“Name a cheater or an accomplice you haven’t screwed.”

Bill shook his head and stared at the road.

Chapter 12

Jean Correctional Facility was situated on the north end of Las Vegas. The prison was a depressing complex of sandy brown buildings surrounded by eight-foot chain link fence topped with razor wire. Bill parked in the visitor lot and they got out. The sun was broiling hot, and felt like an oven.

The prison’s main building was three stories high and resembled a school house. Bill showed his credentials to the receptionist, and the warden appeared in the reception area a few minutes later. Being the most powerful law enforcement agent in the state had its privileges, and the warden agreed to Bill’s request to bring Lucy Price to the visitor’s area as soon as she could be found. When the warden was gone, Bill said, “I guess you’d like to talk to this woman alone.”

“That’s the only way she’s going to cooperate,” Valentine said.

Bill and Gerry headed down the hallway toward a sign that said cafeteria. Stopping at the door, Gerry glanced back at his father.

“Good luck, Pop.”

Valentine went into the visitor’s room and took a seat behind a three-inch sheet of plexiglass used to keep prisoners and visitors apart. The room was empty, and he stared at the vacant seat on the other side of the glass. The last time he’d seen Lucy was the day she’d been sentenced. It had been one of the hardest days of his life. Through the plexiglass he saw a door open, and felt the air catch in his throat.

Lucy entered the visitor’s room and sat down stiffly in the chair across from him. She wore a drab brown uniform, no make-up, and had her dark hair tied in a braid. Her face was filled with sadness. Despite the plainness of her appearance and her dark expression, there was no denying the affect she had upon him. To Valentine’s eyes, she appeared to be spun from light.

“It was the letter,” she said. “That’s why you came.”

He blinked, not understanding. “What are you talking about?”

“Please don’t play games with me, Tony.”

“I’m not playing games.”

“The letter I sent last week. Don’t tell me you didn’t get it.”

He shrugged helplessly. “No.”

“Did you get anyof my letters?”

“Yes, of course.”

“Did you read them?”

“Yes, I read all of them. I still have them.”

“But not the letter I sent last week.”

Despite his advancing years, Valentine’s memory wasn’t fading. He shook his head.

“Oh, for the love of Christ, then why are you here?” she said.

“I need your help.”

Lucy leaned forward, her breath fogging the plexiglass. She was a slender, fifty-two year old woman who reminded him more of his late wife than any female he’d ever met. Maybe that was why he’d fallen so helplessly in love with her.

“I can’t help you, Tony,” she said. “I have a shrink inside the prison who I see every week. He wants me to stay away from you. He thinks you’re part of my problem. That’s what my letter said.”

“I’m part of your problem?”

Her eyes were glistening. “In a figurative sense, yes. You’re in the gambling business. I’m a degenerate gambler, and I’ve always been attracted to people in the business. Old boyfriends, my ex-husband, you. My shrink wants me to stop writing you, and break off our relationship.”

Valentine leaned back in his chair. For some reason, he’d thought that Lucy would always be in his life, even if from a distance.

“Forever?”

She smiled like he’d made a joke. “You want to see me when I get out?”

“Yes, of course.”

“Then quit the casino business.”

Lucy would be getting out in five years if she behaved herself. Maybe by then he’d be sick of catching cheaters, and be ready to retire.

“All right,” he heard himself say.

“I mean right now.”

“How can I quit now? I’m on a job.”

“Suit yourself.” She rose abruptly from her chair, and signaled to the guard on duty that she was ready to leave. “Goodbye, Tony.”

“But I need your help.”

“You’re hurting me. Don’t you understand that?”

“Please. It will only take a few minutes.”

She did not bother to turn around as she walked out of the room.

Valentine sat there for a while, staring at the chair she’d occupied. After a few minutes, a guard stuck his head in, quizzed him with a glance, then left. Valentine tried to imagine how he looked, sitting there dejectedly like a jilted highschool kid.

He found Bill and his son in the cafeteria, drinking coffee.

“How did it go?” Bill asked.

“Looks like we’re going to Reno,” he said.

Chapter 13

There were three ways to travel from Las Vegas to Reno. You could drive for eight hours through the mountains, take a throw-up flight on a puddle jumper, or, if the governor was backing your action, go in style on the taxpayer’s nickel. Gerry whistled through his teeth as they boarded Smoltz’s private Lear jet on a tarmac at McCarren.

“Wow, leather seats and upholstery. This guy travels like a rock star.”

Five minutes later they were airborne. The pilot came over the P.A., and announced their cruising altitude at twenty thousand feet, and what side of the plane the best views would be on. After they leveled off, Bill opened his briefcase, and removed a stack of documents.

“I had my secretary Xerox the files of every agent on my payroll, ” he said. “She highlighted those agents who had filed grievances, or had disputes with their superiors, plus anyone with a medical problem resulting from the job.”

Valentine took the documents out of Bill’s hands. There were nine hundred agents with the Gaming Control Board, and the stack weighed several pounds. He separated it into three piles, and turned to Gerry. His son had his seat back, and was snoring like a baby. Valentine dropped a stack into his lap, and Gerry blinked awake.

“No sleeping on the job.”

“I was just resting my eyes. What’s up?”

“There’s a bad apple in these files,” Valentine said. “See if you can find him.”

Looking for a crooked law enforcement agent was never fun. It reminded you that even good people turned bad.

In Valentine’s opinion, the Nevada Gaming Control Board had some of the best law enforcement agents in the world. They not only helped casinos protect themselves, they were also responsible for protecting consumers against bad casinos. At any time, a GCB agent could enter a casino, and declare a “freezeout” for a particular game. The equipment would be confiscated, and sent to a laboratory for forensic testing. If the equipment was found to be “gaffed,” the casino would lose its license. Because of these responsibilities, GCB agents were viewed as the knights on the white horses, entrusted to keep things fair. In a place like Nevada, that was no easy task.

As Valentine looked through the files, he tried to imagine why an agent might go bad. Money was the obvious motivator, but he guessed it went deeper. As a cop, he’d known other cops who’d taken bribes, or flagrantly broken the rules. In every case, there had been a prior event that had triggered the event, a turning point.

For a GCB agent to go bad, he imagined the turning point was tied to the job. Why else would an agent cheat a casino, unless he’d seen a casino do something unsavory which he felt warranted a payback? He imagined their bad agent saw himself as an avenging angel. It happened a lot with cops.

“These guys are all boy scouts,” Gerry said after pouring through the agent files for an hour. To his father he said, “You find anything?”