Deadman's Bluff - James Swain [4]
“You want to play the cowboy legitimately?”
“Yes.”
Scalzo scowled. Skipper was letting his mouth overload his ass. He wasn’t going to play Steele head-to-head. The old cowboy knew too many damn tricks. Scalzo dropped the remote in his nephew’s lap. “I’m going to bed,” Scalzo said. “Let’s talk again in the morning.”
His nephew stared absently into space as if disappointed with his uncle.
“Good night, Uncle George,” he said.
Scalzo entered the next room and was greeted by an unexpected guest. Karl Jasper, founder and president of the World Poker Showdown, stood at the bar, talking with Guido while drinking a beer. The face of the WPS, Jasper had black-dyed hair, whitened teeth, and shoulder pads in his jackets that made him look trimmer than he really was.
“Nice place,” Jasper said.
Scalzo and his nephew were staying in a high-roller suite, compliments of the hotel. It had a fully stocked bar, pool table, Jacuzzi, and private theater with reclining leather chairs. It was the best digs in town, and wasn’t costing them a dime. A snifter of cognac awaited Scalzo on the bar. They clinked glasses, and Scalzo raised the drink to his lips and sniffed.
“Did you see Rufus Steele on TV?” Jasper asked.
“The man is becoming a menace.”
Scalzo let the cognac swirl around in his mouth. It felt good and strong and made him wake up. He liked how Jasper addressed things. He was a product of Madison Avenue, and had gone from account executive to founder and president of the World Poker Showdown in the blink of an eye. He was a smart guy who suffered from the same problem that a lot of smart guys suffered from: He didn’t know how to run a business. Within six months of starting the WPS, he’d run out of cash. In desperation he’d gone to the mob, and Scalzo became his partner.
Scalzo could not have envisioned a more perfect setup. The biggest mistake the mob had ever made was letting themselves get pushed out of Las Vegas. No other town in the world had the same kind of action. By partnering with Jasper, Scalzo could run a card game inside a Las Vegas casino without the law breathing down his neck. It didn’t get any better than that.
“Rufus Steele is a clown,” Scalzo said. “The real problem is Tony Valentine. He wants to expose Skipper. He has a grudge with me.”
The beer in Jasper’s glass had disappeared. Guido popped the cap off a bottle and poured him another.
“You’ve dealt with Valentine before?” Jasper asked. Scalzo nodded stiffly.
“Can he be bought off?”
“No,” Scalzo said. “He was a casino cop for twenty years. They called him the squarest guy in Atlantic City.”
“So what should we do?”
Scalzo stared across the suite at the picture window on the other side of the room. The curtains were pulled back, allowing him to see the pulsing neon spectacle that was the strip at night. For years he’d run a successful scam in Atlantic City that had made him a small fortune, but this was different. This was Las Vegas, and for as long as he could remember, he’d wanted a piece of it all for himself.
“We need to get rid of him,” Scalzo said. “Once Valentine’s gone, Steele will fade into the sunset, and we can go back to business.”
“When you say get rid of him,” Jasper said, “do you mean, run him out of town?”
Scalzo put his snifter down, and coldly stared at his guest. Jasper’s face and hands were evenly tanned from playing golf three times a week. They’d been partners for over a year, and so far, Jasper had shown no regrets for having jumped in bed with the devil.
“I mean we need to kill the bastard,” Scalzo said.
“You’re serious.”
“Yeah. If you wanna get somethin’ done, you need to do it yourself.”
Jasper blinked, and then he blinked again. Making a Madison Avenue decision, Scalzo thought. He placed his hand on Jasper’s arm, and squeezed the younger man’s biceps. “We need to do it right