Deadman's Bluff - James Swain [98]
His son look frustrated. “Why don’t you just pull DeMarco off the table, and expose the scam? Then the police can arrest Scalzo.”
Valentine drew close to his son. “If I do that, it’s going to hurt every casino in Las Vegas, and in the long run, our business as well. Let me handle this my way, okay?”
His son’s face softened. “Sure, Pop. Whatever you want.”
45
Being the chip leader in a poker tournament was like being king of the world. While the other players were trying to survive, DeMarco could pick and choose his spots, pouncing on players with weak cards when he knew they were bluffing. Letting the other players win a few hands would have made things more equal, but he’d decided it was time to claim his prize and get out of Las Vegas.
The conversation with his father had been eating at him all morning. They hadn’t been talking five minutes when his father had told him what a bad person his uncle George was and how DeMarco needed to get away from him. What were his exact words? You need to escape your uncle’s dark shadow.
DeMarco hadn’t liked that. His uncle could be mean and do horrible things, but that didn’t negate the treatment DeMarco had gotten from him. His uncle had raised him, and DeMarco wasn’t going to run away just because his father didn’t like the man.
But his father hadn’t let up, and when he andDeMarco had finally said good-bye, DeMarco had been ready to curse him out.
“There will be a fifteen-minute break after this hand is concluded,” the tournament director announced over the public address.
Because DeMarco was not in the hand, he decided to leave the table early. He was not five steps away from the table when his uncle was by his side.
“You okay, Skipper?”
“I’m fine, Uncle George. I just need to hit the bathroom.”
DeMarco heard his uncle snap his fingers.
“Guido,” his uncle said. “Skipper needs to take a leak. Make sure no one gets near him.”
“Yes, Mr. Scalzo.”
Guido led him across the poker room to the men’s lavatories. As they walked, DeMarco listened to Guido’s breathing. Guido’s nose sounded broken from the punches he’d received that morning. His uncle had been abusing Guido unmercifully the past few days, and DeMarco was surprised his uncle’s bodyguard hadn’t walked out on him. They came to the lavatories and Guido stopped.
“Shit,” Guido said.
“What’s wrong?” DeMarco asked.
“That lady newscaster just cornered your uncle and shoved a microphone in his face. Her cameraman is filming them, too.”
“You want to go rescue him?”
“Your uncle told me to keep you company.”
“I can take a leak without peeing on my leg. Go help him.”
Guido hesitated. DeMarco sensed that he was probably enjoying seeing his uncle in a tight spot. His uncle had dished out more than he’d taken over the years, and there was a strange joy in seeing him get paid back.
“Why do you put up with him, Guido?” DeMarco asked.
“What do you mean?” the bodyguard said.
“My uncle’s bullshit. Why do you put up with it?”
“I don’t have a choice,” Guido said. “A long time ago, I did something really stupid, and your uncle saved me from going to prison for the rest of my life. In return, I agreed to be his bodyguard and do whatever he told me. That’s the deal we struck.”
“Oh,” DeMarco said.
“Mind if I ask you a question?”
“What’s that?”
Guido jabbed DeMarco in the chest with his finger. “Why do you put up with him?”
DeMarco slipped into the men’s lavatory. Guido had sounded just like his father. Why did he put up with his uncle’s nonsense? He guessed it was because he loved him.
He’d been in the men’s room enough times to have the layout memorized. Stalls on the right, urinals on the left. He soldiered up to an empty urinal and unzipped his fly. He’d heard of guys who’d lost monster hands because they’d had to pee. Thinking about it made him smile, and at first he did not hear the man occupy the urinal beside him.
“How’s that earpiece working?” the man asked.
DeMarco froze.