Sucker bet - James Swain [59]
She called the Fontainebleau, asked for the front desk, and got the hotel’s fax number. Then she made up a cover page with Tony’s name on it. She was glad she’d talked him into going to south Florida and taking the job. He sounded so much more alive when he was working on a case.
Moments later, the fax went through the machine.
Growing up, there were a lot of things that Gerry hadn’t done with his father. Like going to baseball games or the movies, or just hanging out and doing father-and-son stuff. It had a lot to do with his father’s long hours as a cop, and also Gerry’s unhappiness at his father being a cop. They didn’t know each other very well, which was why taking his father to Club Hedo on Saturday morning was no treat.
Disco music rocked the club. Up on the stage, three girls in G-strings were playing with hula hoops. One of them was a cutie, and Gerry could not help but stare. Knowing a sucker when she saw one, the girl motioned him over. Embarrassed, Gerry bellied up to the bar.
“Tell Rico the Valentines are here to see him,” he told the bartender, then ordered a couple of sodas.
“You dated a topless dancer, didn’t you?” his father said.
“A couple of them. Why?”
“I was wondering what you saw in them.”
“They were fun in bed,” he admitted.
“I bet you had an exit line before you started taking them out,” his father said.
Gerry felt his neck burn. It was the truth, although why it shamed him now, he had no idea. In the back bar mirror he saw the cute dancer standing on the edge of the stage, waiting for him to come over. That’s it, he thought. Shame me in front of my old man. The bartender returned with their drinks.
“Rico will be right out,” he said.
Gerry sipped his drink. In the mirror he saw the stripper sticking her tongue out at him. “So how do you want me to handle this?” he asked his father.
“Handle what?”
“What should I do when Rico comes out?”
“Introduce us.”
His neck burned some more. “And then what?”
“Watch the fun.”
Rico strolled out of his office. He’d replaced his New York hoodlum attire with a pair of pleated pants, a silk shirt, and a thick gold chain. A million-dollar suntan rounded out the reformation. He came over and slapped Gerry’s shoulder.
“Gerry-o, how’s it hanging?”
“Same as you left it,” Gerry said.
“So this must be your famous father. I’ve heard a lot about you, Mr. Valentine.”
“Same here,” Valentine said.
Rico pointed to a corner table in the back, and they crossed the room in a blinding snowstorm of strobe lights. Rico pulled back two chairs, showing some manners. Valentine cased the room, then sat down. Rico sat next to him, then got in his face.
“So, Mr. Valentine, or should I call you Tony?”
“Call me Mr. Valentine,” Valentine said.
Rico cleared his throat. “Okay, Mr. Valentine. You and I have a little bit of a history, but I’m willing to consider that water under the bridge.”
“Same here.”
“Gerry tells me you’re connected in Atlantic City.”
Valentine felt his son kick him beneath the table.
“That’s right,” he said.
“Matter of fact, Gerry says you’re the most connected guy in AC.”
Another kick.
“So what if I am?” Valentine said.
Rico leaned back in his chair and gave him a hard look. From his jacket he removed a deck of playing cards. They hit Valentine squarely in the chest.
“Prove it,” Rico said.
Valentine squinted at the cards in the crummy bar light. They were from the Riverboat Casino in Atlantic City. Every hood from Maine to Miami had heard about the scam going on there. A gang of Riverboat employees was getting marked decks onto the blackjack tables. They weren’t stealing a lot of money, but a computer analysis done by the casino had picked up the fluctuation. The problem was, no one could figure out how the scam was working. Valentine had a theory, which was that someone with juice—maybe a pit boss—had found a weak link in the system.
Because the scam had been going on for so long, it had grown into the stuff of legend, with the Riverboat’s losses reputed to be in the millions, and the thieves actually a group of well-connected insiders