“It’s called a cold deck,” Uncle Al said. “The cheater takes a brand new deck and slits the plastic with a knife. The plastic is removed, and then the seal is steamed off the box. The deck is removed and stacked for a game of poker. The cheater picks a game where there’s a lot of betting, like seven card stud. The cheater puts the cards back in the box along with the advertising cards and jokers. He glues the seal, slips on the plastic wrap, and tapes the tear. Viola! A cold deck.”
“How is it brought into play?”
“That’s the clever part. It’s used when the players aren’t paying attention. The cheater’s partner spills a drink, and ruins the cards. That’s when the cheater brings in the cold deck. He false-shuffles them, then let’s his partner false cut them.”
“Isn’t that risky?”
“If it’s late in the game, it’s not such a big deal.”
“These are pretty sophisticated kids, huh?” Valentine asked.
“Pros.”
Uncle Al picked up his pastrami sandwich and bit into it. Valentine dropped the marked cards and crooked dice into the bag, and realized what the old magician had just told him. These kids were real criminals, just like the bookies his son was hanging around with. The kids were being influenced by all the gambling at the casino. He needed to sit down with Gerry, and get his son straightened out, or risk real problems later on. Looking around the store, he said, “Do you have any new tricks? I need something to show my son.”
Uncle Al put down his sandwich. It was held together with toothpicks and looked like it weighed a pound. “Did I ever show you the vanishing cigarette?”
“No.”
“Greatest trick ever invented.”
“Is it hard to learn?”
“A five year old can do it, with ten years of practice.” Uncle Al took a pack of Lucky Strikes out of his pocket, removed one, and fired it up. He handed the cigarette to Valentine.
“Look normal?”
Valentine examined the burning cigarette. “Yes.”
Reaching above his head, Uncle Al plucked a beautiful red scarf out of thin air. He held it by the corners, and displayed both sides. “Watch the professor,” he said. Draping the scarf over his left fist, he made a well in the material with his right thumb. Taking the lit cigarette, he placed it into the well, lit end first. Smoke poured out of the scarf.
“You’ll ruin it,” Valentine said.
“A common misconception,” Uncle Al said. “Sim… Sala… Bim!”
Grasping a corner, Uncle Al shook the scarf out with a flourish. The material was undamaged, the cigarette gone. He smiled triumphantly.
“How did you do that?” Valentine asked.
“Ten bucks and the secret is yours.”
Valentine pulled out his wallet and discovered he had nine bucks to his name. Going outside, he found a dollar in change in the glove compartment of his car, and returned to the store and paid up. Uncle Al rang up the sale, then made Valentine stick out his hands. He examined his thumbs and said, “You’re right-handed, aren’t you?”
“That’s right,” Valentine said.
“Good. Now watch.”
Uncle Al grasped his own right thumb with his left fingers, and pulled it clean off. Then he dropped his thumb onto the counter. Valentine stared in disbelief. The thumb lying on the counter was hollow and made from flesh-colored plastic. It looked so real that it first glance, it was a little scary. Stuck inside of it was the vanished cigarette. Uncle Al removed the vanished cigarette, then stuck the device onto Valentine’s thumb. It fit perfectly.
“Get it?” he said.
Chapter 54
It was called a thumb tip, and had been used by magicians for centuries. The key to wearing one, Uncle Al said, was for the magician to forget he had it on.
Valentine sat behind the wheel of his car and played with the thumb tip he’d just bought, wondering if this was what Sissy had seen in the glove compartment of the Dresser’s car. It was not far-fetched to think that the Dresser might have used magic tricks to get his victims to drop their guard. He had read in the newspaper about a serial killer named John Wayne Gacy who was a magician. Gacy liked to pick up runaway boys, and show them how he could escape from a pair of handcuffs. When the boy would try the cuff on, Gacy would strangle him. He had killed thirty kids that way.
But maybe Sissy had seen something else in the Dresser’s glove compartment. Now that she’d left town, there was no way of knowing, and in frustration he backed out of his parking space. Driving away, it suddenly occurred to him that he was wrong. There wasa way of finding out, and it was a phone call away.
He returned to the lot and searched for some change. He’d tapped himself out, and finally found a dime under the floor mat. He called his house from a payphone.
“Better hurry. Dinner’s in the oven,” Lois said.
“I need to ask you a question about the Summer of Love,” he said.
“Tony, I’m trying to forget about that.”
“I’m sorry, but this is important.”
“Can it wait until you’re home, after dinner?”
“No.” The line went silent, and he said, “I think I’m onto something.”
“Oh, all right, go ahead.”
“The three guys whose dressing room was next to yours. You said one was a juggler, the other a comedian. You said the third had a funny name, but you couldn’t remember what his act was.”
“That’s right,” Lois said.
“Could he have been a magician?”
There was a short silence as his wife gave it some thought.
“You know, I think he was,” Lois said.
Valentine broke the speed limit driving to the station house, and did double-time up the two flights of stairs to Banko’s office on the third floor. It got his heart going in a way that reminded him why he liked his job. Sabina was still at her desk, and informed him that Special Agents Fuller and Romero were in the next room, plus four homicide detectives who Banko had brought in to work the case.
“They’re not to be disturbed,” Sabina cautioned him.
“Did they find the killer?”
“No, but I think they’re getting closer.”
There was a look of hope in her eyes. He was about to make their job a lot easier, and he said, “Why don’t you go to the cafeteria and get a drink. That way, it will look like I barged in when you weren’t here.”
“You’re going to disturb them?” she said disbelievingly.
“Afraid so.”
“But Banko will fire you.”
“I’m willing to take my chances.”
“Tony, please don’t do that.”
It sounded like something his wife would say. Sabina looked into his eyes and saw she was dealing with a lost cause. She grabbed her purse off the desk.
“Good luck.”
He waited until she was gone, then entered Banko’s office without bothering to knock. The room was choking with cigarette smoke and foul body odor. Seven men were huddled over Banko’s desk, reviewing a map of the island and a long suspect list. Next to the list was a picture of Mona. Romero and Fuller glanced up from the map, and looked embarrassed to see him. Banko came around the desk, looking mad as hell.
“What are you doing here, Valentine?”
“I need to talk to you,” Valentine said.
Banko was surprisingly fast for a large man. He pushed Valentine toward the door, then put his hand on the knob, and jerked it open. “Go home.”
“No.”
“Tony, for once in your life, listen to me. You’ll be in trouble if you don’t.”
“Give me a chance.”
Banko grimaced.
“I deserve a chance.”
Banko pointed at the open doorway.
“Sir,” he added.
“ Jesus Christ,” Banko said under his breath. “Say it.”
Valentine produced a sheet of paper from his pocket, and unfolded it. Uncle Al had given him the names of twelve magicians who lived in the Atlantic City area who’d been performing for over twenty years. He handed the list to his superior.