“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.

3

Gerry left, and Valentine went inside and back to work. As he walked through the rooms to his office, he paused to dust off a stack of videotapes. Along with his collection of crooked gambling equipment and books, the house contained his massive library of casino surveillance tapes and DVDs. Twenty-five years of cases were shoved into the dwelling, and every inch of storage space was filled with boxes.

He hadn’t intended for the house to be that way. When he’d retired from the Atlantic City Police Department and moved to Florida two years before, he’d been ready to turn his back on the gambling world. But then his wife had died, and his social life had vanished. His days had turned into treading water. Out of necessity he’d gone back to work and started his consulting business.

His office was in the rear of his house. Normally his office manager, Mabel Struck, was manning the phones, but she had taken a much-deserved vacation, and was cruising the Caribbean. The room felt lonely without her, and he sat at his desk and sorted through the mail.

Today’s batch contained several letters from frantic casino bosses. Every day somewhere a casino got ripped off. Sometimes, an old-fashioned grifter was responsible. In other cases, high-tech whiz kids were using a new gadget to beat the house. In this game of cat-and-mouse, the mouse sometimes won.

As he tore open each envelope, he checked to see if the sender had enclosed a check. That meant they were serious, and not shopping for free advice. Today’s mail had two checks. The first was from a French casino that was losing a few grand a night at baccarat. The second from a Houston oil man who believed he’d been ripped off in a private poker game. Each check was accompanied by a CD on which the sender had recorded the suspected cheater’s play. As Valentine popped the oil man’s CD into his computer, the office phone rang.

“Grift Sense,” he answered.

“This is Mark Perrier, general manager at Celebrity Casino in Las Vegas,” a man’s voice said. “Is Tony Valentine available?”

Celebrity was one of the newer casino chains. Instead of hiring gamers to run their casinos, Celebrity employed stuffed suits from the corporate world.

“For a price,” Valentine said.

“Excuse me?”

“He’s available for a price,” Valentine said, then added, “It’s a joke.”

There was a short silence on the line.

“I’d like to speak to him,” Perrier said.

“He’s busy right now, making a living. Can I tell him what this is about?”

“No, you cannot.”

Valentine had never consulted for Celebrity’s casinos, and didn’t think this conversation would change that. He dropped the receiver loudly on the desk, then noisily ruffled some papers. After a few moments, he picked the phone back up.

“Valentine here.”

“Wasn’t I just speaking to you?” Perrier asked angrily.

“That was my associate, Mr. Lipschitz,” Valentine said. “People tell us we sound a lot alike. What can I do for you?”

“Mr. Valentine, I’ll get right to the point. My owner has asked me to contact you regarding a homicide investigation taking place in Atlantic City. It involves a known cheater named Jack Donovan.”

Lying on Valentine’s desk was the playing card that Jack Donovan had given Gerry. He picked the card up, and stared at the garish Celebrity logo on the back.

“What about it?” Valentine asked.

“Celebrity would like the case to go away.”

“Is that so?”

“The Atlantic City police have informed us that you are the primary reason the case is still open. Celebrity is presently hosting the World Poker Showdown, the largest poker tournament in the world. Having our casino associated with a murder investigation of a known cheater could be a public relations nightmare. I don’t want to threaten you, Mr. Valentine, but if this case were to hit the newspapers and damage our reputation, we would seek punitive damages against your company.”

“That sounds like a threat to me,” Valentine said.

“I hope you’ll strongly consider what I’ve said.”

“Jack Donovan had a Celebrity playing card in his possession when he died. Were you aware of that?”

There was another silence on the line, this one a little longer.

“Mr. Valentine, I don’t like the course this conversation is taking,” Perrier said. “I’d appreciate an answer to my question. Will you drop this case or won’t you?”