Valentine slipped out of his chair and went to where Rufus stood at the dartboard, attaching a hundred-dollar bill to the cork with colored toothpicks. Finished, Rufus stepped back and studied his handiwork. “Pretty big target, wouldn’t you say?”
“Looks big from here,” Valentine said.
The suckers came over to stare at the bill. Their names were Larry and Earl, and they’d gotten knocked out of the World Poker Showdown on the first day. Each had won a satellite event in his hometown, and believed he was a world-class player. In fact, they both knew little about cards, and had simply beaten a bunch of guys who knew less than they did. Each man ran his fingers across the bill’s face.
“Explain the rules again,” Earl said.
“Be more than happy to,” Rufus replied. Picking up three darts from the holder beneath the board, he stepped back to the blue line on the floor, toed it, and lined up to throw a dart. “First, you have to throw a dart from the blue line, and hit the bill.”
“Anywhere?” Earl asked.
“That’s right,” Rufus said. He tossed the dart, and it did a graceful arc through the air and hit the board with a loud
“A giant step or a baby step?” Earl asked.
“A moderate step,” Rufus replied. Taking a moderate step forward, he lined up his shot and threw the dart, hitting the bill in its center with another
Larry and Earl stepped away to talk it over. Valentine knew plenty of bar room hustles and saw nothing transparent with Rufus’s proposition. Throw three darts, hit the bill, and win a hundred dollars. Rufus lowered his voice.
“You know this one?”
“No. Is it a scam?”
The old cowboy chuckled under his breath. “Of course.”
“What’s the trick?”
“Just watch, pardner.”
“You’re on!” Earl called out.
“This handsome fellow has agreed to referee,” Rufus said, pointing to Valentine. “He’s an ex-cop, so you can trust him with your money.”
Earl and Larry each gave Valentine a hundred dollars for safekeeping. Earl pulled the three darts out of the board, and went to the blue line. He let the first dart fly, and it landed in the center of the bill. “Bingo!” Earl exclaimed.
“One down, two to go,” Larry exhorted him.
Earl took a moderate step forward, lined up his shot, and threw his second dart. The dart seemed to take on a life of its own, and sailed over the dartboard and hit the wall, pocking it in the process. The dart fell to the floor with Earl staring at it.
“Must be the beer,” Earl said.
Taking out a money clip stuffed with cash, Earl peeled off another hundred and handed it to Valentine. “I want to try again,” he said.
“Be my guest,” Rufus replied.
The first dart was easy; the second again went high.
Earl cursed like he’d hit his thumb with a hammer and threw another hundred Valentine’s way. “Again,” he said.
“Of course,” Rufus said.
Earl’s first dart hit the bill. He stepped forward for the second shot, lifted his leg like a dog watering a bush, and let the second dart fly. It hit the hundred-dollar bill, but just barely. Earl let out a war whoop.
“One more to go,” Larry said encouragingly. “Come on, Earl, you can do it.”
Earl returned to the blue line and took a moderate step backward. His beer was sitting on the corner of the pool table. He stared at it, then shook his head like he wanted to have nothing to do with it. He lined up his shot and let the dart fly. It flew over the board and hit a poster of a bikini-clad Farrah Fawcett squarely in her navel.
“God damn!” Earl screamed.
“Let me have a try,” Larry said.
Ten minutes later, Valentine and Rufus left the bar with most of Larry’s and Earl’s money. The suckers had not gone quietly, and were demanding a rematch on the golf course. Rufus had politely declined and bid them good night.
“I thought you were good at golf,” Valentine said.
“Only when the price is right,” Rufus replied.
On the elevator ride to their room, Valentine finally broke down and asked Rufus to explain how he’d managed the dart trick.
“Ain’t no trick,” Rufus said, smothering a yawn.
“You didn’t put something in their drinks?”
“Naw.”
“Then how does it work?”
“Throwing a dart is harder than you think,” Rufus explained. “Even the best players have to take a few practice throws before they play. The arm’s muscles have a memory, and it takes a while for the memory to kick in. By changing the distance for each throw, the muscles in the thrower’s arm get confused, and the darts miss the target.”
“You made it look easy when you threw the darts.”
“That comes from years of practice and self-denial.”
The elevator reached their floor and they got out. Valentine took the Silly Putty and paper clip from his pocket, and stared at them while walking down the hallway to his suite.
“That bug’s still bothering you, huh?” Rufus said.
“It sure is,” Valentine said.
“Sort of makes you wonder what kind of tournament they’re running.”
“How do you mean?”
“First DeMarco cheats me, and now this.”
Valentine was tired, and the old cowboy’s words were slow to sink in. The World Poker Showdown had already had one allegation of cheating, and the tournament should have gone out of its way to ensure that no more took place. Yet more cheating
“You think the people running the tournament are crooked, don’t you?”
Rufus nodded grimly. “Cheaters don’t like to expose other cheaters. It makes them uneasy.”
“It that why the tournament isn’t regulating itself?”
“That would be my guess.”
The light on the lock flashed green. Valentine removed the key and pushed the door open. He could hear his bed calling to him, but it wasn’t as loud as his conscience.
“Then I guess I’ll just have to shut the tournament down,” he said.
10
As Kenny “the Clown” Abruzzi walked up to the car, Davis reached into his sports jacket
