Deadman's Bluff - James Swain [81]
Gerry hid the smile forming on his lips. They’d hooked a live one. “Sure,” he said.
The goombah stuck his meaty paw through Gerry’s open window and they shook hands. Gerry guessed his age to be about thirty, his rank in Scalzo’s organization no higher than a soldier. He watched the goombah walk up the brick path to Traffatore’s house and punch the bell. Moments later, Davis opened the front door. From the car, Gerry pointed at the goombah while mouthing the words Arrest him. Davis flashed him the okay sign, then ushered the goombah inside.
Fifteen minutes later Davis emerged from the house, the look of exhaustion on his face having been replaced by one of glee. He knelt down next to Gerry’s open window. “Looks like we hit the mother lode. Traffatore keeps records of all his clients in a shoe box. We’ve got the names, phone numbers, and addresses of every member of Scalzo’s gang.”
“What about the goombah?” Gerry asked. “Did you arrest him?”
“Yeah. Name’s Albert Roselli. He’s screaming for a lawyer.”
“Screaming?”
“Yeah. I’ve never seen anything like it. Marconi told him to shut his yap or we’d tape it shut. Guy’s sweating, too.”
Gerry stared at the Eldorado parked in front of him. I’m in a rush. Was Albert going to work, and needed to get his baseball cap fixed? He relayed his suspicion to Davis, and saw the detective’s face light up.
“Wait here,” Davis said.
Roselli’s vehicle was unlocked and Davis gave it a thorough search. When he finished, he came back to Marconi’s car and tossed Gerry a black address book.
“The hits just keep coming,” Davis said.
Gerry thumbed through the address book, his eyes scanning the pages. It was Scalzo’s play book, and it contained the names of the island’s casinos and the dates and times they were to be ripped off by his gang.
“Beautiful,” Gerry said.
It took Davis two hours to marshal the necessary manpower to start making the busts. Over half of Scalzo’s gang were working that afternoon, and over a hundred police and casino security forces were needed to arrest them.
Gerry stayed with Davis and Marconi as they went from casino to casino and systematically apprehended Scalzo’s gang. The baseball caps made the gang members easy to locate and allowed the detectives to march up to the tables, speak to the gang members by name, and arrest them. As Gerry watched the gang members being led away to vans waiting outside, he was surprised the gang hadn’t retired the scam after the incident at Bally’s the night before. His father said that what usually brought cheaters down was the greed factor. Once a cheater started stealing, it was often hard for him to stop.
The final arrests were made at Resorts International, the island’s oldest casino. By now it was dark, and Gerry stood outside on the Boardwalk, sipping a double espresso to stay awake. He’d scored a big victory, but it felt hollow. He still didn’t know how Scalzo was ripping off the World Poker Showdown, and suspected that none of the people who’d been arrested knew, either. Davis came out through the double doors and gave him a whack on the arm. “I owe you dinner, man.”
Gerry forced a smile. The busts were going to make Davis and Marconi into heroes. That was worth celebrating, even if he wasn’t in the mood.
“You’re on,” he said.
37
It was quitting time, and Mabel was heading out the door when the phone on Tony’s desk rang. Glancing at the Caller ID, she saw that it was Special Agent Romero of the FBI.
“It’s about time,” she said aloud.
She’d called Romero earlier, gotten an impersonal voice mail, and left a message saying she urgently needed to speak with him about George Scalzo. She’d expected a prompt call back, having done Romero a huge favor a few days ago. The fact that he’d taken over half a day to respond was annoying to say the least.
“Grift Sense,” she answered.
“Hello, Ms. Struck,” Romero said. “I apologize for not getting back to you sooner, but I had to testify in court today, and they don