“Sit down,” his superior said.
Valentine’s ass hit the seat. He watched Banko pull open his desk drawer and remove an envelope marked EVIDENCE. From it Banko removed a stack of poker chips, and held them in his outstretched hand. “Ever see one of these before?”
He stared at the chips. Five reds, or what gamblers called nickels. He guessed they weren’t normal, and said, “I don’t know. What are they?”
Banko flipped the chips over on his palm. They weren’t chips at all, but a hollow brass cup painted to look like chips. Reaching into his desk, Banko removed four black hundred dollar chips, and handed all of it to Valentine. “It’s called a chip cup. A pit boss at Resorts found it on a blackjack table two days ago. We’re holding the dealer. The four hundred dollar chips were hidden inside the cup.”
Valentine loaded the four hundreds into the cup. They fit perfectly. He didn’t know much about casino games, and tried to guess how the stealing was taking place.
“I give up,” he finally said. “What’s the scam?”
Banko smiled triumphantly. The rift between them had started when another cop had asked Valentine if he thought Banko dyed his hair. Valentine said no, he just thought Banko was going prematurely orange. The remark had gotten back to Banko, and they had been at war ever since. The truth was, Valentine didn’t care that Banko didn’t like him. Banko had risen in the ranks by kissing ass. Valentine had never kissed an ass a day in his life.
“It’s simple,” Banko said. “I’m a crooked blackjack dealer, and you’re my partner. You sit at my table, and make a bet with the chip cup. You purposely make a bad bet, and lose. When I pick up your bet, I use it to cover another bet —”
“The four hundreds,” Valentine said.
“Correct. They disappear inside the cup. I put the cup in my tray, only it goes with the other red chips. The hundreds disappear.”
“Doesn’t the casino notice?”
“There’s no way for them
Valentine turned the chip cup over on his palm. Instead of stealing the house’s money, the crooked dealer was stealing a player’s money, which the player had just lost. “What’s going to happen to the dealer?”
“He’s screwed,” Banko said. “He got caught in Reno pulling the same scam. Went to the federal pen to iron out a nickel. Did two and a half to parole.”
“What’s he facing here?”
“Seven-to-ten.”
“Who explained the scam to you?”
“Special Agent Bill Higgins of the Nevada Gaming Control Board’s investigation unit. We talked over the phone. The GCB is loaning him as an expert witness to help us prosecute the dealer.”
Valentine was surprised. After New Jersey voters legalized casino gambling, the state had decided not to talk to anyone who’d ever worked in the Nevada gaming industry. While never publicly stated, the message was clear: New Jersey didn’t want Nevada’s organized crime families invading their little town by the shore. A great idea, except the mob had been in Atlantic City for as long as Valentine could remember.
“I thought Nevada was having nothing to do with us,” Valentine said.
“They’re making an exception with this case.” The phone on Banko’s desk lit up. Ignoring it, he went on. “Higgins is flying into town. I want you to meet him, see if you can learn some pointers.”
“What’s he like?”
“He’s full of himself. I’m sure you’ll get along fine.”
Valentine had always enjoyed a challenge, and decided that he’d like to meet Higgins. Then it dawned on him what his boss had just said.
“Am I working
Banko leaned back in his chair and nodded. “That’s right. I’m putting you in charge of our new Casino Investigation Division. You’ll work inside the casino with the surveillance department to stop the casino from being swindled. You’ll get to pick another detective to work with you.”
Valentine felt the blood drain from his head. Fifteen years of busting his hump catching thieves and pimps and murderers and now he was being taken off the street. It wasn’t a demotion, it was a kick in the teeth, and he realized that Banko had finally found a way to pay him back for the orange hair crack. “What if I don’t want the job?” he said.
“This is a promotion, Tony. More pay, better hours —”
“I don’t want a desk job. I want to be where the action is.”
“You’ll see plenty of action inside the casino.”
A copy of that day’s Camden Union Register lay face-up on the desk. Valentine stabbed his finger at the headline. ATLANTIC CITY KILLER STILL AT LARGE. POLICE BAFFLED. “You’ve got three women raped and murdered in three weeks, no leads, and every woman on the island walking around scared for her life. Come on sarge, let me have this one. You know this is right up my alley.”
“No,” Banko said.
“The killer’s got to be local. I’ll use my contacts to track him down, make the department look good. What do you say?”
“I already put in the paperwork. I have reasons for wanting you inside the casino, Tony. You start
