Wild Card

As a rule, they didn’t deal directly with anyone who worked at the casino, and they reacted cooly to Valentine’s bribe of fresh bagels and coffee.

“What do you want?” Carp growled at him.

Valentine had known Carp since junior high. Back then, Carp had worn his hair shellacked like James Dean, and smoked cigarettes behind the school with the greasers. These days, he didn’t have any hair, and wore cheap suits from Men’s Warehouse.

“I’m meeting with Resorts’ management next week,” Valentine said. “I’m supposed to show the impact Doyle and I are having on the casino’s profits.”

Carp snorted. “You lose.”

“Why?”

“Because you’re surveillance, and surveillance is the enemy of the bottom line.”

“It is?”

“Surveillance is the second-to-worst non-revenue generating department in Resorts,” Carp explained. “You only exist because the law says you have to.”

“Who brings up the rear?”

“Payroll.”

“I still think we’re making a difference,” Valentine said. “I want to examine the profits of the different games before, and after, Doyle and I entered the picture. If profits are up, it means there’s less cheating, and we’re improving the bottom line.”

Finkel tore apart one of the bagels. They had also gone to school together, yet somehow their paths had never crossed. When Carp had introduced them as classmates, Valentine had thought he was kidding.

“That’s not a bad idea,” Finkel said.

Carp shrugged indifferently. “Tony, it doesn’t matter what you say to upper management. It still won’t change their opinion of you.”

“Which is what?”

“You take up space, and don’t make money.”

“I still want to know,” Valentine said.

Finkel finished his bagel, then rose from his chair and went into the adjacent office. When he returned, he was carrying the casino’s financials for the past twelve months. They were huge reports, and he dropped them loudly on the floor.

“Ready when you are,” he said.

Lying had never been Valentine’s strong suit. Telling the auditors that he had a meeting with the top brass was dumb. A single phone call to Resorts, and his goose was cooked. He took a deep breath and said, “Okay.”

Finkel pulled up a chair. Then he picked up the top report, opened it, and started to read. “Resorts’ casino generates twenty million dollars a month in net revenue. Sixty percent from slots, the rest from the table games.” He flipped open to the section that showed the hold, which was the amount of money collected for each game, minus the number of chips sold. “The hold for blackjack was 13% before you started; for craps, 14%; for roulette, 15%.”

Finkel removed the bottom report from the stack, and flipped it open. “Let’s see. The hold for blackjack after you started jumped to 15%; for craps, 16%, and for roulette, 17%.” He looked up. “I think you’ve got a case, Tony.”

“They’re still going to hate you,” Carp chimed in. He’d thrown his feet onto his desk, and was blowing perfect smoke rings from his cigarette. “Expect less, and you’ll be disappointed.”

“How about the other games?” Valentine asked.

Finkel read the holds for the Asian domino game called pai gow and for baccarat. They had also increased.

“This is impressive,” Finkel said.

“Hate, hate, hate,” Carp said.

Valentine had already known what the numbers said. One of the first scams he’d uncovered at Resorts was a group of pit bosses letting family members and friends take down large credit lines, which they later paid back, interest free. By stopping this practice, the holds at all games had improved overnight.

“I need to write this down,” Valentine said.

Finkel crossed the office and opened a desk drawer in search of a pen. Valentine glanced at Carp, and saw that he wasn’t paying any attention. Taking the most recent report off Finkel’s chair, he flipped it open at the tab marked COMPS. There was a six-month summary, and he stared at the numbers.

ROOMS

$7,874,096

DRINKS

$2,360525

FOOD

$2,935,198

ENTERTAINMENT