“Then don’t.”

“—but your uncle has decided to leave Las Vegas right away. The situation in Atlantic City is bad. Karl Jasper has a private plane waiting for us at an airport just outside of town.”

“Us?”

“Yeah, you, me, and him.”

DeMarco stopped. They had reached the feature table, and he could hear the TV people adjusting their equipment and talking about the lighting. He could also hear gamblers in the crowd setting the odds on the remaining ten players in the tournament. They were calling him the favorite. “I’m not going,” he said.

“Say what? Your uncle—”

“Tell my uncle to call me, and I’ll meet up with him later.”

“Skip, that’s not such a good idea. Your uncle—”

“—isn’t running the show anymore,” DeMarco interrupted. “I am. I’m the tournament chip leader, and everyone expects me to play. So I’m going to play.”

“Don’t make me do this, Skip.”

DeMarco turned so he faced his uncle’s bodyguard.

“Do what? Drag me across the room by my collar? I’ll have you tossed out of here so fast it will make your nose bleed. I’m in charge of my own life, not you, and not Uncle George. Now say good-bye.”

“Say good-bye?”

“Yes. Say good-bye, and then go take care of my uncle. He’s going to need it.”

“Who’s going to take care of you?”

“I am.”

“You sure you’re ready for that?”

DeMarco didn’t know if he was ready to run his own life, or not. But the only way he was going to find out was by trying. “Yeah, I’m ready.”

Guido’s fast-paced breathing returned. So fast, in fact, that DeMarco thought he might have a stroke. Guido had always been there for him, and he reached out and touched the bodyguard’s stomach the way he’d done as a little kid. “You’re a good guy, Guido. Thanks for everything you’ve done for me.”

“Just doing my job,” the bodyguard said.

DeMarco took his seat at the feature table. He could hear the dealer riffle-shuffling the cards, the fifty-two pasteboards purring like a cat. He’d been exposed to radiation for five days, and realized the dealers who were bringing radioactive cards to the table had known the health risk as well. To themselves, and to him.

“Drink, sir?” a female voice asked.

“Get me a Coke and a pack of cigarettes,” he said.

The cocktail waitress came back a minute later with his order, putting the drink and pack in front of him. He removed his wallet, pulled out a bill. He hadn’t paid for a thing since coming to Las Vegas. He supposed now was as good a time as any to start.

“How much do I owe you?”

“Eight dollars.”

“How much is this bill worth?” he asked.

“A hundred dollars,” she said.

“Keep it.”

She thanked him and departed. He tore open the pack of smokes, stuck one in his mouth. To the dealer he said, “Give me your lighter, will you?”

“Excuse me, sir?”

“The lighter sitting next to you. Give it to me. I want to light up my smoke.”

The dealer didn’t know what to say. DeMarco rose from his chair, grabbed his drink, and leaned forward a little too quickly. He sent the drink in the dealer’s direction and heard the dealer squawk. “Did I soak your cards?” DeMarco asked.

“Yes,” the dealer said angrily.

“Good. Now get out of here,” DeMarco said under his breath.

“What?”

“You heard me. Take your trick lighter and leave.”

The dealer said, “Shit,”under his breath, then pushed back his chair and left the table. DeMarco sat down. Moments later the tournament director came up behind him.

“Where did the dealer go?” the tournament director asked.

“He felt sick and left,” DeMarco said.

The tournament director spoke into a walkie-talkie, and asked for someone to clean up the table, and for a new dealer. When he disconnected, DeMarco asked, “Would you mind telling me the chip count for each of my opponents?”

“Sure,” the tournament director said.

Each player’s chip total was on the electronic leader board hanging over the table, and the tournament director read the totals to him. He was first, followed by seven players with roughly the same amount of chips, followed by the last two players, who were two million shy of the others. He would have to lose a couple of hands to the last two. That would make everyone at the table equal.

“Thanks,” he told the tournament director.

A new dealer came, and the other players returned. DeMarco felt the bright lights of the TV cameras come on. It was showtime.

47

“How dare Skipper disobey me,” Scalzo said, standing with Karl Jasper and his bodyguard on the curb in front of Celebrity. “You should have made him come with you.”

“How was I going to do that?” Guido asked.

“You should have put the heavy on him.”

“There were too many people standing around.”

“Keep making excuses and I’ll smack you in the fucking mouth,” Scalzo snapped.

Guido wanted to tell his boss to calm down, there were bigger problems to worry about. He’d spoken to one of their people in Atlantic City, and the news was getting worse by the hour. Forty-two members of the blackjack gang had been arrested last night, and now one had turned state’s evidence and told the cops that Scalzo had masterminded the scam. Other members were certain to do the same, and point the finger at the boss. Cheating a casino was a serious crime, but conspiring to cheat a group of casinos was much worse. If his boss didn’t get out of the country, he was screwed.

A white Mercedes pulled up to the curb and a valet jumped out. Jasper gave the valet his stub. “Put the suitcases in the trunk,” Scalzo barked.

“Yes, sir,” Guido said.

Guido dragged his boss’s suitcases to the back of the car. The trunk was locked, and Jasper came around, holding the keys he’d gotten from the valet. Jasper popped the locking mechanism and the trunk opened by itself. Guido hoisted the first suitcase off the ground, then froze. Inside the trunk was a leather satchel. The mouth of the satchel was wide open, exposing a half dozen bundles of hundred-dollar bills, all of them new. The suitcase slipped out of his fingers and hit the ground.

“What the hell are you doing back there?” Scalzo yelled, having climbed into the passenger seat. “Hurry up.”

“Yes, sir.”

Guido lifted the suitcase off the ground while continuing to stare at the money. A slip of paper lay on the bundles with handwriting on it. He glanced at Jasper, who’d gone to the driver’s side but hadn’t gotten in, then pulled the slip out and read it.

  There’s more where this came from.

Guido dropped the note into the satchel. He didn’t know what was going on, then noticed a dark blanket lying inside the trunk. Something was lying beneath it, and he pulled the blanket back to have a look. A shovel.

“Need some help?”

Guido looked up. Jasper stood by the driver’s door, watching him. Their eyes briefly locked, and the look in Jasper’s eyes was unmistakable. It slowly dawned on Guido what was going on. Then he made a decision.

“I’m fine,” Guido said, and resumed putting the suit cases into the trunk.

“Scalzo’s getting away,” Gloria said, standing with Valentine and Gerry by the front door. Valentine had come out of the men’s lavatory after confronting DeMarco and walked right up to Scalzo, Jasper, and his bodyguard, in the hopes of eavesdropping on their conversation. When the three men had beaten a path out of the casino, he’d decided to follow them, and grabbed Gloria and his son.

As Jasper’s Mercedes drove away, Valentine took out his cell phone and called Bill Higgins. He got a busy signal and felt Gloria tug his arm.

“Come on,” she said.

“Where are we going?”

“To my car. We’re going to follow them.”

Gloria’s rental was parked with several expensive foreign cars near the entrance. She’d bribed the valet attendant to park it there, and had told Valentine it was a common trick with reporters, in case they needed to run down a story. She got her keys from the guy manning the key stand, and Valentine turned to his son.