Deadman’s Poker

Taking out his wallet, Valentine removed the playing card that Jack had given Gerry, and showed it to Callahan. “This is our evidence. George Scalzo is going down, and so is his nephew. The question is, do you want to go down with them?”

“Can I see it?”

He let Callahan hold the playing card. Callahan stared at the card for a few moments, then handed it back.

“Is that your evidence?” he asked.

“That’s part of it,” Valentine said. “Do you want to go down the river with them or not?”

“Tell me something first,” Callahan said.

“What’s that?”

“This guy Donovan, what was he dying of?”

The hairs on the back of Valentine’s neck went straight up. He wanted to ask Callahan what that had to do with anything, but sensed that he’d blow whatever rapport he’d established.

“Cancer.”

“You said he was terminal.”

“Yes,” Valentine said.

Valentine saw Callahan’s eyes shift, and stare at the playing card that Valentine held in his hand. There was a co

“Afraid I can’t help you,” Callahan said.

Valentine stood up. “We’re talking about life in prison, Ray.”

Callahan’s face was vacant. He’d seen through the ruse, and wasn’t buying it.

“Don’t let the door bang you in the ass on the way out,” he said.

44

If there was a dead time on the congested highways of Las Vegas, it was midday, when everyone was at work. Valentine made it back to Celebrity in fifteen minutes, and walked through the hotel’s front doors with the picture of Gerry clutched in his hand. His son was being held somewhere in Las Vegas, and he wasn’t going to leave until he rescued him. Upstairs in his suite he found Rufus Steele sitting on the couch, counting the money he’d won that morning.

“Hey pardner, long time no see.”

The money was stacked in piles on the floor. Real gamblers did not use checks, and nearly all of Rufus’s wi

“I need your help,” Valentine said.

Rufus was wrapping the stacks with rubber bands, and looked up. “Well, it’s about time I returned you a favor. Name it.”

“I need for you to stage one of your scams later today, and get as many gamblers as you can involved. I’ll make sure Gloria Curtis is there. I’m going to alert the World Poker Showdown people to be there, and I want you to say some things about the tournament which aren’t particularly flattering.”

“Sounds right up my alley,” Rufus said. “What exactly am I going to say?”

“You’re going to a

The fun drained from Rufus’s face and he gazed at Valentine with renewed respect. “Sounds like your investigation is moving right along.”

“It sure is.”

“The World Poker Showdown is behind this whole thing, aren’t they?”

“Let’s just say there’s a link which I need to get to the bottom of.”

“Just so I don’t get sued for slander, who’s this dirty dealer?”

“His name is Ray Callahan,” Valentine said, “and I busted him in Atlantic City for cold-decking a game fifteen years ago. He’s got a record.”

Rufus glanced at the piles of money at his feet. Just a few short hours ago, he’d been poorer than a church mouse, but that, as gamblers liked to say, was ancient history. Still looking at the money, he said, “Tony, your timing is impeccable. Right after you left, I got into a verbal altercation with the Greek and his friends. Seems they thought about my X-ray vision stunt, and didn’t like the fact I had a bag over my head.”

“You think they knew you were using a ventriloquist?” Valentine asked.

Rufus did a double take. The look on his face was priceless, and Valentine wished he had a camera with some film in it. The old cowboy coughed into his hand.

“Who the hell told you that?”

“Nobody. I figured it out myself.”

“You’re pretty damn smart for a cop.”

Valentine had heard that for most of his adult life. Cops were supposed to be dumb. When people ran into a smart one, it tended to surprise them.

“Thanks a lot.”

“You’re welcome,” Rufus said. “Like I was saying, I decided to give the Greek and his cronies a chance to win their money back, and bet them I could beat a racehorse in the hundred-yard dash. They were skeptical at first, but when I told them that they could pick the horse andthe jockey andthe field to run on, they took me up on the wager.”

“You’re going to do what?”

“You heard me. I was the state champion ru

Rufus was seventy years old if he was a day, and he still chain-smoked cigarettes, drank whiskey, and played cards all night long. He did all the things you weren’t supposed to do when you got old, and Valentine couldn’t envision him beating a ten-year-old kid in a footrace, much less a racehorse.

“You’re serious about this?”

Rufus took out a pack of smokes and banged one out. “Dead serious.”

“When’s this going to happen?”

“Around nine o’clock tonight. The Greek is keeping the field location a secret. He’ll call me right before, and we’ll meet there and run the race.”

“Where’s he getting the horse from?”

“Wayne Newton has a bunch of horses out at his place. I hear he’s going to pull the fastest one.”

“How much are you betting?”

The old cowboy indicated the stacks of money lying on the floor, then spread his arms as wide as possible.

“You’re betting allof it?”

“Yes, sir. That DeMarco kid says he’ll play me for a cool million bucks. Well, right now I’ve got about half that much. It’s time to shoot the pickle.”

“Shoot the what?”

“The pickle. It means to go for it.”

Had the situation been different—and Gerry’s life hadn’t been hanging in the balance—Valentine would have tried to talk some sense into Rufus. The Greek and his cronies weren’t going to let the same dog bite them twice, and would make sure that the racehorse Rufus ran against was lightning fast. But every man had his poison, and he guessed Rufus’s was making outlandish wagers.

“What time do you want me downstairs, stirring up the pot?” Rufus asked.

Valentine checked the time. It was twelve forty. Something had been nagging at him, and he realized what it was. His lunch date with Gloria Curtis had been for twelve thirty, and he said, “I’ll call you once I’ve got everything in place.”

Rufus picked up a stack of hundreds lying at his feet. He licked his thumb, and began counting them. “I’ll be waiting,” he said.

Valentine found Gloria sitting by herself at a corner table in the lobby restaurant, and she shot him a dagger as he pulled up a chair. Relationships between men and women were defined by how they fought, and he guessed theirs was about to be tested.

“I’m sorry I’m so late,” he said. “Something came up, and I had to deal with it.”

Gloria’s cell phone was sitting on the table beside her plate. She fixed him reproachfully with her green eyes. “Did you forget how to dial a phone?”