Текст книги "Deadman’s Poker"

Автор книги: James Swain

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Contents

Cover Page

Title Page

Dedication

Epigraph

A Brief Glossary of Useful Cheating Terms

Part I: Mr. Black and White

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Part II: Juice

Chapter 26

Chapter 27

Chapter 28

Chapter 29

Chapter 30

Chapter 31

Chapter 32

Chapter 33

Chapter 34

Chapter 35

Chapter 36

Chapter 37

Chapter 38

Chapter 39

Chapter 40

Part III: Shoot the Pickle

Chapter 41

Chapter 42

Chapter 43

Chapter 44

Chapter 45

Chapter 46

Chapter 47

Chapter 48

Chapter 49

Chapter 50

Chapter 51

Chapter 52

Also by James Swain

Praise for James Swain’s

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Preview of Deadman’s Bluff

Whatever your game, JAMES SWAIN’S Tony Valentine novels...

Copyright Page

For Margaret Swain

You’re never so slick that you can’t stand another greasing.

–Old gambling expression

A Brief Glossary of Useful Cheating Terms

Action

Any gambling activity.

Beef

A complaint.

Bleed

To cheat a game slowly.

Bustout joint

A casino that cheats its customers.

Cheater

One who practices fraud or deception. Also known as an advantage player, grifter, hustler, mechanic, rounder, or scammer.

Classmates

Two people working in collusion in a card game.

Cooler

A prearranged deck that is secretly switched for a deck in play. Also known as iron man.

Cooler mob

A group of cheaters who switch decks of cards.

Crossroader

A cheater who specializes in ripping off casinos.

Doing business

Cheating.

Feel a breeze

When you feel something unnatural going on, but don’t know what it is.

Gaff

A cheating device.

Gamer

Someone employed in the gambling industry.

Giving the office

Communicating through a secret code.

Greed factor

Winning too much, too often.

Grift sense

The ability to spot a scam or hustle. A compliment among hustlers.

Hairy leg

A moneyman who backs a game.

Half smart

Someone who thinks he’s smart, but isn’t.

Heat

Unwanted attention. Also called steam.

Hot seat

Where the sucker sits.

Joint

A casino.

Juice

Influence with the right people.

Muck

To switch cards.

Mucker

A cheater who specializes in switching cards.

On the square

A game that is played legitimately.

Peek joint

A setup allowing a hidden person to see someone’s hand during a card game.

Paper

Marked cards. Also known as paint.

Proposition bet

A bet that you can’t win, and won’t win. Also known as a proposition.

Ring game

A side game in a poker tournament.

Shiner

A reflecting device used to spot cards as they are dealt.

Shoot the pickle

To make a huge bet. To go for it.

Suckers

99 percent of the people who gamble. Also known as chumps, marks, pigeons, rubes, and vics (victims).

Tell

An unconscious signal that may be spotted by a knowledgeable player.

Texas Hold ’Em

A variation of poker invented by twelve ranch hands who had only a single deck of cards between them.

Tip your mitt

To inadvertently expose your hand or otherwise give away secret information.

Turn out

To teach somehow how to cheat.

Tush hog

A dangerous muscle man.

Whipsaw

Two partners in a poker game who try to force a third player out by raising and reraising each other.

Part I

Mr. Black and White

1

“I can beat any poker player in the world,” Jack Donovan whispered.

Gerry Valentine leaned on the cold metal arm of the hospital bed while staring into the eyes of his dying friend. They’d gone to grade school together, gotten hauled into the principal’s office a few dozen times, and when they’d gotten older, broken a bunch of laws together. They were as close as brothers, and to see lung cancer take Jack’s life away had been one of the most painful things Gerry had ever experienced.

“Think we should go find a game?” Gerry asked.

A weak smile crossed Jack’s lips. Gerry had flown into Atlantic City from Florida that morning and spent the afternoon at Jack’s bedside, reminiscing with his friend. When nightfall had come, the nurse on duty had allowed Gerry to stay well past visiting hours.

“I’m serious,” Jack whispered. “I can beat any player in any game.”

“Is this a scam?”

Jack was on oxygen, his voice barely audible. “Yeah. Came to me when I was getting chemotherapy. The gaff is invisible, and there’s no evidence left behind.”

Jack had been a scammer since they were teenagers, and he knew all the angles. A scam that didn’t leave evidence could make someone rich beyond their wildest dreams.

“And have you actually tried it out?” Gerry asked.

“What, you think I’m going to hustle the nurses?”

“So you don’t really know if it works,” Gerry said. “Stuff that looks good on paper doesn’t always work in the real world. Remember that time you fell in the fountain outside Caesars, and nearly drowned?”

Jack rolled his eyes. “Did you have to bring that up?”

“Sorry.”

“Look, Gerry, this is the crown jewels of poker cheating. I taught it to some guys who want to scam a poker tournament in Las Vegas. Only, now they’re reneging on their end of the deal.”

“How?”

“They won’t pay me. They know I’m dying, so they think they can screw me.”

Gerry didn’t think there was anything lower than what Jack was describing. Whoever had said there was honor among thieves hadn’t known many thieves.

“What do you want me to do?” Gerry asked.

“Remember Vinny Fountain?”

“Sure.”

“Vinny wants to buy the scam for a hundred grand. I want you to sell it to him and give the money to my mom. She’s living on federal assistance.”

Jack’s feet were sticking out at the end of the bed and Gerry pulled the blanket down to his toes. As a kid, Jack had been a runt, and everyone in the neighborhood had called him Little Jack. Then one summer he’d shot up like a beanpole, and lost the adjective.

“I need to stretch my legs,” Gerry said. “Want me to get you something?”

“What’s the matter?” his friend asked.

“I just need to think about this.”

“You scared your father will find out?”

Jack knew him too well. Gerry had joined his father’s casino consulting business a year ago. The casinos paid them to catch cheaters, and he didn’t think his father would be too happy to find out his son was selling cheating secrets to scammers.

“I could get somebody else,” Jack offered.

“No, I’ll do it,” Gerry said. “I just need to figure out how to keep my father in the dark. What’s this scam, anyway?”

Jack lifted his head and looked straight down at the floor. Gerry looked as well, and spotted a canvas bag lying beneath the bed. He knelt down and parted the bag with his fingers. Inside were a dozen decks of cards, and a metal strongbox with the words DANGER, DO NOT OPEN! printed in white letters across the front. Jack had always liked practical jokes. Gerry closed the bag, stood, and went to the door.

“You want something?”

“Get me a Coca-Cola,” Jack said.

The night Jack had fallen into the fountain outside Caesars Palace in Atlantic City and nearly drowned had been a classic example of a perfect scam gone wrong. Gerry knew this better than anyone else because he’d orchestrated it.

He walked through the hospital’s cafeteria and found the bin with iced sodas. He pulled two out, then selected a couple of sandwiches from the pre-fixed food section. When he went to pay, he caught the cashier yawning.

The wall clock said eleven o’clock. That didn’t seem real. He’d arrived at noon, and had been talking with Jack for most of the day. It was strange that the debacle at Caesars hadn’t come up before now; it had been the first and last time they’d tried to scam a casino together.

Gerry had been eighteen at the time. His father was a detective with the Atlantic City Police Department, and had been assigned to protect the island’s twelve casinos. His father knew more scams and greasy hustles than anyone around, and as a result, Gerry overheard a lot. One night, while his parents were doing the dishes, his father had told his mother that Caesars had seen a rash of marked cards called luminous readers. These cards could only be read by someone wearing glasses or contact lenses outfitted with special infrared material. Gerry, who’d been in the next room watching TV, immediately ran upstairs and called Jack on the phone.

“You’re not going to believe this,” Gerry told him.

Jack found an optometrist in town willing to fit him with special contact lenses to read luminous paint. The lenses were difficult to see through, and Jack spent several days walking around wearing them. When he stopped bumping into things, he called Gerry on the phone and told him he was ready to scam Caesars.

That night, Gerry drove Jack to Caesars in his father’s car. The casino was a replica of Caesars Palace in Las Vegas, only smaller and not nearly as opulent. Nothing in Atlantic City was as opulent as Las Vegas, yet it hadn’t stopped the place from making billions of dollars a year.

Caesars sat on Atlantic Avenue. Gerry pulled the car in front, and watched Jack put drops into his eyes, then pop the contact lenses in. Too many cops in Atlantic City knew Gerry, and he couldn’t walk into a casino without someone recognizing him. So, it was up to Jack to rip off the place.

“Good luck,” Gerry said.

“This is going to be like stealing candy from a baby,” Jack said.

Jack got out of the car, and walked across Caesars’ promenade. The place was fancy, with lots of nude statues and gushing water fountains. Jack walked directly into the largest fountain, his body flipping over the metal railing and going headfirst into the water. He had not practiced with the lenses at night, and was almost blind.

Gerry jumped out of the car and saved his friend from drowning, but not without getting collared by casino security, and by a cop for leaving his car illegally parked. When neither authority liked the bullshit story Gerry concocted to explain what had happened, his father was summoned. It had been a long night.

That had been many years ago. Now it seemed funny as hell, but the truth was, they could have both ended up in jail. That was how Gerry saw his past now; there were consequences for breaking the law. Getting married and having a baby had changed his perspective.

Gerry pressed the elevator button while holding the sodas and sandwiches against his chest. The hospital was quiet, and he waited while humming a song he couldn’t get out of his head. Finally he decided to take the stairs.

The stairwell had a dank smell. Halfway up, he heard footsteps, and looked up to see an Italian guy about his age coming down. The guy was dressed in black, had pocked skin and wore a scowl on his face. Normally, Italians were hospitable to other Italians. This guy wasn’t, and grunted under his breath when Gerry said hello.

“Suit yourself,” Gerry said when the guy was gone.

A minute later he walked into Jack’s room. The monitor next to Jack’s bed was beeping, and the oxygen tube that had been attached to his friend’s nose had been ripped out, and lay on the floor. Jack lay with his arms by his side, his chest violently heaving.

“Jack!”

Gerry hit the red emergency button on the wall to summon the nurses. He stared at the monitor; Jack’s oxygenation had fallen below 80 percent. He put his face a foot from his friend’s.

“Who did this?”

Jack’s eyes snapped open. “Hitman…”

“Hitman for who?”

“Guys I taught scam…”

“Why? You can’t hurt them.”

“Afraid I’d squeal…”

“Squeal about what?”

Jack’s hand came out from beneath the sheet. Clutched between his trembling fingers was a playing card. Gerry took the card: It was an ace of spades from the Celebrity Casino in Las Vegas.

“Is this part of the poker scam?”

Right then two nurses ran into the room. They pushed Gerry away from the hospital bed as they worked to get Jack’s oxygen intake back to normal. It was at that moment that Gerry noticed that the canvas bag underneath Jack’s bed was gone. He shouldered his way between the nurses and lowered his face next to Jack’s.

“What’s the scam?” Gerry whispered.

Something resembling a smile crossed Jack Donovan’s face, like he was happy to have pulled Gerry back into the fold. But then the look was replaced by one of pure fear.

“Tell me,” Gerry said.

Jack’s mouth moved up and down.

“I…so…”

“You so what?”

“I…so…”

“Come on.”

“Bye…Gerry.”

Jack’s mouth stopped moving. And then he stopped breathing. Jack had accepted that he was dying, and he had asked his friends to accept it as well. Gerry had tried, yet it didn’t make it any easier now that it had actually happened. He bowed his head and wept.

2

Tony Valentine could feel his son’s eyes burning his face. He knows the news isn’t good, Valentine thought. Still, it didn’t make this any easier. Hanging up the phone, Tony sat down on the couch beside his son. He put his hand on Gerry’s arm.

“The police are ruling it a suicide,” he said.

“What? What are they smoking?”

“I’m sorry, Gerry, but all the evidence is pointing that way.”

“For Christ’s sake, Pop, don’t take the company line on this.” Gerry put his bottled water on the coffee table in his father’s living room. “Jack was murdered. Take my word for it. I was there in the goddamn room.”

Eight days had passed since Jack Donovan’s death in the intensive care unit of the Atlantic City Medical Center. After Jack had been buried, Gerry had come home and asked his father to ride the coattails of the homicide detectives working the case. Still having juice with the Atlantic City Police Department, Valentine had obliged his son.

“Gerry, the only evidence you have is a suspicious-looking guy in the stairwell,” Valentine said. “The nurses are saying that Jack talked about ending his life when things got bad. Maybe that’s what he did.”

Indignation rose in his son’s face. “Jack was in the middle of telling me about this poker scam. Said it was the greatest thing since the baloney sandwich. I left, and that guy came into the room and pulled Jack’s tubes and beat on Jack’s chest. Jack said he was a hitman.”

“The police checked Jack’s room for fingerprints. The only prints besides Jack’s and the nurses’ were yours.”

“The police also found a pair of rubber gloves in the garbage pail by the door,” his son said. “The guy was a pro.”

“There isn’t any proof, Gerry.”

“What about the playing card Jack gave me? Isn’t that evidence?”

It was like déjà vu all over again. Valentine had examined Jack’s playing card for hours, found nothing, then sent it to an FBI forensic lab in Langley, Virginia, where he had a friend. All the tests had come back negative.

“The FBI didn’t find anything, Gerry. The card is normal.”

“No, it’s not,” his son said. “Remember that scam you told me about at the Silver Slipper in Las Vegas? Major Riddle, the owner, lost his casino to a poker scam that one of his dealers pulled off. How long did the police examine those cards?”

“Two weeks,” his father said.

“And the cards came up clean,” Gerry said. “Then they sent them to you, and what did you find? The cheaters used an X-acto knife to draw tiny lines on the faces of all the high cards. The dealer felt when high cards were going to Major Riddle, and he signaled the other players.”

“What does that have to do with this case, Gerry?”

“I’m saying that stuff gets missed. If Jack said that card was marked, then it was marked. You have to ask the Atlantic City police to start over.”

Valentine blew out his cheeks. He’d already called in a bunch of favors with the police in his hometown; any more and he might start losing friends. It didn’t help matters that Jack Donovan had been a scammer and had been run in many times.

“I’ll see what I can do,” Valentine said.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“It means that I’m running out of options, Gerry.”

“Come on, Pop. I’m begging you.”

Valentine stared at the videotapes stacked next to his VCR/DVD player. He was on monthly retainer for dozens of casinos, and every day got a videotape from a client who thought his casino had been ripped off. He’d been neglecting his work to help Gerry, and couldn’t continue to ignore his customers without it affecting his income.

“I’m trying, Gerry,” he said.

His son pushed himself off the couch and walked out of the house.

Valentine believed that food was the antidote for most things that ailed you. Fixing two ham-and-Swiss-cheese sandwiches, he poured some potato chips onto the plates, stuck two cans of soda into his pockets, and went out the back door to where Gerry stood, smoking a cigarette in his postage-size backyard.

“You hungry?”

“No,” his son said.

“I made you a sandwich.”

“Pop, it’s four o’clock in the afternoon.”

“Eat something anyway. It will make you feel better.”

Valentine put the food on the plastic table in his yard, and pulled up two plastic chairs. His son begrudgingly sat down and they began to eat. A few minutes later, Gerry pushed his empty plate to the center of the table, and stared at his father.

“Did I ever tell you that Jack came to Mom’s funeral?”

Valentine was still eating his sandwich, and glanced at his son. His wife had died two weeks after they’d moved to Florida to retire. He’d taken her body back to Atlantic City, and buried her beside her parents. The ceremony was for friends and family, and Valentine was sure Jack Donovan had not been present.

“You could have fooled me.”

“He was in a tree,” Gerry said.

“Hanging out with his friends?”

“I’m being serious, Pop.”

“Why was he doing that?”

“Because cops were there, and Jack was wanted at the time.”

Valentine put his half-eaten sandwich onto his plate. “Why was he at your mother’s funeral, is what I meant.”

“Jack loved Mom, and he loved you.”

Valentine put his elbows on the table, and gave his son a hard look. He’d always considered Jack something of a public menace as well as a bad influence on his son, and had never hidden those feelings. Now he waited for Gerry to explain himself.

“Remember when I was a kid, and the Donovans lived on our block?” his son asked.

“Sure,” Valentine said.

“Mom used to ask Jack down on Christmas day to open presents, and have breakfast with us. Then, around noon, Jack would go back to his house, and open presents with his parents. We did that until the Donovans moved. Remember?”

Valentine nodded.

“When I got older, Jack explained to me that his parents were both drunks, and used to fight in the morning. Christmas day was always bad. He realized that you and Mom invited him down so his Christmas wasn’t spoiled by his parents’ fighting. He loved you guys for that.”

Valentine sipped his soda. His own father had been a drunk, and he’d always felt bad for kids whose parents abused the sauce. He picked up his sandwich, and noticed that an almost invisible line of ants had crawled onto the table, and they were attacking his food. He dropped his sandwich on his plate.

“You know that when Jack got older, he was involved in a lot of bad stuff,” Gerry said. “But what you didn’t know was that Jack protected you, Pop. None of the things he was involved with ever happened when you were on duty. And none of the gangs he ran with ever robbed anybody when you were on duty, either. That was the deal if someone worked with Jack, and he always stuck by it.”

Valentine drummed the table. It would have been a Hallmark moment had Gerry told him that Jack had avoided a life of crime because of the Christmas mornings he’d spent at their house. This revelation was anything but.

“I’m touched,” he said.

“Jack looked out for you, Pop. You should be grateful.”

Valentine found himself wishing he’d arrested the kid and hauled him in front of a judge. That was the type of treatment that usually straightened out the Jack Donovan’s of the world. He walked over to the garbage pails behind his house, and tossed the paper plate with his sandwich. Returning to the table, he said, “I’ll continue to ride the Atlantic City detectives working the case and I’ll continue to examine the evidence. But I can’t promise you anything, Gerry.”

Gerry rose from the table. From his pocket he removed a piece of paper and unfolded it. It was a composite that Gerry had paid a courthouse artist in Atlantic City to draw of the man he’d seen in the hospital stairwell. He handed the drawing to his father.

“Just look at the case some more, Pop, that’s all I’m asking.”

Valentine patted his son on the back. It was tough to lose a childhood friend, harder still when you thought the friend had been murdered.

“I’ll do what I can,” Valentine said.