Then he said, 'Very well, Miss Briggs. I'll take your case.'
9
Pumping the Acropolis's staff about Frank Fontaine proved a far bigger challenge than Valentine expected. Fontaine had visited the casino three successive days and had come into contact with dozens of employees, yet except for Wily and the giant African-American named Joe Smith, no one seemed to remember him. Frank who? the employees collectively asked. Never heard of the guy.
Not that Valentine could blame them. Nevada was one of the few states that vigilantly prosecuted its citizens for even knowing about a casino's being ripped off, the crime a felony and punishable by five years in a federal penitentiary. No wonder the staff had quickly wiped Fontaine from their collective memories.
By noon, he was finished. He slipped into Nick's Place and was disappointed to learn they didn't serve lunch. Sliding onto a stool, he laid his notes on the bar and reviewed them while munching on Goldfish and pretzels. His favorite bartender served him a glass of tap water with a lemon twist without being asked.
It was Joe Smith who'd given him the most new information about Fontaine. Each time Fontaine had visited the casino, he'd played One-Armed Billy and chatted with Joe about his hoop days at UNLV. During these conversations, Joe had noticed that Fontaine wore elevator shoes and guessed he was two or three inches shorter than he appeared. He also had a hair weave, something that was not apparent from the surveillance tapes. And he was a smoker. Joe had seen him toss a cigarette into the gutter before he'd entered and knew a nicotine habit when he saw one.
'Company,' the bartender mumbled under his breath.
In the back bar mirror, Valentine saw Roxanne making a beeline toward him, her pretty features distorted by an ugly expression. Turning on his stool, he flipped his notes upside down on the bar.
'Fancy meeting you here,' he said. 'Thanks for upgrading me to a suite.'
'You're welcome,' she said through clenched teeth. 'I hope you didn't find any unexpected girls in the room.'
Valentine blanched, remembering his comment to Wily.
'He's used the line all over the casino,' she said, seething.
'I'll kill him.'
'Get in line.'
She started to leave, and Valentine grabbed her arm. She resisted, but not as much as he'd expected. Was she really hurt, or just disappointed? Probably a little of both. Jumping to his feet, he said, 'Roxanne, please. I'm terribly sorry. It was a stupid thing for me to say. I didn't mean to hurt your feelings.'
She let him take her to a table and buy her a drink. Her shift had just ended, and she ordered a Bombay and tonic. The bartender served them and gave Valentine a sly wink.
'Heard from my son recently?' Valentine asked.
'He called three times this morning. I told him you didn't want to talk with him, but he kept calling back.'
'That's my boy,' Valentine said.
'You shouldn't hate him so much,' she said, jumping in where they'd left off the last time. 'I mean, what's the harm of taking a few bets? Most bartenders I know do it. It's part of the business.'
Valentine didn't know what to say. Leave it to Gerry to talk out of school. He could run from his son, but he couldn't hide.
'Roxanne,' he said after a pause. 'I don't want to discuss this. My son and I have been at odds for as long as I can remember. When my wife was alive, she played referee and kept things civil; now that she's gone, we can't be in the same room without going at each other's throats.'
'Are you still mad he's a bookie?'
'Of course I'm mad. He's breaking the law. He's been breaking the law most of his life. And I gave him the dough to open the bar. He-' Valentine bit his tongue. 'I just want to give him time to think about it.'
'So you won't talk to him.'
'That's right. I won't talk to him. But I do need to talk to you.'
Roxanne brightened. 'You do?'
'The hotel has hired me to conduct a little investigation.'
'You a dick?'
'Ex-cop. I run a consulting business.'
The news seemed to relax her. Taking a swallow of her drink she said, 'No kidding. Wily said your company was called Grift Sense. What does that mean?'
'It's an old gambling expression,' he explained. 'A grifter was a cross-roader, a hustler. Having grift sense was the highest compliment a hustler could pay another hustler. It meant that you not only knew how to do the moves, you also knew when to do them. Sometimes that's the most important thing.'
'And you have that.'
'I can feel when a hustle's going down, even if I don't know exactly what it is.'
'Grift sense.'
'Right. Anyway, I need to talk to you about Frank Fontaine.'
'Okay.'
As Valentine fiddled with his pen, she said, 'I knew there was a reason I liked you.'
He raised an expectant eyebrow.
'My old man was a cop,' she explained.
There was a lot more to Roxanne than met the eye. She was working on her MBA at UNLV's night school while holding down two part-time jobs, her days split between managing the front desk and balancing the hotel books. She was a savvy young woman with a boatload of ambition, and Valentine found himself liking her more than he probably should.
Early on, Roxanne had recognized the threat Fontaine posed to the Acropolis. A player who never lost could quickly put the casino out of business. She had been working the front desk the morning of Fontaine's third visit and remembered the encounter in vivid detail.
'Frank Fontaine may be the greatest blackjack player who's ever lived,' she said, working on her second drink, 'but when it comes to having class, he was a mutt trying to act like a poodle. My father always said, 'You want to see if a guy has class, look at his shoes. No polish, no class.' Fontaine didn't polish his shoes.'
Valentine scribbled furiously. 'What kind of shoes?'
'They looked like Ferragamos.'
'Anything else?'
'His vision isn't very good.'
'How could you tell?'
'He popped a contact lens and came up to the desk begging for some drops so he could put it back in. When he brought his hand to his face to put the lens in, he nearly poked his eye out.'
He added far-sighted to his list of notes. He already had enough information to run another check on his database. Ten to one, it was someone they all knew.
'Did you get a good look at his eye?'
'Yeah. It was the same color as the contact.'
Good girl. 'Anything else?'
'No, I think that's it.'
He put his pen away. The bartender brought another round without being asked. The guy was beginning to grow on him. Valentine drank the water in one long swallow. There was something about the desert heat that made his thirst unquenchable.
'You sure know how to pack them away,' Roxanne said, wiping her lips with a frilly cocktail napkin.
'It's water,' he said.
She took the glass out of his hand.
