Funny Money by James Swain Read Free Book Online

into her purse. The three women's smiles faded.
    They filed out of the coffee shop, leaving Valentine to wonder how modern women liked being treated like little girls. If it bothered them, they were doing a hell of a job not showing it.
    Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â 
    â€œSo this is the culprit,” Valentine said, standing next to a gleaming, six-foot-tall Funny Money slot machine, the handle glowing like a
Star Wars
laser saber.
    â€œNot so loud,” Porter said. “We've got a customer.”
    A woman wearing a jogging suit jumped on the stool and began feeding coins into the slot while jerking the handle. Physically, she was not much to look at, except for her right arm. Her pulling arm. A cross between Popeye's and Rod Laver's.
    â€œHaving a good time?” Porter inquired.
    â€œYou bet I am,” the woman said. “I've already won a K-Tell orange peeler
and
an electric foot massager.”
    â€œAsk her how much she lost at the tables,” Valentine whispered in Porter's ear.
    â€œShut up, will you?”
Porter said through clenched teeth.
    Even the best game would eventually beat you, and the woman soon ran out of coins and left. Taking her stool, Porter pointed at the ceiling. “See that eye-in-the-sky camera? Well, it used to watch one blackjack table. When we added the Funny Money slots, we had to rearrange things. Now, that camera watches
two
tables.”
    The practice was called double-duty and frowned upon in the gaming industry. Valentine said, “Let me guess. These are the tables where the European ripped you off.”
    Porter nodded. “Somehow he knew which tables had double-duty cameras. He waited until the other table had heavy action before starting to play. He ripped us off for months, but we only caught him on film a few times.”
    â€œDidn't someone notice the take was off?” Valentine asked.
    â€œThe take
wasn't
off,” Porter said. “The promotion has been such a boon for business, it didn't show.”
    Something wasn't adding up. Valentine said, “If the take wasn't off, why did you hire Doyle?”
    â€œHaving the floor rearranged bugged me,” Porter admitted. “I would look through a camera and not know which table I was seeing. So I hired Doyle to bird-dog for me.”
    â€œAnd he spotted the European.”
    â€œFirst night on the job,” Porter said.
    An elderly man with a walker shuffled over. His liver-spotted hands cradled a bucket filled with Funny Money. Porter helped him onto the stool.
    The gods of chance were smiling down. On the elderly man's first pull, the reels lined up six elephants. A buxom hostess appeared and presented him with a sixties lava lamp.
    â€œI always wanted one of these!” the elderly man exclaimed.
    Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â 
    They found an empty booth in the back of Sinbad's. Porter waved away the waitress.
    â€œOkay, so what do I do?”
    â€œA couple of things,” Valentine said. “First, accept that you've got a mole in the casino. The mole told the European which tables had cameras doing double-duty.”
    â€œJesus,” Porter said. “Why didn't I think of that.”
    â€œSecond, accept that the European will show up again. Most hustlers skip town when they get made. The European killed Doyle instead.”
    â€œHe thinks we're easy pickings.”
    â€œThat's right.”
    â€œIf he does, we'll jam him.”
    Jam
meant having someone arrested. Valentine lowered his voice. “For what? You can't prove he killed Doyle, and you can't prove he ripped you off. The police will let him walk, and Archie will fire you.”
    â€œSo what do I do?”
    Valentine wrote his cell phone number down on a napkin and slid it across the table. “Call me.”
    â€œNo police?”
    Valentine slid out of the booth and put his overcoat on. Sinbad's was empty, and he slipped the Glock out of his pocket and laid it on the table.