Wild Card

Chapter 52

Back in his office, Valentine called Lois. Normally, catching a gang of cheaters left him feeling elated, only he couldn’t stop thinking about the anguish she’d experienced that morning. He caught her in the kitchen, fixing a casserole, and learned that a pair of detectives were parked on the couch in their living room, watching TV. Everything sounded fine, only there was an edge to his wife’s tone that didn’t sound right.

“You sure everything’s okay?” he asked.

Lois dropped her voice. “I got a call from Dick Henry at Gerry’s school. He needs to speak with you. I told him you were at the casino. He said he was going to drive over.”

“When was this?”

“Fifteen minutes ago.”

“Where’s Gerry?”

“In the basement. I pulled him out of school this morning, just to be safe.”

“Do you think Gerry’s in trouble?”

His wife’s voice dropped even lower. “God, Tony, I hope not.”

He started to hang up, then said, “You sure you’re feeling okay?”

Lois took a few moments to find the words. “I keep wondering why the killer didn’t come after me, instead of prostitutes. He’s fixated on me, isn’t he?”

“Yes.”

“Then why didn’t he just kidnap me, and be done with it?”

Valentine had wrestled with that question himself. He had a feeling that all the times he’d told guys to stop staring at Lois had something to do with it. That, and the fact that he was a cop.

“Maybe he was afraid to,” he said.

“Because of you?”

“That would my guess.”

“So you’ve been protecting me all this time, and we didn’t even know it.”

“Probably.”

“My hero,” she said softly.

He told his wife he loved her, and hung up. On his desk sat a video monitor, and he punched a command into the keyboard that was wired to it. On the monitor’s screen appeared the hotel’s valet stand, with a long line of cars waiting outside. He searched the drivers’ faces, and Dick Henry’s blow-dried hair popped up. He grabbed his overcoat and headed for the door.

Dick Henry’s car was at the front of the line when he walked out the front doors a minute later. Dick drove a souped-up red Corvette with a rag top, and Valentine jerked open the passenger door. “Looking for me?”

The principal of Gerry’s high school nodded, and Valentine hopped in. The car’s interior was in immaculate condition, and he said, “What year?”

“Nineteen sixty-six.”

“All original parts?”

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.