Wild Card

Chapter 46

The next morning, Valentine met with the two auditors assigned to keep tabs on Resorts’ gambling revenues. They worked in a brick building several miles away from the casino, and Valentine felt safe in assuming they hadn’t heard about his suspension yet.

The auditor’s names were Finkel and Carp. Not smart enough to become CPAs, they’d taken this beat instead. As a rule, they didn’t deal directly with anyone who worked at the casino, and they reacted cooly to Valentine’s bribe of fresh bagels and coffee.

“What do you want?” Carp growled at him.

Valentine had known Carp since junior high. Back then, Carp had worn his hair shellacked like James Dean, and smoked cigarettes behind the school with the greasers. These days, he didn’t have any hair, and wore cheap suits from Men’s Warehouse.

“I’m meeting with Resorts’ management next week,” Valentine said. “I’m supposed to show the impact Doyle and I are having on the casino’s profits.”

Carp snorted. “You lose.”

“Why?”

“Because you’re surveillance, and surveillance is the enemy of the bottom line.”

“It is?”

“Surveillance is the second-to-worst non-revenue generating department in Resorts,” Carp explained. “You only exist because the law says you have to.”

“Who brings up the rear?”

“Payroll.”

“I still think we’re making a difference,” Valentine said. “I want to examine the profits of the different games before, and after, Doyle and I entered the picture. If profits are up, it means there’s less cheating, and we’re improving the bottom line.”

Finkel tore apart one of the bagels. They had also gone to school together, yet somehow their paths had never crossed. When Carp had introduced them as classmates, Valentine had thought he was kidding.

“That’s not a bad idea,” Finkel said.

Carp shrugged indifferently. “Tony, it doesn’t matter what you say to upper management. It still won’t change their opinion of you.”

“Which is what?”

“You take up space, and don’t make money.”

“I still want to know,” Valentine said.

Finkel finished his bagel, then rose from his chair and went into the adjacent office. When he returned, he was carrying the casino’s financials for the past twelve months. They were huge reports, and he dropped them loudly on the floor.

“Ready when you are,” he said.

Lying had never been Valentine’s strong suit. Telling the auditors that he had a meeting with the top brass was dumb. A single phone call to Resorts, and his goose was cooked. He took a deep breath and said, “Okay.”

Finkel pulled up a chair. Then he picked up the top report, opened it, and started to read. “Resorts’ casino generates twenty million dollars a month in net revenue. Sixty percent from slots, the rest from the table games.” He flipped open to the section that showed the hold, which was the amount of money collected for each game, minus the number of chips sold. “The hold for blackjack was 13 % before you started; for craps, 14 %; for roulette, 15 %.”

Finkel removed the bottom report from the stack, and flipped it open. “Let’s see. The hold for blackjack after you started jumped to 15 %; for craps, 16 %, and for roulette, 17 %.” He looked up. “I think you’ve got a case, Tony.”

“They’re still going to hate you,” Carp chimed in. He’d thrown his feet onto his desk, and was blowing perfect smoke rings from his cigarette. “Expect less, and you’ll be disappointed.”

“How about the other games?” Valentine asked.

Finkel read the holds for the Asian domino game called pai gow and for baccarat. They had also increased.

“This is impressive,” Finkel said.

“Hate, hate, hate,” Carp said.

Valentine had already known what the numbers said. One of the first scams he’d uncovered at Resorts was a group of pit bosses letting family members and friends take down large credit lines, which they later paid back, interest free. By stopping this practice, the holds at all games had improved overnight.

“I need to write this down,” Valentine said.

Finkel crossed the office and opened a desk drawer in search of a pen. Valentine glanced at Carp, and saw that he wasn’t paying any attention. Taking the most recent report off Finkel’s chair, he flipped it open at the tab marked COMPS. There was a six-month summary, and he stared at the numbers.

“Makes you sick to your stomach, doesn’t it,” Finkel said.

Valentine looked up to see Finkel standing over him, pen in hand. He hadn’t heard him return, and sheepishly said, “I don’t mean to be poking my nose where it doesn’t belong, but I’ve always wondered how much free stuff Resorts gives away.”

“Too much,” Carp said.

“Eighteen million, five hundred and sixty-two thousand, four hundred and thirty-nine bucks in six months, ” Finkel said.

“Is that how much this is?” Valentine asked.

“To the penny,” Finkel replied. He handed Valentine the pen, then took his seat. “The state of New Jersey considers comps to be legitimate ways to encourage business. We have to be competitive with Las Vegas in every arena.”

“Is this how much Vegas casinos give away?”

The auditor nodded. “It’s how they keep the high-rollers coming back. Percentage wise, we’re right in line with Vegas.”

Valentine shook his head, pretending to be astonished by the number. But what he was astonished by was the audacity of Vinny Acosta’s skim. Resorts’ casino had been packed with gamblers since the very first day it had opened. Resorts didn’t need to give away all this free stuff, and it wasn’t. Only Carp and Finkel didn’t know this.

“Holy shit,” Carp exclaimed, looking at his watch.

“What’s wrong?” Finkel said worriedly.

“We have work to do!”

Valentine got the hint. He scribbled some numbers on a piece of paper, then tore it off a pad and shoved it into his pocket. Standing, he shook the auditors’ hands. Carp gave him the limp fish, and Valentine was reminded why he’d always disliked him.

“Thanks for the hospitality,” Valentine said.

Carp brayed like a donkey.

“That’s a good one,” he replied.