them that you saw George Scalzo get rubbed out?”
That was a good question. Two FBI agents had watched Scalzo die, and he suspected that the small plane they’d seen circling overhead was also law enforcement. Sammy Mann had said the cheating at the World Poker Showdown would get cleaned up after the tournament ended, and he suspected the people in town who ran things had decided that the process should be sped up.
“They already know,” he said.
48
Gloria did not feel well as she pulled into a roadside bar and grill. They went in and Valentine took a seat at the bar, while she searched for a restroom. Two sunburned guys sat at the other end of the bar, their rugged faces bathed in the artificial light of video poker games. He ordered coffee and stared at the TV perched above the bar. It was tuned to the cable channel showing the World Poker Showdown. A commercial for an online gambling site was on.
The coffee was good and strong. He drank it black and felt it warm his insides. He’d come to the conclusion that everyone on the planet had an addiction. His was caffeine. It got his heart going and made him think more clearly. He hadn’t wanted to see Scalzo get whacked, but wasn’t going to lose any sleep over it. He believed in the rule of law, and considered cops and law enforcement people who broke the law in order to put criminals away to be rogues. But he also understood that sometimes the rule of law didn’t work, and people took matters into their own hands. The world was a better place with George Scalzo gone.
His phone vibrated in his pocket. He pulled it out and looked at it. Gerry. There had been times in his life when he hadn’t looked forward to calls from his son. He was happy that had changed. “What’s up?”
“Where are you?” his son asked.
“In the middle of nowhere,” Valentine said. “Scalzo is out of the picture. Case closed.”
“No, it’s not,” Gerry said.
Valentine put his coffee cup down. He sensed his son knew something that he didn’t. “What do you mean? Why isn’t the case over?”
“Because DeMarco just won the World Poker Showdown,” Gerry said.
“You’re kidding me, right?”
“Afraid not. He started out losing a few hands, and everyone at the table was equal in chips. DeMarco looked beatable. Then he came back strong and wiped his opponents out.”
“Was he cheating?”
“No, Pop. There was a new dealer at the table and a new deck of cards. DeMarco played the final table on the square. It was really something to watch.”
Gloria came out of the ladies’ room looking pale. She sat next to him at the bar and ordered a sparkling water. Valentine asked, “What do you mean, Gerry?”
“DeMarco took a lot of chances, even bluffed a couple of times. I hate to say it, Pop, but he’s a helluva poker player.”
“You think so? He didn’t just get lucky?”
“Luck had nothing to do with it,” Gerry said. “Pop, I need to beat it. They’re about to give DeMarco his prize, and I want to hear what he has to say.”
Valentine said good-bye and folded the phone. On the TV, the commercial was over, the tournament back on. DeMarco sat at a table surrounded by his ten-million-dollar prize. Dangling off his wrist was the sparkling diamond and platinum bracelet that came with winning the event. Beside him sat the CEO of Celebrity, a ham-faced guy with a loose smile and a loud tie. Clutched in the CEO’s hand was a microphone.
“So, champ,” the CEO said, “how does it feel to beat the best poker players in the world?”
“It feels pretty good,” DeMarco admitted.
“You predicted you’d win the tournament, and you did. Did you come here believing you were the favorite?”
“If I did, I was mistaken,” DeMarco said.
The CEO lifted his eyebrows in mock surprise.
“Really?”
“There were plenty of players in the event who could have won.”
“Sounds like winning has humbled you.”
DeMarco tilted his head almost imperceptibly.
“One of the players you knocked out called you a cheater and challenged you to play heads up,” the CEO said. “His name is Rufus Steele, and you agreed to play Steele if he could raise a million dollars. I’m told that Steele has raised the money and is itching to take you on. Are you still up for playing him?”
DeMarco straightened in his chair and his face turned expressionless. He’d just beaten the best players in the world, and adrenaline was pumping through his veins. But Steele was a different animal. Steele didn’t want his money. He wanted revenge.
“Bring him on,” DeMarco said, the swagger returning to his voice.
“When?”
“How about right now?”
“You sound ready for a fight,” the CEO said.
“No disrespect, but Rufus Steele is past his prime, and I’m entering mine,” DeMarco said. “I’ll play him anytime, anywhere.”
“Eieee!” Gloria said, jumping up from her chair at the bar. The color had returned to her cheeks and her eyes were blazing. “This is my story! Come on!”
They were speeding down the highway toward Celebrity when Valentine’s cell phone started vibrating. He’d been the last person he knew to buy a cell phone, and now he couldn’t live without one. He stared at the phone’s face. CALLER UNKNOWN.
“Valentine here,” he answered.
“Hey pardner,” Rufus Steele’s voice rang out. “You anywhere near the hotel?”
“I’m about five minutes away.”
“Good,” Steele said. “I just agreed to play that punk DeMarco. I threw in a little stipulation, just to keep things honest.”
“What kind of stipulation?”
“You’re the dealer,” Steele said.
49
Gloria Curtis hadn’t lasted twenty-five years as a newscaster by being a wallflower. Upon reaching the hotel, she cornered the tournament director and convinced him to let her announce DeMarco and Steele’s showdown, then persuaded the hotel’s general manager to let the event be played in the poker room. Once that was arranged, she hit every bar and restaurant in the hotel, rustled up a few dozen well-known players still hanging around, and talked them into sitting ringside.
“You really know how to set a stage,” Valentine said, shuffling the cards at the table where the match was to be held.
Gloria stood beside him with a pencil stuck between her teeth, studying the room. Removing the pencil, she said, “There’s something still missing.”
“What’s that?”
“Steele will be dressed up, and so will DeMarco. I think you need to be dressed up as well.”
With the tournament now over, he’d switched out of his geezer disguise and was wearing his last clean shirt and sports jacket. “What do you want me to change into?”
“A dealer’s uniform,” she said.
A dealer’s uniform consisted of a white ruffled tuxedo shirt, a black bow tie, and a black vest. It was a monkey suit, sans the jacket.
“You’re going to be on television and need to look the part,” she added.
