Sucker bet - James Swain [75]
Saul pulled back in his chair, the grin spreading from ear to ear. “Isn’t that great?”
Gerry was lost. “What do you mean?”
“Don’t you get it?”
“Get what?”
“A guy as powerful as Farley Bancroft is going to know the answers on a show he owns,” Saul explained. “He was lying.”
“So?”
“Victor hired a voice expert to analyze Bancroft’s voice,” Saul said as the smoke from the neighboring table created a halo around his head. “When he read the multiple-choice answers, his voice changed on the correct one.”
“A tell,” Valentine said.
Saul nodded. “The voice expert taught Victor how to read the tell. Only, Victor had a problem. He couldn’t get on the show. That’s when he teamed up with Rico Blanco.”
“Why Rico?” Valentine asked.
“The network that airs the show is union. The union is mob-connected, and gave Rico a list of contestants. Rico worked down the list and found a guy he could work with. Victor taught the guy how to read Bancroft. Guy went on the show and won a million bucks.”
“Is that breaking the law?” Gerry asked.
Saul nodded his head vigorously. “The guy signed an agreement not to defraud the network. It’s a serious crime.”
Valentine thumbed through the envelope’s contents. There were names and dates and telephone numbers and copies of E-mail letters and bank account numbers and everything he needed to paint a picture of Rico Blanco as a big-time scam artist. But more importantly, it showed the trail of a crook working solo, and was enough evidence for Valentine to give the newspapers and save the Micanopy casino from being shut down. Bill Higgins was going to be very happy. He slipped the envelope into his jacket pocket, and said, “I really appreciate this, Saul.”
“My pleasure,” the elderly con man said.
34
Luck, Rico believed, was a tiny naked chick who looked like Jennifer Lopez and sat on his shoulder whispering advice in his ear.
Luck had been good to him over the years. She’d made sure his voice wasn’t taped when John Gotti was causing mischief, and spared Rico from a life in prison. And she’d managed to keep him out of harm’s way when a dozen other schemes had gone haywire.
Today was another good example. Driving south from Palm Beach, Rico had decided that after he got Tony Valentine to tell him who the snitch was, he would take Valentine out of the picture. Valentine knew too much and could only hurt him in the long run.
So he’d come up with a plan. He’d drive to the Fontainebleau, tie Valentine to a chair, and shoot him between the eyes. He’d make Gerry watch, then let him go. Word would spread fast as to what he’d done. And wise guys like Valentine would start leaving him alone.
Walking into the Fontainebleau’s lobby, he passed the coffee shop. A menu board was outside. Today’s special was a BLT on whole wheat.
His favorite meal as a kid.
Eat, the little naked chick on his shoulder said.
So he went in and ordered a BLT. Firing up a cigarette, he’d heard a familiar voice from the next booth. Gerry Valentine’s Brooklyn accent was sharp enough to cut bread with, and he’d leaned back and listened.
And heard everything.
More than once, he’d considered shooting all three men right there in the coffee shop. Bang, bang, bang, and leave their brains on the walls. Only, Florida had the death penalty and let condemned men’s heads catch on fire in the electric chair.
So he’d swallowed his rage, eaten his sandwich, and waited.
Eventually, the three men left. Throwing money down, Rico slid out of the booth and made a slow advance toward the front of the coffee shop.
Out in the lobby they stood, plotting his doom. Rico’s hands began to tremble, wanting to do it right then. The three men went outside. Rico watched their movements through the glass front doors.
The valets brought up their cars. Valentine drove a beat-up Honda, the old man a Toyota Corolla. They drove