“I won’t say nothing,” Krista said.
The Dresser picked up the snapshots from the bed and slipped them into his pocket. “I’ll keep these, just in case you change your mind. Have a nice day.”
He went to the door, opened it, and another blast of cold air invaded the room. It was snowing outside, and he walked backwards out the door, and disappeared.
Fuller felt Krista’s legs untangle themselves from his own. Climbing off the bed, he went to the open doorway and stared outside. The snow was coming down hard, the giant flakes covering everything in sight. He envisioned himself running naked down the street after a man with a shotgun. He shut the door and locked it.
“Let me go,” Krista said.
He untied Krista from the headboard. She grabbed her clothes from the closet and started to throw them on. Grabbing her by the shoulders, he shook her violently.
“You’re not going to go to the police, understand?”
She looked into his eyes. “You’re just as crazy as he is.”
“Answer me.”
“You’re hurting me...”
“This is nothing.”
“Okay... no police. I promise.”
Fuller let her go, and she ran half-naked out the door.
Chapter 27
There was a cork bulletin board hanging in Resorts’ surveillance control room. Pinned to it were pictures of known cheaters. Each cheater had been christened with a nickname. That way, if one of them came into the casino, a tech could put out an alert, and everyone would know who he was talking about. It was another Bill Higgins trick.
Valentine awoke to a ringing phone. The bedroom was dark, and he stared at the luminous clock on his bedside table. Midnight. He snatched up the receiver.
“This had better be good.”
“The Marx Brothers are in the casino,” a tech named Romaine said.
The Marx Brothers were the nickname Valentine had given the Hirsch brothers. He’d stuck their photo on the cork board, hoping they’d show up again. He threw his legs over the side of the bed. “What are they doing?”
“One’s playing craps, another blackjack, and the third is in the bar.”
“Keep watching them. I’ll be right over.”
“What if they try to leave?” Romaine asked.
“Have security grab them.”
He killed the connection and called Doyle’s house, woke him from a dead asleep, and told him to meet him inside Resorts’ casino in twenty minutes. Hanging up, he glanced over at Lois’s side of the bed. His wife’s eyes were wide open.
“You don’t have to explain,” she said.
Normally, he wouldn’t have left his bed for the likes of the Hirschs. Security could detain them until he got there in the morning. But the Hirschs were his thread to the man they’d seen with Mickey Wright, and he needed to pump them before they started screaming for lawyers. Leaning over, he kissed his wife on the lips.
“Thanks,” he said.
He broke every speed limit on the island getting to the casino. Leaving his car with the valet, he hurried inside. Just off the front doors were the house phones. He picked one up, and was connected to the surveillance control room.
“Marx Brothers are still here,” Romaine told him.
“Keep watching them.”
“I won’t let them out of my sights.”
Two minutes later, Doyle hobbled through the front door with his cane. Valentine pulled his partner to the side. “Here’s the deal. We’re going to pretend we’re gamblers. I’ll run into Izzie Hirsch and strike up a conversation. I’ll introduce you as my buddy.”
“Then what?” Doyle said.
“We improvise.”
They entered the packed casino. Watching people gamble reminded Valentine of a movie he’d seen about the Titanic. In the movie, everyone on the ship was having a great time, not knowing they were about to go down. Resorts’ casino was no different. Nearly every player would go down tonight as well.
He spotted Izzie Hirsch standing next to a blackjack table. Izzie had beefed up since his Catskill days, and was as fat as a tick. Izzie was chatting with a high-roller with a castle of black hundred dollar chips. Valentine approached him with a smile on his face.
“Izzie? Izzie Hirsch?”
Izzie took a giant step away from the table. “Who are you?”
“Tony Valentine.”
“Who?”
“Tony Valentine. We hung out in the Catskills when we were kids.”
Izzie feigned recognition and slapped Valentine’s arm. “Tony Valentine! How the hell are you? You haven’t changed a bit.”
“Neither have you. This is my buddy, Doyle.”
“Nice to meet you,” Izzie pumped Doyle’s hand.
Izzie introduced the high-roller. He was a jeweler named Moskowitz, and was playing a hundred bucks a hand while banging the table with his fist. Moskowitz was drunk, and had sucker written all over him.
Josh and Seymour Hirsch appeared a few minutes later. Introductions were made, and soon everyone was having a swell time. The Hirsch brothers were as smooth as snake oil salesmen, and Valentine wondered where this was heading.
At two A.M., a groan went up inside the casino as the house lights were raised.
“Closing time,” Izzie said. “Let’s go to our place.”
Everyone agreed to follow Izzie home. Moskowitz took his chips to the cage and cashed out, then went outside stuffing the money into his pockets. He climbed into the back of the Hirsch’s car, and it pulled out of the valet area.
Valentine and Doyle followed in the Pinto. Valentine had been around some smooth operators before, but the Hirsch brothers were in another league. They were funny and smart and impossible not to like.
“What do you think these guys are up to?” Doyle asked.
“I don’t know. But I think we’re about to find out.”
They drove to a small house on the outskirts of Ventnor. Parking in the driveway, Valentine realized he knew the place. Up until a few months ago, it had housed a gang of drug dealers. They followed the Hirschs and Moskowitz inside.
The place had been spruced up. A coat of fresh paint hid the cracked walls and misshapen door frames. There was a pool table in the living room, two card tables in the den. Valentine found a triangle and racked up the balls. Taking a twenty dollar bill from his pocket, he slapped it on the felt.
“Hey, Izzie. You ever play a game called Watermelon Seed?”
Izzie entered, and spied the money on the table. “No. How do you play?”
Valentine took two balls out of a pocket and placed them on the table. “ Each of us puts a ball on the rail. Then we push down on our balls like a watermelon seed. Whichever ball goes farthest wins.”
He saw the hint of suspicion in Izzie’s eyes.
“Do we have to use these balls?” Izzie asked.
“Use any balls you want,” Valentine replied.
Izzie took two balls out of another pocket and rubbed them on his shirt. Valentine came down to his end of the table. They lined their balls up, then shot them. Izzie’s ball went a foot, while Valentine’s ball went a few inches further.
“You owe me twenty bucks,” Valentine said.
“Double or nothing,” Izzie said.
They played five more times. Each time, Valentine’s ball went a few inches farther on the felt. As a kid, Valentine had learned a few tricks from his old man. The secret to playing Watermelon Seed was moisture. By wetting your shooting finger with saliva, the ball lost its backspin, and could be shot anywhere on the table.
Izzie was not a good loser, and demanded a chance to win his money back. Valentine agreed, and they sat down at one of the card tables.
“Shuffle them.” Izzie handed him a deck.
Valentine mixed the cards and gave them a cut. Most card cheating required misdirection, and he knew Izzie was going to have to “move” during the game in order to steal his money. He slid the deck towards his opponent.