“You charge for this?”

“No.”

“Then why did you do it?”

“The guys I helped out referred customers to me.”

“That’s sweet. How many guys did you tell not to bother?”

“Nearly all of them,” Gerry said. “Most of the scams were old, stuff my father had seen before. To be honest, I think I saved the taxpayers a lot of money.”

“How so?” Marconi asked.

“I kept those guys out of jail, and saved the taxpayers from having to pay for it.”

Something resembling a smile crossed Marconi’s face. He took the file and slapped it against Gerry’s leg, then rose from his chair. “A regular public servant. I’m going to go have a talk with the DA. Don’t go anywhere.”

Gerry realized he was off the hook. Marconi left, and Gerry took out his cell phone and called his father.

17

“Y ^{ou did} what?” Tony Valentine asked, the cell phone pressed to his ear.

“I killed a guy who works for George Scalzo,” his son said. “He was trying to shoot Eddie Davis outside Bally’s. I rammed Eddie’s car into the back of the guy’s car, and sent him through the windshield.”

Valentine closed his eyes. “Jesus, Gerry. You killed a mobster.”

“I know, Pop. Think I should go into witness protection?”

“That’s only for criminals,” Valentine said.

“Bet I could tell the police a couple of things that would make me qualify.”

Valentine found it in him to laugh. He was still in Gloria’s suite, the sunlight splashing through the window. Over the years, he’d become convinced that casino hotels did everything imaginable to drive guests out of their rooms during the day, from having chambermaids come early to clean, to facing the rooms due east so they became flooded with light each morning.

“I do have some good news,” his son said. “I talked to a nurse at the cancer ward where Jack Donovan died. She remembered Jack, and said she’d search her computer to see if anything dangerous was stolen from the hospital.”

“I’m not concerned about Jack right now,” Valentine said, closing the blinds. “I’m concerned about you. Scalzo won’t take this lying down. He already has a contract out on me.”

“He does?”

“Yes. I’m having to watch my back,” Valentine said.

“So, here’s what I want you to do. Catch the next plane home. Better yet, catch the next plane to San Juan, and meet up with Yolanda. Lay low for a while, so I can figure out what to do.”

There was silence on the line. Valentine would have thought the connection had gone dead had he not heard his son cough. He went to the table where the breakfast he’d shared with Gloria still sat. A piece of cold bacon found its way to his mouth.

“I’m going to stay in Atlantic City,” his son said.

Valentine nearly choked. “What are you talking about? You could get whacked.”

“I owe it to Jack Donovan.”

“What about your wife and daughter? What do you owe them?”

“Pop, remember the conversation we had before I left Vegas?”

Valentine thought back to the day before. So much had happened since, it seemed like last month. He picked up another piece of bacon and bit into it.

“I may be your son, but I’m also your partner,” Gerry went on. “When things happen you don’t like, you can’t switch roles, and order me around because I’m your son.”

“I can’t?”

“No. I came to Atlantic City to find out how Jack’s poker scam works. Just because I’ve got some mobster pissed off at me doesn’t mean I should run.”

“But your life’s in danger.”

“It’s part of the business,” Gerry said. “Look, Pop, what if every time yourlife was in danger, I called you up and told you to run back to Florida, hide in your house, and make Mabel answer the door. Think you’d like that?”

Valentine bristled. “This is different.”

“Why it is different?”

“I’m your father.”

“You’re my sixty-three-year-old father, who probably shouldn’t still be playing cops and robbers,” Gerry said. “But you do, and I keep my mouth shut.”

“You think I’m playing cops and robbers?”

“It’s dangerous work, and you’re not a kid anymore.”

His son had a point. If last night was any indication, his ability to defend himself had diminished. He needed to be more realistic about what he could and couldn’t do.

“Do you worry about me?” Valentine asked.

“All the time.”

“Why haven’t you said anything?”

“I saw where it got Mom,” his son said.

When it came to catching crooks, Valentine had never let anything stop him. He couldn’t scold Gerry for wanting the same thing.

“So you’re staying in Atlantic City to figure out Jack’s secret,” he heard himself say.

“That’s right.”

“What about protection?”

“Eddie Davis and Joey Marconi said they’d help me out.”

“That’s only two guys.”

“I’ll be fine. Trust me.”

Valentine started to argue, then thought better of it. Gerry had to make his own decisions, and he could only pray that none of them would get his son killed. He heard a knock on the door. “I’ve got company. I’ll talk to you later.”

“You’re cool with my decision?”

“Yes. Just promise you’ll watch your back.”

“Love you, too, Pop,” his son said.

Valentine stuck the last strip of bacon into his mouth as he went to the door. He still ate bacon and eggs and lots of other food that wasn’t considered healthy, having decided that he’d rather exercise every day than not eat those foods. It was called living, and he was going to do it until the day he died.

He stuck his eye to the peephole. Rufus stood in the hallway dressed in a purple velour running suit and black high-top sneakers. He ushered the old cowboy in.

“How did you know where to find me?” Valentine asked.

“I had you paged in the casino and the restaurants,” Rufus said. “Then I checked with the valet, and they said your car was still here. Since you and Ms. Curtis have been getting along so famously, I figured I’d find you here.”

Valentine’s cheeks burned. Hearing Rufus had found him so easily was unsettling.

“It’s not what you think,” he said.

Rufus flashed his best aw-shucks smile. His teeth, stained the color of mahogany from years of chewing tobacco, looked like pieces of antique furniture.

“Maybe not, but I bet it will be soon,” Rufus said.

Valentine’s cheeks burned some more. “So what can I do for you?”

“The Greek is taking me up on my Ping-Pong bet,” Rufus said. “He paid the hotel to put a Ping-Pong table in the poker room, then talked some sucker into playing me during the break. They’re waiting downstairs. I was hoping you’d act as my second.”

“Sure,” Valentine said.

Rufus removed a pack of cigarettes from his jacket pocket, banged one out, and tossed it into the air. The cigarette did a complete revolution, then landed on his outstretched tongue. He fired it up with a lighter.

“Who’s the sucker?” Valentine asked.

“Some Japanese guy named Takarama.”

Valentine had wanted to warn Rufus about Takarama the night before, but in all the excitement it had slipped his mind. “I hate to tell you this, but Takarama was the world table tennis champion a few years ago.”

Rufus took off his Stetson and scratched his skull. “Is he still in the tournament? The deal was, I’d only play someone still in the tournament.”

“Afraid so. Takarama’s a helluva poker player, too.”

Rufus smoothed the remains of his hair, covered it with his hat. “Let me ask you something, Tony. Would you bet against me? Hypothetically speaking, of course.”

“I’d have to say yes,” Valentine said.

“What kind of odds would you give me against Takarama?”

Valentine thought it over. He’d seen Takarama walking around the poker room the day before. The guy looked to be in tremendous shape.

“Twenty to one.”

“Think I can get that downstairs with any of the hairy legs?”

Hairy legs were the money men who backed poker players, and often could be spotted in the audience during tournaments, gnashing their teeth like berserk fathers at a Little League game. Takarama could always fall down and break his ankle, and he said, “Maybe ten to one.”