evidence we have of foul play is him leaking the card, and since his hand is off the table, that isn’t technically cheating. I know it sounds stupid, Tony, but it’s the law.”
Valentine felt himself getting angry, and took a walk around the room. Old-time gamblers had a special name for conversations like this. They called them “Who shot John?” They were so ridiculous, there was absolutely nothing to compare them to.
When he came back, Bill was still standing there.
“So what do we do?” Valentine asked.
“We wait, and get another tape of Skins cheating,” Bill replied.
“You’re going to let Skins play some more?”
“I don’t have a choice.”
“But that’s crazy. It’s an elimination tournament. Every time Skins cheats, some poor guy is getting knocked out.”
“I want the evidence to stand up in court,” Bill said. “Look, you want to bust DeMarco at the same time, right? Grab the dealer and the equipment and figure out once and for all what the kid’s doing. Well, if we arrest Skins, and it doesn’t hold up, then neither will a case against DeMarco if we find evidence of him cheating. His attorney will be able to say we seized his client under false pretenses.”
“Hey,” the tech who’d originally replayed the tape for Valentine called out. “They’re back playing poker.”
Valentine and Bill went over to the tech’s monitor and stared at the screen.
Within ten minutes of play resuming, Skins chopped a card from his hand, stuck it beneath the table, and on the next hand, mucked the card in, and won the pot. DeMarco had folded and sat at the other end of the table, wearing a disgusted look on his face.
The tech replayed Skins doing the switch on a monitor. Bill cursed.
“Let me guess,” Valentine said. “The video isn’t good enough.”
“You don’t see the switch actually taking place,” Bill said. “It won’t fly in court.”
Valentine felt like kicking something. Nothing made him angrier than a cheater ripping off innocent people. He supposed it had something to do with the crime itself. The cheater wasn’t just stealing money. He was betraying a trust as well.
The tech spoke up. “Maybe I can help.”
“How?” Bill asked.
“There’s another surveillance camera on the table. The angle’s from the side.”
“Let’s see it,” Bill said.
The tech played the tape from the second surveillance camera. On this tape, the palmed card in Skins’s hand was visible while it rested on the table. Bill slapped the tech on the back.
“Let me know if you ever want to come work for the GCB,” Bill said.
“Thanks, Mr. Higgins.”
“Is that enough to nail him?” Valentine asked.
“Yes,” Bill said. “Now, how do I handle this, so we can expose DeMarco?”
Valentine pointed at the dealer on the monitor. “The dealer needs to be grabbed, plus whatever he brought to the table with him. Either he’s wearing transmitting equipment, or it’s hidden somewhere nearby.”
“How’s he sending the signals?”
“It happens when he deals the cards,” Valentine said.
“How’s DeMarco reading the signals?”
“Either he’s wearing an inner-canal earpiece, or a thumper strapped to his leg, or they’re coming through a cell phone on vibrate mode in his pocket.”
“You figured this all out just now?”
Valentine nodded, annoyed he hadn’t seen it sooner. The only way to effectively transmit information to a blind person was through sound. That was the secret to DeMarco’s scam. Now, Valentine just had to find out how the cards were being read, and the case could be put to bed.
Bill put his hand appreciatively on Valentine’s shoulder. “Good going,” his friend said.
Picking up the phone on the tech’s desk, Bill called downstairs to Celebrity’s head of security and informed him that they were coming downstairs to “freeze” the table where Skins and DeMarco were playing. The GCB’s greatest power was its ability to enter any casino, stop a game, and cart away the equipment for examination in their labs. Bill hung up the phone and looked at his watch. “Head of security needs five minutes to get his troops together.”
“You need to tell him to be prepared to grab Scalzo and his bodyguard as well,” Valentine said. “They might get violent when we expose what’s going on.”
“Good idea.” Bill reached for the phone when it began to ring. The tech answered it, then turned as white as a sheet. He meekly handed the receiver to Bill.
“It’s for you, Mr. Higgins. It’s the governor.”
Bill brought the receiver to his mouth. He identified himself, then listened to what the governor had to say. After a few moments, the puzzled look on Bill’s face turned to anger. He said good-bye and dropped the receiver loudly into its cradle on the desk.
“What’s wrong?” Valentine asked.
“The governor has ordered me not to disrupt the tournament.”
“He doesn’t want the bust being filmed and shown on national television.”
“Someone on the floor called him. He told me to arrest Skins after play ended for the day.”
Valentine stared at the live feed from the tournament on the tech’s monitor. The action at the feature table was heavy, with Skins involved in another monster pot. He felt something inside of him snap and headed for the door.
“Where are you going?” Bill called out.
“To put a stop to this,” Valentine said.
33
Valentine took the stairs two at a time down to Celebrity’s main floor. He was mad as hell, and his feet had a real bounce in them. Entering the poker room, he headed straight for the feature table.
He was going to take Skins out of the picture. Letting Skins continue to scam the tournament reminded him of drug stings he’d heard about that let dealers continue to sell narcotics while the cops built up evidence. The purpose was to get the guy at the top, but in Valentine’s view, that was wrong. Cops were supposed to protect the innocent, which meant stopping the crime the moment you saw it happening.
The feature table was aglow in the TV cameras’ bright lights. Eight players were at the table. Skins, DeMarco, and six other guys who were probably decent players but didn’t have a chance with two cheaters working them over.
Valentine came up behind Skins. There were two ways to deal with a cheater. You could arrest him, or scare him. Scaring a cheater had its benefits. The cheater never came back, and he’d tell his friends about the experience. The casino would get a reputation, which wasn’t a bad thing.
A security guard materialized in front of him. Blond, late twenties, and built like a small gorilla. “Please keep away from the table while play is going on,” the guard said.
“Isn’t this the no limit, sixty-and-over tournament?”
A smile appeared on the guard’s face. “No, sir. You must be lost.”
Valentine crossed the room to the cash bar. Taking out his wallet, he tossed a handful of cash in front of the bartender then picked up a tray sitting on the bar and balanced it on his upturned palm. “Six beers,” he said.
“Where are you taking my tray?” the bartender asked.
“I’m playing a joke on my friends. I’ll bring it back. Scout’s honor.”
The bartender pulled six beers from a cooler and put them on the tray. Valentine raised the tray to his face and approached the feature table with no one paying attention to him. A player at the table raised his arm and
