“Yes. Gerry was protecting an undercover policeman, and won’t face criminal charges. But that doesn’t change the situation.”
“Which is what?”
“That your boss and his son have gotten themselves into a blood feud with one of the most ruthless men in the United States. Your boss has a reputation for being a resourceful individual, and I’m sure his son is as well. But I’m afraid this is a fight that is stacked against them.”
“Why do you say that?” Mabel asked.
“Scalzo has connections all over the country, especially in Las Vegas, where he is now. And he has a small army on his payroll in New Jersey. If Scalzo is gunning for someone, he’ll usually get them.”
Mabel sighed. If she’d learned anything working for Tony, it was that her boss didn’t know the meaning of the word quit, and neither did Gerry. They were stubborn males, and not inclined to run away from a fight. “Thank you, Special Agent Romero. I appreciate the call. I’ll make sure Tony and Gerry are warned.”
“You’re welcome. May I ask a favor?”
“Certainly.”
“Please keep this conversation between you and your boss.”
“It will go no further.”
“Good-bye, Ms. Struck.”
Mabel nestled the receiver into its cradle. Pushing her chair back from the desk, she steepled her hands, and rested her chin on her fingertips. It was her thinking pose, and she sat silently, contemplating what to do.
When the phone rang fifteen minutes later, she was still absorbed in thought. She glanced at the Caller ID on the phone and saw that it was Gerry’s wife, Yolanda, calling on her cell phone. Yolanda had gone to Puerto Rico to visit her family a week ago, and Mabel had missed her company. She picked up the phone.
“Hello, Yolanda. How is sunny Puerto Rico?”
“I left three hours ago,” Yolanda replied. “I’m at the Miami airport, waiting for a connection to come home.”
“Is everything all right?”
“No. I mean yes. Oh, I don’t know.”
“What’s wrong?”
“I had this horrible dream last night,” Yolanda said.
“I wouldn’t have given it any weight, only my mother had the exact same dream. So, I decided to come home.”
Yolanda’s eighty-year-old mother was psychic, and had premonitions when bad things were about to happen. Mabel said, “Tell me what happened in your dream.”
“I was in a cemetery. It was freezing cold and pitch dark. I was looking at a tombstone with Gerry’s name on it and I was sobbing. I laid flowers on Gerry’s grave, then put flowers on a grave with a tombstone that had Tony’s name on it.”
“You saw both their names?”
“Yes,” Yolanda said quietly.
“And your mother had this same dream?”
“Yes,” Yolanda said. “She saw tombstones with Gerry’s and Tony’s names as well. Now, will you please tell me something?”
“Of course, my dear.”
“Are Gerry and Tony all right? Please be truthful with me.”
Mabel hesitated. Then her eyes fell on the frame hanging over Tony’s desk. It contained five playing cards—two black aces, two black eights, and the five of diamonds. Wild Bill Hickock had been holding aces and eights the night he’d been shot in a poker game, murdered by a gang of cheaters who were afraid of being run out of town. They were known as a Deadman’s Hand, and had been bought by Tony as a reminder that no job was worth getting killed over.
“I’m afraid they’re up to their eyeballs in trouble,” she blurted out.
“So my dream was a premonition,” Yolanda said.
“I hope not,” Mabel said.
There was a loud noise in the background, and Yolanda said, “They’re boarding my plane. I need to run. I’ll be home soon.”
The phone went dead in Mabel’s hand. Identical dreams couldn’t be a coincidence. Tony and Gerry were going to get hurt if they didn’t do something. She stared at the Deadman’s Hand, then shut her eyes and prayed, not wanting Wild Bill’s fate to be Gerry’s and Tony’s as well.
21
“I owe you a big steak,” Eddie Davis said. “I might just take you up on that,” Gerry replied.
Davis was signing paperwork so he could be released from the emergency room of Atlantic City Medical Center. The ER was relatively quiet, the groaning drunks and shooting victims and other casualties of the night having been treated and moved out. A bearded doctor stood beside Davis, holding a medicine bottle filled with white pills. He shoved them into Davis’s hand.
“This is penicillin. Follow the instructions on the bottle,” the doctor said. “The wound on your back could become infected. You need to watch it.”
“I will,” Davis said, pocketing the bottle.
The doctor handed Davis another sheet of paper to sign. It was printed in bold lettering, and stated that Davis had been given instructions from a doctor and fully understood them. Gerry guessed this freed the hospital from liability in case Davis got sick, and decided to sue. Davis scribbled his name across the bottom.
Outside in the parking lot they found Marconi sitting in a Chevy Impala, fighting to stay awake. Gerry guessed Marconi would rather be home sleeping than sitting there, only there was an unwritten code that said if your partner got hurt, you hung with him. His father had done it many times. Marconi climbed out of the car and whacked Eddie on the arm.
“Hey brother, glad to see you’re still in one piece. I spoke with the district attorney about Abruzzi getting killed outside Bally’s. Everything’s cool.”
“Did you nail the guy’s partners?” Davis asked.
“They escaped. I managed to grab a good piece of evidence, though.” Opening the back door of the car, Marconi took the gaffed Yankees cap off the passenger seat and handed it to Davis. “Take a look at this.”
Davis examined the cap, trying to hide his disappointment that Marconi hadn’t nailed Abruzzi’s partners. As he handed the cap back, Gerry stuck his hand out.
“Can I look at it again?”
Marconi handed him the cap. The cap had been bothering Gerry, only he hadn’t known why. Turning the cap over, Gerry ran his finger over the LEDs and receiver sewn into the rim. Most cheating equipment was crudely made, with the main emphasis on getting the money. The niceties were almost always ignored. But this cap was different. It was new and looked liked a tailor had stitched it. The transmitter and LEDs were unusually thin, and he suspected they’d cost a lot of money.
Then it occurred to him what was wrong.
Cheating equipment was expensive. Several underground companies sold devices to rip off games, and the equipment often cost several thousand dollars. The markup was incredible, the reasoning being that a cheater would make the money back in one night. Gerry tried to imagine how much the baseball cap would cost from one of these companies. They charged through the nose for anything electronic, and he guessed the cap would cost ten grand. He handed the cap back to Marconi.
“Can I ask you a couple of questions?” Gerry asked.
“Go ahead.”
“The gang you were chasing inside Bally’s, how many members were there?”
Marconi stuck the cap on his head. It was several sizes too large, and made him look like a little kid. He counted on the fingers of one hand. “One woman was nicking the cards. A second guy was reading the nicks and transmitting the information. And there was the guy wearing the cap and doing the betting. Three members.”
“Don’t forget Abruzzi,” Davis said.
“Correction. Four members.”
“Okay,” Gerry said. “Four members, but only one is actually stealing.”
“That’s right.”
“How much was the gang winning?”
“Around fifteen hundred a night,” Marconi said.