Deadman's Bluff - James Swain [99]
“The inner-canal earpiece you’re using to scam the tournament,” the voice said. “How’s it holding up?”
“I don’t know what—”
“It’s a modified children’s hearing aid,” the voice said. “I’ve got a couple in my collection. They’re smaller than regular hearing aids, which lets you stick them way down in your ear so no one will see them, but they also break down easier. Yours working all right?”
“Who are you?”
“Tony Valentine. I was hired by the Nevada Gaming Control Board to investigate you.”
DeMarco finished his business, then stepped away from the stall and faced his accuser. “You going to bust me?”
“Not today,” Valentine said.
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“It means that you’re not going down until I decide to take you down. And that won’t happen today.”
“Why not?”
“Because the tournament deserves to have a fair outcome.”
DeMarco did not know what to say.
“You understand what I’m telling you?” Valentine asked.
“I think so. You’re going to let me play.”
“That’s right. But you have to give me the earpiece.”
DeMarco suddenly understood. Valentine was going to let him play, but not cheat. He pulled the earpiece out of his ear and handed it to him.
“There’s one other thing I want you to do,” Valentine said.
“What’s that?”
“Get checked out by a doctor once the tournament is over.”
DeMarco heard a toilet flush on the far end of the line of stalls. A man came out, walked past them, washed his hands, and left. “Why should I see a doctor?” DeMarco asked.
“Your uncle hasn’t told you how this scam works, has he?”
DeMarco hesitated. For all he knew, Valentine had a tape recorder on him, and was recording every word they said. If he said yes, it was as good as admitting he’d scammed the tournament. Only he sensed that Valentine wasn’t trying to trap him. He shook his head.
“That’s too bad, kid,” Valentine said.
DeMarco reached out and grabbed Valentine’s arm. “Tell me,” he said.
“Ask your uncle.”
“I already did.”
“He wouldn’t tell you?”
“My uncle said he’d tell me when the tournament was over. Is the scam dangerous?”
“Yeah. You could be sterile. Or worse.”
“What?”
“The cards at your table have been treated with radioactive iodine, which was stolen from a vault in a hospital,” Valentine explained. “Each card has tiny drops of the substance put on the back. The number of drops is based on the card’s value and suit, ranging from one drop to fifty-two drops. With me so far?”
DeMarco slowly nodded.
“Once the iodine dries, the cards are covered with a plastic matte similar to what commercial artists use. That seals the iodine into the card, and ensures the iodine won’t rub off. The dealer has a dosimeter at the table, hidden inside a cigarette lighter. When the dealer deals, he holds each card briefly over the lighter. The dosimeter reads the dots on the back of the card, then transmits the information to a computer strapped around the dealer’s waist. Still with me?”
“Yes,” DeMarco said.
“The computer has a program that reads the dots, translates them into Morse code, then tells you through your ear piece what the card just dealt is. The iodine has a half life of eight hours. From the time the iodine is applied to the cards, it starts to break down. Within eight hours it’s disappeared, and the cards return to being normal. A perfect scam, except for one thing. It exposes the people handling the cards to radiation.”
“Am I going to get sick?”
“You might. Two dealers who were involved with the scam have ended up in the hospital. One of them, who was fighting cancer, died.”
“What about the other players at the table?”
“They run less of a risk.”
“Why?”
“Two reasons. The tournament director rotates them, and you knock them out so quickly. But you’ve been at the feature table for most of the tournament, which means you’ve been exposed to the cards the most. Chances are, you’re likely to have problems down the road.” Valentine jabbed him in the chest like Guido had done, only with less force. “Now, I’m going to tell you something, kid, and