“I got arrested because of you,” Big Tony said.
“You never been arrested before?”
“You know what happened to me in that fucking jail?”
Valentine gave it some thought. “You got buggered.”
“Raped, sodomized, made to give up your manhood. Am I getting warm?”
“I'm going to mutilate you,” Big Tony said.
Yun had appeared by Valentine's side. His teacher had removed his overcoat and wore a baggy sweater and loose-fitting trousers. His forehead was glistening, and Valentine realized he'd been doing his warm-up. Yun walked up to Big Tony. It wasn't going to be fair, but who ever said life was?
“See if you can hit me,” his teacher said.
Big Tony eyed him. “Say what?”
Yun jabbed him in the stomach. Big Tony winced.
“Come on, fat boy. Hit me.”
Big Tony obliged him and threw a haymaker that started by his knee. Blocking the punch, Yun grabbed Big Tony's arm and flipped him onto the icy ground. He twisted Big Tony's arm until the big man yelped
Valentine had been watching Joey, who appeared to be the more dangerous of the two brothers. Seeing Joey slip his hand into his leather jacket, Valentine stepped forward and popped him on the nose. As Joey crumpled, a strange-looking weapon clattered to the ground. Valentine picked it up. It was an old-fashioned zip gun, the barrel taped to a wood handle. He pointed the weapon at Little Tony.
“Uncle, uncle,” Little Tony chorused.
Valentine walked over to where Big Tony lay on the ground.
“Promise you'll leave my son alone?”
“Say it.”
Yun let him go. Big Tony sat up and rubbed his arm. Valentine went over to where Joey lay and removed the BMW's keys from his pocket.
And though it was a cold, miserable night and Valentine's head was throbbing, seeing Gerry climb out of the trunk safe and sound made it all worthwhile. Yolanda was okay, too, a happy ending if there ever was one.
Eating dinner in a restaurant a short while later, Gerry thanked his father as only he knew how.
21
The Devil's Playthings
Valentine woke up the next morning feeling better than he had in weeks. Saving his son's neck had something to do with it, but also the realization that Mabel was right. He couldn't start quitting jobs because he got cold feet.
He did his morning exercises, then called Joe Cortez at a few minutes before eight. People who were good at what they did usually got to work early, and he found Joe at his desk.
“I think I found your blackjack cheaters,” Joe said.
Valentine grinned. He loved days that started out like this.
“I was sifting through the names when I had an idea,” the INS agent said. “If these cheaters were staying in New York, they'd be playing blackjack at Foxwoods or the Mohegan Sun in Connecticut. So I concentrated on foreigners with teaching visas just in Jersey. Then I looked for three males and one female traveling together, and
“How can you be sure it's them?”
“The girl,” Cortez said. “I pulled up her passport photo on my computer. You nailed her perfectly: She looks like Audrey Hepburn. Name's Anna Ravic. Born in Belgrade, thirty-five years young.”
“What's their background?”
“Bunch of Croatian eggheads with Ph.D.s in numbers. They came over in late October from Zagreb, wherever that is. They're guests of the Institute for Advanced Study at Princeton University.”
Cortez named the other members of the gang. Juraj Havelka, Alex Havelka, who was Juraj's brother, and Rolf Pujin. Cortez had called Interpol, just to see if they were wanted or had criminal records. He'd come up empty.
“I really appreciate this,” Valentine said when Joe told him he had to run.
“What are friends for,” Cortez said.
Valentine had rented the room adjacent to his for Gerry and Yolanda. He tapped lightly on the door.
It was Yolanda who greeted him, wearing one of his son's long-sleeve white shirts and nothing else. She was one of those remarkable women that looked great without any makeup and her hair a screaming mess.
“You sleep any?”
She stifled a yawn. “A little.”
“Hungry?”
She rubbed her eyes and grunted in the affirmative. He took out his wallet and extracted a hundred-dollar bill.
“I'm going to Princeton for a few hours,” he said. “Try to stay around the motel, okay? Just in case the Mollo brothers change their minds.”
She stared at the money he'd given her. Valentine didn't know much about her, except she was studying to be a doctor and was head-over-heels in love with his son. Somehow, those two facts didn't mesh, and he found himself regarding her as a dumb broad for getting mixed up with his son. She sensed this, and shot him a scornful look.
“I'm not some floozy, or whatever it is you think I am.”
“Did I say that?”
“It's written all over your face.”
“What?”
“Your thoughts.”
“Gerry didn't tell me you were psychic. You do parties?”
“You're a jerk,” she said.
“And?”
“Get lost.”
She slammed the door in his face and threw the dead bolt. Valentine laughed all the way to the car. Was she insinuating that she didn't want him to come back? That was typical of her generation; they opened their mouths without thinking about the consequences.
He checked beneath the hood for explosives, then climbed in and fired up the engine. If he didn't come back, who the hell did she think was going to pay for the room?
Yolanda opened the door and stuck her head out. “He's gone. You can come out.”
Gerry appeared beside her. He'd asked Yolanda to answer the door, hoping his old man would take a liking to her. Only the opposite seemed to have happened. Yolanda was livid and gave him a mean stare.
“Your old man's a prick.”
“He can be nice,” he said defensively.
“So what do we do now?”
That was a good question. Gerry knew what
“Where's the hundred my old man gave you?”
She pulled it from her shirt pocket. Gerry tried to take it, and she steadfastly held on to a corner.
“What's the plan, Stan?” she said.
