wastebasket. He palms them when he’s putting cards into the discard tray. Then he grabs a tissue to blow his nose. The tissue hides the palmed cards. He drops the tissue and the cards into the wastebasket.”
“So he’s shorting the shoe so it favors the players,” Kent said.
“Exactly.”
“Looks like we win forty big ones,” Boomer said.
Lamar was examining the can and didn’t appear ready to give in. “Just hold on a second. Every night, the blackjack dealers are required to count their cards. I’ve personally supervised them. Table seventeen has never come up short. If the dealer is palming babies out, why didn’t it show up in the count?”
There was real skepticism in his voice. Gerry smiled. “The dealer adds them back.”
“How?”
“As he counts, he drops some on the floor. At the same time, he kicks the can over. He picks up the cards he dropped and adds the babies.”
“What if they’ve got snot on them?”
Gerry’s smile grew. “I guess he blames it on his cold.”
Lamar rolled his eyes. Kent and Boomer started braying like mules, and Lamar reluctantly handed them his money.
“Isabelle tells me you’re an authority on casino cheating,” Clarkson said.
They were standing outside the hospital, Clarkson a smoker and needing a fix, Gerry joining him because he suddenly needed one as well, the events of the day having caught up to him like a tidal wave that he could no longer outswim. Clarkson was in his thirties, tall and broad-shouldered, and looked every inch a cop.
“My father’s the authority. I’m just learning the ropes.”
Clarkson exhaled two purple plumes through his nostrils. Gerry liked the way his answer had come out. And it wasn’t a lie.
“Any idea how Huck Dubb found you so easily?” the detective asked.
There was an accusing tone in his voice.
“I didn’t call him, if that’s what you’re thinking.”
Clarkson smiled; only, it wasn’t a smile. More a widening of his mouth as he sucked in a monster cloud of smoke. “Did you call anyone else?”
“My father. I was stuck on a scam that Lamar had showed me, so I called him, and he doped it out for me.”
There it was again: the truth. It didn’t hurt nearly as much as he thought it would.
“Nobody local?” Clarkson asked. “Like the hotel or something?”
“Nope.”
“Your father nearby?”
“Slippery Rock, North Carolina.”
Clarkson used the dying cigarette to light another. “Might your father have called someone?”
“We have our disagreements, but nothing like that.”
Clarkson grimaced at the stupidity of what he’d just said. The cell phone in Clarkson’s pocket rang. He pulled it out and flipped the phone open. “Detective Clarkson, at your service.” He listened for a moment, then cupped his hand over the mouthpiece. “It’s Isabelle. She’s getting takeout from Best Steaks in the South and wants to know what you’d like.”
Gerry found himself grinning. He had eaten there last night and assumed that
“Hamburger, medium rare, onions,” he said.
Clarkson relayed his order, then asked for the same, well done. Gerry watched him say good-bye and put the cell phone away. Then he stared out at the hospital parking lot. It was a crystal-clear afternoon, the sun mirrored in each of the cars’ rooftops. His father had told him he sometimes had epiphanies and was able to make sense out of situations that seemingly had none. Gerry realized he was having one now and that his fingers and toes were tingling.
He looked at Clarkson. “I just figured it out,” he said.
“What’s that?” the detective asked, grinding out his butt.
“How Huck Dubb knew where to find me.”
Clarkson got in his face. “How?”
“I had dinner at Best Steaks in the South last night. After I left, the Dubb brothers tried to kill me. Someone in the restaurant called them. That same person saw me go into the trailer today and called Huck.”
“But you said the parking lot was empty when you entered the trailer.”
“It was.”
“Then how did this person see you? I’ve been in that restaurant plenty of times. There aren’t any windows.”
“There’s a surveillance camera on the corner of the building,” Gerry said. “I saw it last night. The rat in the restaurant is pointing the camera across the street at the casino. He saw me go into the trailer and called Huck.”
Clarkson gave him his best aw-shucks smile. “Damn! You sure you weren’t once a cop?”
Gerry shook his head. He watched Clarkson whip out his cell phone and call his superiors. Within a minute, he’d arranged to have the steakhouse raided. The tingling sensation in his fingers had not gone away, and Gerry stared at his hands. Then he realized what it was. No one had ever mistaken him for a cop before. He imagined his mother up in heaven, looking down and smiling at him.
36
Huck Dubb was sitting in the study of his grandma’s house, staring at her computer. He’d bought it for her last Christmas and used it to send and receive e-mail. Most of the men he ran with had similar setups. They had computers at relatives’ houses, and nothing was in their own names. His grandma entered the study. She’d been wearing a bathrobe and slippers for the past ten years of her life. She was holding a fried steak sandwich on a paper plate.
“Eat this,” she insisted. “You’re looking puny.”
“Don’t want it,” he said.
“Don’t talk back to me, boy. I said, eat it.”
His grandma had practically raised him and his retarded brother; disobeying her was an insult to all the sacrifices she’d made. He took the sandwich and bit into it. The effort made his wounded ear hurt. He’d rubbed cocaine on it, and the pain had gone away. But that was the little pain. The big pain was still raging out of control inside of him.
“You want some iced tea?” she asked. “I made it extra sweet.”
“Do I have a choice?”
“Love some,” he said.
She shuffled out, and he resumed staring at the computer. On the screen was a live feed from the surveillance camera outside Best Steaks in the South. The camera had pan/tilt/zoom lenses and was focused on the parking lot across the street. His cousin Buford, who owned the restaurant, had been sending him the feed for weeks. What Huck was hoping for was a repeat—Gerry Valentine coming back to the trailer, and Huck jumping into his car and going and shooting the son of a bitch.
Two sedans pulled up to the restaurant. Four cops jumped out of each. They drew their sidearms and entered the restaurant in single file. Huck’s cell phone rang. He stared at the caller ID. It was Buford.
“You watchin’ this?” his cousin asked.
“Yeah,” Huck said. “Where you?”
“In my office at the restaurant, staring at my computer. What am I gonna do?”
