Deadman's Bluff - James Swain [36]
17
“You did what?” Tony Valentine asked, the cell phone pressed to his ear.
“I killed a guy who works for George Scalzo,” his son said. “He was trying to shoot Eddie Davis outside Bally’s. I rammed Eddie’s car into the back of the guy’s car, and sent him through the windshield.”
Valentine closed his eyes. “Jesus, Gerry. You killed a mobster.”
“I know, Pop. Think I should go into witness protection?”
“That’s only for criminals,” Valentine said.
“Bet I could tell the police a couple of things that would make me qualify.”
Valentine found it in him to laugh. He was still in Gloria’s suite, the sunlight splashing through the window. Over the years, he’d become convinced that casino hotels did everything imaginable to drive guests out of their rooms during the day, from having chambermaids come early to clean, to facing the rooms due east so they became flooded with light each morning.
“I do have some good news,” his son said. “I talked to a nurse at the cancer ward where Jack Donovan died. She remembered Jack, and said she’d search her computer to see if anything dangerous was stolen from the hospital.”
“I’m not concerned about Jack right now,” Valentine said, closing the blinds. “I’m concerned about you. Scalzo won’t take this lying down. He already has a contract out on me.”
“He does?”
“Yes. I’m having to watch my back,” Valentine said.
“So, here’s what I want you to do. Catch the next plane home. Better yet, catch the next plane to San Juan, and meet up with Yolanda. Lay low for a while, so I can figure out what to do.”
There was silence on the line. Valentine would have thought the connection had gone dead had he not heard his son cough. He went to the table where the breakfast he’d shared with Gloria still sat. A piece of cold bacon found its way to his mouth.
“I’m going to stay in Atlantic City,” his son said.
Valentine nearly choked. “What are you talking about? You could get whacked.”
“I owe it to Jack Donovan.”
“What about your wife and daughter? What do you owe them?”
“Pop, remember the conversation we had before I left Vegas?”
Valentine thought back to the day before. So much had happened since, it seemed like last month. He picked up another piece of bacon and bit into it.
“I may be your son, but I’m also your partner,” Gerry went on. “When things happen you don’t like, you can’t switch roles, and order me around because I’m your son.”
“I can’t?”
“No. I came to Atlantic City to find out how Jack’s poker scam works. Just because I’ve got some mobster pissed off at me doesn’t mean I should run.”
“But your life’s in danger.”
“It’s part of the business,” Gerry said. “Look, Pop, what if every time your life was in danger, I called you up and told you to run back to Florida, hide in your house, and make Mabel answer the door. Think you’d like that?”
Valentine bristled. “This is different.”
“Why it is different?”
“I’m your father.”
“You’re my sixty-three-year-old father, who probably shouldn’t still be playing cops and robbers,” Gerry said. “But you do, and I keep my mouth shut.”
“You think I’m playing cops and robbers?”
“It’s dangerous work, and you’re not a kid anymore.”
His son had a point. If last night was any indication, his ability to defend himself had diminished. He needed to be more realistic about what he could and couldn’t do.
“Do you worry about me?” Valentine asked.
“All the time.”
“Why haven’t you said anything?”
“I saw where it got Mom,” his son said.
When it came to catching crooks, Valentine had never let anything stop him. He couldn’t scold Gerry for wanting the same thing.
“So you’re staying in Atlantic City to figure out Jack’s secret,” he heard himself say.
“That’s right.”
“What about protection?”
“Eddie Davis and Joey Marconi said they’d help me out.”
“That’s only two guys.”
“I’ll be fine. Trust me.”
Valentine started to argue, then thought better of it. Gerry had to make his own decisions, and he could only pray that none of them would get his son killed. He