it, he thought.
He found an envelope in the kitchen cabinet, and sealed the report inside of it. He knew the address of the Camden Union Registerby heart, and was writing it on the envelope when the phone rang. Lifting the receiver to his ear, he heard Lois’s voice.
“I love you,” she said.
“I love you, too,” he told her.
“So, how did your talk with Banko go?”
Valentine stared down at the envelope in his hands.
“I think it’s time for a career-change,” he said.
Chapter 48
“I’ve got a cat in the hat,” Romaine called out.
It was midnight, and Fossil was running the surveillance control room. It didn’t happen very often, and usually for no more than an hour or two, but it was time that Fossil cherished. He’d worked for thirty years as a department store detective, and had always reported to some asshole upstairs.
Fossil came over to where Romaine was standing by the wall of video monitors. A cat in the hat was someone who looked out-of-place. Sometimes, the person was simply eccentric, or oddly dressed. Other times, it was a cheater hiding something illegal in their clothes, like a computer or a miniature camera or a hold-out device in their sleeve. Romaine pointed an accusing finger at a player at a craps table.
“Him,” he said.
Fossil stared at the suspect. Late thirties, wearing a cheap wig and tinted glasses. The high resolution black and white cameras saw through hair pieces, and Fossil could see that the man had all his hair. Which meant the wig was purely a disguise. Going to the bulletin board, he pulled down a sheet. Back at the wall, he compared the face on the sheet to the one on the screen. The guy in the wig was Izzie Hirsch.
“Didn’t Tony bust this guy?” Romaine asked.
“He sure did,” Fossil said. He remembered Valentine telling him about the bust. The Hirsch brothers had given up without a fight. Perfect, he thought. “I think we should take these guys in ourselves. You up for it?”
Romaine’s face lit up. He was twenty-five years old, and still lived with his parents. They were domineering people, and Romaine yearned to break free of their grasp. It was all he talked about, besides catching cheaters.
“You bet I am.”
Fossil jerked his desk drawer open, and removed two pairs of handcuffs. He showed Romaine how to clip the cuffs onto his belt. Then he pulled a blackjack out of the drawer, and slapped it loudly against his palm.
“Let’s go knock some heads,” Fossil said.
Fossil knew what the Hirsch brothers were up to. Valentine had explained how they pulled sheep off the floor, and took them back to a rented house for a shearing. He crossed the casino with Romaine glued to his side. Taking out his money, Fossil put the biggest bill on top, and sifted through the crowd until he found Izzie Hirsch. He grabbed Izzie by the arm and in a loud voice said, “Louie, how you been?”
Izzie gave him a funny look. Then he saw the wad of cash in Fossil’s hand.
“Terrific,” Izzie said. “How about you?”
“Great! This is my pal Romaine. He and I just won five grand playing craps.”
Izzie’s’s eyes popped. “You won five big ones? Can I shake your hand?”
“Ha, ha,” Fossil said.
Izzie’s brothers appeared, and soon they were all bosom buddies. Izzie suggested they go back to their house, and get some food. Fossil agreed, and he and Romaine followed them in his car to a neighborhood in Chelsea Heights.
Fossil had seen some cute set-ups, but the Hirsch’s house was something special. The downstairs was like a college frat house, with a cooler filled with ice-cold beer, a pool table, and two felt-lined card tables. He helped himself to two bottles of Budweiser from the cooler, while Romaine racked up balls on the pool table.
“Look what I found,” Fossil said, handing Romaine a beer.
“Boy, what swell guys,” Romaine said.
They started playing eightball. The Hirsch brothers were in the living room, playing poker. Occasionally, one would stick his head, and eye the pile of bills sitting on the table. It looked like they were playing for big money, and soon Izzie and Seymour were standing in the den, watching the balls fly across the felt.
“Who’s up for craps?” Izzie asked when their game was done.
“Sure,” Fossil said.
Izzie tossed a pair of dice onto the table. “You shoot first.”
Fossil picked the dice up, and shook them. They didn’t feel right, and without thinking, he turned them over in his palm to see where they’d been manufactured. It was something a sucker would never do. Realizing his mistake, he looked up, and caught Izzie’s fearful stare.