Wild Card

Banko looked worried. The CCC was typical of the modern American representative committee. The board consisted of two high-powered attorneys, one heir to a pharmaceutical fortune, the owner of a car dealership, and Nancy Pulaski, the wife of a well-connected heart surgeon. The fact that none of them knew anything about casinos had made them a perfect rubber stamp for the governor.

“Want me to go with you?” Valentine asked.

“First tell me why you arrested Galloway,” Banko said.

“I’ve put in several new procedures in the surveillance control room. One of them is called JDLR. It stands for Just Doesn’t Look Right. If a player does something that looks suspicious, we rewind the video, and watch it until we determine what the JDLR is.

“Usually, it’s something innocent. Or, it can be cheating we’ve never seen before. In Galloway’s case, a camera caught him spilling a drink on his cards. It looked rehearsed. Then I noticed that Galloway had won a lot of money.”

“How much?”

“Five grand.”

“Couldn’t it have been luck?”

“That’s what I first thought. Galloway came back the next night, and we taped him. Sure enough, he spilled his drink on the cards again.”

“How much did he win this time?”

“Six grand.”

“You figure out what he’s doing?”

“Not right away. But I knew he wasn’t drunk. It was his first drink of the night.”

“So you let him go.”

“Couldn’t prove anything, so I had to. Then he came in yesterday, and spilled his drink again. And I nailed it.”

Banko hunched his shoulders and leaned over his desk. For all his shortcomings, he still took tremendous pleasure out of arresting people who broke the law. “Tell me.”

“Galloway always played two hands,” Valentine said. “When he got dealt baby cards in both hands, he spilled his drink, and took the cards out of play.”

“Baby cards?”

“The two through six. Those cards favor the house in blackjack. If a cheater depletes the deck of baby cards, he alters the odds in his favor.”

“How many baby cards did Galloway take out?”

“Eight. It gave him an unbeatable edge.”

“Why didn’t the casino replace the cards?”

“They should have. It’s standard procedure in most casinos.”

“But not Resorts.”

“No, sir.”

Banko leaned back in his chair, the tension melting from his face. He had not disguised his dislike for the CCC over the past eighteen months. They had invaded his turf, and not once consulted him. “Why doesn’t Resorts replace the cards?” he asked.

“Commission rules. I guess they think it slows the game down.”

“Think we should get that rule changed?”

“Yes, sir.”

The office door opened, and Banko’s secretary came in. She was a Polish woman named Sabina who’d worked for Banko for many years. It was no secret that she disliked practically everyone, and she glanced impatiently at the clock on the wall, then frowned at her boss and walked out. Valentine guessed Banko’s next appointment was waiting.

“We’re meeting the CCC in their offices,” Banko said. “I’ll pick you up at your house at seven-thirty tomorrow morning.”

“Do I need to bring anything? Valentine asked.

“Just wear a suit,” the sergeant said.

Valentine found Doyle waiting for him in the lobby. The Pinto was in the shop, and Doyle had driven him to work. His son had suggested burning the Pinto to collect the insurance. Valentine wanted to burn the car just to put it out of its misery.

Standing with Doyle was a woman dressed in a leather mini-skirt, red leggings and a fake fur draped seductively around her neck. As he got close, he realized it was Mona. She had painted enough make-up on her face to almost look attractive. He didn’t know too many hookers with the guts to walk into a police station house, and he smiled at her.

“What brings you here?”

“Something’s come up,” Mona said.

“You got a hot tip for me?”

“Yeah.” She pointed at the front doors. “Can we talk in the parking lot?”

“You got a car?”

“No, I just like standing outside in the fricking cold.”

Mona marched out the front doors like she owned the place. Valentine looked at Doyle, and saw his partner shrug. “She wouldn’t have come if it wasn’t important. I’ll catch up with you later.”

“You don’t have a car, remember?”

“I’ll bum a ride off Mona.”

“Don’t let her talk you into anything.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it.”

Valentine walked out of the station house. Mona was waiting for him in her car, a black, four-door Volvo 164 with a leather interior. He had gone kicking tires with Lois a few months ago, and priced this exact same model. It had cost more than his Pinto and Lois’s car combined.

“You act surprised,” Mona said as he slid into the passenger seat.

“I am.” Then he added, “In a good way.”

“You like it?”

“It’s boss.”

She had the heater on, and the local jazz station, and turned both down. She started to say something, then hesitated. He waited her out. No one liked to talk to cops, not even good people. It was especially hard for Mona.