stopped having sex months ago, and he’d sworn he wouldn’t touch another woman.
Crossing himself, Gerry went inside.
Thirty minutes later, Pash was wearing a FRESHLY PLUCKED AT THE CHICKEN RANCH T-shirt while eating pancakes at a diner down the road.
“Why did we have to leave so fast?” he asked.
Gerry blew the steam off his coffee. “You see all those cameras?”
“What about them?”
“Brothels are like casinos. The state
Pash shoved a forkful of dripping blueberry pancake into his mouth. “You think the state is looking for us?”
“After that stunt last night at the MGM Grand? You bet they are.”
“This is not good.”
“You need to start playing in casinos that aren’t slick with their surveillance. Like up in Reno, and those dives in Mississippi.”
“How do you know which casinos are slick, and which aren’t?” Pash asked when he was finished eating. “Isn’t that information secret?”
Gerry pulled out a business card and slid it across the table. “It is secret. But he has access to it.”
Pash stared at the card. “Grift Sense? Who is Tony Valentine?”
“My father. It’s his business. He helps casinos catch cheaters.”
“Your father is a policeman?”
“Retired.”
“Do you work with him?”
“I’m his partner. I’m getting my cards next week.”
Pash tore away the paper napkin tucked in his collar. He suddenly looked scared. “Why are you telling me this? What do you want?”
Gerry smiled at him. “My father sent me to Bart’s school to learn card-counting. What I learned was, it’s a good business, and it isn’t illegal. There’s only one drawback, and that’s if you get photographed. Then you’re screwed.
“My father does consulting work for casinos all over the country. He knows which casinos have sophisticated surveillance equipment, and which don’t. Did you know that the Mississippi riverboats have the least amount of surveillance equipment?”
“Why is that?”
“The riverboats are made of wood and have certain weight restrictions. They cut down on the cameras and recording equipment so they can carry more passengers.”
“This is very valuable information.”
Gerry had gotten his attention, and leaned forward. “You and Amin have worn out your welcome here. You need to move to greener pastures, and I can help you.”
Pash fingered the business card and said, “How much do you want?”
“One-third, same as now.”
“Will you still rat-hole chips for us?”
“On weekends, sure. It will be a breeze.”
“A breeze?”
“Easy as pie. Your risk of getting caught will drop to zero.”
“You think so?”
Gerry nodded. He’d thought it out and saw no flaws in his plan. “There’s a brand-new casino opening every week. Most don’t know their ass from third base when it comes to spotting counters. I’ll tell you and Amin where those casinos are.” He smiled, saw Pash smile along with him. “You’ll be in fat city.”
“Fat city? Where is that?”
Gerry took out his wallet and paid for the meal.
“It’s right next door to heaven,” he said.
19
Valentine spent the morning on the balcony of his suite, enjoying the beautiful weather while waiting for Gerry to call him back. By noon, his patience had run out, and he called the Red Roost Inn. The manager answered sounding all out of breath.
“I hate to cause you work, but would you mind going to my son’s room and knocking on his door? I haven’t spoken to him in days. Save an old man from worry.”
The manager said sure and dropped the phone on the desk. Valentine found himself grinning. He’d never used the senior citizen angle before and was surprised at how well it worked. Maybe getting old wasn’t so bad.
“Room’s empty,” the manager said when he returned. “Your son came by earlier, asked if I had a road map he could look at. I think he was going to Pahrump.”
“Is that an animal, mineral, or vegetable?”
“It’s a little town up in the mountains, about an hour’s drive.”
“What’s the attraction?”
“Beats me,” the manager said.
Valentine thanked him, and hung up feeling mad as hell. There was no doubt in his mind that Gerry was avoiding him. Some days, he wondered why he wasted his time trying to help his son. Going back inside, he slammed the slider closed.
The surveillance photograph of Frank Fontaine lay on the dining room table, beside it the cordless phone. He’d been weighing calling Bill Higgins for several hours. Fontaine had cost Las Vegas’s casinos millions over the years, and Bill would start an investigation once he’d heard that Fontaine had ripped the Acropolis off.
What had stopped him from calling was Lucy Price. He’d left breakfast this morning convinced Fontaine had tricked her into participating in his scam. The sixty-four-thousand-dollar question was, how had he done it? If he could find out, he might be able to save Lucy from getting hauled off to jail.
He removed the card with her phone numbers from his wallet, then picked up the phone. She’d left breakfast pretty angry, and he wondered if she’d take his call. There was only one way to find out, and he called her at home. She answered on the first ring.
“I need to talk to you,” he said.
Lucy lived in a modest condo in the community of Garden Terrace in Summerlin, ten minutes from the Strip. He arrived at her front door at twelve-thirty, expecting to take her to lunch. She was wearing jeans and a faded red polo shirt. It was a great color on her.
“My turn, this time,” she said, ushering him inside.
The place wasn’t much to look at—a sagging couch, an ancient TV with rabbit ears, a few mismatched chairs, some art show prints on the walls—but she’d somehow made it feel like home. As he followed her into the dining room, he noticed an abundance of flowers and potted plants that tied it all together. She had a green thumb; something was blooming wherever he looked.
She’d set the dining room table for two. On it was a basket of toasted bread, a bowl of tuna fish, another of egg salad, a basket of potato chips, and two glasses of lemonade. It reminded him of the picnic lunches he and Lois had shared when they’d first dated. He pulled out Lucy’s chair.
“Such a gentleman,” she said, taking her seat.
He sat across from her. Staring into her eyes, he saw a slight puffiness. Had he made her cry earlier? He nearly asked her, then bit his tongue.
“How was your morning?” she asked.
He took two slices of toast when she offered him the basket, and made a tuna fish sandwich under her watchful gaze. “I watched some surveillance tapes.”
“Learn anything?”
