Valentine found a sink and washed his face. When he came back to Karen’s bed, he had a pair of soda cans in his hand. He popped them both.

“Promise you won’t do that again, and I’ll let you have one,” he said.

“Fuck you,” Karen said.

He took a long swallow of his soda. He was glad for the walk. He didn’t like being spit in the face, even by someone who’d just lost her husband.

“You know something, Karen —

“What’s that?” she snapped.

“Everyone has a history.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“It means that everyone has reasons for what they do. Want to hear mine?”

She looked out the window beside her bed, her eyes peeled to a moving car in the parking lot, and said nothing.

“When I became a cop in Atlantic City, I was introduced to an old guy named Johnson. I don’t know if that was his first name, or his last. Everyone just called him Johnson. He was a drunk, used to live in the bars. Eventually he got sick and died.”

“This is real uplifting,” she said.

“Right after his funeral, I heard his story. Johnson was a cop during Prohibition. Part of his job was to stop the bootleggers from landing on the island’s beaches.”

“What’s Prohibition?” she asked, still not looking at him.

“Back in 1919 the government outlawed the manufacture, sale or distribution of liquor,” Valentine said. “The country was dry for thirteen years.”

“What did people do instead, get high?”

He nearly laughed, then realized she wasn’t joking. “Maybe some of them did. But the majority made liquor in bath tubs, or bought it from bootleggers. The bootleggers bought whiskey from Canada, scotch from Scotland, and rum from Cuba. They brought it offshore in ships, and used speedboats to deliver it to the mainland. Because Atlantic City has thirteen miles of beaches, it was a prime unloading area.

“One night, Johnson gets a call. An informant tells him that two Jews and two Italians from New York are coming to Atlantic City to hijack a shipment of whiskey. The informant says that these four guys are responsible for all the major heists in New York, and are running the city’s illegal gambling. Know who those four guys were?”

Karen finally looked at him. She wasn’t beautiful in the traditional sense, but had a sultry look that made you pause. It had gotten her in trouble once, and would probably get her in trouble again. “Not a clue,” she said.

“Lucky Luciano, Frank Costello, Meyer Lansky and Bugsy Siegel.”

“I’ve heard of them. They were gangsters.”

“They were more than gangsters. They were the beginning of organized crime in America. They later joined forces with Al Capone, and became the mafia.”

“I guess Johnson didn’t get them.”

“No, he didn’t. He figured they’d probably kill the bootlegger, and that would be one less bootlegger. So he stayed at home and listened to a ball game on the radio.

“The hijacking went so smoothly, the four boys from New York took over allof the bootlegging on the east coast. That one night made them all very rich men.

“Johnson later realized what he’d done. He talked about it openly with other cops. His conscience ate at him, so he eventually turned to the bottle. Okay, now you’re probably wondering, what the hell does this have to do with me?”

Her eyes were cold and unfriendly. “Come to mention it, yeah.”

“Well, here’s the deal. I had a brother-in-law named Sal. He was a vice cop with the Atlantic City police. I started dating his sister in highschool. After we got married, Sal talked me into joining the force. He was my best friend.

“One night, Sal called me. He was about to arrest four casino cheaters. Sal told me these cheaters were from New York, and had ripped off every casino in the city. Two Jews and two Italians.”

“Sort of like Johnson,” Karen said.

“Yeah, sort of like Johnson. Sal wanted me there as backup. I drove to the Boardwalk right as the arrest went down. They were all there. There was a full moon, and I saw Sal lying in the sand. I fired my gun in the air, and the cheaters ran. When I got to Sal, I saw he was shot. I held him in my arms, and he died.”

“Did you run after the cheaters?”

Valentine crushed the empty soda can in his hand. It made an angry sound, and the ward grew still. “No.”

“Why not?”

“I couldn’t leave him.”

“Was Bronco one of those cheaters?”

“Yeah. After Sal’s funeral, I made a vow to myself. I was going to run every one of them down, and put them in prison.” He picked up the second can of soda, and held it in front of Karen’s face. “I got all of them but Bronco. You want any of this?” She nodded, and he put the can to her lips. When he took the can away, he saw that the hostility had melted from her face, and decided it was now, or never.

“So, are you going to help me, or not?”

“Bo was playing craps in Reno when he met Bronco,” Karen said, her face lighting up whenever she mentioned her late husband’s name. “Actually, Bo wasn’t playing. He was, well, I’d guess you call it stealing.”

“Stealing how?”

“He’d discovered that people sometimes didn’t pick up their bets after the game was over, so he’d claim them if no one else did. Bo said it wasn’t really stealing, being that the house would take the money otherwise.”

It wasstealing — the chips belonged to another player — but, there was no use in soiling Karen’s last memories, so Valentine kept his mouth shut.

“Bronco approached us, and made Bo an offer. Said if we’d claim a jackpot from a rigged slot machine, he’d split the money with us. Bo and I talked it over. We both carry a lot of credit card debt. I figured it was a way to start clean, you know?”

“Sure,” Valentine said.

“Later, when we split the money up, I found out that wasn’t really the deal. Bo had agreed to take less money. It made me mad, so I started yelling at him. Then Bronco said something nasty, and Bo jumped him. Then Bronco shot Bo.”

Her eyes returned to the parking lot. Valentine let a few moments pass before speaking again. “The night before, when you had dinner, what did Bronco talk about?”

“Scams.”

“Did he mention a Nevada gaming agent stealing jackpots?”

Karen thought about it. “Yeah. He said a gaming agent was using laptops to rig slot machines. I didn’t understand what he was talking about.”

“Did he mention the agent’s name?”

“Naw.”

“Did he tell you how the scam worked?”

“He said it was an insider thing, and that he couldn’t use it.”

It was the same thing Gerry had said. Score another one for his son.

“What else do you remember?” Valentine asked.

“Bronco said he had a meeting set up in a few days with a member of the Asian Triads. He was going to exchange the laptop scam for a Pai Gow scam.”

Valentine pulled his chair up closer to her bed. Cheaters didn’t tell you things unless they wanted something in return. There had been a reason why Bronco had told Karen and Bo about the Asian. “Did Bronco want you to get involved?”

Karen blew her cheeks out. “You’re real smart, aren’t you?”

“I know how these people think.”

“Bo was stationed in the Far East when he was in the army, and knew how to play Pai Gow. Bronco offered to stake Bo. Said we’d make a fortune with this scam.”

Valentine leaned against the bed’s iron railing. Pai Gow was played in many casinos in the United States. Each player received tiles shaped like dominos, and tried to beat the dealer’s score with the score on their tiles. It was a tough game to cheat, and he had a feeling this scam was something really good. He saw Karen studying him, the expression on her face almost wistful.

“What’s next?” she asked.

“I’ll tell the DA you cooperated, and gave me lots of valuable information.”

“Think he’ll cut me some slack?”