“What are you going to do?”

“Pay them back,” Rufus said.

There was a twinkle in his eye, and Valentine sensed he was up to no good.

“How you going to do that? You’re broke.”

“That’s where you come in, pardner,” Rufus said.

“You did what?” Valentine said in astonishment thirty seconds later.

“You heard me,” Rufus said, lying on the couch with his legs spread out, his cowboy boots kicked across the floor. “Since those sons-of-bitches fleeced me at poker, I decided to pay them back, and fleece them at a proposition bet. I pretended to get drunk, and told them I had X-ray vision. Before you could say Jack Daniels, those boys had bet me a sizable sum I didn’t. Since I’m broke, I told them you would back me.”

It sounded like something Gerry would do. Valentine took that back; even his son wasn’t this dumb.

“When is this bet going to take place?”

“Tomorrow morning at nine, before the tournament starts.”

“Don’t you think you should have asked me?”

“Don’t go getting hinky on me,” Rufus said, smothering a yawn. “I’m flat broke right now, and can’t pull this off without your help. I need a hairy leg.”

“But what if you lose?”

“I’m not going to lose,” Rufus said. “It’s a scam.”

Valentine shifted uncomfortably in his chair. He’d never gambled a single day in his life, and had no intention of starting now. “I really don’t like the sound of this,” he told his guest.

Rufus showed him his best smile. He could be as charming as a senator when he wanted to, and Valentine felt his resolve give way, and threw up his arms.

“At least tell me what you’ve got me involved with.”

Rufus continued to smile, clearly pleased with himself. “I told these boys I could see through things. I told them I developed my X-ray vision after I got in a car wreck, and had a concussion.”

“And they bought that?”

“We were playing Seven-Card Stud. I pointed to a card in my opponent’s hand, and asked him to pick it up, and hold it with its back toward me. Then I named it.”

“Did you mark it?”

“Of course I marked it. I used the ash from my cigarette. The mark was huge.”

“And they bought it?”

“Of course not! That’s the hook. It’s a dumb trick, and they all knew it. Hell, I think one of them even spotted the cigarette ash on my finger. When they started to challenge me, I insisted I had X-ray vision, and offered to bet them a hundred thousand bucks that I could prove it. Needless to say, the suckers bit on the line.”

“You bet them a hundred thousand bucks of my money?”

“In a manner of speaking, yes.”

Valentine slowly got to his feet. There was no way he was participating in this scam, no matter how sorry he felt for Rufus’s situation. The phone rang, and he crossed the suite and answered it. It was Gloria Curtis.

“I hope I’m not calling too late,” she said. “I just wanted to thank you for dinner tonight.”

“My pleasure,” he said.

“Rufus Steele called a little while ago, and told me you were helping him with another proposition bet,” she said. “I was hoping you and I could get together before. How’s eight o’clock in the lobby restaurant?”

“You’re going to film it?”

“Of course I’m going to film it,” Gloria said. “Rufus’s last bet was a huge hit with my boss. I already called him, and told him another segment was on its way.”

Valentine knew when he was beaten and glanced at Rufus. The old cowboy had lowered his Stetson over his eyes, and was feigning sleep. If nothing else, the guy was a fighter, and Valentine had always liked fighters.

“Eight o’clock it is,” he said.

34

“Do you believe in second chances?” a voice asked.

Gerry was standing in the hallway of Metro Las Vegas Police Department headquarters trying to call his father on his cell phone. Glancing over his shoulder, he saw Detective Longo standing behind him with two cups of steaming coffee in his hands. Gerry flipped his cell phone shut.

“Sure,” he said. “My wife gives me one every week.”

The detective offered something resembling a smile and handed him a cup. Being a cop’s son had given Gerry good police etiquette, and he followed the detective down the hallway to a conference room with a long wooden desk and a couple of metal chairs. The room had a single window, which was wide open, the evening air twenty degrees cooler than what had been blowing earlier that afternoon. The open window was not lost on Gerry. This was not a normal interrogation room. If it was, the window would have been shut and barred. Longo took a chair, and Gerry sat across from him.

“I believe in second chances, too,” Longo said. “And I’m about to give you and your friends one.”

“Really?”

“Yes, really.”

Gerry blew on his drink, waiting to hear what was coming.

“Your story has more holes in it than the Titanic,” Longo said. “Never mind the fact that the Fountain brothers and Frank DeCesar have never worked for your father until this afternoon, when your old man decided to vouch for them.”

Gerry sipped his drink. “This sure is good coffee.”

“Glad you like it. Now, I could be a prick and a half, and sweat your friends until I get something resembling the truth out of them. My guess is, it would take me a day or two, and Nunzie would be the one to crack. He’s the weakest.”

“Did you brew it yourself?”

“Got it from a machine, believe it or not. But I really don’t want to go there. You boys obviously pissed someone in this town off, and Russell John Watson was sent to kill you. The fact that he ended up getting killed is a blessing in disguise.

“The other thing in your favor is that Bill Higgins personally vouched for you, even though I have the sneaking suspicion he’s never met you. How your old man pulled that off, I have no idea, but that’s just my opinion.”

“Can I get another cup when I’m done with this one?”

“Sure. Have as many as you like. So here’s what I’m proposing we do. I let you and your pals skate, in return for you answering a couple of questions for me. I just want to know a couple of things to put my mind at rest. Sound fair?”

Gerry leaned back in his chair and looked around the room. No two-way mirrors, no tape recorder on the table, just him and Longo talking man to man. Longo had a right to know what was going on, and Gerry saw no reason to trample on that right.

“Sounds fair.”

“Who sent Russell John Watson to kill you?”

“I honestly don’t know.”

“You must have a suspicion.”

“Jinky Harris.”

A knowing expression spread across Longo’s face, and he put his elbows on the table and gave Gerry a long look. His father once said that in every town, there were a handful of creeps that were responsible for the majority of serious crimes, and that every cop’s dream was to rid the streets of one or more of those individuals during a career. Longo’s dream, Gerry guessed, was to put an eraser to Jinky Harris.

“How did you get mixed up with Jinky?”

“We didn’t,” Gerry said. “Vinny suggested we pay a visit to Jinky, and tell him we were in town investigating a scam at the WPS. Vinny’s feeling was that he didn’t want to cross paths with Jinky, or anything he might be doing.”

Longo scratched the stubble on his chin. “Your friend Vinny is a crook, isn’t he?”

“You want some more coffee?” Gerry asked, rising from his chair.

“Sit down. I’ll rephrase the question. Vinny’s relationship with the law could best be described as tenuous.”

“Vinny knows how the game is played,” Gerry said, returning to his seat. “We went to see Jinky out of respect.”