I need whiskey, the old cowboy muttered.
You need to see a doctor first.
Whiskeys cheaper and it works faster. Rufus pointed at a casino up ahead, a run-down joint called the Laughing Jackalope. That place will do.
You sure? Valentine asked.
Yessir.
Valentine found a space in the Jackalopes dusty parking lot. Killing the engine, he stared at the peeling paint and decay on the building. There were three types of casinos in Las
Vegas: carpet joints, sawdust joints, and toilets. The Jackalope was on the low end of the toilet scale. Opening the door, Rufus practically fell out of the car.
See you inside, he said.
Valentine watched Rufus lurch across the lot like a drunk on ice skates. At the front door he threw his shoulders back and snapped to attention, then marched inside.
The sound of a shot glass slamming the bar greeted Valentine upon entering the poorly lit, mirrored cocktail lounge. Rufus was at the bar, getting served. The bartender, a cross-eyed albino wearing a faded purple tuxedo shirt, held a bottle of Johnny Walker at the ready.
Another? the albino asked.
Id sure appreciate it, Rufus replied.
The albino poured and Rufus drank. The color had returned to his cheeks, and he no longer looked ready to keel over. Wiping his lips, he glanced through an open doorway into the next room where a couple of construction workers wearing coveralls were shooting pool. Rufus pointed at the halfway mark on the shot glass.
To there, if you dont mind, he said.
The albino half-filled the glass. Rufus staggered into the next room, doing his drunk act, and started baiting the construction workers. The albino placed another shot glass on the bar and filled it with whiskey.
No thanks, Valentine said.
Who said it was for you? the albino snorted.
The albino slammed the drink back, then returned the bottle to its slot on the mirrored display behind him. When he turned around, he gave Valentine a hard look.
I remember you now, the albino said. You came in here a few days ago, asking a lot of questions. Your names Gerry, isnt it?
Valentine and his thirty-six-year-old son, Gerry, bore a strong physical resemblance, and the crummy bar light was a good equalizer. Gerry had been with him until a few hours ago when Valentine sent him to Atlantic City to chase down a lead. He guessed the albino was one of his sons local sources, and said, Thats right. Hows it going?
Shitty, the albino said. What do you want?
You always so warm and fuzzy?
Just call me Mister Fucking Sunshine.
You must really bring in the customers.
You came in, didnt you?
There was no use arguing with a guy like this, and Valentine decided to leave. Pulling out his wallet, he asked, How much do I owe you?
Same as before, the albino said.
Refresh my memory.
The albino reached into Valentines wallet and gingerly removed a C-note. He put his elbows on the bar in a friendly fashion and said, You want to see the notebook? I just got the updates last night. Lots of new dealers.
Valentine played back everything that had just happened. The albino knew his son, and had just taken a hundred-dollar bill from his wallet. Sure, he said.
The albino removed a plastic three-ring notebook from beneath the bar. Valentine flipped it open and scanned the neatly typed pages. After a few moments, he realized what he was looking at. The notebook contained the names and physical descriptions of several dozen blackjack dealers in Las Vegas, their work hours, and how many times per hour they mistakenly flashed their hole card to the players. Reading a flashed card was called front-loading, and a perfectly legal way to beat the house.
Valentine shut the notebook. Actually there was something else I wanted to ask you. Whats the story with the World Poker Showdown?
I hear its rigged for the blind guy to win, the albino said.
Any idea how?
Rumor is, theyre using touch cards.
Touch cards were a popular way among cheaters to mark cards. The cheater would use a sharp device called a punch to create an indentation in the card that could be felt by the thumb during the deal. This indentation let the dealer know when certain cards were coming off the top. Other variations used sandpaper and nail polish to scuff the back of the card.
Thanks, Valentine said, rising from his stool.
You know, youve aged a lot since the last time I saw you, the albino said.
Valentine was twenty-seven years older than his son. He wanted to tell the albino to get his eyes checked, but had a feeling the comment might be taken the wrong way. He said good night, and walked into the next room to watch Rufus shoot pool.
They left the bar with Rufus holding a handful of the construction workers money. As Valentine drove away, Rufus took several hundred-dollar bills and shoved them into Valentines shirt pocket.
Whats that for? Valentine asked.
Saving me from getting whacked over the head with a pool cue, Rufus said.
You tell those guys I was a cop?
I sure did. That and
those broad shoulders of yours kept those boys honest.