“Silking,” his son said.

Valentine leaned back in his chair, surprised that his son was willing to rat out another crook. Gerry had been on the wrong side of the law since he was a teenager, and dishonesty was a hard thing to change.

“What’s silking?” Valentine asked.

“You’ve never heard of it?”

Valentine had policed Atlantic City’s casinos for twenty-five years, and knew every casino scam and greasy hustle ever invented. The ponies were a different story, his knowledge limited to things he’d heard about, and not experienced firsthand.

“No.”

“The bookie I apprenticed with was named Fred Flammer. The first scam Flam taught me was silking. Said it was invented in England, where it was considered an art among cheaters. Look pop, we need to hurry. Corky’s Boy is in the next race.”

Valentine rose from his chair. “Did you see the woman I was just talking to?”

“How could I miss her? She was hot.”

“She’s the owner’s daughter. You need to tell her what’s going on.”

“Sure.”

As Gerry rose, he took a cocktail napkin from a dispenser on the table, and handed it to his father.

“You’ve got lipstick all over your face,” his son said.

Suzie Brinkman’s office was located on the top floor of the track’s club house. Valentine rapped on the door and moments later it opened, and a track steward stuck his head out. He wore a blue blazer and a yellow tie, and was as chummy as a marine drill sergeant. Valentine looked over his shoulder, and saw Suzie Brinkman standing by a picture window that overlooked the track, a pair of binoculars in hand.

“What do you want?” the steward growled.

“Tony and Gerry Valentine to see Ms. Brinkman.”

“Never heard of you.”

Valentine handed him a business card.

“Grift Sense? What the hell is that?”

“My company,” Valentine said.

Hearing his voice, Suzie spun around and smiled. He had become eligible for Social Security a few months ago, and something about that smile told him getting old wasn’t as bad as people thought. Suzie ushered them past the pit bull, and Valentine introduced his son, then asked if there was someplace they could speak in private. Suzie glanced at the steward, who had not taken his eyes off Valentine. “Bern is my father’s right hand. You can say anything you wish around him.”

“My son spotted a known horse-cheater placing a large bet at one of your cages,” Valentine said. “We think the next race is fixed.”

Suzie looked startled. “Do you know which horse?”

“Corky’s Boy in the sixth.”

“Corky’s Boy?”

“That’s right. He’s running at 30 to 1 odds —

“I know which horse he is,” Suzie said, dropping herself in a chair. “That’s Randall’s horse, isn’t it?” she said to her steward.

“Yes, ma’am,” Bern replied. “Came in this morning from Miami.”

“You know the owner?” Valentine asked.

Suzie nodded. “Randall is a business associate of my father’s, and owes him a great deal of money. Randall called yesterday, and asked that I let his horse run. He said it would be his final race before he put it out to pasture. And I fell for it.”

“Where is your father?” Valentine asked.

“He’s out of the country on business.”

Some of the greatest scams had occurred when the person in charge was gone, and someone inexperienced was handed the reins. Cheaters called these opportunities magic moments, and there was no doubt in Valentine’s mind that Randall had seen a magic moment in Suzie’s father’s absence, and seized the chance to fleece his partner. Gerry cleared his throat. “May I make a suggestion?”

“By all means,” Suzie said.

“I know how to catch these guys red-handed,” Gerry said. “But, it’s going to mean letting the race run, then withholding the purses. You’re also going to have to keep Corky’s Boy in the winning circle so we can expose him.”

“That sounds risky,” Suzie said.

“Trust me, it’s the best way to handle it,” Gerry said.

Suzie put her hand on Gerry’s arm. “You sound like you know what you’re doing. We’ll let the race run.”

Valentine was so impressed he didn’t know what to say. His son was taking charge, and sounding like a responsible grown-up. Pigs can fly, he thought.

“Expose him how?” Bern asked. In his hand was a lab report which the track ran on all horses. “We tested Corky’s Boy two hours ago; his blood came up negative for steroids and amphetamines. That horse is one-hundred percent clean.”

“I’m sure he is,” Gerry said.

“Then how you going to expose him?”

“With a garden hose,” Gerry said.

Chapter 3

Mabel Struck was in her boss’s study sorting the mail when the phone rang. Tony got a lot of mail, mostly from panicked casino bosses, and as she reached for the phone, a handwritten envelope in the stack caught her eye. It was from an inmate in the Jean Correctional Facility for Women in Las Vegas named Lucy Price.

“Grift Sense,” she answered cheerfully.

“Do you sell wrapping paper?”

“Hi, there. Having fun at the track?”

“More fun than a barrel of monkeys,” Tony said. “I want you to turn on the TV to the horse-racing channel on cable, and tape the sixth race at Tampa Bay Downs.”

“Is something special going to happen?”

“The race is fixed, and Gerry figured it out. My son is going to be a star.”

Mabel smiled into the receiver. Tony and Gerry fought more than they played, but the relationship was slowly coming around. This was definitely a promising sign.

“Should I alert Yolanda?”

“Please. I’ve got to run. The horses are being led around the track.”

As Mabel dialed Yolanda’s number, she glanced at Lucy Price’s letter. She had never met Lucy Price, and hoped she never would. Lucy was a degenerate gambler, and was in prison going through treatment for her addiction while serving time for vehicular homicide. Tony was a magnet for women like this, and they always ended up hurting him. She stuck the letter with the junk mail.

“Hello?” Yolanda answered.

“You need to come over,” Mabel said. “Gerry and Tony are going to be on TV.”

Gerry’s wife appeared at the door a minute later, her baby in her arms. Yolanda wore ragged cut-offs and a tee-shirt smeared with baby spit, yet somehow remained a ravishing young woman. Mabel ushered her inside.

“What did Gerry do?” Yolanda asked, sounding worried.

“No, no,” Mabel said. “Tony said he’s going to be a star.”

“Wouldn’t that be a change.”

The living room of Tony’s house had newspapers on the floor, and lots of comfortable furniture. Turning on the TV, Mabel found the horse-race channel with the remote, hit record on the TIVO, then joined Yolanda on the couch.

“Gerry’s been on his best behavior lately,” Mabel said.

“But it’s just not his normal behavior,” Yolanda said. She looked into Mabel’s face and grinned. “That’s a joke.”

“Is everything between you two okay?”

“Just the usual pressures.”

“Which are?”

“Bills, bills and more bills. I’m a doctor, but somehow I never comprehended how expensive having a baby is.”

Mabel put a reassuring hand on Yolanda’s knee. “How’s Gerry taking this?

“He lies in bed at night, dreaming up get rich quick schemes, some of which probably aren’t legal, and I tell him, ‘Banish those thoughts from your head.’”

“Does he listen?”

“Most of the time. But it’s tough.”

“Oh, look. The race is starting.”

They directed their attention to the screen. There were eleven horses in the gate, and when the starting bell sounded, they exploded forward in a mad rush of muscle and controlled fury. The resolution of the TV’s picture was breathtakingly real, and the dirt on the track flew up before their eyes.