“Hey, Pop,” his son said. “I just got a call from my bartender. Big Tony took over this morning and fired everybody. He's running my bookmaking operation and has some scary colored guys collecting bets for him. I've got to get him the money. Call me, will you?”
Valentine couldn't believe his son's nerve. The bar was
“Tony,” Mabel said. “I need your help. Please call me.”
He glanced at his watch. It was nearly eleven thirty. He had promised to call Mabel every morning at nine sharp and hadn't done so once. He dialed his house.
“Grift Sense,” she answered.
“Hey, kiddo, how's it going?”
“There you are. You must start leaving your cell phone on. I've got another panicked customer on the line.”
“Who?”
“Frank Beck.”
“Never heard of him.”
“He's the new head of security at Harrah's in Lake Tahoe. He's holding on the other line.”
Harrah's was a good customer, and he sat on the edge of the bed and unbuttoned his jacket. “What's the problem?”
“Beck thinks he has a dice cheater in his casino. This player wins money
“Ask Beck if the guy is throwing the dice, or just a bettor.”
Mabel put him on hold, then came back. “Beck says he's just betting.”
“Ask him to describe the type of bets the guy is placing. This might get a little complicated, so you'd better write it down.”
She was gone a little longer this time.
“This is so exciting,” Mabel said when she returned. “The man is in the casino
Valentine closed his eyes and ran over the bets in his head. Opening them, he said, “Tell Beck I'll call him right back.”
Mabel put him on hold. When she returned, she said, “Do you have any idea what this man is doing?”
“Yes. He's part of a crew. They're laying sixes. It's one of the oldest dice scams in the world.”
“Why didn't you have me tell him?” she asked, sounding a little miffed.
“Because I didn't want to embarrass him.”
“Why would that embarrass him?”
“Because if Beck knew anything about craps, he would have made the scam. Only he doesn't, which means he's new.”
“If Beck doesn't know anything, how did he get his job?”
“He must know somebody upstairs. That happens a lot in casinos. It's called having juice.” Valentine glanced at his watch. A minute had passed, and he had Mabel give him Beck's phone number. Then he said, “You still liking the job?”
“It's very exciting,” his neighbor said.
“Talk to you later.”
He hung up, then punched in Beck's number. Beck answered from the floor of Harrah's casino. He was panicking and sounded a heartbeat away from a stroke. Valentine explained the scam to him. “You've got three crossroaders at your craps table. One member throws the dice, but palms one in his hand. Another member at the opposite end of the table places a late bet and leaves a duplicate die on the layout with the six up. A third member does the betting and always makes the bets you described to my office manager. The bettor wins money on every outcome except an eight. Which is an 84 percent winning percentage.”
“Why am I not seeing this?” Beck said belligerently.
“You will if you tape it and watch it in slow motion,” Valentine said.
“Call me if you need me,” Valentine said.
Hanging up, he went into the bathroom and splashed cold water on his face. It had been a long day and it wasn't even noon. He was looking forward to getting some lunch, maybe taking a nap later. He heard the phone ring in the other room.
He waited a minute, then picked up the message. The caller was Liddy Flanagan, and she sounded more distressed than any woman who'd just lost her husband needed to be.
“Oh, Tony, I need your help,” she said. “I found a notebook of Doyle's while I was cleaning. It's filled with the strangest entries. I think you should see it.”
The message ended without her saying good-bye. He stared at the phone while listening to his stomach growl. Lunch would have to wait. Taking his coat off the bed, he headed out the door.
The ten-minute drive to Doyle's house took twenty on the icy roads. The Mercedes was drawing a lot of stares from schmucks driving beaters, and Valentine was happy for the tinted windows. Himself, he drove a '90 Honda Accord, a good solid car with roll-down windows, the odometer stuck at 160,000 miles.
Liddy met him at the front door. She wore faded jeans and a fluffy green sweater, her hair done up nice. Only her bloodshot eyes betrayed her true feelings.
“The boys are here,” she said.
He followed her into the living room. Sean sat on the couch with a spiral notebook in his lap. He read aloud to Guy, who stood by the fireplace puffing nervously on a cigarette, his eyes fixed on the blue-orange flames.
“It's not like stealing from a friend, it's a goddamn casino. They expect it. Hell, they even budget for it.” Sean flipped the page. “Here's some more. ‘Nobody got hurt, so nothing really happened. I don't do this all the time, so I'm not really a thief.'?”
Sean stopped, unable to make something out. Valentine sat on the couch beside him. Sean handed him the notebook.
“You try.”
The page was covered with Doyle's infamous chicken scratch. Valentine deciphered the line at the top of the page.
“It's like a tree falling in a forest. If no one catches you, are you really breaking the law?” He looked up at Liddy. “Where did you find this?”
“I was changing the bed,” she said. “It was stuck between the mattress and box spring. I didn't understand it at first, but the more I read, well, it seems like Doyle is denying something that he's done.”
“He wasn't denying anything,” Guy spouted angrily, his gaze still fixed on the roaring fire. “My father didn't steal anything from anyone in his life.”
An uneasy silence filled the living room. Valentine glanced at Sean; Doyle's older son did not seem so sure. Neither did Liddy. Sensing his family's betrayal, Guy crossed the room and ripped the notebook from Valentine's hands. Flipping to the first page, he shoved it in front of Valentine's face.
“Look,” he said.
On this page, Doyle had drawn a floor plan of The Bombay, with tiny
“My father was talking to the police,” Guy snapped. “He found something rotten at The Bombay, and he called Detective Davis. My father wasn't a criminal.”
“Guy, sit down,” Valentine said.
“You don't believe me!”
“Guy, I said sit down.”
Guy angrily marched out the front door. Moments later they heard car wheels spin as he backed down the
