Wild Card

Dick nodded and pulled away from the curb. He drove a few blocks south of the casino, then slowed down to avoid the gaping pot holes in the street. With all the money the state was making off the casino they still couldn’t fill the damn pot holes.

“I need your help,” Dick said.

“Doing what?”

“There’s a grocery bag in the back seat. Open it up.”

Valentine took the paper shopping bag off the back seat and peeked inside. It was filled with decks of playing cards and dice. He took the items out of the bag, and gave them a cursory examination. The cards were amateurishly marked, the dice either loaded or shaved. “Let me guess,” he said. “You’ve got gambling rings at your school again.”

Dick let out an exasperated breath. “We can’t seem to stop these kids. This stuff we confiscated this morning, along with a thousand dollars cash.”

“That’s a lot of money.”

“I know it is. It has me worried. I feel like I’m dealing with real criminals.”

“Was my son involved?”

“With this? No.”

Valentine felt relieved and stared at the road. “What do you want me to do?”

“I’ve been told there is a magic shop in town which is selling this stuff to the kids. I don’t want to cause the owner trouble, but this has to stop.”

“Uncle Al’s.”

“You know him?”

“Yeah. He’s a decent guy, so it shouldn’t be a problem.”

“So you’ll talk to him.”

“Consider it done. Now, let me ask you a question. You said Gerry wasn’t involved with this. What is my son doing?”

Dick braked at a red light. The Corvette’s engine sounded powerful, and the car vibrated when it wasn’t moving, like an animal shaking its cage. He tapped his fingers on the wheel, as if contemplating his answer. “Your son is hanging out with a gang of older boys who are bookies.”

“What?”

“I can’t prove he’s doing anything wrong —”

“Real bookies?”

“That’s right.”

“Why didn’t you call me?”

Dick stared at a drunk crossing the street in front of them. “The boys patterned their operation after the teacher’s football pool.” The light changed, and he put the Corvette into drive, and the car jumped forward as it let out of its cage.

“And you were afraid that if you nailed them, the kids would rat on the teachers.”

“Something like that.”

Valentine wanted to drag Dick out of the car, and mess up his blow dried hair. Gerry was thirteen years stupid; it was easy to imagine the negative influence kids who were running a bookmaking operation would have on him. By doing nothing, Dick had harmed his son. They were five blocks from the casino. Valentine didn’t want to be around this creep for another minute, and at the next light he hopped out, taking the bag of crooked cards and dice with him. Before he shut the door, he stuck his head into the car.

“Look at me,” he said.

Dick was staring straight ahead. He turned slowly, and their eyes met. The corners of his eyes were pinched, and he looked more than a little frightened. Valentine had heard that Dick’s wife had run off to Arizona with a plastic surgeon, which he guessed explained the car, but not the other stupid things Dick had done.

“You should be ashamed of yourself,” Valentine said.

Then he walked away.

Chapter 53

Valentine quit work at six, and drove straight to Uncle Al’s magic shop. Through the garish front window he spied the old magician sitting behind the counter, eating a giant pastrami sandwich while slugging down a cream soda. Seeing him, Uncle Al hopped off his stool, and unlocked the front door.

“How’s the cops and robbers business?” the old magician asked.

Valentine shut the door behind him. He saw no reason to beat around the bush, and took the paper bag he was carrying, and dumped its contents onto the counter.

“Recognize these?”

Uncle Al got behind the counter and climbed onto his stool. On the plate next to his sandwich were two enormous dill pickles. He stuck one in his mouth and bit into it, causing water to spit out the other end.

“Want the other?” he asked.

Valentine stuck the second pickle into his mouth. Once, as part of a promotion, giant pickles had been given away for free on the Boardwalk for an entire summer. Everyone in Atlantic City had been eating pickles ever since.

“Those cards and dice mine?” Uncle Al asked.

“Afraid so.”

“Where did they turn up?”

“Over at the high school, along with a thousand bucks.”

Uncle Al’s eyes grew wide behind his thick glasses. “That’s a lot of money. I guess I should have stopped selling this stuff when you asked me before.”

“Yes, you should have.”

“You going to throw me in the pokey?”

Valentine gave him a hard look. No judge in town was going to do anything but give Uncle Al a slap on the wrist. “I don’t know. Are you going to pull these items off your shelves?”

“Yeah, I’ll pull them,” Uncle Al said. “I’m sorry I didn’t before. There’s a lot of neat magic tricks you can do with this stuff.”

“I’m sure there are. I want you to explain something to me.”