Deadman's Bluff

Skins swallowed hard. Play had resumed, and Valentine walked away from the table and into the waiting arms of the casino’s security guards.

The guards took the tray away from Valentine and hustled him into the lobby. They were big and mean and didn’t mind shoving him around. He tried to tell them he was doing a job for the Gaming Control Board, but they wouldn’t listen. One of the guards started to read him the riot act when Valentine heard a familiar voice.

“Tony? What’s going on?”

It was Gloria Curtis coming out of the hotel restaurant. She was trailed by Zack, his camera slung over his shoulder. Valentine caught her eye and silently mouthed the word Help!She instantly understood and stepped up to the guards.

“Excuse me, but what’s going on here?” she demanded.

“Ma’am, please stand back,” a guard said.

“I will do no such thing,” she replied matter-of-factly. “I’m Gloria Curtis with WSPN news, and this gentleman is Tony Valentine, president of Grift Sense, a consulting firm hired by the Nevada Gaming Control Board to investigate a cheating scandal at the World Poker Showdown. Who are you?”

“I work for casino security,” the guard said.

“Do you have a name?” she asked.

The guard didn’t answer. Gloria snapped her fingers, and Zack handed her a mike, then started to film. She shoved the mike in the guard’s face. “I’m sure our viewing audience would be interested in hearing why Celebrity, which is hosting the tournament, would choose to pull an investigator off the floor. Care to respond?”

The guard released his grip on Valentine’s sleeve.

Then he whipped a cell phone from his pocket and made a call. He explained the situation to whoever was in charge. Satisfied, he folded his phone.

“Our mistake,” the guard said. “Sorry to bother you, Mr. Valentine.”

Without another word, the guard and his posse marched back inside the poker room.

“What in God’s name was that all about?” Gloria asked.

The lobby was crowded with people, and Valentine pulled Gloria over to a large birdcage filled with exotic parrots, the birds flapping their wings and eyeing them suspiciously. “Bill Higgins and I caught a player named Skins Turner on videotape switching cards,” he explained. “Bill was going to arrest him but got ordered by the governor to wait until play had stopped for the day.”

“Let me guess,” she said. “The governor’s afraid of the bad publicity.”

“That’s all he seems to be afraid of.”

“What do you mean?”

“Skins was cheating, just like DeMarco’s cheating. But the governor is more interested in protecting the town’s interests than he is in protecting the integrity of his games.”

“Are you in trouble?”

There was always follow-up when a customer got escorted out of a casino, and it was usually negative.

“Probably,” he said.

“That’s terrible, Tony. Has that ever happened to you on a job before?”

Valentine shook his head. He’d been in the consulting racket for two years and never been treated like this before. It was a real low point. Gloria took his hand and gave it a squeeze. She was the one good thing that had come out of this job, and he supposed he could live with whatever happened.

Zack appeared. He’d slipped into the poker room and a

“Thanks for the update,” Gloria said.

They watched Zack walk away. Gloria squeezed his hand again. “See?” she asked.

“See what?” Valentine said.

“Every once in a while, the good guys dowin.”

Valentine wasn’t so sure. Skins’s loss had put DeMarco back in the leader’s spot. DeMarco was going to win the tournament and the damage would be done. He felt his cell phone vibrate and pulled it from his pocket. It was Bill.

“How much trouble am I in?” Valentine asked his friend.

It was rare for Bill to be at a loss for words. His friend coughed into the phone.

“I just got off the phone with the governor,” Bill said.

“He heard about what you just pulled with Skins Turner.”

“Was he angry?”

“Just a little. You’ve been barred from the tournament.”

34

“This had better be good,” Detective Joey Marconi said, driving south on Atlantic Avenue.

“Yeah,” Detective Eddie Davis said, sitting beside his partner. “You keep us waiting in the parking lot for an hour, this had better be realgood.”

Gerry Valentine sat in the backseat of Marconi’s car. He’d started reminiscing with Vi

Marconi followed Vi

“You have a good breakfast?” Davis asked.

“Just some coffee,” Gerry lied.

“How did you get that jelly stain on your chin?” Marconi wanted to know.

Gerry appraised his reflection in the window. The stain was on the point of his chin. Busted,he thought.

“It’s a birthmark,” Gerry said.

“You’re something else,” Marconi told him.

They drove to Margate City on the southernmost tip of the island. At Huntington Avenue, Vi

“Any idea where we are?” Davis asked.

“This is where Vi

“Would you gentlemen mind staying here?” Gerry asked.

Davis and Marconi turned around and shot him wicked stares.

“Better not keep us waiting,” Marconi said, his lips hardly moving.

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” Gerry said.

Vi

The TV set was on when they came in, Jerry Springer reading off a card. Angelo was a small, delicate man, and balanced himself on the edge of the couch, a yellow tape measure hanging around his neck. He looked up in surprise.

“Get the hell out of my house,” he said.

Vi

“Didn’t you hear what I just told you?” his father asked.

“I’ve got a visitor with me,” his son said.

“Like that makes a difference? Who did you bring this time, John Gotti?”

“He’s dead, Pop.”

“Then I’m sure it’s someone just like him,” his father retorted. “Every time I turn around, the police are wanting to talk to me about you, or something you’ve done. My son, the professional crook.”

Gerry glanced at Vi

“I brought an old friend with me,” Vi