Wild Card (Tony Valentine Series)

by James Swain

  Chapter 52

  Back in his office, Valentine called Lois. Normally, catching a gang of cheaters left him feeling elated, only he couldn’t stop thinking about the anguish she’d experienced that morning. He caught her in the kitchen, fixing a casserole, and learned that a pair of detectives were parked on the couch in their living room, watching TV. Everything sounded fine, only there was an edge to his wife’s tone that didn’t sound right.

  “You sure everything’s okay?” he asked.

  Lois dropped her voice. “I got a call from Dick Henry at Gerry’s school. He needs to speak with you. I told him you were at the casino. He said he was going to drive over.”

  “When was this?”

  “Fifteen minutes ago.”

  “Where’s Gerry?”

  “In the basement. I pulled him out of school this morning, just to be safe.”

  “Do you think Gerry’s in trouble?”

  His wife’s voice dropped even lower. “God, Tony, I hope not.”

  He started to hang up, then said, “You sure you’re feeling okay?”

  Lois took a few moments to find the words. “I keep wondering why the killer didn’t come after me, instead of prostitutes. He’s fixated on me, isn’t he?”

  “Yes.”

  “Then why didn’t he just kidnap me, and be done with it?”

  Valentine had wrestled with that question himself. He had a feeling that all the times he’d told guys to stop staring at Lois had something to do with it. That, and the fact that he was a cop.

  “Maybe he was afraid to,” he said.

  “Because of you?”

  “That would my guess.”

  “So you’ve been protecting me all this time, and we didn’t even know it.”

  “Probably.”

  “My hero,” she said softly.

  He told his wife he loved her, and hung up. On his desk sat a video monitor, and he punched a command into the keyboard that was wired to it. On the monitor’s screen appeared the hotel’s valet stand, with a long line of cars waiting outside. He searched the drivers’ faces, and Dick Henry’s blow-dried hair popped up. He grabbed his overcoat and headed for the door.

  Dick Henry’s car was at the front of the line when he walked out the front doors a minute later. Dick drove a souped-up red Corvette with a rag top, and Valentine jerked open the passenger door. “Looking for me?”

  The principal of Gerry’s high school nodded, and Valentine hopped in. The car’s interior was in immaculate condition, and he said, “What year?”

  “Nineteen sixty-six.”

  “All original parts?”

  Dick nodded and pulled away from the curb. He drove a few blocks south of the casino, then slowed down to avoid the gaping pot holes in the street. With all the money the state was making off the casino they still couldn’t fill the damn pot holes.

  “I need your help,” Dick said.

  “Doing what?”

  “There’s a grocery bag in the back seat. Open it up.”

  Valentine took the paper shopping bag off the back seat and peeked inside. It was filled with decks of playing cards and dice. He took the items out of the bag, and gave them a cursory examination. The cards were amateurishly marked, the dice either loaded or shaved. “Let me guess,” he said. “You’ve got gambling rings at your school again.”

  Dick let out an exasperated breath. “We can’t seem to stop these kids. This stuff we confiscated this morning, along with a thousand dollars cash.”

  “That’s a lot of money.”

  “I know it is. It has me worried. I feel like I’m dealing with real criminals.”

  “Was my son involved?”

  “With this? No.”

  Valentine felt relieved and stared at the road. “What do you want me to do?”

  “I’ve been told there is a magic shop in town which is selling this stuff to the kids. I don’t want to cause the owner trouble, but this has to stop.”

  “Uncle Al’s.”

  “You know him?”

  “Yeah. He’s a decent guy, so it shouldn’t be a problem.”

  “So you’ll talk to him.”

  “Consider it done. Now, let me ask you a question. You said Gerry wasn’t involved with this. What is my son doing?”

  Dick braked at a red light. The Corvette’s engine sounded powerful, and the car vibrated when it wasn’t moving, like an animal shaking its cage. He tapped his fingers on the wheel, as if contemplating his answer. “Your son is hanging out with a gang of older boys who are bookies.”

  “What?”

  “I can’t prove he’s doing anything wrong —”

  “Real bookies?”

  “That’s right.”

  “Why didn’t you call me?”

  Dick stared at a drunk crossing the street in front of them. “The boys patterned their operation after the teacher’s football pool.” The light changed, and he put the Corvette into drive, and the car jumped forward as it let out of its cage.

  “And you were afraid that if you nailed them, the kids would rat on the teachers.”

  “Something like that.”

  Valentine wanted to drag Dick out of the car, and mess up his blow dried hair. Gerry was thirteen years stupid; it was easy to imagine the negative influence kids who were running a bookmaking operation would have on him. By doing nothing, Dick had harmed his son. They were five blocks from the casino. Valentine didn’t want to be around this creep for another minute, and at the next light he hopped out, taking the bag of crooked cards and dice with him. Before he shut the door, he stuck his head into the car.

  “Look at me,” he said.

  Dick was staring straight ahead. He turned slowly, and their eyes met. The corners of his eyes were pinched, and he looked more than a little frightened. Valentine had heard that Dick’s wife had run off to Arizona with a plastic surgeon, which he guessed explained the car, but not the other stupid things Dick had done.

  “You should be ashamed of yourself,” Valentine said.

  Then he walked away.

  Chapter 53

  Valentine quit work at six, and drove straight to Uncle Al’s magic shop. Through the garish front window he spied the old magician sitting behind the counter, eating a giant pastrami sandwich while slugging down a cream soda. Seeing him, Uncle Al hopped off his stool, and unlocked the front door.

  “How’s the cops and robbers business?” the old magician asked.

  Valentine shut the door behind him. He saw no reason to beat around the bush, and took the paper bag he was carrying, and dumped its contents onto the counter.

  “Recognize these?”

  Uncle Al got behind the counter and climbed onto his stool. On the plate next to his sandwich were two enormous dill pickles. He stuck one in his mouth and bit into it, causing water to spit out the other end.

  “Want the other?” he asked.

  Valentine stuck the second pickle into his mouth. Once, as part of a promotion, giant pickles had been given away for free on the Boardwalk for an entire summer. Everyone in Atlantic City had been eating pickles ever since.

  “Those cards and dice mine?” Uncle Al asked.

  “Afraid so.”

  “Where did they turn up?”

  “Over at the high school, along with a thousand bucks.”

  Uncle Al’s eyes grew wide behind his thick glasses. “That’s a lot of money. I guess I should have stopped selling this stuff when you asked me before.”

  “Yes, you should have.”

  “You going to throw me in the pokey?”

  Valentine gave him a hard look. No judge in town was going to do anything but give Uncle Al a slap on the wrist. “I don’t know. Are you going to pull these items off your shelves?”

  “Yeah, I’ll pull them,” Uncle Al said. “I’m sorry I didn’t before. There’s a lot of neat magic tricks you can do with this stuff.”

  “I’m sure there are. I want you to explain something to me.”

  The old magician
said sure, and Valentine removed a deck of cards from pile, took them out of their box, and spread them faceup on the counter. “This deck was sealed in a box. When I unwrapped the box and took the cards out, I discovered they weren’t in new deck order. They were all mixed up.”

  “This the order you found them in?”

  “Yes.”

  Uncle Al looked through the cards. “Were there advertising cards and jokers in the box?”

  “Yeah. How did you know?”

  “It’s called a cold deck,” Uncle Al said. “The cheater takes a brand new deck and slits the plastic with a knife. The plastic is removed, and then the seal is steamed off the box. The deck is removed and stacked for a game of poker. The cheater picks a game where there’s a lot of betting, like seven card stud. The cheater puts the cards back in the box along with the advertising cards and jokers. He glues the seal, slips on the plastic wrap, and tapes the tear. Viola! A cold deck.”

  “How is it brought into play?”

  “That’s the clever part. It’s used when the players aren’t paying attention. The cheater’s partner spills a drink, and ruins the cards. That’s when the cheater brings in the cold deck. He false-shuffles them, then let’s his partner false cut them.”

  “Isn’t that risky?”

  “If it’s late in the game, it’s not such a big deal.”

  “These are pretty sophisticated kids, huh?” Valentine asked.

  “Pros.”

  Uncle Al picked up his pastrami sandwich and bit into it. Valentine dropped the marked cards and crooked dice into the bag, and realized what the old magician had just told him. These kids were real criminals, just like the bookies his son was hanging around with. The kids were being influenced by all the gambling at the casino. He needed to sit down with Gerry, and get his son straightened out, or risk real problems later on. Looking around the store, he said, “Do you have any new tricks? I need something to show my son.”

  Uncle Al put down his sandwich. It was held together with toothpicks and looked like it weighed a pound. “Did I ever show you the vanishing cigarette?”

  “No.”

  “Greatest trick ever invented.”

  “Is it hard to learn?”

  “A five year old can do it, with ten years of practice.” Uncle Al took a pack of Lucky Strikes out of his pocket, removed one, and fired it up. He handed the cigarette to Valentine.

  “Look normal?”

  Valentine examined the burning cigarette. “Yes.”

  Reaching above his head, Uncle Al plucked a beautiful red scarf out of thin air. He held it by the corners, and displayed both sides. “Watch the professor,” he said. Draping the scarf over his left fist, he made a well in the material with his right thumb. Taking the lit cigarette, he placed it into the well, lit end first. Smoke poured out of the scarf.

  “You’ll ruin it,” Valentine said.

  “A common misconception,” Uncle Al said. “Sim… Sala… Bim!”

  Grasping a corner, Uncle Al shook the scarf out with a flourish. The material was undamaged, the cigarette gone. He smiled triumphantly.

  “How did you do that?” Valentine asked.

  “Ten bucks and the secret is yours.”

  Valentine pulled out his wallet and discovered he had nine bucks to his name. Going outside, he found a dollar in change in the glove compartment of his car, and returned to the store and paid up. Uncle Al rang up the sale, then made Valentine stick out his hands. He examined his thumbs and said, “You’re right-handed, aren’t you?”

  “That’s right,” Valentine said.

  “Good. Now watch.”

  Uncle Al grasped his own right thumb with his left fingers, and pulled it clean off. Then he dropped his thumb onto the counter. Valentine stared in disbelief. The thumb lying on the counter was hollow and made from flesh-colored plastic. It looked so real that it first glance, it was a little scary. Stuck inside of it was the vanished cigarette. Uncle Al removed the vanished cigarette, then stuck the device onto Valentine’s thumb. It fit perfectly.

  “Get it?” he said.

  Chapter 54

  It was called a thumb tip, and had been used by magicians for centuries. The key to wearing one, Uncle Al said, was for the magician to forget he had it on.

  Valentine sat behind the wheel of his car and played with the thumb tip he’d just bought, wondering if this was what Sissy had seen in the glove compartment of the Dresser’s car. It was not far-fetched to think that the Dresser might have used magic tricks to get his victims to drop their guard. He had read in the newspaper about a serial killer named John Wayne Gacy who was a magician. Gacy liked to pick up runaway boys, and show them how he could escape from a pair of handcuffs. When the boy would try the cuff on, Gacy would strangle him. He had killed thirty kids that way.

  But maybe Sissy had seen something else in the Dresser’s glove compartment. Now that she’d left town, there was no way of knowing, and in frustration he backed out of his parking space. Driving away, it suddenly occurred to him that he was wrong. There was a way of finding out, and it was a phone call away.

  He returned to the lot and searched for some change. He’d tapped himself out, and finally found a dime under the floor mat. He called his house from a payphone.

  “Better hurry. Dinner’s in the oven,” Lois said.

  “I need to ask you a question about the Summer of Love,” he said.

  “Tony, I’m trying to forget about that.”

  “I’m sorry, but this is important.”

  “Can it wait until you’re home, after dinner?”

  “No.” The line went silent, and he said, “I think I’m onto something.”

  “Oh, all right, go ahead.”

  “The three guys whose dressing room was next to yours. You said one was a juggler, the other a comedian. You said the third had a funny name, but you couldn’t remember what his act was.”

  “That’s right,” Lois said.

  “Could he have been a magician?”

  There was a short silence as his wife gave it some thought.

  “You know, I think he was,” Lois said.

  Valentine broke the speed limit driving to the station house, and did double-time up the two flights of stairs to Banko’s office on the third floor. It got his heart going in a way that reminded him why he liked his job. Sabina was still at her desk, and informed him that Special Agents Fuller and Romero were in the next room, plus four homicide detectives who Banko had brought in to work the case.

  “They’re not to be disturbed,” Sabina cautioned him.

  “Did they find the killer?”

  “No, but I think they’re getting closer.”

  There was a look of hope in her eyes. He was about to make their job a lot easier, and he said, “Why don’t you go to the cafeteria and get a drink. That way, it will look like I barged in when you weren’t here.”

  “You’re going to disturb them?” she said disbelievingly.

  “Afraid so.”

  “But Banko will fire you.”

  “I’m willing to take my chances.”

  “Tony, please don’t do that.”

  It sounded like something his wife would say. Sabina looked into his eyes and saw she was dealing with a lost cause. She grabbed her purse off the desk.

  “Good luck.”

  He waited until she was gone, then entered Banko’s office without bothering to knock. The room was choking with cigarette smoke and foul body odor. Seven men were huddled over Banko’s desk, reviewing a map of the island and a long suspect list. Next to the list was a picture of Mona. Romero and Fuller glanced up from the map, and looked embarrassed to see him. Banko came around the desk, looking mad as hell.

  “What are you doing here, Valentine?”

  “I need to talk to you,” Valentine said.

  Banko was surprisingly fast for a large man. He pushed Valentine toward the door, then put his hand on the knob, and jerked it open. “Go home.”

  “No.”

/>   “Tony, for once in your life, listen to me. You’ll be in trouble if you don’t.”

  “Give me a chance.”