“You’re not going to drop charges?”
“No.”
Izzie threw the leaking ice bag at him. “You prick!”
Valentine jumped up and kicked Izzie’s chair out from under him. It was a move that Banko had taught every cop in Atlantic City, and Izzie hit the floor and yelped.
“Cut it out!” he cried.
“Come on, let’s make a deal,” Izzie said an hour later. Handcuffed to the leg of his chair, he sat with his shoulders hunched forward and a pained expression on his face. Stump had made a second appearance, and done a good job convincing Izzie that he and his brothers were going to the big house, where, because of their diminutive size, they would be brutally victimized by the other prisoners. As Stump had left, he’d shot Valentine a little smile.
“What kind of deal?” Valentine said.
“You want a scalp, right? Let’s forget Vinny, and talk about some real scalps.”
Valentine leaned back in his chair. “You know something I don’t?”
“I sure do.”
“Let’s hear it.”
“Your casino is getting ripped off,” Izzie said. “My guess is, you’re losing fifty grand a week, maybe more.”
“To who?”
“Professional gangs of cheaters, working different shifts.”
“Cut the bull. Tell me Vinny’s last name, or the DA will throw the book at you.”
Izzie stared at him with his good eye. “You’re just like every other casino cop. You
Izzie was being serious. Valentine leaned forward. “What’s the price tag?”
“Let me and my brothers go.”
By law, Valentine had to let the Hirsch brothers go. Only Izzie was scared, and he decided to milk that fear as much as he could. Taking the handcuff key from his pocket, he uncuffed his prisoner from the leg of his chair.
“Show me,” he said.
Chapter 29
They drove to Resorts in Valentine’s Pinto. Along with being a fire trap, his car was also a lemon, and sputtered uncertainly each time he put his foot to the gas. Izzie seemed amused, and Valentine caught him smirking several times.
“If you can beat any casino, why don’t you live in Las Vegas?” Valentine asked.
“You’re joking, right?”
“Why, is Vegas dangerous?”
“The casino owners out there will put a bullet in your head and bury you in the desert if they catch you cheating. Road hustling is easy.”
“Is that what you do?”
“Yeah. Guys who cheat private games are called hustlers. Guys who travel and cheat are called road hustlers, and guys who cheat casinos are called cross roaders.”
“You know a lot of hustlers?”
“Sure. I bump into other hustlers in games all the time.”
“What do you say — ‘Hey, I was here first?’”
They had reached Resorts. The valet wrote up a ticket, and they walked through the front doors. “Say I’m working a game,” Izzie said, “and another hustler sits down, and starts cheating. I’ll talk about a hunting trip I took, and how I killed some rabbits. That’s a signal that I’m a cheater.”
“Rabbits?”
“That’s right. Usually he’ll ask in code if I’ll cut him in.”
“Will you?”
“Sure. It’s good etiquette.”
They walked around the packed casino. Izzie’s purple eye was drawing stares, and they went to the cocktail lounge and grabbed a table.
“So how did you learn this stuff?” Valentine asked. “Did you have a teacher?”
“Everyone in my family cheated,” Izzie said. “They taught me the moves, and I practiced in front of a mirror. Once I felt confident, I tried the moves out in a soft game. Then, I graduated up to bigger games.”
“How about cross roaders? What’s their deal?”
“Cross roaders are different. They’re tough people, and most have criminal records. They’ll get together in
