by James Swain
Bronco drove around until he found a boarded-up Mexican restaurant a block away. Behind the restaurant was a dusty lot. He parked beside the building, got out and popped the trunk, and removed the interior liner which covered the car’s spare tire. In the tire’s spot was an aluminum briefcase, which he removed, then slammed the trunk shut.
The restaurant had been closed a long time, its windows boarded with plywood. He removed his shoes and socks, and climbed onto the roof of the car clutching the briefcase. He placed the briefcase onto the restaurant’s roof, then used both hands to hoist himself up.
The restaurant’s roof was flat and covered with broken glass, and Bronco guessed it was a meeting place for kids to drink beer. The nearby buildings were also one-story, and he didn’t think anyone was going to see him if he kept low. Sitting cross-legged on the roof, he popped the briefcase, and removed the telescopic lens, barrel, and stock of the Sauer 202 “varmint” hunting rifle. He took his time assembling the weapon.
At ten minutes of twelve, Bronco raised his rifle, and began to take note of the cars entering the Instant Replay’s parking lot through the cross hairs of its telescopic lens. It was a busy place, and he saw a variety of different people pull into the lot, and go inside.
At noon, a black Mercedes with tinted windows came into the lot. The driver’s door sprung open, and a man wearing lots of gold chains hopped out and hurried inside. He looked like a two-bit hustler, and Bronco guessed this was Joey Carmichael.
Bronco carefully put his rifle onto the roof. Opening his cell phone, he got the Instant Replay’s phone number from information, and called the number. A few moments later was talking to a girl who sounded sixteen. He asked for Carmichael.
“Anybody here named Carmichael?” she called into the bar.
Someone said yes, and picked up the phone. “Hello?”
“Guess who,” Bronco said.
“Tommy Pico? Where are you?”
“I’m nearby. There’s a pay phone across the street at the gas station,” Bronco said. “I’ll call you there in a minute.”
“What the hell are you trying to pull?”
“I wanted to make sure you came by yourself. You can never be too careful.”
“Don’t screw with me, Pico. I’m warning you.”
“Goodbye.”
Bronco killed the connection. He retrieved the pay phone’s number from his cell phone’s memory bank, and hit Send. Hearing the call go through, he placed the phone down on the roof, then picked up his rifle, and stared through the telescopic lens at the Instant Replay’s front door.
Carmichael came out of the restaurant a few moments later. He could have shot him right then, only he’d learned that it was damn hard to hit a moving target, especially at this range. Carmichael crossed the street and entered the phone booth. He looked around suspiciously, then snatched up the receiver. Bronco picked up his cell phone, and stuck it into the crook of his neck.
“Hello?” Carmichael said suspiciously.
“Hey,” Bronco said.
“This better not be a trick.”
“No tricks. I want to ask you something before I give you the money.”
“You’re pushing it, Pico.”
“Who else did you tell about me?”
“Why? Does it matter?”
“It does to me.”
“I didn’t tell a soul. I didn’t think anyone would care. Now, where’s the money?”
“Reach beneath the phone. I left a present for you.”
Through the lenses, he watched Carmichael stick his hand underneath the pay phone, and tear away the wad of money. Carmichael was no fool, and he pulled off the rubber band, and saw the deception.
“You lousy bastard,” he said.
“See yah.”
He squeezed the trigger, then felt the rifle’s sharp recoil. The plexiglass wall of the phone booth exploded into a thousand tiny pieces. The bullet had blown off the front plate of the machine, causing hundreds of coins to spill out. Carmichael spun around, and started to run, his body covered in broken glass.
He took aim and fired again. Carmichael had reached the curb. His body twisted violently as a giant blood stain appeared in the center of his shirt. He halted momentarily, then somehow found the strength to start walking across the street toward his car in the restaurant lot. In the middle of the street he stopped, and fell to his knees.
Carmichael looked up into the cloudless sky. The bills were still clutched in his hands. His fingers opened, and they fell and were picked up by the wind. He pitched forward and lay motionless on the pavement.
Bronco lowered the rifle. Served the bastard right.
“Daddy!”
Bronco felt his heart start to race. The voice had come from the vicinity of the restaurant. He lifted the rifle, and found the child through the lenses. A boy of maybe ten, with cute blond bangs and an iPhone dangling around his neck. He had jumped out of the Mercedes, and was running toward his father’s lifeless body.
“Daddy! Daddy!”
The boy knelt down and tried to gather his father in his arms. He started to scream, his youthful wail ripping into Bronco’s very soul.
What have I done? Bronco thought.
Bronco thought he was going to be sick. He jumped off the roof and tossed the rifle into the trunk of his Lexus. Normally, he would have cleaned up after himself, and made sure nothing was left behind that might lead the police to him. But those were the farthest thoughts from his mind. All he could think about was the boy, and the fact that he’d just seen his old man die. He drove back to the Mandalay Bay hearing police sirens going in the opposite direction, filling the air with panic.
He walked into the Mandalay Bay five minutes later, still feeling sick. He needed to lie down, and headed for the bank of elevators to go upstairs to his room. A brightly colored parrot in a cage in the lobby screeched at him. Someone said, “Mr. Pico?” and he went to the concierge desk where an attractive young woman stood.
“What’s up.”
She held a ticket in her hand. “The Loopers are playing in the House of Blues tonight. Front row ticket, compliments of the house.”
He waved her off. The image of the kid holding his dead father in his arms was stuck in his head like a bad dream. He couldn’t get rid of it, no matter how hard he tried. He went to the elevators and pulled out his room key. Across the way were a bank of glittering slot machines with yellow police tape stretched across several of the machines. A bellman walked by, and he stopped him.
“What’s wrong with those slot machines?”
“A group of gaming agents shut them down,” the bellman explained.
“Any idea why?
“I guess they’re not working right. Have a nice day.”
Bronco went over to check the slot machines out. The manufacturer’s plate was usually found on the left side. Kneeling, he stuck his head between two of the machines, and read the plate. It was made by Universal. Then he checked out the others. They were made by Universal as well.
Shit.
Going upstairs to his suite, he sat on the couch, and stared into space. The slot machine scam was worthless now that the police knew about it. He could only hope that Xing hadn’t heard, and that he’d be able to make the exchange before they found out.
If he didn’t get the Pai Gow scam, his cheating days were over. And then what was he going to do? Live a normal life? He didn’t know what that meant.
He went into the bathroom and washed his face, then stared into the mirror at the black hole that was his soul. He’d wanted to be normal once. Falling in love with Marie had done that to him, and having a kid. But it hadn’t lasted. His wife had gone to jail, and the court had thrown Mikey into a foster home. That was the extent of what he knew about the normal life. It didn’t last.
He needed the Pai Gow scam more than he’d realized. But what if Xing refused to hand it over? Then he’d have to take it, even if it meant killing him.
He went to the window,
and stared down at the wave machine in the hotel pool. He’d never killed two men in one day, and supposed there was a first time for everything.
Chapter 51
Gerry walked out of the Acropolis into the blinding sunlight. He’d been inside the Acropolis less than an hour, yet had already lost track of the time. If casinos were good at anything, it was making a person forget the real world. He spotted his father parked next to the valet stand in the rental. He hopped into the passenger seat, and they peeled out with a rubbery squeal, and were soon heading north on the strip.
His father drove without speaking. There was a faraway look in his eyes, and Gerry assumed he’d retreated to that place that he went to when life got him down.
“Rough time at the prison?”
His father nodded. Lying on the seat was a snapshot of Lucy Price. The woman was a bad news buffet, yet his father still cared deeply for her. Gerry wasn’t surprised; his father hadn’t abandoned him, and he’d been screwing up his entire life.
“I’m sorry, Pop.”
“Thanks,” he mumbled.
They drove through the canyon of gigantic casinos that lined both sides of the strip. Gerry guessed they were going to meet up with Bill Higgins, who was with the police stake out team on Fremont Street in old downtown.
“Lucy identified the ringleader of the gang,” his father said, breaking the silence. “It’s Fred Friendly, the head of the Electronic Systems Division.”
“You sound surprised.”
“I am. Fred’s got twenty-five years on the clock, and is up for retirement in a few years. Why decide now to start stealing? It doesn’t make sense.”
“Yes, it does. Nick Nicocropolis told me.”
His father braked at a light. They had passed the Wynn and its sister property, Encore, and the strip had started to turn seedy. His father waited for him to continue.
“It isn’t pretty, Pop. Seems a casino in town called Diamond Dave’s got caught cheating their customers. Every single game in the joint was rigged. The Gaming Control Board shut the place down, and got the casino manager to confess. A few days later, the casino manager ended up with two bullets in his head.”
The light changed. His father pulled ahead, still staring at the busy road.
“Then a strange thing happened,” Gerry went on. “Diamond Dave, the owner of the casino, got hauled in. Dave claimed he didn’t know a thing, even though he was pocketing all the money. I’m talking millions, Pop. The GCB took his gaming license away, and shut the joint down. And that’s where the story ends.”
His father jerked his head sideways. “Say what?”
“They let him go. He’s in California now, selling real estate.”
“That’s impossible. He broke the god damn law. He’s also probably a murderer.”
“I know. I asked Nick how Diamond Dave got away with it. Nick said Diamond Dave had greased a lot of palms, and had friends in high places.”
“Nick wouldn’t tell you who sprung this crook?”
“No. I asked but he wouldn’t give it up.”
“And Nick thinks this is why Fred Friendly and the rest of his group went bad.”
“Yeah. Nick said the gaming agents that worked on the case were given counseling to make sure it didn’t affect their work. I remember seeing that in the files. Fred Friendly and the rest of ESD all took extended leaves three years ago.”
“I guess it didn’t work.”
“Guess not.”
The rental picked up speed. Gerry saw his old man talking to himself, trying to fit the pieces of the puzzle together. It was a lot of information to absorb, but that was what made his father the world heavyweight champ at catching cheaters and crooks. Several blocks later, his father punched the dashboard with his fist.
“Son-of-a-bitch.”
“You figured it out,” Gerry said.
“Damn right I did.”
His father pulled up a number on his cell phone. Gerry stole a glance, and saw that it was Bill Higgins he was calling. This was going to be good.
The call went through. His old man didn’t mince words.
“You and I need to talk,” his father barked into the phone.
They met up with Bill at a dive motel on Fremont Street. Fremont had once been a cool place to hang out, with a number of old casinos and funky restaurants. Those days were long gone, and today it was a human cesspool, the sidewalks filled with strung-out hookers, runaways, and street people who didn’t have two nickels to rub together.
Bill greeted them at the door. His necktie was pulled to one side, and he wore the haggard look of a man who hadn’t gotten enough sleep in the past few days. The stakeout team was in the room, and consisted of four members of the Metro Las Vegas Police Department. The team had placed sensitive eavesdropping equipment against the wall, and were listening to the activity of the room next door.
Valentine and his son entered, and Bill shut the door. Bill put his finger to his lips, and pulled them into a small kitchenette.
“You figure out which one of the agents is our crook?” Bill asked.
“They’re all crooks,” Valentine said.
Bill appeared too stunned to speak.
“The motive was Diamond Dave’s,” Valentine said.
Bill blinked. “Who told you about Diamond Dave’s?”
“It sure as hell wasn’t you.”
Bill ran his fingers through his thick head of hair. When he was a younger man, he’d worn his hair so it touched his collar, and impressed Valentine as a guy who marched to his own drummer. Time had obviously changed him. Bill looked at Gerry, who was leaning against the wall, then back at Valentine, who stood across from him.
“I’m sorry, Tony.”
“Explain,” Valentine said.
Bill tugged at his necktie like it was choking him. “ The owner of Diamond Dave’s had money problems, and decided to rig the games in his casino to pay off his creditors. We caught him, and shut the place down. We hauled Diamond Dave into jail, and guess who the first person was he called with his one phone call.”
“Governor Smoltz,” Valentine said.
Bill blinked again. “Who told you that?”
“I figured it out. Smoltz takes care of his friends. Diamond Dave probably helped put him in office.”
“That’s right. Diamond Dave was one of his biggest fund raisers. Two days after we arrested Diamond Dave, his casino manager turns up dead. He was our only witness. I got a call from Smoltz a few hours later, telling me to let Diamond Dave walk. Smoltz claimed the scandal would hurt the town’s business, and he wanted me to put a lid on it. I was under orders not to talk.”
Valentine had been a cop once, and obeyed plenty of orders he hadn’t agreed with. Bill had done what he’d had to do. But it still didn’t make it right. He watched his friend jerk his necktie off, and stuff it into his pocket.
“Let me ask you a question,” Valentine said. “When Bronco first told you there was a crooked gaming agent stealing jackpots, did you think this was blow-back to what had happened at Diamond Dave’s?”
Valentine already knew the answer to the question, but had to ask it anyway. Bill had known, which was why Smoltz had gotten involved. How Bill answered was going to determine whether they remained friends.
“Yes,” Bill said.
“Did Smoltz?”
“Yes, he figured it out as well.”
“Why didn’t you just focus your investigation on just the agents who’d been involved in shutting down Diamond Dave’s? Why throw such a wide net?”
“Because every agent working for the GCB knew about the scandal, and had been tainted by it,” Bill replied. “I had to look at everyone.”
Bill was being honest with him now. The dark secrets that Mira had told Mabel were hidden beneath the surface were finally coming out.
“What are you going to do now?” Valentine asked. “Or should I say, what’s Smoltz going to do? Let Fred Friendly and his gang skate?”
“Smoltz
wants us to nail Bronco first, and muzzle him. Then we’ll haul in Friendly and the others.”
“Aren’t you afraid Friendly and his gang will go into the wind? They have to know that you’ve shut the Universal slot machines down.”
“I’m sure they do. But where are they going to go?” Bill said. “They all live here. Trust me, they’re going to be a lot easier to run down than Bronco.”
“I hope you’re right.”
