Read Online Funny Money by James Swain - Free Book Online Page B

don't want it.”
    The hostess lowered her voice. “Listen, buster. It's my last cappuccino maker. They're heavy and my back is killing me. Make a girl happy, okay?”
    Valentine glanced over his shoulder. The European and his accomplice were leaving. The cappuccino maker fell from his hands and hit the floor with a loud crunch.
    â€œSorry,” he said.
    â€œBite me,” the hostess replied.
    Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â 
    Clutching the Glock in his pocket, Valentine followed them across the casino floor. The European was making a beeline for the men's bathroom, while his red-haired companion was heading toward a side exit.
    â€œYou got someone following the girl?” he asked Porter.
    â€œNo.”
    â€œWhy not?”
    â€œI've got a brawl on the other side of the casino,” Porter said. “There's no security in your zone.”
    â€œWhat do you want me to do?”
    â€œLet her go.”
    Valentine followed the European. The door to the men's bathroom resembled the entrance to one of the great pyramids, with a pair of sword-wielding genie statues standing guard. The European slipped past them and disappeared inside.
    â€œI'm going in.”
    â€œLet me get backup over there,” Porter said.
    â€œHow long?”
    â€œTwo minutes, tops.”
    Two minutes was too long. What if the European put on a disguise, or wiggled out through a pipe? Stranger things had happened. “I can't risk losing him, Frank.”
    He heard Porter suck in his breath.
    â€œBe careful, you hear me?”
    Valentine touched the handle of the Glock. It felt cool and smooth in his hand. Then he touched one of the genies' swords for luck and went in.
    The men's bathroom was massive. The stalls covered an entire wall, and he got low, looking at pant legs. The European's black pair was at the row's end. He entered a stall two away and latched the door.
    He dropped the crown and had a seat. By lowering his head, he was able to see the European's shoes. They were scuffed and needed a good polish.
    Moments later, a man wearing Nikes took the stall next to the European's. An exchange followed in a language Valentine did not understand. The European began passing handfuls of hundred dollar chips underneath the stall. Smart hustlers never cashed in their own winnings. Instead, they passed their chips on to a member of their crew, who split the chips up among other crew members, who turned them into cash. That way, the loss was less noticeable to the casino.
    The transfer done, the man in sneakers left. Valentine counted to five, then unlatched the door. At the same time, his left hand removed the Glock from his pocket.
    The European stood waiting on the other side. He was breathing hard, his pocked face pouring sweat. His hand clutched a .38, the barrel pointed at Valentine's heart.
    â€œGive me your weapon.”
    Valentine handed him the Glock. Then said, “Don't shoot,” knowing the words would make Porter jump out of his skin and trigger every alarm in the casino.
    The European weighed the Glock in his hand, then slipped his own .38 into his pocket.
    â€œLet me guess,” Valentine said. “It's not loaded.”
    â€œNot a real gun,” the European replied. “But yours is.”
    It was Valentine's turn to start sweating. Anyone who carried around a fake gun couldn't be trusted to handle a real one. The European pointed at the stall he'd just come out of.
    â€œSit,” he said.
    Valentine sat on the crown, then covered his head with his arms. One shot was all it was going to take. Did he have any regrets? Only one, he decided, and that was making Gerry his sole beneficiary.
    â€œLook at me,” the European said.
    Valentine stared into the European's face. He was a sad-looking guy with lifeless eyes. He placed the barrel of the Glock against Valentine's nose. Valentine closed his eyes.
    â€œStop following us,” the European said.
    He heard the stall door