Deadman's Bluff - James Swain [59]
“Good morning, gentlemen,” Sammy said pleasantly. “Welcome to my humble abode. Make yourselves at home.”
“I’ve got a bone to pick with you,” Valentine said.
The smile left Sammy’s face. “You’re here on business?”
“That’s right,” Bill said.
“What’s wrong?” Sammy asked.
Valentine dug out of his pocket the Silly Putty and paper clip that Rufus had found in Celebrity’s poker room, and placed them on the desk. He deliberately shoved the paper clip into the putty, and saw Sammy wince.
“We’ve got a mucker cheating the World Poker Showdown, and I think you might know who it is,” Valentine said.
Smart crooks never lied; they just kept their mouths shut. Sammy’s lips closed and he continued to stare at the bug. Sammy’s speciality had been switching decks of cards at casino blackjack tables. Because of him and his well-trained gangs, every casino in the world now chained their dealing shoes to their tables.
“Start talking,” Bill said.
Sammy wore a perpetual tan, and it was unsettling to see the color drain from his cheeks. “Are you going to arrest me?” he asked.
“I might if you don’t give us some straight answers,” Bill said.
“On what grounds?”
“Collusion,” Bill said.
“With who?”
“You know every mucker in the country,” Valentine jumped in. “Hell, you trained most of them. The question is, did you see one working the tournament?”
Sammy reached into the pocket of his sports jacket and removed a medicine bottle. He spilled a few dozen tiny pills onto the table, then stuck one on the tip of his tongue. He washed it down with a glass of water sitting on the desk.
“For my heart,” he said, taking a deep breath.
They waited him out. Las Vegas’s casinos liked to boast that they didn’t use ex-cheaters in surveillance, but it wasn’t true. Nearly every casino used them, and for good reason. There was no other way to learn how grifters worked.
“To answer your question,” Sammy finally said, “no, I have not seen anyone I know from the past scamming the poker tournament.”
Valentine slammed his hand on the desk, making Sammy jump.
“That wasn’t the question.”
“It wasn’t?” Sammy asked meekly.
“No. I asked you if you’d spotted any muckers you know, not if you saw them switching cards. My guess is, if you recognized someone, you wouldn’t watch them, just so you couldn’t be pinned down later.”
Sammy was breathing hard. Not reporting a scam was a felony, punishable by up to three years in state prison. Sammy had visited the crossbar motel before, and knew how harsh prison life was for cheaters.
“If you’re asking me if I spotted anyone in the tournament who I know from the past, the answer is yes,” Sammy said. “There are many guys playing here who cheated at one time or another. But that doesn’t mean they’re cheating here.”
“Did you watch them to make sure they weren’t cheating?” Valentine asked.
A sweat moustache appeared above Sammy’s upper lip.
“No,” he said.
“You’re in serious trouble,” Bill informed him.
The best thing a cop could do to a crook was make him sweat. Leaving Sammy in the office, they went into the surveillance control room to have a little chat.
“What a crummy prick,” Bill said. “He’s sitting there collecting a paycheck to catch cheaters, yet isn’t reporting cheaters he knows are playing in the tournament. When I’m finished with him, he won’t be able to get another job in town.”
“Actually, I was hoping you’d let him skate,” Valentine said.
Bill’s mouth opened a few centimeters. “You were?”
“Yes. I want him working for us.”
“You sound like you’ve got a soft spot for the guy.”
Bill wasn’t far