Jackpot (Tony Valentine series)

by James Swain

  “About twenty thousand,” Bill mumbled.

  “You need to take them out of commission.”

  “Tony, you’re talking about a fifth of the slots in the state. That’s a lot of money.”

  “I don’t care. Those slot machines can be corrupted, and shouldn’t be played.”

  “I’ll have to get Governor Smoltz’s approval. He’s not going to like it.”

  “You want me to call Smoltz?”

  Bill shook his head. He took out his cell phone, and pulled up Smoltz’s number. His chair made a harsh scraping sound as he left the restaurant.

  “I’d like to be a fly on the wall for that conversation,” Gerry said.

  Valentine ate his New York strip steak in silence. Bill was holding out on him. Friends didn’t hold out on each other. Before this was over, he was going to find out why, even if it meant putting their twenty-five years on the line.

  While eating a piece of warm apple pie, Valentine had another epiphany. This one was so obvious, he was surprised he hadn’t seen it sooner. Scooping up the files of the ESD agents, he threw down money for the meal, and rose from the table. Gerry was pigging out on an ice cream sundae, and in no hurry to leave.

  “Where you going?”

  “I need to run a little errand. See you in the morning.”

  Valentine took the elevator to the main level. It was late, and the casino was filled with the drunk and desperate. The front desk was empty, and he rang the bell. A manager appeared who looked like he’d just snapped out of a coma. There was a reason they called it the graveyard shift; only the dead seemed to work it.

  “I need to use your fax machine.”

  “Business office is closed,” the manager said, smothering a yawn.

  He shoved a twenty into the manager’s hand.

  “That isn’t necessary,” the manager said, pocketing the money.

  Soon Valentine was feeding the files of the seven ESD agents through the hotel fax machine. He knew why Bill had clammed up on him. These agents were Bill’s friends, and Bill didn’t want to see anything bad happen to them. It was a natural reaction, and he couldn’t hold it against Bill for feeling that way.

  When the faxes had gone through, he checked the time. It was three A.M., which made it six A.M. back home. He hated calling Mabel so early, but saw no other choice. He punched her number into his cell phone, and heard the call go through.

  Mabel awoke to the sound of her ringing phone. It was still dark outside, the birds singing softly. Only Tony called this early in the morning. If he hadn’t paid her so well and had such nice manners, she would have stopped working for him a long time ago.

  “Yes, boss,” she answered.

  “Sorry to wake you up. I’ve got a job for you.”

  “Is that why you called? I thought it was to whisper sweet nothings in my ear.”

  “Later, beautiful.”

  Tony explained what he needed done. Barely awake, Mabel didn’t tell him about all the excitement from the previous night, or how Running Bear had come to her rescue, or how she’d gone to the police station and filed charges against the man who’d attacked her. That was yesterday, and seemed like old news.

  Ten minutes later, she shuffled down the sidewalk to Tony’s house with a steaming cup of coffee in her hand. The humidity was starting to drop, the mornings feeling downright pleasant. She’d discovered that people from Florida didn’t like winter, and considered anything below seventy degrees cold. Back in her day, men went shirtless in thirty degree weather, and shoveled snow in their tee-shirts.

  She entered Tony’s house and disarmed the security system, then went to the study. Lying in the fax machine tray were the files of seven gaming agents Tony had just sent. She removed the files, sat down in front of Tony’s computer, and got onto the Internet.

  She typed in the homepage for the Nevada Gaming Control Board’s intranet. The GCB used an intranet to communicate with its employees, which could only be accessed through a special password. Because Tony did so much work for the GCB, he’d been given the password, which she now used to gain access.

  A warning appeared on the page. Non-employees of the GCB were not allowed on the site. Anyone caught hacking the site would be punished.

  “I’m just going to pretend I didn’t see that,” Mabel said.

  She went to the Personnel Section, which contained a files for all nine hundred agents in the GCB. Each file contained the agent’s bio, and a recent head shot.

  Mabel pulled up the head shots of the seven suspected agents, and printed their photos on a color laser printer. Putting the photos into an envelope, she walked out of the study with her coffee cup, reset the security system, and locked the front door.

  She headed home. As she neared her house, she stiffened. A beat-up pick-up was parked in her driveway, a large man at her front door. She felt her heartbeat quicken. It was Running Bear. She had kissed him last night, and that was all. But it had been enough to tell her that there was something real between them.

  “Good morning,” the chief said, coming off the stoop.

  Mabel had left the house without makeup, and couldn’t remember if she’d brushed her hair. The bride of Frankenstein returns.

  “Hello.”

  “How are you this morning?”

  “I’m well. What brings you out so early?”

  “I spoke with the police a short while ago,” Running Bear said, holding his cowboy hat in his hand. “The man who attacked you last night and our crooked poker player are brothers. There is a third brother, whom the police cannot account for. They think it would be wise if you stayed someplace else until this man is found.”

  “Do you really think he’ll try to hurt me?”

  “I would hate to find out,” Running Bear said.

  His answer made Mabel smile. She liked the fact that instead of calling, Running Bear had come over to tell her in person. “I’m doing a job for my boss,” she said. “Once I’m done, I’ll take your advice, and lay low.”

  “Will you be going out?”

  “Yes. I need to see an unusual lady in the next county.”

  Running Bear did not seem comfortable with her decision, and Mabel guessed he didn’t like the idea of her being on the road by herself.

  “You can drive me, if you’d like. I’d be happy for the company.”

  “Of course,” Running Bear said. “May I ask who this person is?”

  “She’s a face reader,” Mabel said.

  “What is that?”

  Mabel’s eyes twinkled. For someone who ran a casino, there was an awful lot the chief didn’t know. That was good, because it gave them plenty to talk about.

  “I’ll be right back,” she said, and went inside to get ready.

  Chapter 45

  Bronco took his time driving to Vegas.

  Normally, he liked to race. It was not unusual for him to drive over a hundred miles per hour on the highway. But then outside of Reno he’d remembered something. Throughout the Nevada desert there were hidden surveillance cameras whose sole purpose was to photograph speeding motorists, and compare their faces to data bases of known criminals. The cameras were everywhere — in signs, trees, even road art. Avoiding them was next to impossible. It was better to drive slow, which was exactly what he’d done.

  At four A.M. he pulled into the deserted valet stand of the Mandalay Bay Resort & Casino on the south end of the Strip. The place was a tomb, and he stood next to his car, and waited for a uniformed attendant before turning over his keys.

  He checked in at the front desk. The Mandalay Bay’s theme was straight out of an old Tarzan movie, with screeching macaws and parrots in the lobby, and the staff decked out in camel-colored safari clothes. He didn’t have to give a credit card to the smiling receptionist, just a fake driver’s license that said he was Thomas Pico. And because Thomas Pico was a preferred customer — i.e. a whale — his entire stay would be comped. He took the elevator to his penthouse suite. It was high-roller heave
n, and contained three spacious rooms with marble floors, leather furniture, a well-stocked bar, and a spectacular view of the famous Shark Reef swimming pool. Somebody once said that the best things in Las Vegas were free, only nobody could afford them.

  He called room service and ordered a bottle of Moet and lobster thermidor, then took off his clothes and put on the terrycloth robe he found hanging in the closet.

  The food came a half hour later. He ate in front of the picture window in the living room. To think he’d been locked up that morning, and now look where he was. He felt like a king.

  When he was finished, he decided to call Xing. He’d tried calling the Asian from the road, but got no answer. He hoped Xing wasn’t trying to screw with him.

  He went into the master bathroom and shut the door. It was befitting a Roman emperor, and had a marble tub and its own steam room. He turned on the water so there was plenty of noise, and called Xing on his cell phone. High-roller suites were often bugged so the casino could keep tabs on their most important customers, and he didn’t want anyone working for the casino to overhear his conversation.

  The call went through. This time, Xing picked up.

  “Who’s this?” the Asian asked.

  “It’s Bronco. I just got into town. You ready to make the exchange?”

  “Yeah. I was watching you on TV. You made the national news.”

  “How did I look?”

  Xing laughed. “The people on the TV said you were the devil.”

  Bronco glanced at his reflection in the bathroom mirror. Steam from the shower was swirling around him. He was the Devil. “Say when, and I’ll be there.”

  “I’m staying at the El Cordova on Fremont. Room 28. Meet me in two hours.”

  “See you then.”

  Bronco walked out of the bathroom with a smile on his face. In two hours, he would have the Pai Gow scam, and the ability to rip off any casino in the country whenever he wanted. More importantly, he’d be able to start his life over.

  The phone next to the bed started to ring. It was nearly six A.M., and he wondered who’d be calling at this hour. He decided not to answer it, and after a while the ringing stopped. Then, it started again. In anger, he snatched up the phone.

  “Hello,” Bronco snarled.

  “Is this Tom Pico?” a man’s voice said.

  Bronco froze. No one knew he was in Vegas except the girl at the front desk.

  “Who the hell is this?”

  “Joey Carmichael. We met a couple of months ago playing blackjack in the casino. I just saw you check into the hotel. Guess you don’t remember me.”

  “Afraid not.”

  “Well, I remember you.”

  Bronco didn’t like the direction the conversation was headed. He took the phone into the bathroom and turned the shower back on in case anyone was listening.

  “What’s that supposed to mean?” Bronco asked.

  “We had a couple of pops at the bar,” Carmichael said. “You told me you were in the film business, had a studio in Santa Monica called Jackpot Productions, even invited me to drop by when I was in town. I was in Santa Monica a few weeks ago, and I looked you up. Guess what I found out? There’s no such person as Thomas Pico, or Jackpot Productions. You’re a phony.”

  Bronco sat down on the toilet seat. He had no idea who this clown was, not that it really mattered. He’d been made, and his cover was blown.

  “What do you want?”

  “Let me ask you a question, Tom, or whatever the hell your name is. How do you think the Mandalay Bay will react when they find out you’re not a high-roller, and that you lied to them to get special treatment? Think they’ll call the cops?”

  “I said, what do you want?”

  “I do. I think they’ll call the cops and haul your ass to jail.”

  “One more time. What do you want?”

  “I just got wiped out at the blackjack tables,” Carmichael said. “Give me five grand to keep my mouth shut, and you’ll never hear from me again.”

  “Are you trying to blackmail me?”

  “Call it what you want. I just need some money to tide me over.”

  “If I agree, will you promise to leave me alone?”

  “You bet.”

  He’d been in Vegas for less than an hour, and somebody was already shaking him down. He had no other choice but to deal with the guy, and he said, “There’s a restaurant on the south end of Las Vegas Boulevard called the Instant Replay. Meet me there at nine o’clock, and I’ll give you the money.”

  “Make it noon. I’m taking my kid to the pool in the morning.”

  “You’re here with your family?”

  “My son. I’ve got visitation rights this week.”

  “Noon it is.”

  “See you then, Tommy,” Carmichael said, laughing softly.

  Bronco killed the call and punched the wall hard enough to crack a tile. Joey Carmichael was a problem, and he had more than enough of those right now. He needed to take Carmichael out of the picture, or risk seeing his life go up in flames. His meeting with Xing would have to wait. He called the Asian back.

  “Change in plans,” Bronco said.

  Chapter 46

  Gerry couldn’t sleep. It was nearly dawn, and he’d been doing ceiling patrol for hours. Finally he pulled away the sheets and hopped out of bed.

  He went to the window and parted the blinds. The harsh neon of Reno looked sad in the early morning light. Every sign promised a winner, yet somehow everyone went home broke. He’d been gambling since he was a kid, and never had a problem with it. Now, he did. Gambling now seemed like a huge waste of money. Maybe it had something to do with having a baby, and all the responsibilities that came with raising a family. Or maybe he was finally growing up.

  A sign on the casino across the street advertised nickel slots. How desperate was that? He put on his clothes with his back to the window.

  Gerry realized something was bothering him. He decided it was this case. Something about it wasn’t adding up. He thought back to his father’s comment about him being able to think like a crook, and how that was a plus in their line of work. Leave it to his old man to see the silver lining in his wasted youth.

  He thought back to the bar in Brooklyn he used to own. He’d run the bookmaking business out of the backroom. Running a criminal enterprise had taken a lot of work. He’d had to keep his customers happy, make sure the books were in order, and stay on top of the odds for the different games that he took wagers on. He often got to work at eight in the morning, and didn’t quit until midnight. During football season, his hours were sometimes longer.

  Then there had been the money. He’d made a decent buck as a bookie, and dealing with the cash had been a real chore. He couldn’t just go to the bank, deposit his ill-gotten gains, and not expect someone from the IRS to give him a call. He’d had to launder his profits and keep them hidden from Uncle Sam. That had taken time and a certain amount of ingenuity, made all the more difficult by the fact that he’d had to keep everything a secret. Whoever had said that being a crook was easy had never been in the business. It was hard work, no different than any other job.

  That was when Gerry realized what was bothering him.

  The crooked gaming agent was running a sophisticated scam. Hundreds of jackpots had been stolen across the state of Nevada. That had taken a lot of time, and plenty of leg work. Then there was the cash to deal with. Millions of dollars had been stolen, and laundered in some fashion. That had taken time as well. It was inconceivable that an agent could do his job, and pull off a scam like this.

  “Holy crap,” he said aloud.

  The smoke had cleared, and he saw the picture clearly. The agent had help. Lots of it. There was no other way he could pull this off for as long as he had.

  His father needed to hear this. Gerry went to the door that connected their rooms and rapped loudly. It swung open, and his father filled the doorway. He was dressed and his packed suitcase lay on the bed. Bill Higgins
stood in the bedroom as well. He was the last person Gerry wanted to see right now.

  “Get packed. We’re heading back to Vegas,” his father said.

  “We are?”

  “The police have been tracking Kyle Garrow’s cell phone. They picked up the signal from Fremont Street in old downtown. They think Bronco went to Vegas to do the exchange. Time’s a wasting. Let’s go.”

  Gerry hesitated. He needed to tell his father what he knew. Only he couldn’t do it with Bill around. Under his breath he said, “We need to talk, Pop.”