Funny Money

24 Deal

Valentine slid into the booth, his seat still warm. Kat had slipped out of her leather jacket and was wearing a clingy black turtleneck that accented every vivacious curve. Dottie appeared with menus and a smug look on her face.

“Nice trade,” she said.

When she was gone, Kat said, “She a friend of yours?”

“She tried to steal some money from me.”

“You say the strangest things, you know that?”

He shrugged. “You mind my asking you a question?” When she didn’t object, he said, “How did you get into the wrestling racket?”

It took Kat ten minutes to tell him her story. What it boiled down to was pretty simple: After she’d gotten canned from The Bombay, she’d gone looking for work and found that no other casino in town would touch her. The only other jobs she’d found were demeaning — stripping off her clothes, giving horny guys massages, or being a cocktail waitress and flirting for tips. So she’d taken up wrestling.

“One day, I saw an ad in the paper,” she said. “‘Learn to wrestle, earn good money.’ So I went and enrolled. And I was good. None of the other girls could touch me. It was my trainer’s idea to wear the judo uniform. He thought I needed a gimmick, only I couldn’t afford a costume. I had my uniform, so Judo Queen was born. Everyone tells me it sounds Japanese. You think I could pass as Japanese?”

Valentine had not taken his eyes off her. She wanted something — women this beautiful did not talk to old guys with hair in their ears unless they wanted something — so he threw her a curve ball, just to see how she reacted.

“I guess there are a couple of women in Japan who have a body like yours.”

She laughed out loud, then reached across the table and squeezed his arm. He remembered the electricity he’d felt the day before when she’d poked him, and he felt it again now.

“Do you say whatever’s on your mind?”

“I think it’s called being retired.”

“If you don’t mind my asking, how old are you?”

“Sixty-two.”

“You’re in some shape for sixty-two.”

“You’re sweet,” he said.

Kat put her hand over her mouth, the laughter seeping out anyway. Dottie appeared, and they both said no to more coffee. Then they sat for a while, saying nothing. He saw Kat gaze dreamily out the window and realized she was staring at the Mercedes.

“Want to go for a spin?”

“I thought you’d never ask.”

The Mercedes impressed her, but what impressed her more was that it belonged to Archie Tanner. Valentine wanted to tell her that he’d known Archie since he’d sold bootleg cigarettes out of the trunk of his car, but he didn’t think it would win him any points. Archie was a local boy made good, and Jersey folks were passionate about loving their own. He found Sinatra on the dial doing a duet with Julio Iglesias. Kat hummed along, in heaven.

“I asked around about you,” she said when they were sitting at a light. “Yun’s prized pupil. I also heard you’re an ex-cop, and wired in the casino business.”

Valentine didn’t know how wired he was, but decided to play along, just to see where she was going. “That’s right.”

“I need your help,” she said.

The light changed and he gently tapped the accelerator.

“I’ve got a cop who’s stalking me,” she went on. “Name’s Vic Marconi. Last summer, while I was working at The Bombay, I heard about a scam some employees were hatching. The ringleaders were over in Saudi Arabia during Desert Storm. Real gung-ho types. I was dating Vic at the time, so I told him. Vic and his partner found out who the employees were and put the muscle on them.”

“Marconi told you that?”

Kat nodded. “He’s in love with me.”

“Oh,” he said.

“Not long after that, I got canned. It took me a while to put the two together, but I guess the Desert Storm gang decided I was a threat. Vic told me not to worry about it. He said he and Coleman had joined the gang, and he was going to make enough money to take care of me for the rest of my life. I told him I didn’t want any part of it and broke the relationship off.”

The island of Atlantic City was only thirteen miles long, and Valentine had reached the northern tip and parked in a lot for Captain Starn’s Pier. The slips were empty, the sleek yachts and cabin cruisers having migrated south for the winter. “And that’s when Vic started stalking you.”

“Yes.”

“Have you filed a complaint?”

“With the police? No. Vic’s a scary dude.”

“How so?”

“Remember all those drug dealers that got robbed and killed a few years back? Vic told me he and Coleman did it.”

Valentine tapped his fingers on the wheel. It sounded like the kind of boast a dumb cop might make. Because the casinos provided so much revenue to the state of New Jersey, Atlantic City cops were expected to be model citizens. With a few well placed phone calls, Valentine was certain he could either have Marconi demoted or out on the street looking for work.

“I’ll make you a deal,” he said. “I’ll get Marconi to leave you alone, but I want something in return.”

Kat shifted uncomfortably in her seat. Then she looked around the car, like seeing if there was someplace she could run to, if she didn’t like what Valentine was offering.

“I’m listening,” she said.

“Take the sacred crane off your uniform,” he said.

It took a moment for the words to sink in.

“Is that all you want?” she asked.

“That’s all I ever wanted,” Valentine said.

“Yun was the father I never had,” he explained, driving down Pacific Avenue as he took Kat back to her car. “He took me under his wing, taught me a lot besides just judo. Seeing him down in the dumps the other day, it made me realize how much I owed him.”

“I understand,” Kat said.

He drove past motel row. The Blue Dolphin came into view, the sidewalks ankle-deep in snow. Gerry’s black BMW was parked in front, just like he’d told his knuckleheaded son not to do. He swore under his breath.

“What’s wrong?”

“My son. I need to stop for a second, if that’s okay.”

“Sure.”

He pulled onto a side street and parked in front of the manager’s office. “This will just take a second,” he said.

Kat stayed in the car. Valentine walked down the path to his son’s room. The motel was deserted, and he was about to knock on Gerry’s door when he saw a plastic cigarette wrapper lying in the snow. His son didn’t smoke and neither did his girlfriend. An alarm went off in his head.

“What’s up?” the manager asked, turning down the portable TV on his desk as Valentine came into the office.

Valentine made a sawbuck appear. “I’d like you to call my son’s room, tell him there’s a package for him out front.”

Pocketing the money, the manager made the call.

“Now call the police,” Valentine said.

The manager scowled. “I don’t want no trouble.”

“Then make the call.”

Valentine hid in the snow-covered bushes beside the path. Moments later, a bandaged Joey Mollo strolled past, heading for the manager’s office. Stepping onto the path, Valentine kicked Joey’s legs out from under him. Joey hit the ground hard. Valentine offered his hand, and as Joey took it, punched him in the face.

He marched down the path. The door to Gerry’s room was ajar and he stuck his head in. His son and girlfriend sat in the room’s center, roped to a pair of chairs. The Mollos had taped their mouths shut and tied bricks to their feet, like they planned to drown them.

Valentine heard a rustling behind him, then a woman’s muffled cry. He turned to see Big Tony holding Kat in a headlock. In his other hand was a bag from Burger King.

“This must be my lucky day,” Big Tony said. “I go to get some lunch, and I find this lovely lady sitting in your car.”

“You need help?” he asked Kat.

“No,” she said through clenched teeth.

She stomped on Big Tony’s instep, then slipped free of his headlock. Grabbing the big man’s wrist, she give it a twist, and he let out a yelp.

“Hey, lady,” he whined, twisting in agony. “I didn’t mean nothing, honest.”

“Really?” she asked.

“Yeah,” he said.

Kat kicked him in the balls. He doubled over, and she brought her knee into his face. Big Tony’s eyes rolled up into his head, and he fell onto the frozen lawn with a deadening Whumph!

Valentine entered his son’s room, and Little Tony jumped out from his hiding place behind the door. There was something clutched in his hand — a small knife or a blackjack — and as Valentine socked him in the jaw and sent him flying into the bathroom, the weapon fell from his fingers. Valentine picked it up. It was a blue Pez dispenser.

Valentine untied his son and fiancée. Yolanda let out a pitiful sob as the duct tape was pulled from her mouth. Valentine knelt down beside her.

“He touched me,” she whispered.

Valentine stared at her chest. Her blouse was ripped open, her left breast hanging out. The skin looked scratched and raw. “Who did this?” he asked.

She started to cry. Gerry put his arm around her shoulder, and told her everything was going to be all right.

“Who did this?” Valentine demanded.

His son looked at him. He’d been slapped around pretty good, his cheeks puffy and discolored. “It was Big Tony. He fondled her right in front of me.”

Valentine made Gerry open his mouth. His teeth were all there. He and Lois had nearly gone broke having braces put on them. Then he marched outside.

Big Tony was on the lawn on all fours, trying to reconnect with gravity. Kat hovered over him.

“Hey, stupid,” Valentine said.

Big Tony lifted his head and gave him a blank stare, like he couldn’t remember who Valentine was. A glimmer of recognition spread across his bovine features.

“What...?” he mumbled.

“Why’d you do it?”

“Do what?”

“Mess with the girl.”

Big Tony spit contemptuously on the ground.

“Because she’s a whore,” he said.

Valentine stepped on his hand.