Free Deadman's Bluff by James Swain Page B

searching.
    He found a hospital directory posted by the elevators, and located the floor on which cancer treatments were given. Getting on an elevator, he pushed the button for the floor. He finished his drink while the elevator creaked upward.
     
    Even though Jack knew he was terminal, he’d still continued to get weekly chemotherapy, unwilling to give up the fight despite having already been counted out. It was the kind of courage that Gerry hoped he would summon when he faced the music.
    The signs led him to a wing that looked brand new. A honey-blond nurse with the beginning of a double chin manned the nurses’ station, a fat diamond ring and gold band sitting on her third finger. Her eyes said it was okay for Gerry to approach, so he did.
    “Can I help you?” the nurse asked.
    “Please.” He took a business card from his wallet and placed it on the counter. His title was partner, a nice gift from his father. She stared at it indifferently.
    “Grift Sense. What’s that?”
    “We help casinos catch cheaters.”
    “I thought it was the other way around.”
    Gerry started to put the card away, then thought better of it. “Sometimes it is. We nail those guys, too.”
    “What does ‘grift sense’ mean?”
    “It’s a hustler’s expression, a compliment, really. It means you have a gift for spotting grift.”
    “Sounds like fun. What can I do for you?”
    There were charts spread all over her work area and a pen stuck behind her ear. Working alone and working hard. Gerry found himself liking her, despite her coolness.
    “A friend of mine was getting chemotherapy here,” Gerry said. “His name was Jack Donovan. I was wondering if I could ask you some questions.”
    She stiffened. “Jack Donovan is dead.”
    “Yes. I know that.”
    “I can’t talk to you about his death,” she said.
    “There’s an ongoing criminal investigation being conducted by the homicide division of the Atlantic City Police Department. I was interviewed by two detectives, along with practically everyone else on the floor who was in contact with Jack.”
    “I don’t want to talk to you about his death,” Gerry said. “I want to talk to you about his therapy.”
    She pushed her chair back a foot from the desk. “What about it?”
    “Jack invented a way to cheat at poker during his therapy. So far, it’s got all the experts fooled.”
    “How do you cheat at poker?”
    “In this case, marked cards.”
    “Marked how?”
    “That’s the sixty-four-thousand-dollar question.”
    From his wallet, Gerry removed the playing card that Jack had given him before he’d died. It was an ace of spades from Celebrity’s casino in Las Vegas. The card had been scrutinized by an FBI forensic lab and found to be clean. Yet it was marked, and could be read if you knew the secret. She examined the card and handed it back.
    “So you think Jack Donovan devised some special way to mark cards while getting treatment in this hospital,” she said.
    “That’s right,” Gerry said.
    Her face changed, and so did her tone. “What do you want me to do, Gerry Valentine, vice president of Grift Sense, let you search the place? Get real.”
    This was a real Jersey girl, filled with piss and vinegar and capable of intimidating a three-hundred-pound NFL lineman.
    “Of course not,” he replied.
    “Then what do you want?”
    “Jack Donovan stole something from this hospital,” Gerry said.
    “He did?”
    “Yes. It was in a metal strongbox in a bag under his bed. I saw it. Whatever was in that strongbox can be used to mark cards, but also happens to be dangerous.”
    “Dangerous how?”
    “I don’t know.”
    “How can you be looking for something if you don’t know what it is?”
    “I’m guessing there has to be a record of the theft. If I know what was taken, I’ll know what the scam is.”
    “It’s that easy?” she asked.
    Gerry nodded. He would take the mystery substance and coat a few dozen playing cards with it, and the rest would