Dead Money

by Smith, Dean Wesley

  “He called me on my private line,” the President said, his voice low. “Taunted me, told me he was starting to round up the keys. Dared me to try to stop him.”

  “The bastard thought it was all a big game,” the President’s wife said.

  The President nodded. “Steven said my key would be the last one, the biggest prize.”

  “So why did you call him so many times?” Annie asked.

  “To try to stop him, to offer him money, offer him other things, anything to get him to stop killing my old friends,” the President said, his voice fading. “He always just laughed. God, I hated that laugh.”

  I remembered Steven’s smirking laugh from the game at R.A.’s cabin. The guy’s insanity and feeling of superiority clearly made everything and everyone around him just funny.

  The President seemed to shrink in on himself and his wife touched his arm gently for support.

  “Don’t you understand,” he said, “in this job, my hands were tied by the very fact that I was in that game in 1982. Paul and I considered reporting it as a threat to the Secret Service, but we were afraid of the investigation getting leaked. All we decided we could do, and barely that, was talk to our friend, FBI Director Smith. The Director and Paul decided to send Agent Voight to try to stop him and protect you and the others.”

  The President looked over at Heather. “By the time Paul went to Vegas, we were starting to panic. Steven was ahead of us at every turn, and getting close to all the keys, and if someone like him got the information you have, he could have done a fantastic amount of damage.”

  He glanced at me, then back at Heather. “Don’t you understand? That’s why I sent Paul to help you. That’s why I called Steven that day to tell him about the documents in R.A.’s home safe, to have him walk into your trap.”

  He took a deep breath. “But as it ended up, all I did was kill my best friend.”

  “And you didn’t send Special Forces men to stop Nyland from running at the game I set up?” I asked.

  The President actually laughed, but there was no humor in the laugh. “Oh, sure, I can just call any branch of the military to go do personal favors for me. Those men that night were Steven’s buddies from his days in the Army. Both ended up dead, killed by Steven. Their bodies were found yesterday in Idaho above Sun Valley. I just heard about it this morning.”

  I glanced over at Heather. She had said nothing. She just stood there staring at the President.

  I sat back and tried to think.

  I had been convinced that the President had been working with Steven. It was no wonder there had been no one watching us at the bank, no threats in the last three days, nothing. Maybe, just maybe, he hadn’t been directing Steven in the first place.

  “Sir,” I said, “with this murder cover-up in your past, what made you think you could become the President? Didn’t you realize that someone would use it against you?”

  The President laughed. “Son, don’t you play the hands that are dealt you? I didn’t plan to become President. I just got on the crest of a really big wave and let others push.”

  I glanced at Annie, then back at Heather. Both of them seemed to be in deep thought. I wanted to believe the President, that he too had been working to stop Steven. The facts seemed to fit that, but the phone records also fit the other theory, that he had tried to use Steven to round up the keys to protect his career.

  I needed more information.

  “Sir, can you tell me what happened that night in 1982?” I asked. “Who really made the threats against the families?”

  “Mostly Nyland, but eventually a few others joined him on that,” the President said. He looked directly at me. “Carson wanted nothing to do with it, and neither did I. But Carson was the most vocal. Neither of us would help bury that damn cheater’s body. It was Nyland and R.A. and Jeff Taylor who had killed him, they buried him.”

  “Tell him,” the President’s wife said when her husband stopped for a moment and seemed to get lost in the past. “In case he doesn’t know. He was too young to remember.”

  The President looked at me. “Your mother was beaten and in the hospital before we left R.A.’s the next morning. Carson talked to her over a short-wave radio. He got so angry, I thought he was going to tear Nyland apart. It was R.A. who stopped him.”

  The President took a deep breath, glanced at his wife for support, then went on. “Nyland said that the next person would be killed, not just beaten, and it would be you, Doc. And then someone each of us cared for. That pretty much convinced us all to go along with them. I couldn’t risk the life of my Penny,” he said, touching his wife’s hand.

  The First Lady looked at me. “And your father couldn’t risk your life any more either, or your mother’s. That was why he left.”

  “This has been our biggest nightmare for all these years,” the President said, “just as it was your father’s and mother’s.”

  I sat and thought as silence filled the big room. He had given me the same story as the others, no different. He was as much a victim to Nyland, and Steven as the rest were.

  And now we were finishing the game that Steven had started by asking him to resign. And I wanted nothing to do with Steven’s sick game. I just wanted it over.

  “I’d like a moment to talk with Detective Lott and Agent Voight,” I said.

  “Please,” the President said. “Take your time.” He chuckled to himself. “I don’t think I have anything that might be more important than this.”

  The First Lady put her head on the President’s shoulder as Annie and I stood and moved back to the door to talk to Heather.

  As we got close, Heather whispered, “He’s a good man, and a good president. I believe him. I would not be respecting all the work Paul did if I asked him to resign now.”

  I nodded.

  “Annie?”

  “I agree with Heather. All my police instincts tell me he wasn’t involved with Steven, other than how he said. He was used. And right now, we’re still being used by a dead man and I don’t much like it.”

  Neither did I. “So we take back our demand?” I asked. “And we destroy the paperwork, all of it?”

  “We do,” Heather said.

  Annie nodded.

  We turned back to the table. This time Heather joined us, sitting down next to Annie.

  “We have changed our minds,” I said. “We would like to retract our demand that your resign.”

  Now the President looked puzzled and the First Lady let out a deep breath of relief.

  Before he could say anything, I kept going, “When we leave here and return home, we will destroy all copies of everything. There will be no more evidence of that game in 1982.”

  “Just ugly memories,” Heather said.

  The First Lady stared at me.

  The President opened his mouth, then closed it, then opened it again.

  No words came out.

  “I loved Paul,” Heather said. “I know you did as well, as he loved you. You need to stay here, finish his work, fight the fights he wanted you to fight, the reason he pushed you into this job.”

  From the look in the President’s eyes, I would never doubt that we had made the right decision.

  CHAPTER EIGHTY-FIVE

  Las Vegas, Nevada. September 14

  THE EARLY MORNING was cool for this time of the year in Vegas, with the temperatures getting all the way down to the low seventies. It was still a little too warm for a fire in the fireplace, but I didn’t care. Mother turned up the air-conditioning as I started a fire in Carson’s fireplace.

  Annie had come over. She had the envelope I had given her from the bank. She had sealed it and never looked at it. She said she didn’t need those images in her head.

  When I had come up with the idea of a special burning ceremony, I had called Heather. She had told me she was about to go get the documents from Director Smith and destroy them. I told her my plan and she got the time off work. I sent my plane for her. Mike went along for the
ride and to keep her company on the way back.

  So now there were seven of us in the living room of Carson’s home, plus there were soon to be two special guests.

  Ace and my mother sat on one couch. Annie and I had the other. Fleet had a chair, and Mike and Heather were manning a special video hook-up beside Carson’s big television, working together like they belonged together. I had no doubt that Heather was going to be spending a lot of time in Las Vegas in the future. It would take her some time to get over Paul, but I had no doubt Mike would help her in any way he could.

  “You ready?” Mike asked.

  “As ever,” I said.

  Mike signaled he had a connection. We all faced the camera sitting on top of the big television.

  “All together now,” I said, “Good Morning, Mr. President.”

  There was a very familiar laugh from the television as the image cleared and we were facing the President and the First Lady. They both looked years younger than just a few days ago and were smiling.

  “Good morning, everyone,” he said, smiling.

  I stood and held up my envelope. “Before we cook in here from this fire, let’s get this over with. These are the originals that had rested in that damned box in Seattle since 1982.”

  I held them up, then tossed them into the fireplace.

  Everyone cheered. I think the President was the loudest.

  Annie stood. “My copies, sir. Please don’t tell anyone I’m destroying evidence of a crime. It could be bad on my poker career.”

  Everyone laughed, then cheered as she tossed the envelope into the fire and we watched it catch and burn quickly.

  Heather moved toward the fireplace. She looked at me, then at Annie. “Thank you both for tracking down and killing the bastard who shot Paul.”

  All I could do was nod.

  “My pleasure,” Annie said.

  Heather turned to the camera. “And thank you, Mr. President, for continuing the work you and Paul started. It’s all I ask. It’s all he would have wanted.”

  With that, she tossed her envelope into the fire as we all cheered.

  I couldn’t imagine the weight that was lifting from the President’s shoulders. As President, he didn’t need any extra. He had enough.

  “Thank you,” the First Lady said, “for finally ending this nightmare.”

  On the couch, my mother and Ace were both just smiling and nodding.

  “Yes, thank you,” the President said. “I can’t imagine how I could ever repay you all for this.”

  “A larger Social Security check would be nice,” Ace said.

  “Honestly,” I said after the laughter stopped, “just do the best job you can in there. And come and play some cards some time.”

  “Yeah,” Ace said. “We’re always looking for some fresh blood with money.”

  “I just might take you up on that,” the President said, smiling. “Thank you.”

  The screen went dark.

  With that, the game was over.

  At least it was over for as long as the President kept his word. There was an old saying. Never trust a poker player. He’ll lie to your face and take your money with a smile.

  The President was a poker player and a politician, the worst combination. I believed him, but I didn’t trust him.

  Annie stood and went to stir the ashes, to make sure every scrap was burnt.

  I watched her as she dug at the flames with a rod. I had discovered over the last few weeks that I liked watching her no matter what she was doing.

  I liked arguing with her, kissing her, just being with her. That felt new and different to me.

  My mother went back into her room.

  Heather and Mike worked to gather up his equipment and then started taking it out to his truck.

  Ace and Fleet began talking about an investment property in Boise and went into the kitchen, leaving me and Annie pretty much alone.

  She kept stirring the fire.

  I said nothing.

  Then, after a moment, she glanced up at me with a puzzled look on her face. “You didn’t...” she whispered.

  I only shrugged.

  She smiled, then shook her head, clearly understanding.

  She went back to stirring the ashes, making sure every scrap was gone.

  She knew I hadn’t burnt the originals from the ashes and paper in the fire. There were no actual remains of photos in there, just paper. I had those originals stashed in a very safe place, where they would only be found if I died. I had no plans of telling anyone where they were. Not even Annie.

  I hoped to live at least as long as the President was in office, then I would destroy them myself.

  I had a hunch the President knew as well that I hadn’t destroyed everything. He wasn’t stupid, and he knew I was a poker player.

  He understood that I wouldn’t just hand over the game to him. As long as he kept his promise and left everyone alone, that’s how this game would end up.

  Even.

  A chopped pot, with both of us taking the prize we each wanted.

  “So, what would you like to do now?” I asked Annie.

  “Honestly,” she said, standing, “go down to the Bellagio, sit in a hot poker game and try to take as much money from as many people as I can.”

  “And forget about the President and being a cop?” I asked, smiling at her.

  “Absolutely,” she said. “Forget about everything. I just want to play cards. Let the world take care of itself for a day or so.”

  “No wild bunny sex?” I asked, trying to keep a straight face.

  “Afterwards,” she said. “Afterwards.”

  “Spoken like a true poker player.”

  If you liked this Doc Hill thriller, you might also like the Cold Poker Gang mysteries, in which Doc Hill, Annie, Fleet and the gang also appear. Following is a sample chapter from the first book in that series, Kill Game.

  CHAPTER ONE

  May, 1992

  Downtown Las Vegas, Nevada

  THE IDEA JIM HAD on a warm early-summer evening was to find the rumored place for afterhours dancing called “The Path.” Jim had just graduated high school, the proud class of 1992. He was headed next year to Stanford, full academic ride, and he was really looking forward to getting out of the desert in a couple months. He had been born and raised here and was excited about living somewhere else. Anywhere, actually.

  Jim stood barely five-nine, had long brown hair, and a moustache he was doing his best to grow and mostly failing.

  Sharon, his girlfriend over the last six months, also now graduated, wasn’t happy he was going so far away. She had been offered a scholarship at UNLV and had taken it. So between them there was a tension of the coming split.

  Sharon was actually taller than Jim, with long blonde hair and skinny legs that seemed to always be stuffed into jeans a size too small. She had also done some light modeling and as she aged, she just got better looking.

  Jim had no idea what she saw in him, but they always had such a good time together. They had two hobbies: Dancing and having sex in every place they could imagine or risk.

  Tonight they were thinking of doing both at the same time. They had heard how really crowded the dance floor at “The Path” could be. Sharon had suggested, with a smile, that it might be fun to try a little “fooling around” on the floor while dancing.

  Jim was game if she was. With Sharon, he would try just about anything. Logic often never played a part.

  So they parked down on Paradise Road, about two blocks from the club, and headed down the sidewalk along the row of low warehouses, holding hands and laughing, the coming separation only a distant thing to ignore on such a wonderful spring night.

  The club had an entrance off an alley into a large warehouse, but until two days ago, on Sharon’s birthday, both of them hadn’t been eighteen and old enough to get in, so they hadn’t tried to find it.

  Paradise had street lights and even though the area felt rough, both of them were native
to the city and knew this really wasn’t a bad area. They were as safe as they could be at midnight in Las Vegas.

  Cars lined the street on both sides, so they knew they were in the right area even though they didn’t know exactly where the club was. And between traffic on the street, if they listened hard, they could hear the pounding beat of the music echoing through the one-story buildings of the area.

  “Maybe it’s down here?” Sharon asked, pulling Jim into the first alley they came to.

  Jim could tell at once they were in the wrong place.

  And then the smell hit them.

  The putrid smell of something rotting in the heat. It was a cloying smell that seemed to make the air thicker than it actually was, and fill every sense. It turned his stomach instantly. He knew it was a dead person instantly. He had smelled that before. He had no idea how police who worked around dead bodies ever got used to the smell.

  “What is that?” Sharon asked, stopping and covering her mouth and nose. After a moment she started to back toward the street, her eyes round and her skin pale.

  Jim stood his ground. He had been with two friends last year up on Lake Mead when they found a floater near the shore. He knew that smell. Someone had died.

  But there was no body in the alley. Just walls of warehouses. Not even garbage cans.

  He stepped toward one wall and the smell decreased.

  “Jim, get out of there,” Sharon said from the sidewalk behind him.

  He motioned to her that he would be right there, then stepped toward the other wall. Originally a white stucco wall, it was now stained with years of grime and lack of paint that he could see even in the dark shadows.

  And the smell got much worse.

  There was no door in the wall, just a nearby high window that was cracked slightly.

  Someone was dead in that room beyond that window.

  He turned and went back to Sharon, taking her hand. They went around to the front of the building, took down the address, then said, “We have a phone call to make.”

  He could see a pay phone a block away on the outside wall of a closed grocery store, so he started off in that direction.