A folding chair was placed in the center of the room. Rufus sat down with a smile on his face, and was quickly surrounded by the crowd. Stepping forward, the Greek fitted the steel glasses onto Rufus’s face, then produced a piece of twine, and tied the glasses behind Rufus’s head.

“That’s a little snug,” Rufus complained.

“Does it hurt?” the Greek asked.

“Come to mention it, yes.”

The Greek added another knot, then another. He wore the twisted look of someone who enjoyed inflicting pain. Finished, he stepped back with a triumphant look on his face.

“You done?” Rufus asked.

“Sure am,” the Greek said.

Rufus stuck his hand into his pants pocket, and produced a leather bag with a drawstring. He tossed the bag in the Greek’s direction, and the Greek plucked it out of the air. “Put that over my head, will you?”

The Greek looked at the other gamblers, a suspicious look on his face. Then he tried the bag on over his own head, then tugged it off, his hair standing on end like he’d been shocked.

“I can’t see through it,” he announced.

“That’s the whole idea,” Rufus said.

Several gamblers who’d made bets with Rufus wanted to examine the bag, and it was passed around the room. Valentine caught Gloria flashing him a nervous smile. When the gamblers were finished examining the bag, it was handed to the Greek. He stepped forward, and began to fit it over Rufus’s head, when the old cowboy stopped him. “One last thing. We need to agree on how many items I have to identify.”

The Greek hesitated, and glanced at his partners.

“Three,” one of the men called out.

“Three?” Rufus asked. “I was thinking more like one.”

“You could guess with one,” the man shot back. “Three is fair.”

“I’ll do three,” Rufus said, “if you’ll make it double or nothing.”

The Greek looked at his partners, then at the other men who’d made wagers with Rufus. Gamblers were good at communicating with their eyes, and without a word being spoken, everyone who’d made a wager with Rufus agreed to double it.

Valentine felt his knees buckle. The only way he could cover the bet now would be to sell his house and his car and probably his giant-screen TV. If there hadn’t been so many witnesses and a camera rolling, he would have dragged Rufus across the room and beaten the living crap out of him.

“Double or nothing it is,” the Greek said.

With a smile on his face, the Greek placed the leather bag over Rufus’s head, and tied the drawstring as tightly as he could.

Dr. Robinson stepped forward with the annoyed look still on his face. He didn’t look like a gambler, or the kind of person who enjoyed gamblers’ company, and Valentine imagined him going straight home after this, and taking a long shower. The doctor looked at the Greek and said, “Ready when you are.”

The Greek fished a worn deck of playing cards from his pocket. Removing one, he held it up to the crowd. It was the four of clubs. He handed the card to Robinson. Without a word, the doctor held the card a few feet from Rufus’s bagged head.

“It’s a playing card,” Rufus’s muffled voice said.

Another hush fell over the group. The Greek acted like he’d been kicked in the groin with a steel boot.

“Which one?” the Greek asked.

“Four of clubs,” the muffled voice said.

Valentine could not believe what he was seeing. There was only one way to pull this stunt off—by having Robinson “cue” Rufus through a verbal code. These codes, called second sight, were the staple of mind-reading acts, and known by cheaters. Only Robinson hadn’t said a word, the annoyed look still painted across his face.

The Greek took a stack of chips from his pocket. They were a rainbow of colors, indicating several different denominations. He plucked out a purple chip, and gave it to Robinson. The doctor held the chip in his outstretched hand.

“It’s a chip,” Rufus’s muffled voice said.

“What denomination?” the Greek asked.

“Ten grand,” the voice said.

The Greek angrily threw the chip to the ground. “You’re cheating!”

Valentine stepped forward to defend his man. “How can he be cheating?”

“He’s somehow seeing through the glasses and the bag,” the Greek said. “He has to be. There’s no such thing as X-ray vision.”

Valentine got in the Greek’s breathing space. “Then why did you bet with him?”

The Greek started to reply, then thought better of it, and shut his mouth.

“Cover my eyes with your hands,” Rufus’s muffled voice said.

Valentine’s head snapped.

“You heard me,” the voice said.

The Greek took the bait, and scurried around to the back of Rufus’s folding chair. Leaning forward, he placed his enormous palms directly over Rufus’s eyes. One of the Greek’s partners stepped forward, and removed a handful of change from his pocket. The man selected a coin—an old-looking silver quarter—and bypassing Dr. Robinson, held the coin up to Rufus’s face.

“What’s this?”

“A dirty fingernail,” Rufus’s muffled voice said.

Everyone in the room who wasn’t part of the wager started laughing. Those who werepart of the wager looked like candidates for Siberia. After a few moments, the room quieted down.

“You’re holding a quarter,” the muffled voice said.

The man holding the quarter started to shake. “What’s the date?”

“It’s 1947.”

Dr. Robinson took the quarter out of the man’s hand and, in a loud voice, verified the date. It was indeed 1947. The doctor handed the quarter back to the man, who passed it to his partners. The other men examined the coin while shaking their heads in disbelief.

No one was more despondent than the Greek, who hurriedly came around Rufus’s chair, and examined the coin. The Greek began to dab at his eyes, and Valentine realized he was crying, never a pretty sight inside a casino.

“Hey, Tony, help me out, will you?” Rufus asked.

Valentine went to where Rufus sat, and untied the drawstring of the leather bag around the old cowboy’s head. He pulled the bag off, then untied the twine holding the steel glasses to Rufus’s face. To his surprise, the glasses hadn’t moved, and he wondered how Rufus had managed to see through them.

Rufus rubbed at his eyes, and then patted down his hair. Standing, he faced Gloria Curtis’s microphone and the camera, and raised his arms triumphantly into the air.

“I win,” he declared.

39

“We’re not going to kill you,” Jinky Harris said.

Gerry Valentine stared at his captor, the rhythmic pounding of flesh reverberating across the dusty warehouse. He was sitting bound to a chair and sweat was pouring off his body. Jinky’s men hadn’t driven very far after abducting them, and Gerry had seen the casinos’ blazing neon in the distance as he’d been pulled from the trunk.

“You could have fooled me,” Gerry said.

The warehouse was shaped like a small airplane hangar. On the other end, Vinny and Nunzie and Frank also sat bound in chairs. Jinky’s henchmen had been slapping them around for a while, then decided to gang up on Frank, their punches sounding like sledgehammers hitting a side of beef.

“You want me to stop it?” Jinky asked.

“Of course I want you to stop it,” Gerry replied.

Jinky played with the automatic controls on the arm of his wheelchair, and pulled around so he was facing Gerry. He’d been eating nonstop since their arrival, and crumbs of food peppered his beard. He pointed across the warehouse.

“Which one of them shot Russ Watson in the parking lot yesterday?” Jinky asked. “That’s all I want to know.”

“Who’s Russ Watson?”