Deadman's Bluff - James Swain [76]
“That’s wrong. I hope you aren’t going to comply.”
There was something in Gloria’s voice that hadn’t been there a few days ago, and he guessed the feeling-out process was over. “I really don’t have much choice.”
“But you haven’t nailed DeMarco.”
“I’m not sure they want me to,” he said.
“You need to stall them.”
“I do?”
“Yes. So you can have more time to solve the case.”
He didn’t have to talk to Gloria very long to be reminded that she was in the entertainment business and liked happy endings. “That’s not a bad idea. How would you suggest I stall them?”
She bit her lower lip, thinking, then snapped her fingers. “Got it. You’re here on a job for the Nevada Gaming Control Board, right?”
“Correct.”
“Make them pay you before you leave. Cash.”
It wasn’t a bad idea, and he could see Bill agreeing to it, knowing exactly what he was up to. He pulled out his cell phone. Moments later, he had Bill on the line and he made his request. His friend chuckled softly into the phone.
“I’ll come by in the morning with your money,” Bill said.
“Not too early,” Valentine said. “You know how I like my beauty rest.”
“Look, Tony, there’s only so far I can push this,” Bill said. “I’ll meet you in the lobby at noon with your cash. I’d suggest you leave town after that.”
Valentine glanced at his watch. It was easy to lose track of time in Las Vegas, and he was surprised to see it was four o’clock in the afternoon. Bill was giving him another twenty hours to crack the case.
“Noon is beautiful,” Valentine said.
He tucked his cell phone into his pocket then took out his wallet and removed the valet stub for his rental car. Gloria shot him a concerned look. “You off again?”
“Yes. You’re coming, too.”
Coins of crimson appeared on each of her cheeks. “I am?”
“I need you to help me crack this case.”
“You do?”
“Yes. There’s something wrong with this picture, and I can’t seem to figure out what it is. My old sergeant used to make his detectives share cases, in the hopes that another pair of eyes might see something that the first detective missed.”
“I’m game. Where are we going?”
“To see an old crook,” Valentine said.
Ten minutes later, they were in Valentine’s rental cruising down the strip. Vegas looked different during the day, like a whore without her makeup. Hindsight being 20/20, he now knew that he should have chased Sammy Mann down the moment he’d heard Sammy had run out on them. Sammy was scared, and not because he hadn’t reported the other cheaters he knew to be playing in the tournament. Sammy knew they were close to solving the case, and hadn’t wanted to be around when it happened.
Las Vegas was the fastest-growing city in the country, and pricey condo buildings were starting to sprout up on the strip. Sammy lived on the tenth floor of a building called the Veneto in a nice corner apartment. Valentine had visited him back when Sammy was fighting cancer, and he’d been impressed by the expensive furnishings. Most crooks died penniless. Sammy had saved up for a rainy day.
“Who are we here to see?” Gloria asked as they parked in the condo’s lot. “Or is that a surprise?”
“Sorry,” Valentine said. “His name is Sammy Mann. He’s a retired cheater.”
“How do you know he’s home?”
Valentine glanced up at the towering glass structure. He didn’t know for sure. Sammy might have left town, but that seemed unlikely. Most older people felt safest in their homes. They entered the building’s lobby, and Valentine found Sammy’s name on the intercom address book and pushed the button for Sammy’s apartment. Sammy answered with a hoarse “Yes?”
“It’s Tony Valentine. I’m here with a friend. Let us up.”
“I’m sick,” the old cheater replied.
“You’re going to be a lot sicker if you don’t talk to me,” Valentine said.
The front door buzzed open.
Gloria laughed. “You’re something else,” she said.
Sammy answered the door in a threadbare bathrobe and leather slippers. No greetings were exchanged; he simply opened the door, and