Wild Card, page 13
“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.
“They’re made.”
“You ever hear the joke about the Polish peeping Tom?” Izzie asked.
“Afraid I haven’t.”
“He got caught looking down his own pants.”
Valentine acted like it was the funniest joke he’d ever heard. He saw Izzie drop his hands into his lap, then bring his hands back up, and start to deal. The deck had been out of sight for a few seconds. It was so obvious.
Valentine glanced over his shoulder. Doyle stood behind the table with Moskowitz, shooting the breeze. His partner hadn’t seen a thing.
It was time for the charade to end. Valentine took his wallet, and dropped it on the floor. Bending down, he stuck his head under the table, and saw a black velvet bag hanging underneath. He grabbed it, and heard the fabric tear. Bringing his head up, he tossed the bag on the table. The deck of cards he’d just shuffled spilled out.
“Game’s over,” he announced.
Chapter 28
It was illegal to run a private card game in Atlantic City. They let Moskowitz go with a warning, then took the Hirsch brothers to the station house, put them in separate interrogation rooms, and sweated them.
The brothers did not act terribly concerned. They were pros, and quoted the law during the ride in: The crime they were accused of was a misdemeanor, and would cost them a few hundred dollar fine and a warning from the judge. It was a slap on the wrist, which was why Valentine asked the DA, a local legend named Stump Hammer, to prosecute them for cheating. Stump had gotten his name after a heroic goal line stand during a high school football game. When he dug his heels in, there was no getting around him.
“Tony, I can’t prosecute them for running a card game, much less pulling some hanky-panky,” Stump said over the phone. “You’re have to let them go.”
“But they’re crooks,” Valentine protested.
“We’re a casino town, Tony. These guys were gambling after the casino closed. You think the governor wants me prosecuting people for doing that?”
“This is different. These guys are professional cheaters.”
“How am I going to pick a jury? ‘Sir, have you ever cheated at cards? You have? Well, you’re excused.’ It won’t fly, Tony. Sorry.”
Valentine felt the cold plastic of the phone seep into his hand. Justice wasn’t blind, but sometimes it was stupid as hell. “These guys are siphoning off players from the casino and stealing their winnings. It’s hurting the casino.”
“The casino is making twenty million a month. How much are these guys taking?”
Valentine had found the strongbox with the Hirsch’s money when they’d searched the house. “About five grand a week.”
“Pleeease,” Stump said.
“You’re not going prosecute?”
“No. Sorry.”
Valentine had learned never to let a DA end a conversation by saying ‘No.’, so he said, “How about coming down to the station house, and rattling their cages?”
“You want me to threaten these guys?”
“Just the ringleader. I need to get him talking.”
“All right. I’ll be right over.”
Stump worked over Izzie in one of the interrogation rooms. By the time he was finished, Izzie had sweated through his clothes, and looked like he might get sick.
Stump left, and Valentine remained in the interrogation room with Izzie. The room had a window covered by a grille, and furniture bolted to the floor. It also smelled of fear.
“I want a lawyer,” Izzie demanded.
“No, you don’t,” Valentine said.
“Yes, I do. You hustled us with that pool trick. You stole my money, and I tried to win it back. That’s entrapment. I’m going to get the best lawyer this two-bit town has. You’ll rue the day you pulled that crap with me. And so will that DA.”
“If you get a lawyer, then I’m going to formally charge you, and your brothers. And so far, I haven’t done that.”
Izzie thought it over. “You offering me a deal?”
“Maybe.”
“Whatever it is, it’s got to include my brothers.”
“How touching.”
“I’m not kidding around. All or none.”
“It will include all of you.”
Doyle entered with two steaming cups of coffee, then left. Valentine handed one of the cups to Izzie, and watched him gulp it down.
“I finally remembered you,” Izzie said when the coffee was gone. “You came up to the Catskills with your folks one summer. Thought you knew how to play ping pong.”
“I beat you,” Valentine reminded him.
“Yeah, but Josh creamed you. Took all your money, as I recall.”
“Josh was good.”
“He took lessons. This might sound funny, but my brothers and I wanted to recruit you. We were trimming the bus boys on the weekends at poker. We wanted you to act as our take-off man.”
“What’s that?”
“The take-off man wins the money from the suckers. He has to be a square john that everyone trusts.”
“Sounds right up my alley,” Valentine said.
“That’s what we thought. Only you had the hots for Lois Fabio.” Izzie let out a laugh. “God, was she a little tart.”
Valentine lowered his cup. “How so?”
“I got her on the golf course one night and tried to hump her in a sand trap. She let me take off her bra, but not her pants.”
“She showed you her breasts?”
“Yeah. They weren’t that great.”
“Why the hell didn’t you tell me she was your wife?” Izzie wailed ten minutes later, holding an ice pack to his swollen left eye.
Valentine’s hand was singing with pain. If they kept reminiscing, he might end up killing Izzie, so he decided to get to the point. “Two nights ago, you and your brothers dragged a guy through the lobby of Resorts’ hotel, and our surveillance cameras caught you stuffing money back into his shirt. Who was he?”
Izzie lowered the ice bag. “Some guy named Vinny.”
“What was his last name?”
“I don’t remember.”
“How did you meet him?”
“I picked him up inside the casino, and brought him over to the house. There was a misunderstanding, and Josh broke a bottle over his head.”
“A misunderstanding?”
“Yeah. We decided to take him back to his hotel room. While we were dragging him through the lobby, the money fell out of his shirt. Being an honest person, I put it back.”
“Was he wearing a money belt?”
“I believe he was.”
“How much was in it?”
“A hundred big ones.”
“That’s a lot of cash to be carrying around. You think the guy was mafia?”
“Beats me.”
“What happened when you got him into his room?”
Izzie’s ice pack had sprung a leak and was trickling down his forearm. Turning it upside down, he reapplied it to his eye. “Vinny woke up. Didn’t remember a damn thing. We got him a beer from the mini-bar and turned on the TV. He really had amnesia. We shot the breeze for a while, then left.”
“I want his last name, Izzie.”
“Why don’t you call the hotel and ask them?”
“The name.”
“I told you everything I know,” Izzie said angrily.
“No, you didn’t.”
“You’re not going to drop charges?”
“No.”
Izzie threw the leaking ice bag at him. “You prick!”
Valentine jumped up and kicked Izzie’s chair out from under him. It was a move that Banko had taught every cop in Atlantic City, and Izzie hit the floor and yelped.
“Cut it out!” he cried.
“Come on, let’s make a deal,” Izzie said an hour later. Handcuffed to the leg of his chair, he sat with his shoulders hunched forward and a pained expression on his face. Stump had made a second appearance, and done a good job convincing Izzie that he and his brothers were going to the big house, where, because of their diminutive size, they would be brutally victimized by the other prisoners. As Stump had left, he’d shot Valentine a little smile.
“What kind of deal?” Valentine said.
“You want a scalp, right? Let’s forget Vinny, and talk about some real scalps.”
Valentine leaned back in his chair. “You know something I don’t?”
“I sure do.”
“Let’s hear it.”
“Your casino is getting ripped off,” Izzie said. “My guess is, you’re losing fifty grand a week, maybe more.”
“To who?”
“Professional gangs of cheaters, working different shifts.”
“Cut the bull. Tell me Vinny’s last name, or the DA will throw the book at you.”
Izzie stared at him with his good eye. “You’re just like every other casino cop. You think you’re smart. You’ve got the eye in the sky and video tape machines and the other gadgets. And that’s just great, except for one thing. I can beat that stuff, and so can plenty of other guys.” Izzie paused, then added, “Want to learn?”
Izzie was being serious. Valentine leaned forward. “What’s the price tag?”
“Let me and my brothers go.”
By law, Valentine had to let the Hirsch brothers go. Only Izzie was scared, and he decided to milk that fear as much as he could. Taking the handcuff key from his pocket, he uncuffed his prisoner from the leg of his chair.
“Show me,” he said.
Chapter 29
They drove to Resorts in Valentine’s Pinto. Along with being a fire trap, his car was also a lemon, and sputtered uncertainly each time he put his foot to the gas. Izzie seemed amused, and Valentine caught him smirking several times.
“If you can beat any casino, why don’t you live in Las Vegas?” Valentine asked.
“You’re joking, right?”
“Why, is Vegas dangerous?”
“The casino owners out there will put a bullet in your head and bury you in the desert if they catch you cheating. Road hustling is easy.”
“Is that what you do?”
“Yeah. Guys who cheat private games are called hustlers. Guys who travel and cheat are called road hustlers, and guys who cheat casinos are called cross roaders.”
“You know a lot of hustlers?”
“Sure. I bump into other hustlers in games all the time.”
“What do you say — ‘Hey, I was here first?’”
They had reached Resorts. The valet wrote up a ticket, and they walked through the front doors. “Say I’m working a game,” Izzie said, “and another hustler sits down, and starts cheating. I’ll talk about a hunting trip I took, and how I killed some rabbits. That’s a signal that I’m a cheater.”
“Rabbits?”
“That’s right. Usually he’ll ask in code if I’ll cut him in.”
“Will you?”
“Sure. It’s good etiquette.”
They walked around the packed casino. Izzie’s purple eye was drawing stares, and they went to the cocktail lounge and grabbed a table.
“So how did you learn this stuff?” Valentine asked. “Did you have a teacher?”
“Everyone in my family cheated,” Izzie said. “They taught me the moves, and I practiced in front of a mirror. Once I felt confident, I tried the moves out in a soft game. Then, I graduated up to bigger games.”
“How about cross roaders? What’s their deal?”
“Cross roaders are different. They’re tough people, and most have criminal records. They’ll get together in someone’s house, and practice a scam. Then they’ll try it out, like a casino night at a church. If they’re successful, they’ll hit Vegas. Or your place.”
“Sounds risky,” Valentine said.
“Depends on the ringleader,” Izzie replied.
“What does he do?”
“He scouts the casino and looks for green dealers. Casinos have such high turnover that you can usually find one on every shift. The team goes in, and sets up. They try the scam, except they don’t actually do it. It’s called a splash move.”
“As in getting your feet wet?”
“Right. If the dealer doesn’t squawk, they do it later for real.”
A waitress took their drink order. As Izzie flirted with her, Valentine stared through the lounge at the casino. He still didn’t believe what Izzie had said back at the station house about all the games being susceptible to cheating.
“When does the lesson start?” he asked.
Izzie made a grandiose gesture with his arm toward the casino. “Whenever you want it to, my friend.”
“Start with blackjack.”
A bowl of salted peanuts sat on the table. Izzie popped them into his mouth while speaking. “Gamblers call it BJ, as in blow job, because that’s what you get if you play by the rules. Want to know how many types of BJ cheating I’ve seen in Atlantic City?”
“Sure.”
“I’ve seen cards nicked and daubed; I’ve seen teams switch cards under a dealer’s nose. I’ve seen guys add cards to a shoe, and guys take cards away. I’ve seen steer teams move cards under the dealer’s nose. And, I’ve seen players with cameras in their ties. How many is that?”
“Seven,” Valentine said.
“There’s more.”
“Start with these.”
“Nicked you know about. Daub is a substance that can only be seen through special glasses or contact lenses. It’s made with aniline dye.”
Valentine borrowed a pen from their waitress and began to scribble furiously on a cocktail napkin. “How do you switch cards?”
“You need a good turn. A turn is a hustler’s secret weapon. It’s used to turn the pit boss’s attention from the table. Usually, it’s a pretty girl. But it can just as easily be a geezer with a hearing aid.”
“What about the eye-in-the-sky?”
“Cameras can be turned, too. A couple having an argument works pretty well. So does a drunk falling down. I heard of one team that set a curtain on fire.”
Valentine kept scribbling. Things like Izzie was describing happened every night inside Resorts: It was the byproduct of serving free liquor to people.
“You said guys add cards to a shoe, and take them away.”
“Different moves, same outcome. If I secretly add ten high cards to a shoe, my odds of winning go way up. Same thing if I remove ten low cards.”
“What’s a steer team?”
“Two players make up a team. The first watches as the cards are shuffled. He spots the top card during the shuffle, and signals its value to his partner. The second player is offered the cards to be cut by the dealer. The second player cuts at a certain number, and both players know where the card lies in the deck.”
“So what?”
“They silently count to the card during the game. If the card is an ace or high card, they will draw cards in order to get it during the next round, when they’ll bet big. It guarantees the team a big payoff every round.”
The bowl of peanuts was empty. Izzie had eaten them like they were his last meal. Valentine wanted to ask Izzie if his mother had taught him any manners, but had a feeling that she’d been too busy teaching her boys how to fuck people.
“Cameras in ties,” Valentine said.
“The cheater has a tiny camera hidden in his tie. The camera transmits to a van parked outside. A guy inside the van types the card’s values into a computer that card counts. Then he radios back to the player what to do.”
Valentine had run out of room on his cocktail napkin. Bill Higgins had said that millions of dollars disappeared from Las Vegas’s blackjack tables every year, and had attributed most of it to employee theft. Bill’s going to be surprised, he thought.
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.
“They’re made.”
“You ever hear the joke about the Polish peeping Tom?” Izzie asked.
“Afraid I haven’t.”
“He got caught looking down his own pants.”
Valentine acted like it was the funniest joke he’d ever heard. He saw Izzie drop his hands into his lap, then bring his hands back up, and start to deal. The deck had been out of sight for a few seconds. It was so obvious.
Valentine glanced over his shoulder. Doyle stood behind the table with Moskowitz, shooting the breeze. His partner hadn’t seen a thing.
It was time for the charade to end. Valentine took his wallet, and dropped it on the floor. Bending down, he stuck his head under the table, and saw a black velvet bag hanging underneath. He grabbed it, and heard the fabric tear. Bringing his head up, he tossed the bag on the table. The deck of cards he’d just shuffled spilled out.
“Game’s over,” he announced.
Chapter 28
It was illegal to run a private card game in Atlantic City. They let Moskowitz go with a warning, then took the Hirsch brothers to the station house, put them in separate interrogation rooms, and sweated them.
The brothers did not act terribly concerned. They were pros, and quoted the law during the ride in: The crime they were accused of was a misdemeanor, and would cost them a few hundred dollar fine and a warning from the judge. It was a slap on the wrist, which was why Valentine asked the DA, a local legend named Stump Hammer, to prosecute them for cheating. Stump had gotten his name after a heroic goal line stand during a high school football game. When he dug his heels in, there was no getting around him.
“Tony, I can’t prosecute them for running a card game, much less pulling some hanky-panky,” Stump said over the phone. “You’re have to let them go.”
“But they’re crooks,” Valentine protested.
“We’re a casino town, Tony. These guys were gambling after the casino closed. You think the governor wants me prosecuting people for doing that?”
“This is different. These guys are professional cheaters.”
“How am I going to pick a jury? ‘Sir, have you ever cheated at cards? You have? Well, you’re excused.’ It won’t fly, Tony. Sorry.”
Valentine felt the cold plastic of the phone seep into his hand. Justice wasn’t blind, but sometimes it was stupid as hell. “These guys are siphoning off players from the casino and stealing their winnings. It’s hurting the casino.”
“The casino is making twenty million a month. How much are these guys taking?”
Valentine had found the strongbox with the Hirsch’s money when they’d searched the house. “About five grand a week.”
“Pleeease,” Stump said.
“You’re not going prosecute?”
“No. Sorry.”
Valentine had learned never to let a DA end a conversation by saying ‘No.’, so he said, “How about coming down to the station house, and rattling their cages?”
“You want me to threaten these guys?”
“Just the ringleader. I need to get him talking.”
“All right. I’ll be right over.”
Stump worked over Izzie in one of the interrogation rooms. By the time he was finished, Izzie had sweated through his clothes, and looked like he might get sick.
Stump left, and Valentine remained in the interrogation room with Izzie. The room had a window covered by a grille, and furniture bolted to the floor. It also smelled of fear.
“I want a lawyer,” Izzie demanded.
“No, you don’t,” Valentine said.
“Yes, I do. You hustled us with that pool trick. You stole my money, and I tried to win it back. That’s entrapment. I’m going to get the best lawyer this two-bit town has. You’ll rue the day you pulled that crap with me. And so will that DA.”
“If you get a lawyer, then I’m going to formally charge you, and your brothers. And so far, I haven’t done that.”
Izzie thought it over. “You offering me a deal?”
“Maybe.”
“Whatever it is, it’s got to include my brothers.”
“How touching.”
“I’m not kidding around. All or none.”
“It will include all of you.”
Doyle entered with two steaming cups of coffee, then left. Valentine handed one of the cups to Izzie, and watched him gulp it down.
“I finally remembered you,” Izzie said when the coffee was gone. “You came up to the Catskills with your folks one summer. Thought you knew how to play ping pong.”
“I beat you,” Valentine reminded him.
“Yeah, but Josh creamed you. Took all your money, as I recall.”
“Josh was good.”
“He took lessons. This might sound funny, but my brothers and I wanted to recruit you. We were trimming the bus boys on the weekends at poker. We wanted you to act as our take-off man.”
“What’s that?”
“The take-off man wins the money from the suckers. He has to be a square john that everyone trusts.”
“Sounds right up my alley,” Valentine said.
“That’s what we thought. Only you had the hots for Lois Fabio.” Izzie let out a laugh. “God, was she a little tart.”
Valentine lowered his cup. “How so?”
“I got her on the golf course one night and tried to hump her in a sand trap. She let me take off her bra, but not her pants.”
“She showed you her breasts?”
“Yeah. They weren’t that great.”
“Why the hell didn’t you tell me she was your wife?” Izzie wailed ten minutes later, holding an ice pack to his swollen left eye.
Valentine’s hand was singing with pain. If they kept reminiscing, he might end up killing Izzie, so he decided to get to the point. “Two nights ago, you and your brothers dragged a guy through the lobby of Resorts’ hotel, and our surveillance cameras caught you stuffing money back into his shirt. Who was he?”
Izzie lowered the ice bag. “Some guy named Vinny.”
“What was his last name?”
“I don’t remember.”
“How did you meet him?”
“I picked him up inside the casino, and brought him over to the house. There was a misunderstanding, and Josh broke a bottle over his head.”
“A misunderstanding?”
“Yeah. We decided to take him back to his hotel room. While we were dragging him through the lobby, the money fell out of his shirt. Being an honest person, I put it back.”
“Was he wearing a money belt?”
“I believe he was.”
“How much was in it?”
“A hundred big ones.”
“That’s a lot of cash to be carrying around. You think the guy was mafia?”
“Beats me.”
“What happened when you got him into his room?”
Izzie’s ice pack had sprung a leak and was trickling down his forearm. Turning it upside down, he reapplied it to his eye. “Vinny woke up. Didn’t remember a damn thing. We got him a beer from the mini-bar and turned on the TV. He really had amnesia. We shot the breeze for a while, then left.”
“I want his last name, Izzie.”
“Why don’t you call the hotel and ask them?”
“The name.”
“I told you everything I know,” Izzie said angrily.
“No, you didn’t.”
“You’re not going to drop charges?”
“No.”
Izzie threw the leaking ice bag at him. “You prick!”
Valentine jumped up and kicked Izzie’s chair out from under him. It was a move that Banko had taught every cop in Atlantic City, and Izzie hit the floor and yelped.
“Cut it out!” he cried.
“Come on, let’s make a deal,” Izzie said an hour later. Handcuffed to the leg of his chair, he sat with his shoulders hunched forward and a pained expression on his face. Stump had made a second appearance, and done a good job convincing Izzie that he and his brothers were going to the big house, where, because of their diminutive size, they would be brutally victimized by the other prisoners. As Stump had left, he’d shot Valentine a little smile.
“What kind of deal?” Valentine said.
“You want a scalp, right? Let’s forget Vinny, and talk about some real scalps.”
Valentine leaned back in his chair. “You know something I don’t?”
“I sure do.”
“Let’s hear it.”
“Your casino is getting ripped off,” Izzie said. “My guess is, you’re losing fifty grand a week, maybe more.”
“To who?”
“Professional gangs of cheaters, working different shifts.”
“Cut the bull. Tell me Vinny’s last name, or the DA will throw the book at you.”
Izzie stared at him with his good eye. “You’re just like every other casino cop. You think you’re smart. You’ve got the eye in the sky and video tape machines and the other gadgets. And that’s just great, except for one thing. I can beat that stuff, and so can plenty of other guys.” Izzie paused, then added, “Want to learn?”
Izzie was being serious. Valentine leaned forward. “What’s the price tag?”
“Let me and my brothers go.”
By law, Valentine had to let the Hirsch brothers go. Only Izzie was scared, and he decided to milk that fear as much as he could. Taking the handcuff key from his pocket, he uncuffed his prisoner from the leg of his chair.
“Show me,” he said.
Chapter 29
They drove to Resorts in Valentine’s Pinto. Along with being a fire trap, his car was also a lemon, and sputtered uncertainly each time he put his foot to the gas. Izzie seemed amused, and Valentine caught him smirking several times.
“If you can beat any casino, why don’t you live in Las Vegas?” Valentine asked.
“You’re joking, right?”
“Why, is Vegas dangerous?”
“The casino owners out there will put a bullet in your head and bury you in the desert if they catch you cheating. Road hustling is easy.”
“Is that what you do?”
“Yeah. Guys who cheat private games are called hustlers. Guys who travel and cheat are called road hustlers, and guys who cheat casinos are called cross roaders.”
“You know a lot of hustlers?”
“Sure. I bump into other hustlers in games all the time.”
“What do you say — ‘Hey, I was here first?’”
They had reached Resorts. The valet wrote up a ticket, and they walked through the front doors. “Say I’m working a game,” Izzie said, “and another hustler sits down, and starts cheating. I’ll talk about a hunting trip I took, and how I killed some rabbits. That’s a signal that I’m a cheater.”
“Rabbits?”
“That’s right. Usually he’ll ask in code if I’ll cut him in.”
“Will you?”
“Sure. It’s good etiquette.”
They walked around the packed casino. Izzie’s purple eye was drawing stares, and they went to the cocktail lounge and grabbed a table.
“So how did you learn this stuff?” Valentine asked. “Did you have a teacher?”
“Everyone in my family cheated,” Izzie said. “They taught me the moves, and I practiced in front of a mirror. Once I felt confident, I tried the moves out in a soft game. Then, I graduated up to bigger games.”
“How about cross roaders? What’s their deal?”
“Cross roaders are different. They’re tough people, and most have criminal records. They’ll get together in someone’s house, and practice a scam. Then they’ll try it out, like a casino night at a church. If they’re successful, they’ll hit Vegas. Or your place.”
“Sounds risky,” Valentine said.
“Depends on the ringleader,” Izzie replied.
“What does he do?”
“He scouts the casino and looks for green dealers. Casinos have such high turnover that you can usually find one on every shift. The team goes in, and sets up. They try the scam, except they don’t actually do it. It’s called a splash move.”
“As in getting your feet wet?”
“Right. If the dealer doesn’t squawk, they do it later for real.”
A waitress took their drink order. As Izzie flirted with her, Valentine stared through the lounge at the casino. He still didn’t believe what Izzie had said back at the station house about all the games being susceptible to cheating.
“When does the lesson start?” he asked.
Izzie made a grandiose gesture with his arm toward the casino. “Whenever you want it to, my friend.”
“Start with blackjack.”
A bowl of salted peanuts sat on the table. Izzie popped them into his mouth while speaking. “Gamblers call it BJ, as in blow job, because that’s what you get if you play by the rules. Want to know how many types of BJ cheating I’ve seen in Atlantic City?”
“Sure.”
“I’ve seen cards nicked and daubed; I’ve seen teams switch cards under a dealer’s nose. I’ve seen guys add cards to a shoe, and guys take cards away. I’ve seen steer teams move cards under the dealer’s nose. And, I’ve seen players with cameras in their ties. How many is that?”
“Seven,” Valentine said.
“There’s more.”
“Start with these.”
“Nicked you know about. Daub is a substance that can only be seen through special glasses or contact lenses. It’s made with aniline dye.”
Valentine borrowed a pen from their waitress and began to scribble furiously on a cocktail napkin. “How do you switch cards?”
“You need a good turn. A turn is a hustler’s secret weapon. It’s used to turn the pit boss’s attention from the table. Usually, it’s a pretty girl. But it can just as easily be a geezer with a hearing aid.”
“What about the eye-in-the-sky?”
“Cameras can be turned, too. A couple having an argument works pretty well. So does a drunk falling down. I heard of one team that set a curtain on fire.”
Valentine kept scribbling. Things like Izzie was describing happened every night inside Resorts: It was the byproduct of serving free liquor to people.
“You said guys add cards to a shoe, and take them away.”
“Different moves, same outcome. If I secretly add ten high cards to a shoe, my odds of winning go way up. Same thing if I remove ten low cards.”
“What’s a steer team?”
“Two players make up a team. The first watches as the cards are shuffled. He spots the top card during the shuffle, and signals its value to his partner. The second player is offered the cards to be cut by the dealer. The second player cuts at a certain number, and both players know where the card lies in the deck.”
“So what?”
“They silently count to the card during the game. If the card is an ace or high card, they will draw cards in order to get it during the next round, when they’ll bet big. It guarantees the team a big payoff every round.”
The bowl of peanuts was empty. Izzie had eaten them like they were his last meal. Valentine wanted to ask Izzie if his mother had taught him any manners, but had a feeling that she’d been too busy teaching her boys how to fuck people.
“Cameras in ties,” Valentine said.
“The cheater has a tiny camera hidden in his tie. The camera transmits to a van parked outside. A guy inside the van types the card’s values into a computer that card counts. Then he radios back to the player what to do.”
Valentine had run out of room on his cocktail napkin. Bill Higgins had said that millions of dollars disappeared from Las Vegas’s blackjack tables every year, and had attributed most of it to employee theft. Bill’s going to be surprised, he thought.
