“You don’t agree?” Yolanda asked.

Mabel shook her head. “I think we’re both missing something.”

“What?”

“The connection between Scalzo and this nurse.”

Yolanda bit her lip. “What should we do?”

“I think I’ll call Gerry and tell him what we’ve found,” Mabel said. “Maybe he can make sense of it.”

38

“God, I must be the most naive person in the world,” Gloria said.

“Second most naive,” Valentine said.

“Who’s the first?”

“Me.”

They sat at a table in Celebrity’s noisy sports bar, Gloria nursing a ten-dollar glass of chardonnay, Valentine a Diet Coke. They’d driven back from Sammy Mann’s condo in a funk, with neither of them uttering more than a few words. Las Vegas had not been built on winners, but Sammy’s explanation of the skullduggery taking place at the World Poker Showdown took that philosophy to a whole new level.

“I’m sorry things turned out this way,” she said.

“I’m not.”

“No? Why is that?”

He’d busted more hustlers than he could remember, and the ones that got away were particularly grating, but he’d never let his work overshadow the things in life that really mattered. He leaned across the table and kissed Gloria on the lips.

“Because I got to meet you,” he said, pulling away.

She lowered her eyes and blushed. It was the first time he’d seen her look the least bit vulnerable. She had a wonderful exterior, but beneath it there was something equally wonderful. He hadn’t done well with the opposite sex since his wife had died, but this relationship was one he wasn’t going to let go. Out of the corner of his eye, he spotted Rufus Steele lurching past the bar, his Stetson tilted rakishly on his head, a glass of whiskey clutched in his hand like a grenade. Seeing them, Rufus staggered over.

“Just the person I was looking for,” Rufus said, putting his glass on the table. “There’s this rumor floating around that you got banned from the tournament this afternoon.”

“Afraid so,” Valentine said.

“That’s horseshit. You’re one of the good guys.”

“Sometimes good guys finish last,” Valentine said.

“Well, I hope you plan to stick around,” Rufus said. “Once the tournament is over, I’m going to play DeMarco for two million bucks, winner-take-all, and I want you there to make sure he doesn’t cheat me.”

Valentine sat up straight in his chair. He’d forgotten about Rufus’s challenge to DeMarco and now realized it would be the ideal opportunity to figure out what DeMarco was doing and expose him without it affecting the tournament.

“I’ll be there,” he said.

“Good,” Rufus said. “In the meantime, I was hoping I might ask you a favor.”

Rufus suddenly stopped looking drunk, and Valentine realized he was putting on an act, and probably had a sucker he was trying to reel in. Valentine’s eyes canvassed the bar, and saw the Greek sitting on the other side of the crowded room.

“What’s that?” Valentine asked.

“The Greek has been running around the hotel saying I cheated him with my Ping-Pong bet. He’s claiming the reason he didn’t challenge me was because of you.”

“Me?”

“Yessir. The Greek says I hired you to protect me, and that you were an ex-cop with a bad reputation. He’s also saying you’re a suspect in a double homicide, and he was afraid you’d put a bullet in him if he squawked about me using the iron skillets as paddles in the game.”

“Is that so?”

“Yessir. I’ve been fixing to make the Greek eat his words, and figured you might enjoy helping me.”

Valentine considered Rufus’s request. He’d already helped Rufus scam the Greek several times, and each time told himself no more. Scamming people wasn’t right, even if they deserved to be taught a lesson. Then he reminded himself that the Greek had been part of a team that had cheated Rufus in a card game in an effort to make the old cowboy leave town. The Greek was a crook, and crooks needed to be punished. He glanced sideways at Gloria and placed his hand atop her wrist. “Do you mind if I help Rufus?”

“Only if you let me watch,” she said.

“Hot damn,” Rufus said.

The Greek was waiting as they approached his table. He’d finally taken a shower and combed his hair, and no longer resembled a clump of seaweed washed up on the beach. Sitting beside him was a red-haired poker player named Marcy Baldwin, whose departure from the tournament had included loud cursing and flipping the bird to the TV cameras. Marcy believed every male player was out to get her, yet she still competed in men’s events. On her lap was a designer handbag containing a sleeping Persian cat.

“Hey, Marcy, you calmed down yet?” Rufus asked, back to his drunk act.

“Fuck you,” she said.

“Sore head.” He turned to her companion. “So, Greek, any truth to the fact that you want to challenge me again?”

The Greek eyed him suspiciously. “What do you have in mind?”

“I hear you’re good at golf,” Rufus said, sipping his whiskey. “Someone said you were runner-up at the National Amateur Championship once. That true?”

“That’s right,” the Greek said.

“You still play?”

“Now and then.”

“What’s your handicap?”

“I don’t have one,” the Greek said.

“Except that lovely lady sitting beside you.”

“Fuck you,” Marcy said.

“Mine’s about ten,” Rufus went on. “Want to play?”

The Greek was still simmering from the losses he’d suffered at Rufus’s hands. If a gambler had anything in abundance, it was ego, and the Greek’s had taken a beating.

“For how much?” the Greek asked.

“Same as before,” Rufus said. “Half a million bucks, winner-take-all. I’ll even give you an edge, since I know you don’t trust me, and figure I’m going to cheat you.”

“What kind of edge?” the Greek asked suspiciously.

“On every hole, I’ll let you take three drives. You can pick which drive you want to use, and that will be your ball. Sound fair?”

Valentine couldn’t believe what Rufus was suggesting. He’d tried golf a couple of times, and knew it was a game in which you beat yourself. Giving a scratch golfer three drives a hole was the same as throwing the match.

“Do I get to pick the course?” the Greek asked.

“Sure,” Rufus said.

The Greek looked at Marcy, their eyes communicating silently. She was an attractive woman, save for the harshness her chosen lifestyle had produced.

“Go for it,” she said. “I’ll call my mother.”

“You sure she’ll lend it to you?” the Greek asked.

“Sure,” Marcy said. “She’s loaded.”

“You’re on,” the Greek said to Rufus. “When do you want to play?”

“How about crack of dawn, tomorrow?” Rufus said.

“Okay,” the Greek said.

They shook hands on it. Rufus pretended to notice Marcy’s cat for the first time. With his finger he pulled her handbag farther open. The cat cracked an eye, but did not stir.

“Nice cat,” Rufus said. “What’s its name?”

“Medusa,” Marcy said.

“Is she friendly?”

“No.”

“Just like her owner,” Rufus said.

“Fuck you, and the horse you rode in on,” Marcy hissed.

Rufus downed the rest of his whiskey, wiped his mouth on his sleeve. As if adding an exclamation mark to the picture, he belched into his hand. “I used to train house cats down on my ranch. They can do just about anything, once you teach them. You train this one, Marcy?”

“You’re drunk,” Marcy said. “Cats can’t be trained.”

“Says who?”

“Says me. I’ve owned cats my entire life.”

“I can train anycat. Including yours.”

“Train them to do what?”

“Circus tricks, real clever stuff.”

“That’s bullshit, and you know it.”

“Wanna bet?”

“Sure,” Marcy said. “I’ll bet you.”

Rufus went to the bar, returned with an unopened sixteen-ounce bottle of Coca-Cola. He dropped it on the table with a loud plunk!“Five thousand bucks says I can train Medusa to pick up that bottle, cross the room, and drop it on a table of your choice.”