It made sense. Every week, American Airlines flew five luxury jumbo jets from Hong Kong to Las Vegas. These jets were filled with high-rolling Asian gamblers, or what the industry called whales, and were the single most profitable group of gamblers in the world. Of course the Chinese government wanted them to stay at home and gamble. They were worth hundreds of millions of dollars to the economy.

“How does the Pai Gow scam fit into this?” Valentine asked.

“Rumor is, the Chinese government struck a deal with the Triads to gaff every Pai Gow game in Las Vegas,” Bill said. “Since the equipment is manufactured in China, the story makes sense. The Chinese are hoping that if Las Vegas starts losing money at Pai Gow, the casinos will close the games down.”

“And the Asian gamblers will stay home and play Pai Gow in Macau.”

Bill blew on his coffee. “That’s right.”

“And Bronco was the cheater who was going to rip off the casinos with the Pai Gow scam.”

“Right again. Now, there’s a problem with this story, and it’s this. Once I heard the rumor, I had every casino in Las Vegas pull their Pai Gow equipment off the tables, and send it to a forensic lab. They tested for marks, luminous paint and hidden gaffs. Nothing showed up.”

“What about ultra-violet inhibitors?

“They were tested for those, as well. The dominos are clean.”

“No, they’re not,” Valentine said. “Think about what you just told me. The Chinese government is intent on shutting down every Pai Gow game in Las Vegas. That means every Pai Gow game in Las Vegas can be scammed. There’s something wrong with those dominos. You just don’t know what to look for.”

“You’re right. I don’t.”

Bill’s cell phone went off. He took the call, then hung up and started the car’s engine. “That was O’Sullivan. The cops got a reading on your son’s cell phone. It’s coming from a storage facility on the south side of town. They’re waiting for us.”

The cars wheels spun pulling out of the parking lot.

Ten minutes later, Bill pulled into the self-storage facility where the Reno police had determined that Gerry was being held. The front gate was open, and Bill drove around back and parked. As a cop, Valentine had always hated industrial parks. Every car thief and drug smuggler he’d ever busted had worked out of one, and he considered them a haven for crooks and scum bags.

Eight uniformed Reno cops were standing outside a unit with a sliding metal door. They were all big and tan, wore bulletproof vests and clutched shotguns protectively to their chests. One had a large mallet, and Valentine guessed his job was to break the lock on the sliding door. O’Sullivan stood beside the building, staying cool in the shade.

“I spoke to your son through the door,” the sergeant said. “He thinks his nose is busted, but otherwise he’s okay.”

Valentine felt something drop in his stomach. Gerry hadn’t said anything about his nose when they’d talked earlier. “What happened to his nose?”

“Bronco roughed him up.”

“Did you ask my son if he thought the unit was booby-trapped?”

“Come to mention it, I did. Your son said the interior was clean, but I had my men drill some holes through the door to let some light in. I had your son check the unit visually, and also run his hands up and down the door to check for wires and vibration tape. He didn’t find anything.”

Valentine didn’t like it. It would be a long time before he forgot the hatred he’d seen in Bronco’s face earlier that day. Walking onto the grass, he looked at the line of hills overlooking the facility. They were a half-mile away, and covered with scrub brush. He tried to imagine what kind of animals he’d find if he hiked through them. He guessed snakes and squirrels and maybe a man with a high-powered hunting rifle. He got O’Sullivan’s attention and pointed at them. “I want you to send a pair of men up there, and make sure Bronco isn’t waiting to ambush us.”

“A police helicopter did a sweep fifteen minutes ago. The area is clean.”

Valentine looked back at the hills. Even though he didn’t gamble, he’d learned how to play the odds a long time ago. Bill was standing nearby talking with a couple of cops, and he walked over to him and said, “Do me a favor, and explain to Sergeant O’Sullivan that I’m in charge, and that he needs to do whatever I tell him, even if it means standing on his head and spitting nickels. Okay?”

“Whatever you say, Tony.”

Bill explained the situation to O’Sullivan. The sergeant grew red in the face, then sent two men up the hill. He came over to where Valentine was standing.

“Sorry about that,” he said.

“No problem,” Valentine said.

A few minutes later, one of the cops radioed O’Sullivan, and said the hills were clean. Valentine still didn’t like it, but told the sergeant to break down the door anyway.

The cop with the mallet opened the sliding door with several well-placed whacks. As the door was pushed up, Valentine found himself thanking God, something he didn’t do nearly as much as he should. He’d already had a piece of his heart torn out by losing his wife, and could not stand having another piece torn out losing Gerry.

Sunlight flooded the unit’s interior and the Reno cops swarmed in. The unit was rectangular in shape and contained Valentine’s rental car. Gerry sat in the front seat and got out of the car while shielding his eyes from the sudden flood of light. Valentine went and put a bear hug on him.

“Thanks for saving my life,” Valentine said.

“I owed you one,” his son replied.

They held each other. Valentine’s late wife had gotten him addicted to hugs, and it felt really good. Then they walked onto the grass where Bill’s car was parked, and Gerry took out his cigarettes and lit up. They shared a smoke without saying anything.

“You’re going to be proud of me,” Gerry said.

“I’m already proud of you.”

“I narrowed down your slot cheater to seven suspects.”

“Show me.”

Gerry went back to the rental, and returned holding a handful of paper, which he handed to his father. Valentine counted seven files of gaming agents who worked for the Electronic Systems Division. He looked at his son expectantly.

“I once had a woman who worked for me as a bartender who was stealing money,” Gerry explained. “She also took a lot of personnel days and sick days. The two go hand-in-hand.”

“Stealing money and stealing time,” Valentine said.

“That’s right. The woman who was stealing from me did it out of spite. Well, that fits the profile of your slot cheater, don’t you think?”

Valentine took a drag off the cigarette. “You think this agent has a vendetta?”

“Why else would he steal hundreds of jackpots? Why not just steal one big one?”

Gerry pointed at the files in his father’s hands. “Those seven agents have all taken lots of time off in the past two years for “personal” reasons. I’d bet the rent one of them is your slot cheater.”

The cigarette was down to nothing, and Valentine burned his fingers getting a final drag. Last one,he told himself, knowing it was a lie. Then, he looked through the seven files. The agents were some of the most senior people in ESD, and included Fred Friendly, the man running the show. It seemed inconceivable that one of them might be a slot cheater, yet all the evidence was pointing that way.

“I think you’re right. Good job. ” Valentine put the files down and squeezed his son’s arm. Then he noticed that Gerry was trembling. “What’s wrong?”

“Bronco tried to kill me earlier,” his son said.

“Jesus, Gerry. What happened?”

“I talked him out of it.”

“How the hell did you do that?”

“Right before he was going to pull the trigger, I pissed in my pants. Bronco saw it, got real upset. I think it reminded him of that night on the Boardwalk when he murdered Uncle Sal.”