Sucker Bet

37

I-95 was the usual madhouse. His son was handling the wheel and kept shooting unhappy glances at his father. Finally he couldn’t hold it in, and said, “That was rude, Pop.”

“Those people aren’t our friends,” he said. “We don’t owe them anything.”

“But you helped them. And they wanted to say thanks.”

“I help a lot of people. They can say thanks by paying me.”

“That’s not my point. You didn’t have to be so crummy to them.” A car cut them off from the right lane, and Gerry punched his horn. “By the way, why were you so crummy to them?”

Valentine stared out the window. Back home, in his closet, was his yellow suit. In its pocket, an airplane ticket to Memphis. He took a deep breath. “Standing in front of the elders, I was reminded of why I enjoyed being on the road with Kat so much.”

“Why’s that?”

“Because sometimes, I hate working for casinos.”

“Is this one of those times?”

“Yeah.”

“Are you thinking about getting back together with Kat?”

What he’d been thinking about was flying to Memphis next week and watching her from the audience. Showing his support without stepping foot in the ring.

“Yeah.”

“So, what you’re saying is, you’d like to get away every now and then, but not shut down the business.”

Valentine nodded. “That’s exactly what I’m saying.”

“Sounds like you need a partner.”

Valentine’s head snapped. Gerry momentarily took his eyes off the highway, and they stared at each other. Then his son’s eyes shifted back.

“You’re kidding,” Valentine said, “aren’t you?”

“Mabel says you have more business than you can handle. I’m going to sell the bar. If I have anything left after I pay you the fifty grand I owe you, I wanted to buy into Grift Sense.”

Valentine blinked. Pay him back? Buy into his business? The past three days did not balance out the last twenty-two years, and Gerry did not sit high on his list of potential business partners.

“I figured you could teach me the ropes,” his son went on. “It would be fun. And you could see me and Yolanda more, and your grandson.”

Valentine blinked again. “You’re going to have a boy?”

“Uh-huh. Yolanda got tested.”

“You pick out a name?”

“We sure did.”

“What is it?”

His son laughed. “Wait until he’s born, Pop.”

Valentine watched the cars hurtling past them. Gerry was offering to share his family. It sounded great, but was Valentine really ready to be around his son and Yolanda and an infant? It would be like stepping back in time, something he was not sure he wanted to do. His cell phone rang. The caller ID said UNKNOWN. He answered it anyway.

It was Bill Higgins.

“Tony,” his friend said. “I’ve been shot.”

The emergency room at Mount Sinai Medical Center was filled with the elderly and frail. Higgins, one of two gunshot victims, was in a room with two patients attached to respirators. Saul Hyman, the other gunshot victim, was down the hall.

Valentine pulled a chair next to Bill’s bed. His friend’s eyelids were at half-mast. Then they snapped open. “Get my chart, will you?”

Valentine got the clipboard hanging off the bed. Bill said, “Tell me what it says.”

Valentine read the description of Bill’s wound. The bullet had missed the bone in his leg. From what Valentine could surmise, the doctor expected him to heal without complications.

“Good,” Bill said. “I wanted to be sure he wasn’t lying to me.”

Valentine put the clipboard back. Out in the hallway, a uniformed cop stood guarding the door. North Miami was a haven for the retired, and shootings were not the norm, like they were a few miles west and south.

Bill motioned him closer. “Rico Blanco shot us.”

“You sure?”

“He was wearing a stocking, but he said something when Saul opened the door. Saul made his voice. It was that scumbag.”

“When did you talk to Saul?”

“In the ambulance. They brought us over together.”

“Did Rico steal your cell phone?”

“Yeah. How did you know?”

“I called you earlier. Rico answered, and threatened to kill me.”

“Jesus,” Bill said. “You have your gun?”

Valentine shook his head. He’d left his Sig Sauer at home.

“Get my jacket,” Bill said. “It’s hanging in the closet.”

Valentine brought Bill’s jacket over to the bed, and Bill removed his hotel room key from a pocket. “Room 784. There’s a safe in the closet. My piece is in it.”

“I’m not going to shoot him, Bill.”

“No, you’re going to run him in.”

“I’m retired, remember?”

“Ex-cops count for something, and you’ve got me backing you up. Gather your evidence and take him to the police. You’ll be doing everyone a favor.”

A doctor in a white gown accompanied by a plainclothes female detective entered the room. Valentine had introduced himself to the detective earlier, and she’d given him the green light to visit Bill. “Time’s up,” she said. “I need to talk to your friend.”

“Combination is 7474,” Bill whispered.

Valentine patted him on the shoulder. “Talk to you later.”

Saul Hyman’s room was at the end of the hall. A uniformed cop sat outside the door, reading a dog-eared copy of People. Valentine glanced through the doorway. Saul had a private, and lay on a bed with tubes running up his nose and pumping fluids into his body. He was unconscious, his arms and legs in casts, a step closer to the great beyond.

“What’s the prognosis?”

“He should live.”

“The guy who shot him might try again,” Valentine said.

The cop stood up. “Please identify yourself.”

Valentine gave him his card, then said, “He was helping me on a case.”

The cop put the card in his pocket. “Can you give me a description?”

Valentine gave him Rico’s description right down to the color of his mustache. Normally, he didn’t care what happened to crooks, but this was different. Saul had helped him and, in doing so, nearly gotten killed. Valentine owed him.

“Don’t worry,” the cop said, “we’ll get this guy.”

Not if I get him first, Valentine thought.