the little old ladies who played the slots.”
“Little old ladies?”
“Yeah. And I fell for it.”
They shared a good laugh. Hustlers had been using little old ladies in their scams since the beginning of time. And it still worked.
They started to walk out of the casino when Valentine heard his cell phone ring. He pulled it from his pocket and stared at its face. CALLER UNKNOWN. He imagined Gerry calling him from a pay phone, and answered it.
“Tony? This is Lucy Price.”
It was the last person he expected to hear from. Saturday night, and she was home alone. “Can I call you right back?”
“Don’t hang up,” she said.
“Look, I’m in the middle of something important.”
He frowned. Hadn’t she told him off a few hours ago?
“Okay, I’m not hanging up.”
She sniffled into the phone. “I-I have someone here who wants to talk to you.”
“Who’s that?”
“Him.”
“Who’s him?”
Valentine thought back to Albert Moss’s remark just before he’d cut him:
“Fontaine?” he asked.
“Yes,” she said.
He looked at Nick and saw the little Greek start to punch the air.
“Put him on,” Valentine said.
30
It was pitch dark when he drove his rental into Lucy Price’s neighborhood in Summerlin. Fontaine had threatened to kill her, and Valentine had believed him. Twenty years ago, Fontaine had killed Valentine’s brother-in-law in Atlantic City. Stomped him to death on the Boardwalk while a group of other hoodlums had watched. He was different from any other cheater Valentine had ever known, and a true sociopath.
“Come alone,” he’d said, “or I’ll put a bullet in her head.”
So Valentine had driven to Lucy’s condo by himself. Nick had offered to send a car of security goons for backup, and he was glad he hadn’t taken Nick up on the offer. A few blocks from Lucy’s house, a car parked on the curb put its headlights on and pulled out. He was being tailed.
Her neighborhood was quiet, everyone inside eating dinner. Taking out his cell phone, he retrieved Bill Higgins’s home number from its memory bank and hit SEND. His friend answered on the third ring. Valentine quickly told Bill what was going on.
“Don’t go in there alone,” Bill said.
Valentine looked at his watch. Six fifty-four. Fontaine had told him to arrive no later than seven o’clock. The smart thing was to wait for backup. But if he waited too long, Lucy would end up lying on a cold slab in a morgue.
“I have to,” he said.
“You know this woman?” Bill asked.
“I met her yesterday.”
“You armed?”
Valentine was more than armed; he was a walking commando, courtesy of the cache of weapons Nick kept in his office safe. Valentine had taken every gun he could shove into his pockets. He’d been waiting a long time to pay Fontaine back.
“To the teeth.”
“Give me the address.”
He told Bill where Lucy lived.
“Stall Fontaine for a few minutes,” Bill said. “I’ll get backup over there pronto.”
It was the closest thing he had to a plan, and Valentine thanked him. Bill raised his voice. “You be careful, hear me?” and then he was gone.
Valentine passed one of the area’s many golf courses and spied a kid hitting drives off a fairway in the dark. At Lucy’s street he flipped his indicator on. The tail did the same. Making no pretense about following him.
He pulled up Lucy’s driveway. The motion-triggered floodlight above the garage door came on. He got out of the car, feeling naked in the bright light. The tail parked a block away, the driver watching him.
He drew a .38 from his jacket and blew the light out. One shot was all it took, and he felt safe again.
The gunshot got a neighbor’s dog barking. He went to Lucy’s front door and glanced at his watch. Seven o’clock on the nose. He pressed the bell and stood to one side.
“It’s open,” a voice inside said.
He grabbed the handle with his free hand and cracked the door open. Light streamed out, cutting a blade in the darkness. He stared inside the condo. Lucy sat on a couch in the living room, facing the door. Fontaine sat beside her, holding a gun to her temple. It was a shitty little .22, just powerful enough to kill her.
Standing beside Fontaine was a straw-haired cowboy. Valentine remembered him from the scam at the Acropolis two years ago. The cowboy had tried to kill him with a lead pipe. He was the only member of the gang to get away.
“I’m coming in,” Valentine said.
“Be my guest,” Fontaine replied.
Driving over, Valentine had wrestled with how to handle this. One of Fontaine’s men would be hiding behind the door. That was a given. How he dealt with him was the big question.
He had two options. He could shoot him, and take him out of the picture. Only shooting blind was risky and a waste of bullets. Or he could use the door to take him out. He couldn’t miss with the door.
Using his shoulder, he opened the door very quickly and heard it bang against the man on the other side. He heard the man fall, and quickly stepped inside.
“That’s far enough,” the cowboy declared.
The cowboy was holding a stainless-steel Colt Anaconda by his side. The gun was thirteen and a half inches of pure menace. Valentine aimed the .38 at the cowboy’s chest, and saw a surprised look appear on his face. Like the cowboy had expected him to fight fair.
Valentine pumped three bullets into him. The cowboy staggered backward and fell onto a glass coffee table with a loud crash. He still looked surprised.
“Goddamn you,” Fontaine said, rocking Lucy’s head with the .22’s barrel.
Valentine took a step into the living room. Lucy stared at him, looking terrified and ashamed. He glanced behind the door. Fontaine’s man had rolled onto his back and was passed out.
“Lay your gun on the floor,” Fontaine said.
“Forget it.”
“I’ll kill her.”
“It’s all you’ll do,” Valentine told him.
Fontaine blinked, the realization sinking in. By sitting on the couch, he’d made himself an easy target. He couldn’t jump behind anything, or fall into a crouch.
“Don’t play that macho shit with me,” he said. “I found your pants in the bedroom. I’m going to shoot your lady. You want that?”
Valentine let the words play through his head.
