fallen off along with her bifocals, revealing the shaved head of a local hustler named Doovie Jones. Snatching his wig off the floor, Doovie stuck it back on his head.
'How dare you strike a woman,' he shouted indignantly.
More security appeared. Sammy ran up and down the catwalk, checking the other tables. More than one casino had been ripped off by a pair of hustlers creating a diversion while a third hustler switched a shoe or cleaned out a rack of chips.
The tables looked secure. Out of the corner of his eye, he spied Joe Smith poking his big black head out of his alcove.
'Joe,' he yelled into his radio, 'what the hell you doing?'
'Nothing,' Joe replied, his voice riddled with static.
'Get back to your goddamned chair,' Sammy ordered.
'Yes, suh.'
Wily came on the radio.
'I've got everything under control,' the pit boss said reassuringly. 'Nothing to worry about.'
Sammy could hear him gloating. Nailing two teams of cheaters in the same day had given Wily a swelled head. Sammy knew better: For every pair they caught, ten more were lurking beneath the surface, sniffing the water for blood.
'Don't kid yourself,' Sammy told him.
'There are hustlers all over this town,' Sammy said ten minutes later when Wily entered his tiny office in the surveillance control room. 'You gotta stay on your toes.'
'Yeah, yeah, yeah,' the pit boss said sarcastically.
'Keep that up, and Nick will can you.'
Sammy slid the report on Doovie across his desk for Wily to read. The report would be given to the Gaming Control Bureau along with a copy of the videotape to be used as evidence in court. Without the tape, the case would be thrown out, as there was no jury in Nevada that would convict a player solely on the basis of sworn testimony. The casinos were not liked, and the locals paid them back whenever they could.
'Looks good to me,' Wily said, scribbling his name on the last page next to Sammy's. A button on the phone on Sammy's desk lit up. Punching the button, Sammy took the call over the squawk box.
'Mann here.'
'Sammy, so nice to hear you still have a job. This is Victor over at the Mirage.'
'Hello, Victor over at the Mirage,' Sammy said, gritting his teeth. 'What brings you out of your cave?'
'I heard you got whacked for fifty big ones by one of our guests. I called to give my condolences.'
There was not an ounce of sincerity in Victor's voice. Victor's boss had once tried to buy the Acropolis and turn it into a parking lot. The establishments had been at war ever since.
Sammy said, 'You should screen your guests a little more thoroughly. This guy was a pro.'
'He was screened,' Victor replied. 'Clean as a whistle. You shouldn't have let him keep coming back. Three times? What the hell were you thinking?'
'We were trying to catch the son of a bitch…'
'I heard you let him walk.'
'Up yours, Victor.'
The line went dead. Sammy had just been anointed chump of the month; he could see Victor on the other end, laughing himself sick.
'We need to find Fontaine,' he said. 'I'm open to suggestions.'
Wily parked his rear end on Sammy's desk, which nearly tipped it. Righting a paperweight, he said, 'I've got an idea. Once Nola posts bail, we pay her a visit and have a little chat.'
'You mean slap her around?'
'If it comes to that.'
'Are you serious?'
'Nothing rough-just enough to scare her.'
'That's illegal,' Sammy said.
'So?'
Sammy noticed that Wily had become preoccupied with something stuck to his necktie. It looked like a small chunk of steak smothered in yellow bearnaise sauce. The Acropolis served the best $4.99 buffet in town, and Wily never missed it. With a deft touch, the pit boss plucked the offending morsel off the garment.
'Don't,' Sammy said forcefully.
Wily hesitated, the piece of meat inches from his open mouth. With a shrug, he let it fall into the wastebasket.
'Any other ideas?' Sammy asked.
'You still think Fontaine's someone you know?' Wily said.
'I sure do.'
'Well, this consultant I hired keeps a database of every known hustler around. Maybe he can finger him.'
Sometimes Wily surprised Sammy with a smart idea. This was one of those special times. 'Who is this guy, anyway?'
'Tony Valentine.'
Sammy had to smile. Before he'd gotten religion, he had run with a cooler mob; he had been switching decks on unsuspecting blackjack dealers in Atlantic City when Valentine had busted him one Christmas eve at the old Resorts International. As cops went, Valentine had been a real gentleman about the whole thing, no rough stuff or threats. A pro.
'Let's hope so,' he said. 'I've got a bad feeling in my gut about Fontaine.'
'How so?' Wily asked.
'Think about it,' the head of surveillance said, shifting uncomfortably in his chair. 'Fontaine whacked us three nights in a row. A smart hustler wouldn't have been so blatant.'
The dull look on Wily's face indicated he wasn't connecting the dots. Sammy finished his thought. 'He was trying to get caught.'
'But that's stupid,' Wily said, clearly perplexed. 'He had to know we'd nab him or Nola.'
'Him, no; Nola, yes.'
'You think he used her as bait?'
Sammy scratched his chin reflectively. On the surface, it didn't add up, but who knew what Fontaine was really up to? 'He was trying to create a diversion and it didn't work. He bolted, and Nola got left holding the bag.'
'What a lousy prick.'
Sammy nodded, hearing Frank Fontaine's taunting laugh ringing in his ears. Of the fifty-odd casinos in town, Fontaine had chosen theirs, and Sammy wasn't going to sleep soundly until he knew why.
'He's a shark,' Sammy said, 'and we'd better find him before he bites us again.'
5
Vegas's McCarran International Airport had grown up since Valentine's last visit. Movable sidewalks, celebrity voice-overs on the PA system, upscale boutiques and jewelry stores, splashy promo films for the casinos on digital screens at the baggage claim. It was a regular amusement park, complete with video poker and banks of gleaming one-armed bandits.
'They say the casinos cheat their customers,' a fiftyish woman wearing an I LOVE LEONARDO DICAPRIO T- shirt and support hose remarked as they waited for their bags. 'You think that's true?'
'Absolutely not,' Valentine replied, noting the plastic bucket filled with silver dollars clutched to her bosom. No luggage, and she was already betting the rent. 'The state of Nevada wouldn't permit it. The casinos are the single biggest source of revenue the state has. They make sure everything's on the square.'
