Deadman's Bluff - James Swain [18]
“The cheaters are picking up your calls. That’s why you can’t catch them.”
The look on Davis’s face was pained, but he didn’t let it slow him down. “How are they doing that?”
“They’re using a police scanner.”
“Keep going.”
“A member of the gang sits outside in a car with the scanner, and monitors the casino’s in-house security frequency,” Gerry said. “Whenever the police want to make a bust inside a casino, they have to alert the casino’s security department. The security department calls the guards on the floor to avoid any confusion or problems. The guy in the car intercepts the call and alerts the gang. It gives them enough time to run.”
Davis held up his cell phone. “By law, I have to call Bally’s security department before I make a bust. What do you suggest I do?”
“Find the guy with the scanner,” Gerry said. “They’re good for about a hundred yards. Either the car is on a side street, or near the entrance.”
“You sound like you know all about this,” Davis said.
Gerry reddened. There were a lot of things he knew about the rackets. He hadn’t planned on spilling the beans to Davis, but sometimes these things just happened.
“I’ve been to the carnival a couple of times,” Gerry admitted.
Davis took Gerry’s advice, and checked the side streets on the north and south side of Bally’s casino. To the south was Michigan Avenue. The detective parked his Mustang at the end of the street, then strolled down the sidewalk while shining a flashlight into each parked vehicle. He returned with a smile on his face.
“What’s so funny?” Gerry asked.
“I just saw a couple of kids tearing each other’s clothes off,” he said.
The northside street was Park Place, and Davis turned down it while staring at his cell phone. Gerry could tell that he wanted to call his partner inside the casino.
“I sure hope you’re right about this,” Davis said.
Park Place dead-ended at the beach. As Davis drove to the end of the block, Gerry glanced into the vehicles parked on either side of the street.
“I think I saw him,” Gerry said.
“Which car?” Davis asked.
“The black Audi. There was a guy smoking a cigarette and talking on a cell phone.”
“Telling his buddies inside the coast is clear.”
“Probably,” Gerry said. “Gangs that use scanners keep a constant dialogue with the man outside, just to make sure the scanner hasn’t malfunctioned and stopped picking up the frequency.”
“Never can be too careful, huh?” Davis said.
“It’s part of the business,” Gerry said.
Davis turned the car around, and parked so he was facing Bally’s instead of the ocean. It allowed him to watch the guy in the Audi several cars away.
Gerry didn’t particularly like the view, but didn’t say anything. Bally’s was located where the magnificent Marlborough-Blenheim hotel had once stood, considered by many to be the island’s single greatest contribution to architecture. It was hard to look at the ugly building that had replaced it and not get depressed.
Davis took binoculars from the glove compartment, brought them to his face. The street was well lit, and Gerry realized the detective was reading the Audi’s license plate.
“How good’s your memory?” Davis asked.
“Photographic.”
“Okay. Remember this license. RFG 4M6.”
Gerry repeated the license number three times to himself.
“Is that a local plate?”
“That’s a good question,” Davis said, adjusting the binoculars. “Let’s see. It’s from Newark.”
Davis put the binoculars away, then called the station house and got transferred to a desk sergeant. He asked to have a vehicle checked out, then cupped his hand over the mouthpiece. “The license, Mr. Memory.”
Gerry repeated the license, and Davis gave it to the desk sergeant. He was put on hold, and turned to Gerry. “I’m going to find out who the owner of the Audi is, and have his name run through NICAP and see what pops up. If the guy is part of a gang, chances are he’s got a rap sheet.”
Gerry leaned back in his seat. Chances were better than good that the guy in the Audi had a record. You couldn’t be a professional scammer and not get caught