Jackpot (Tony Valentine series)

by James Swain

  “Don’t worry about it,” he told her.

  Chapter 16

  Bronco got a cell mate right after dinner. His name was Johnny Norton, and he was a dirty-haired street rat with dark shadows beneath his eyes. Johnny took the bottom bunk bed, said he’d been arrested for passing a couple of worthless checks. The catch in his voice said there was more to his story, and Bronco guessed he was hiding from something. Most guys in jail were.

  Bronco was standing against the concrete wall opposite the bunk beds, sizing Johnny up. He was a degenerate, and probably used to getting kicked around. A loner, but also capable of seizing an opportunity when it came his way. He’ll do, Bronco thought.

  Johnny had stopped pretending to be asleep, and stared at Bronco from his bunk, his eyes shining like a fox hiding inside a hole.

  “What you looking at, buddy?”

  “What the hell else is there to look at?” Bronco said.

  “You got something on your mind?”

  “Maybe. You been in this joint before?”

  Johnny patted his pockets for a smoke. He snapped his fingers, remembering where he was. “Couple of times.”

  “What for?”

  “I scammed some old geezers.”

  Robbing the elderly. That qualified Johnny for a low-life scum bag award. Bronco hunched down on his knees and looked Johnny in the eye.

  “You know the layout?”

  “I can find the front door. You thinking of taking a walk?”

  Bronco nodded that he was. “I’ve figured out how to get out of the cellblock, and down the hall to the booking area, but from there I’m lost. Interested?”

  Johnny drew his head back into the shadows, thinking it over. The truth was, Bronco didn’t need help escaping. His mind had made a picture of the jail when he’d been booked. He knew where the guards sat, the number of electronically controlled doors, and how many steps to the front door. He’d memorized the layout just like he memorized the pattern of every slot machine key he’d ever seen. His brain was good that way. It made pictures, then stored them.

  But he couldn’t tell Johnny this. Johnny needed to think he was the lynchpin. That was the key to having partners; the partner needed to think they were in control. Otherwise, they wouldn’t get involved.

  “What are you in for?” Johnny asked.

  “First degree murder and ripping off a casino,” Bronco replied.

  Johnny brought his face into the light and smiled. His upper and lower teeth didn’t match, and it ruined his face. “You’re a regular public menace, huh?”

  “That’s right. What about you?”

  “I told you, I got arrested for passing bad checks.”

  “Is that why you want to break out?”

  Johnny frowned, realizing he’d tripped up. He climbed out of his bunk and stood his full height, then shoved Bronco into the wall. Bronco saw no gain in fighting him, and held his hands up in mock surrender.

  “You’d better not be an undercover cop,” Johnny said.

  “Is that what I look like?”

  “You’re trying to trick me, that’s what it is.”

  In the light, Johnny Norton was truly dangerous-looking. Someone watching a security camera would stare hard at Johnny if he came into the picture. And that’s all they’d stare at.

  Bronco said, “I think we’d make a good team. I just want to know what your deal is, that’s all.”

  “You’re not a cop?”

  “I sweat on my mother’s grave.”

  “You really want to know what I did?”

  “Yeah.”

  Johnny tugged back the sleeve of his orange jumpsuit. His left forearm was covered with ugly-looking scratches. Bronco guessed Johnny had attacked someone, and his victim had raked her fingernails down his arm . Lucky for Johnny, the cops hadn’t noticed the scratches when they’d booked him.

  “I picked up a woman in a bar and slept with her,” Johnny said. “When she asked me for money, I strangled her.”

  “Dead?”

  “Uh-huh. Satisfied?”

  “You bet.”

  Johnny rolled his sleeve down, then went to his bunk, and slid onto the bed. “So when are we gonna break out?”

  “Soon. Just be patient.”

  “Whatever you say.”

  And with that, Johnny closed his eyes and went sound to sleep.

  Bronco went to the cell door and grasped the bars. It occurred to him that he hadn’t heard from his crummy attorney since that morning. Something didn’t feel right, and after a few moments of hard thinking, he realized what it was.

  Garrow had turned on him. There could be no other explanation. He’d given Garrow the secret to the gaming agent’s slot machine scam for safe-keeping. That had seemed the smart thing to do at the time. He’d also told Garrow how he planned to trade the secret for the Pai Gow scam. In hindsight, he realized how stupid that was.

  Garrow was going to cut him out. There could be no other explanation for him not making contact. Garrow knew the details, and was going to go solo. Right now, sitting in a seedy motel room in downtown Reno, was a member of the Triad who’d traveled all the way from China to exchange secrets. All Garrow had to do was call the Triad, and do the deal himself. Then, Garrow could take the Pai Gow scam, and make his fortune. He didn’t need Bronco anymore.

  Bronco started to sweat. He had trusted his attorney, and that was always a mistake. He needed to break out of here, and set things right. He had thought Tony Valentine was his biggest problem, but in fact it was his own attorney who was the problem.

  He stared at the chairs where the guards sat. Karl Klinghoffer would be starting his next shift in a few hours. Bronco couldn’t escape without Klinghoffer’s help, and he waited nervously for the guard’s return.

  Chapter 17

  Xing Han Wong lay on an unmade bed, staring at the dirty popcorn ceiling. He’d been cooped up in a seedy Reno motel for two days, watching stupid sitcoms and eating greasy take-out food while waiting for the phone to ring. He hadn’t shaved, combed his hair, or bathed, and was bored out of his mind.

  The Asian hit man removed a pair of Pai Gow dominos from his shirt pocket. They were made out of thick plastic, and had red and white dots on one side. He’d been given the dominos by his Triad boss before coming to the United States, and been told to give the dominos to a criminal named Bronco Marchese, then say three words:

  “Red, not black.”

  This was the secret to the devious Pai Gow scam, even though Xing had no idea what it meant. His Triad boss had said that Bronco would understand, and in return, would give Xing the secret to rigging slot machines.

  “A secret for a secret,” his Triad boss had explained.

  Xing had traveled seven thousand miles to Reno, expecting to hook up with Bronco, and do the exchange. Then he’d turned on the TV in his motel room, and learned that Bronco was cooling his heels in a Reno jail. He’d called his Triad boss, and explained the problem.

  “You wait,” his boss had said.

  “For how long?” Xing had replied.

  “Until he gets out of jail. Don’t leave without that secret.”

  “What if he doesn’t get out?”

  “You wait!”

  “But…”

  “You heard me! No fuck-ups this time! Understand?”

  His Triad boss had slammed down the phone before he could reply. His words had been filled with anger, their meaning painfully clear. If Xing didn’t get the slot secret from Bronco, there was no reason for him to return to China.

  He slipped the dominoes into his pocket and got off the bed. Going to the room’s single window, he lifted the blind and gazed at the ugly six-lane highway that ran alongside the motel. Cars and heavy trucks rumbled past, the noise a cacophony of sound. Reno was like most cities in China. Everyone was in a hurry, but not going anywhere. Just home to their TV sets, or to eat, or sleep.

  It was strange how things turned out. Not that long ago, he’d been living the good life, d
riving fast cars and sleeping with beautiful girls. Then, he’d been told to execute a Chinese gambler who had not paid his debts. The job had broken bad, and his status within the Triad organization had suffered because of it. Coming to Reno to meet Bronco was his punishment which now felt like a jail sentence.

  Returning to the bed, he lay down, and resumed staring at the ceiling. Soon his eyelids grew heavy, and he drifted off to sleep.

  The Golden Dragon in Macau was like no other casino in the world. Asians were passionate about gambling, and players stood five deep at the tables, with each player trying to put down a bet. Gamblers who couldn’t get near the table ventured upward on a spiral ramp, and lowered their bets down on long, bamboo poles.

  It was all about gambling at the Golden Dragon. Everything else was window dressing. The spiral ramp had two sets of moving walkways. One went up, the other came down. Hookers stood on the walkways, showing off their wares. They were not allowed on the casino floor, for fear they might slow down the games.

  Xing had entered the Golden Dragon at a few minutes past midnight and gone straight to the bar, which was shaped like an electric guitar. Up on a small stage, girls in skimpy costumes lip-synched to Madonna’s Like a Virgin while doing a dance number. Xing motioned to the bartender, who served him a Ting Sao.

  “Which one?” Xing asked under his breath.

  “The bloated one with the cute girl on his arm,” the bartender said.

  Xing found his victim in the bar’s smoky backlit mirror, an enormous Chinese gambler in a white silk suit playing 21 while snuggling with an underage girl.

  “How much does he owe?” Xing asked.

  “Too much.”

  The bartender slipped away to serve another patron. Xing smoked a cigarette and sipped his beer. He was in no rush to carry out his assignment. Let the fat man enjoy his last minutes on earth, he thought.

  It wasn’t the first time he’d had to shoot a gambler inside the Golden Dragon. The casino did not offer credit to its customers, and gamblers often borrowed money at exorbitant rates from the Triad gangs that hung around the bar and restaurants. Gamblers that did not pay off their loans in time were punished, usually with a bullet.

  Xing saw movement in the mirror. The dealer was scooping up the last of the fat man’s chips. The fat man had lost all his money, and looked dejected.

  Xing unbuttoned his jacket while hopping off his stool. It was every gambler’s dream to die broke, and the fat man was about to fulfill that dream. He walked directly over to the 21 table with his eyes peeled on his prey.

  “Out of my way,” he said loudly.

  The crowd around the table parted. They knew what was about to happen. It was part of life in the Golden Dragon. Losers died.

  The fat man spun around in his chair. Seeing Xing, his eyes grew wide with fear. Xing drew his gun from its shoulder harness and blew a hole in the fat’s man chest. He was dead before he hit the floor.

  Xing blew smoke off the barrel of his gun like a cowboy in the Old West. The sound of a man yelling snapped his head. The bartender was pointing excitedly at the exit. Xing shifted his gaze to see another fat man running out the door. The beer in his stomach started to rise. He had shot the wrong man.

  The phone rang, snapping Xing awake. Picking up the receiver, he said hello in Chinese, realized his mistake, and said hello again in halting English. He had learned English in school, and from watching American TV shows, which were shown in China with subtitles.

  “This is Kyle Garrow, Bronco Marchese’s lawyer,” an unsteady voice said, shouting to be heard over disco music in the background. “I’m ready to do the deal.”

  “Is Bronco out of jail?” Xing asked.

  “No,” the lawyer said.

  “Then how do we do the deal?”

  “Bronco put me in charge. I have the secret to the slot scam. I’ll give it to you in exchange for the Pai Gow scam, and you can go home.”

  “How do I know I can trust you?”

  “You don’t have a choice, pal.”

  Xing tightened his grip on the receiver. He did not like this change in plans, or that Bronco’s lawyer was calling the shots.

  “I’m at a strip club down the road from your motel,” Garrow went on. “Meet me in ten minutes, and we can do the exchange. And don’t be late.”

  Xing’s face burned. He did not like to be ordered around. He wondered if the lawyer knew he was a Triad assassin. Somehow, he didn’t think so.

  “Give me the instructions,” Xing said.

  Chapter 18

  Valentine’s investigation had hit a wall. Karen Farmer had told him a lot, but nothing that would lead him to tracking down the crooked gaming control agent. His case was stalled. He needed to talk to Bronco if he wanted it to move forward.

  He drove into downtown Reno with his son, and checked into the Peppermill. It was an old joint, and one of his favorites. The place had started out as a restaurant, and gained fame for the giant fruit dishes it served at meals. That had led to a hotel being built, and then a casino. The rest, as they say, was history.

  He and his son were given adjoining rooms. Gerry came into his room, and they went out onto the balcony and stared at the skyline. The sun had set, and the desert was starting to cool down, the sky dotted with stars and passing jets.

  Gerry lit up a cigarette, handed it to his father.

  “Take a puff before you have a stroke.”

  Valentine took the cigarette and stuck it in his mouth.

  “That girl in the psych ward really got you worked up, didn’t she?”

  Valentine puffed on the cigarette. Talking to Karen Farmer had put him in a funk. She was a decent kid, yet somehow Bronco had corrupted her, her husband as well. It was the one part of this puzzle he didn’t get. Decent people didn’t become thieves at the drop of the hat. Yet, Karen had done it, and so had Lucy Price. He passed the cigarette back to his son.

  “She sure did,” he said.

  His cell phone vibrated. Caller ID said it was Bill.

  “What’s up?” Valentine answered.

  “We just tracked down Kyle Garrow,” Bill said.

  “Let me guess. You put an illegal trace on his cell phone.”

  “I didn’t say that.”

  “Yes, you did. Where is he?”

  “Garrow’s at a strip club called The Pink Pony, waiting for the Asian to show up so he can do the exchange. One of my men is watching him.”

  “You need to arrest him, Bill.”

  “I can’t arrest him until the exchange goes down. Garrow hasn’t broken any laws.”

  “Yes, he has. He lied to the cops about his whereabouts.”

  “You want to arrest a lawyer for lying? That’s a good one.”

  “I’m not auditioning for a comedy club. Garrow lied to buy time for Bronco. That makes him Bronco’s accomplice. You need to drag his sorry ass in.”

  Arresting a lawyer was serious business, even if the lawyer was pond scum. Bill knew that as well as anyone, and said, “How about if I pick you up, and we arrest him together?”

  “Now you’re talking,” Valentine said.

  Kyle Garrow had been a dreamer and a schemer all his life. He envisioned himself a master criminal, but didn’t have the spine to really break the law. So he’d become a criminal defense attorney instead. By representing criminals, he stayed close to the action, and felt like he knew the score. He’d represented some of the worst scum bags society had to offer — bank robbers, jewel thieves, casino cheats — and learned something new from every one of them.

  Take Bronco Marchese. Bronco had learned how to rip off slot machines from a GCB agent. The problem was, the secret was useless to Bronco. But Bronco was smart, and told Garrow to shop the secret around. There had to be someone out there who could use such a secret.

  Garrow had put the word out, and within a few days, gotten a phone call. To his surprise, the call did not come from any of the known syndicates that bankrolled criminal enterprises. It came from
a Triad boss in Macau.

  The Triad boss had made Garrow a unique offer. His gang was running a devious Pai Gow scam in Macau’s casinos. The scam was foolproof, and the player always won. Was Garrow interested in trading Bronco’s slot scam for the Pai Gow scam? If so, the Triad Boss would send a man to do an exchange.

  It had sounded like the kind of money-making opportunity that Garrow had been looking for. He had told the Triad boss yes, knowing that Bronco would agree. The Triad boss had said he’d send his man immediately.