Wild Card

Two of the commission members were attorneys. One said, “How big an edge?”

“Two percent,” Valentine said.

“That’s huge, isn’t it?”

“Yes sir, it is.”

“If enough players did this, we’d lose money at blackjack, wouldn’t we?”

“Yes, sir, we would.”

Nancy Pulaski wasn’t buying it, and stared at him like he’d made the whole thing up. “I’m sorry, detective, but your logic escapes me. Players spill drinks on cards all the time. Why does this make Louis Galloway guilty of a crime, when others aren’t?”

“Louis Galloway purposely exploited a weakness in the casino’s procedures,” Valentine said.

“So you’re saying it’s the casino’s fault.”

He hesitated, then said, “Partially. In most casinos, ruined cards are immediately replaced. Resorts doesn’t do that. Louis Galloway was clever enough to figure it out, and exploited it.”

“Does that make him a criminal?”

“In my book it does.”

Nancy Pulaski didn’t know what to say, and drew back in her chair. The other members nodded their heads, and seemed to be agreeing with him. Sensing his opportunity, Valentine said, “If you don’t mind, there are some other problems at the casino which I’d like to bring to the commission’s attention.”

The five members’ heads snapped in unison.

“Problems?” Nancy Pulaski choked.

“That’s correct.”

“Well, by all means, go ahead.”

He removed a video cassette from the envelope he was holding. The board room had a TV, and he went and turned it on, then popped the tape into the VCR that was hooked up to it. The screen came to life, and he paused it. “This is a composite of some incidents which have happened inside Resorts’ casino in the past month. The first took place in the blackjack pit.”

He hit play, and on the screen appeared an unusually tall, male blackjack dealer. The dealer was shuffling cards at his table. Another dealer came over, and tapped his shoulder. The tall dealer clapped his hands, and stepped away from the table. Break time.

“Most casinos make their dealers sew their pants pockets together to discourage them from stealing chips off the table,” Valentine said. “Resorts doesn’t do that. This dealer had a habit of sticking his hands in his pockets, so we started watching him.”

The film showed the dealer leaving the table. He walked with a pronounced limp. Suddenly he halted, and a torrent of silver dollars came pouring out his pants leg. Back at the station house, there wasn’t a single cop who hadn’t busted a gut seeing this. Valentine glanced into the commissioners’ faces. None of them were laughing.

The tape changed to show a man wearing a Superman costume standing on a craps table while bellowing at the top of his lungs. A security guard appeared, grabbed the man’s cape, and pulled him down.

“This happened last week, and caused such a commotion, I decided to look at the tapes of the other games,” Valentine said. “Here’s what I found.”

The tape switched to show a blackjack game. Play had halted, with everyone’s eyes on Superman. The dealer grabbed the plastic shoe that held the game’s six decks of cards, took it beneath the table, and switched it for another shoe in a woman’s floppy bag, which he immediately placed on the table.

“Every player at the table was involved in this scam,” he said. “They’re part of a cooler mob. This same scam happened in Las Vegas several years ago; now they chain their shoes to the tables.”

“And we don’t,” one of the attorneys said.

“No, sir,” Valentine replied.

The tape changed to show the roulette table. Because the table was unusually long, the camera did not show the complete picture. Instead, there was a split screen, one half showing the wheel, the other showing the betting area.

“In roulette, it’s the croupier’s job to tell the players when they can no longer place bets,” Valentine said. “The croupier does this by waving his hands over the betting surface. Resorts doesn’t do this. Instead, the croupier says, ‘No more bets.’ There’s a problem with that. No one in the surveillance control room can hear him. Which means that no one watching through the cameras knows when the betting has stopped.”

He pointed at the split screen. As the roulette ball came to rest, a hand appeared, and placed a late bet. “That’s called past-posting. And guess what? We couldn’t arrest the player for doing it, because the tape doesn’t show that the betting was halted.”

“Was the croupier involved?” the other attorney asked.

“No, just poorly trained,” Valentine said.

The air in the boardroom grew uncomfortably still. The tape changed to show an elderly man playing a slot machine. The gods were smiling, and the man won a jackpot. He was so happy there were tears in his eyes.

“This happened yesterday,” Valentine said.

They watched the elderly man go to the cashier’s cage. He was paid off in stacks of hundreds, which he stuffed gleefully into his pockets.

“In a few seconds, an I.R.S. agent is going to step into the picture, and tell the man he needs to collect taxes on the man’s winnings,” Valentine said. “Watch what happens.”