They grabbed a table in the cocktail lounge, and Suzie pulled a deck of cards from her purse. She sat directly across from him, her knees knocking against his. As Valentine dealt seven hands of cards onto the table, he adroitly pulled back his chair.
“Kelly deals Seven Card Stud, and has seven players at his table. Each player gets seven cards, with five coming faceup.” He pointed at the third, sixth and seven hands. In each hand, the third card showing was an ace. “Let’s say he wants to give these aces to his partner. He scoops the hands up when the game is over, and makes sure they go on the desk last. Then he false shuffles, and deals out seven cards. Voila — his agent, who’s sitting in the third seat, gets three aces.”
“What’s a false shuffle?”
“It’s a card-cheating move.”
“Please show me.”
The request was delivered with a twinkle in her eye, and he had a feeling that Suzie was enjoying herself. He separated the cards into reds and blacks, and gave the deck a false-shuffle. He’d learned to false-shuffle from a New Jersey wizard named Herb Zarrow, who’d revolutionized card handling with a shuffle which bore his name. Finished, he showed her that the cards were still separated by color. Suzie shook her head helplessly.
“Is Kelly as good as you?”
“No, but he doesn’t have to be.”
“Why’s that?”
“Because he’s the house dealer. Everyone trusts him.”
Suzie put her elbows on the table and looked into his eyes. She was a hell of a nice woman, only he wasn’t going there right now. Dating at his age was never an easy proposition. “I was thinking of firing Kelly, but now I think he should be arrested,” Suzie said. “Do you agree?”
“Absolutely.”
“Whose his agent?”
“The fourth player at the table.”
“The older woman with the wig? You can’t be serious.”
“I’m always serious,” Valentine said.
Gerry the prodigal son had entered the lounge, and was waving to him. There was a panicked look on his face, and Valentine wondered how much money his son had lost.
“I’ll be happy to be an expert witness, if it comes to trial,” Valentine said.
“Thank you,” she said.
They simultaneously rose from the table and practically banged heads. Without warning, Suzie took his head with her hands and planted a kiss on his cheek. It was his turn to blush, and he caught her winking at him as she walked away.
“Lose the rent yet?” Valentine asked as Gerry sat down. His son had just turned thirty-six, and with his salt- and-pepper hair, long Italian nose and dark coloring, bore more than a passing resemblance to his father.
“You know I can’t come to the track and not place a bet,” Gerry said. “Besides, I saw someone I knew at the betting windows.”
“Was it that stripper you once dated?”
“Cut it out, Pop, will you? The guy I saw was a crook.”
“Did you have a nice conversation?”
Gerry leaned forward. There was a look on his face that Valentine hadn’t seen very many times: His serious look. Lowering his voice, Gerry said, “I think the next race might be fixed.”
“Why do you think that?”
With his head, Gerry indicated a couple seated on the opposite side of the lounge. They were straight out of a 1930's gangster movie; the mustachioed man wore a shiny, sharkskin suit, his moll a baby-doll red dress with her face painted like a Kewpie doll. “That guy came into my bar two years ago, tried to place a huge bet on a horse race at Hialeah. I refused. Later, I heard the race was fixed, and he took another bookie for a huge score. Well, I just saw that guy make a
“Fixed the race how?”
“Silking,” his son said.
Valentine leaned back in his chair, surprised that his son was willing to rat out another crook. Gerry had been on the wrong side of the law since he was a teenager, and dishonesty was a hard thing to change.
“What’s silking?” Valentine asked.
“You’ve never heard of it?”
Valentine had policed Atlantic City’s casinos for twenty-five years, and knew every casino scam and greasy hustle ever invented. The ponies were a different story, his knowledge limited to things he’d heard about, and not experienced firsthand.
“No.”
“The bookie I apprenticed with was named Fred Flammer. The first scam Flam taught me was silking. Said it was invented in England, where it was considered an art among cheaters. Look pop, we need to hurry. Corky’s Boy is in the next race.”
Valentine rose from his chair. “Did you see the woman I was just talking to?”
“How could I miss her? She was hot.”
“She’s the owner’s daughter. You need to tell her what’s going on.”
“Sure.”
As Gerry rose, he took a cocktail napkin from a dispenser on the table, and handed it to his father.
“You’ve got lipstick all over your face,” his son said.
Suzie Brinkman’s office was located on the top floor of the track’s club house. Valentine rapped on the door and moments later it opened, and a track steward stuck his head out. He wore a blue blazer and a yellow tie, and was as chummy as a marine drill sergeant. Valentine looked over his shoulder, and saw Suzie Brinkman standing by a picture window that overlooked the track, a pair of binoculars in hand.
“What do you want?” the steward growled.
“Tony and Gerry Valentine to see Ms. Brinkman.”
“Never heard of you.”
Valentine handed him a business card.
“Grift Sense? What the hell is that?”
“My company,” Valentine said.
Hearing his voice, Suzie spun around and smiled. He had become eligible for Social Security a few months ago, and something about that smile told him getting old wasn’t as bad as people thought. Suzie ushered them past the pit bull, and Valentine introduced his son, then asked if there was someplace they could speak in private. Suzie glanced at the steward, who had not taken his eyes off Valentine. “Bern is my father’s right hand. You can say anything you wish around him.”
“My son spotted a known horse-cheater placing a large bet at one of your cages,” Valentine said. “We think the next race is fixed.”
Suzie looked startled. “Do you know which horse?”
“Corky’s Boy in the sixth.”
“That’s right. He’s running at 30 to 1 odds —
“I know which horse he is,” Suzie said, dropping herself in a chair. “That’s Randall’s horse, isn’t it?” she said to her steward.
“Yes, ma’am,” Bern replied. “Came in this morning from Miami.”
“You know the owner?” Valentine asked.
Suzie nodded. “Randall is a business associate of my father’s, and owes him a great deal of money. Randall called yesterday, and asked that I let his horse run. He said it would be his final race before he put it out to pasture. And I fell for it.”
