Deadman's Bluff - James Swain [10]
“Be my guest.”
“I also want to talk to your son. Last time I checked, he had a grudge against some mobsters in town. Maybe this was his way of paying them back.”
“Gerry isn’t in Las Vegas, ” Valentine said. “I put him on a plane to Philadelphia four hours ago.”
“Why did you do that?” the detective asked.
He almost told Longo it was none of his business, then reminded himself he was a suspect in a double homicide and everything was Longo’s business. “The World Poker Showdown is being scammed, and nobody knows how. The secret is in a hospital in Atlantic City.”
“And you sent your son there to figure it out.”
“That’s right.”
Longo’s face was stoic. He doesn’t believe me, Valentine thought. Gerry’s stay in Vegas had been rough, and Valentine didn’t want his son getting dragged back here.
“If you don’t believe me, call him,” Valentine said.
Longo dug his cell phone from his pocket.
“Give me your son’s number,” the detective said.
5
Stepping off the Delta 767 at Philadelphia Airport, Gerry Valentine spotted an undercover detective standing in the terminal. The detective was a handsome guy, black, six one, athletic, and pushing forty. What blew his cover were his cheap threads. That was where most detectives disguising themselves screwed up. They dressed like schleps.
Up until last year, Gerry’d been a bookie, and had done his fair share of business with underworld types. But then his life had changed. He’d gotten married and had a beautiful little daughter. His priorities had shifted, and he’d decided he didn’t want his kid to have a criminal father. So he’d shut down his bookmaking operation and gone to work in his father’s consulting business. It hadn’t been easy. Sometimes, Gerry’s past came back to haunt him, and he now considered walking back onto the plane.
He decided against it. Better to walk past the detective and see if anything happened. He’d always been good with his mouth, and could talk his way out of most situations. As he got close, the detective stuck his hand out.
“You must be Gerry. I’m Detective Eddie Davis.”
Gerry had heard Davis’s name before. Davis had helped his father track down his partner’s killers a few years back. Gerry shook his hand.
“Let me guess. My father sent you.”
Davis scowled. “He asked me to look out for you. Something wrong with that?”
“I don’t need a babysitter.”
Davis followed Gerry to baggage claim, where they watched some misbehaving kids ride around on the carousel. “Your father said you had a bad experience in Las Vegas, and that George Scalzo was involved,” Davis said. “Hearing that, I figured I’d better meet you at the airport.”
Gerry checked the tags of the garment bags on the carousel. He needed to get rid of this guy. He was going to Atlantic City to learn how Jack Donovan’s poker scam worked, and expected to run into his friends from the old days. What was he going to say, “Hey Vinny, this here is Eddie Davis. Keep your mouth shut, he’s a cop”? No, that wasn’t going to work.
“Your father said Scalzo murdered a guy named Jack Donovan, and you and some buddies went to Vegas gunning for him, and nearly got yourselves killed,” Davis said.
“Dad likes to exaggerate,” Gerry said.
“Your father said one of your buddies got the hair on his face burned off by a flamethrower. That an exaggeration?”
His garment bag appeared. Gerry pulled a strap out of a side pocket, attached it to the bag, then threw it over his shoulder. He knew the Philly airport like the back of his hand, and would give Davis the slip once he got downstairs. He couldn’t have a cop playing Me and My Shadow with him on this trip. Not even a well-intentioned one.
“Ready to roll,” he said.
Going downstairs, Gerry excused himself and headed for the men’s room. Davis tagged him on the shoulder like they were playing touch football.
“I once had a suspect duck out through the side entrance,” Davis said. “You weren’t thinking of doing that, were you?”
“I’ll tell you after I take a leak,” Gerry said.
Davis shot him a disapproving look. “For Christ