Deadman’s Poker

“Who’s this guy?” Finesse asked the bartender.

“Permit me to introduce myself,” Valentine said, touching the brim of his hat. “Louis Scalzo, also known as Louie the Lip. I believe you’re expecting me.”

“He’s George Scalzo’s brother,” the bartender explained.

Finesse scratched his chin like a great thinker. “George Scalzo’s brother? How come I never heard of you?”

Valentine leaned on his cane with both hands and looked up into the giant’s face.

“Your boss has,” he said.

Finesse motioned him inside and shut the door. Jinky’s office had a large desk, several plush leather chairs, and several ugly paintings hanging on the walls. Next to the desk was a trestle tray loaded with food, and Valentine eyed the chicken chow mein and barbecue spare ribs.

“You guys throwing a party?” Valentine asked.

Finesse put his finger to his lips and shushed him. Jinky was at his desk, talking on the phone while gnawing on a spare rib. He had a napkin tucked into his collar, yet had managed to smear sauce all over his face. Hanging up, he stared at his bodyguard.

“Who’s this clown?” Jinky asked.

“Your appointment,” Finesse said.

“I don’t have an appointment,” Jinky said.

“You don’t?”

“No. Get rid of him.”

Valentine had edged up beside Finesse. Holding his walking stick by its center, he whacked Finesse in the kneecap with the round handle. It made a clean sound against the bone, and Finesse’s mouth opened in a perfect O. Valentine brought the stick straight up, and caught him on the tip of the nose. A torrent of blood spurted across the desk, and Finesse went down clutching his face with both hands.

There was only so much threat in a walking stick, and Valentine dropped it on the floor, then drew the Sig Sauer from behind his belt, and aimed it a few feet above Jinky’s head. Jinky did not seem terribly concerned, and continued eating.

“You shouldn’t have done that,” Jinky said.

Valentine squeezed the trigger. The bullet hit the frame of the painting hanging behind Jinky, ruining it. Jinky’s napkin slowly fell from his collar.

“You’re crazy, mister.”

Taking the snapshot of his bloodied son from his pocket, Valentine dropped it on Jinky’s desk, then aimed the gun at an imaginary bull’s eye on Jinky’s forehead.

“You have something of mine,” Valentine said, “and I want it back.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Jinky said.

Valentine picked up the walking stick from the floor. He was prepared to beat the information out of Jinky if he had to. Jinky looked at him defiantly.

“Hit me all you want,” Jinky said. “It won’t get you anywhere.”

Valentine sensed Jinky wasn’t the type to squeal. He patted Jinky down, then made him go down the hallway in his electric wheelchair and through the beaded curtain into the club. The raid was in progress, with club employees and strippers lined up against one wall, the scared-out-of-their-wits patrons on the other. Valentine pulled a Gaming Control Board agent aside, and asked him where Bill Higgins was.

“By the VIP rooms,” the agent replied. “I think he found the mother lode.”

“What do you mean?”

“They’re ru

Next to murder, there was no worse crime in Las Vegas than ru

“You’re going down,” Valentine told him.

Valentine made Jinky lead him to the VIP rooms. A swarm of agents was standing by a door marked PRIVATE and parted as the two men entered. The room had plush carpeting and subdued lighting, with a bar covering one wall, and four blackjack tables, a roulette table, and a craps table in the room’s center. Bill was standing by one of the blackjack tables and had pulled several decks of playing cards out of the shoe. He looked up as they entered.

“You crummy piece of shit,” Bill said to Jinky. “You’re ru

Jinky sunk low in his chair. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,”

“This shoe is short twenty high-valued cards,” Bill said, throwing down a handful of cards in disgust. “You were cheating the players.”

“I swear to God, it must have been one of the dealers,” Jinky said.

Bill approached Jinky with a look of rage distorting his face. It was bad enough that Jinky had been ru

“You’re lying,” Bill said.

“I swear on my mother’s grave, I’m not,” Jinky said. “We just ran the casino to keep the patrons happy. I didn’t know there was cheating going on.”

Valentine found himself staring at the craps table. It was shaped like a tub, and reminded him of a table he’d seen during a raid of an illegal casino in Atlantic City years ago. That table had been manufactured by a crooked gambling supply house out of Miami. Crossing the room, he went to where the stickman stood at the table, and felt around the polished wood. His fingers found an indentation and he tapped it, and heard a hollow sound.

“Hey, Bill,” he called across the room.

Bill turned his head. “What?”

“Look at this.”

Valentine pressed the indentation and a hidden compartment in the table popped open, revealing a small shelf containing six pairs of dice. He removed a pair and threw them on the table. They came up a two, or snake eyes. A loser.

“They’re loaded,” Valentine called out.

Bill turned, and smacked Jinky in the face with the palm of his hand.

“That was for your mother,” Bill said.

48

Jinky Harris wouldn’t talk.

Bill had hauled Jinky into one of the VIP rooms, and was giving him the third degree. There were only so many things Bill Higgins could do to make Jinky talk, and none of them were working. Being a law enforcement officer, Bill had to follow the rules, even when someone’s life was at stake. It was one of the job’s great drawbacks.

Being retired, Valentine didn’t have to follow the rules, and he went back to Jinky’s office and retrieved his walking stick from the floor. Finesse was sitting on the couch and nursing a large purple welt on the bridge of his nose. Valentine removed the photograph of Gerry from his pocket, and tossed it on the coffee table. Then he pointed at it.

“That’s my son. Know where he is?”

Finesse looked at him blankly. Valentine was sure he knew something, and raised the stick like he was going to take his head off. The giant cowered in fear.

“I don’t know anything!”

“You’re a sorry excuse for a bodyguard, you know that?”

Finesse didn’t take the bait.

“I just do as I’m told.”

Valentine got behind Jinky’s desk and started looking for a scrap of paper with an address or some other clue that would lead him to Gerry. The blotter was splattered with drops of blood, as was the phone receiver. He stared at the giant.

“You made a phone call, didn’t you?”

Finesse did not reply. Valentine whacked the cane against his palm.

“I’m prepared to beat it out of you, buddy.”

Finesse jumped off the couch and bolted out the door. He was dragging his bad knee but still moved pretty fast. Valentine followed him down the hall, and saw Finesse raise his arms over his head as he entered the strip club. He was going to let himself be arrested, rather than let Valentine work him over.