Writ of Execution

by Perri O'shaughnessy

  “No one with any better judgment than I have, including my aunt. She’s eighty and living in about nineteen fifty these days.”

  Nina’s headache was getting worse. She gave up. “All right, Jessie. Let’s go get that check,” she said.

  The girl stood up. “Now, where is the registry office? How do we get there?”

  They went out to Paul and Kenny Leung. Leung was drinking thirstily out of a paper cup.

  “She still wants to do it,” Nina said. “What about you, Kenny? If I were you, I’d want to talk to a lawyer first. About the marriage idea, and the agreement I’m about to draw up. I advise you to do that.”

  “Not necessary,” Kenny said. “I waive legal counsel. Voluntarily. And with full appreciation of the potential adverse consequences of failing to be represented by counsel when this much money and my pristine bachelor status are involved. Because, you see, I just don’t care. Because this is my final challenge to the gods—”

  Nina interrupted, “Are you intoxicated?” He had to say no and walk without staggering, or she wouldn’t be able to go ahead.

  “Not since I visited the head just now. Want me to prove it? Calculate your income to within, say, five grand?” He was coherent when he wanted to be.

  “No need,” Nina said hurriedly. “Okay, then. We’ll meet in the parking lot at Prize’s as soon as you can get back.”

  “I’m going to Reno with them. I’ll drive,” Paul said.

  Nina nodded. “Call me when it’s over,” she said to Jessie. Jessie and Kenny went out into the hall.

  Paul lingered. As soon as the door shut, he said, “You have to be kidding.”

  “You have a better idea?”

  “I do. The phone rings in my hotel room. We’re busy. We don’t answer.”

  “You wouldn’t miss this for the world, Paul. And neither would I. I wonder if they can pull it off.”

  “I don’t trust either one of them. Or you. You’re being reckless. I know that look in your eye. You think this is a big adventure.”

  “Don’t be patronizing.”

  “Don’t be a fool.”

  She sidled up to him and put an arm around his waist. “Look at it as a gamble, Paul. She needs us to help her get that check safely. Let’s go for it.”

  “What about the f-word?”

  “This is no time to talk about—about the coat!”

  “I meant fraud. What did you think I meant?” He gave her a wolfish grin. Then he patted the pocket where he had put Kenny’s gun, and Nina noticed he didn’t give it back before they left.

  6

  BY FOUR A.M., with another jolt of French roast helping the ibuprofen tablets eat away at her stomach and an agreement that she hoped was ironclad drafted, printed out, copied, and resting uneasily in her briefcase in back, Nina lay in the Bronco—the driver’s seat, pushed back— in that tortured state known to red-eye flyers in which you can’t sleep and you can’t stay awake.

  She was parked in the middle of an acre of parking lot behind Prize’s and even the moon had gone to bed, leaving the stars glimmering down, far from the madding crowd still doing their thing in the predawn.

  She had called Matt to go get Bob, then called Prize’s and made authoritative sounds and said Mrs. Leung had asked her to come in at four with her to make sure this momentous event went smoothly, no, no problem, just with this astounding jackpot, naturally she and her husband wanted support. John Jovanic, the vice president of operations, wanted to know if they would have to wait all night and sounded like he was having a struggle being polite, and Nina moved to soothing sounds about how young the winners were and how this had really knocked them off balance. Et cetera.

  Now her mind skipped around like water on a griddle. It seemed to her suddenly that they were all making a big mistake, she most of all, because she was the lawyer and supposed to knock sense into everyone else. Was there any real alternative to this cockeyed scheme?

  The time pressure was real, and Nina believed that her new client was frightened and resolute enough to walk away from all that money if she had to. Who was this stalker? Why was she so sure her life was in danger?

  Well, nutty or not, here came the newlyweds, roaring up in Paul’s Mustang. Jessie was sitting up front with Paul, who wore a grim line where his mouth should be.

  “They did it,” he reported through the driver’s window. Jessie waved a piece of paper at Nina. She looked grim too. Leung was already getting out and pulling the knot of his tie tight. He looked sick, but quite sober, and had an excited look in his eye. Why, he’s having fun, Nina thought. Well, why not? He had nothing to lose but shut-eye, and a million reasons to celebrate.

  They came together like the co-conspirators they were, in a tight little group, though the only other cars were a long way away. In the peculiar stillness of the hour Nina could feel, beyond the casinos, the heavy pull of the mountains and the mammoth lake less than a mile away. Examining the marriage certificate, she said to Jessie, “Still up for this?”

  “I have to be.”

  “They won’t like you not having any identification. Women aren’t adjuncts of their husbands anymore.”

  “If they insist I’ll just walk away. Turn my back and leave.”

  “Don’t worry, Joya,” Kenny said. At Nina’s quizzical look, he went on, “Well, I have to call her something. Consider it a pet name.”

  “I am not your pet.”

  “Ow!” was Kenny’s response. The girl had given him a neat kick in the shin.

  Nina pulled out the agreement she had drafted, which provided that Kenny was authorized to accept a check for Mrs. Kenneth Leung from Prize’s for the sole purpose of delivering it to her attorney for placement in said attorney’s trust account, and furthermore that Kenneth Leung acknowledged and averred that he had no claim of right, title, or interest in any funds obtained as a result of Mrs. Leung’s gambling winnings, with one sole exception, which was that in consideration for certain services rendered in connection with collection of the said funds, Mrs. Leung agreed to pay to Mr. Leung the sum of one million dollars within ten days of the clearing of the cashier’s check.

  And a lot more legalese.

  Kenny read it and signed it without comment. Nina took Jessie aside and made sure she understood the various impacts of the agreement. She signed it, and then Nina signed it as Jessie’s attorney who had prepared the agreement, and then Paul signed it as a witness and general factotum. She had both of them sign a conflict of interest waiver. Nina tucked it all back into her briefcase with the marriage certificate and locked it in the Bronco.

  It was done. Now all they had to do was go in and face a lot of people who had been waiting a long time, including the media, which had had several hours to assemble en masse.

  Paul said, “Ready?”

  Nina gave Jessie a scarf and dark glasses, the best she could do on short notice. Jessie wrapped her hair in the scarf à la a forties movie star. Enough of her face showed so that Nina could observe her fright, but it was Jessie who led them to the big double glass doors that led to the casino floor. Paul stopped her and forged ahead, indicating that Nina and Kenny should flank her from behind.

  Their entry created a sensation. Everyone in the whole place had been waiting and seemed to know instantly that the big winner had arrived. All activity halted. Whatever they were doing, winning, losing, hoping, despairing, they paused to watch the procession winding around the blackjack tables and toward the elevators. Several security men caught up with them, adding bulk and gravity to the small group.

  People clapped, slowly at first, then gathering energy. Boozy late-night faces came up, beaming. By the time they neared the elevators, they made a parade. A group of reporters poured out of the bar and started snapping pictures, and the security people made no effort to stop them. A dreadlocked kid with a distorted face darted forward—what had he meant to do?—but he was caught and bundled none too kindly back into the crowd before Jessie even saw him.

 
So this was how it felt to walk with royalty; the pleasure of the spotlight, the fear of the bullet.

  The Palace At Four A.M., Nina thought, flashing to Giacometti’s surrealistic art construction. Anything could happen at four A.M. They were participants in a surreal happening. How was she supposed to know what to do? Security had sent several uniformed men to walk in front and keep the way clear, and here was a large grinning crew-cut man beside Jessie, taking her arm.

  Volts of anxiety shot through her. She noticed something else behind all the glitz that she had never noticed before, a faint odor, corrupt and metallic and inhuman like the smell of a corpse in a rusty coffin. She had smelled it on her own hands many times after playing the slots, but now it seemed to pervade the floor. It was the smell of silver tokens. She wondered about those legions of hardworking people whose labor had won them a few minutes on the Greed Machine.

  Shaking herself, she stretched her neck toward the ceiling, and followed like a dignified lady-in-waiting.

  Or like a rat dancing after the Pied Piper.

  Or like a member of a funeral cortege in New Orleans, following the band up ahead, the horns swaying in rhythm, the music half joyful, half a dirge . . .

  At the twentieth floor, in a large glamorous suite, a group of men in dark suits awaited them. They descended on Jessie. Nina just had time to glimpse a mahogany bar laden with bottles and hors d’oeuvres, and another contingent of voracious eyes held back by invisible lines in the background, the reporters, who must be under orders not to take pictures yet. It wasn’t the food they were voracious about. If Jessie could keep her Grace Kelly thing going with the shades and her hair covered, she might be unrecognizable in tomorrow’s papers.

  Introductions were made, accompanied by bone-crushing handshakes all around. In rapid succession, Nina met seven smiling men, all masking various degrees of fatigue and discomfiture. She forced herself to concentrate, to get the names and faces straight.

  John Jovanic, vice president of hotel operations for Prize’s, was the crew-cut man, jowly and jolly, in his forties, fingering his wide tie, radiating goodwill. But his eyes were too small and his heartiness wasn’t quite convincing. When he looked at Jessie, Nina thought she saw envy or worse.

  Thomas Munzinger of the Global Gaming Corporation jackpot response team came next, tanned and seamed like the Nevada rancher he probably was, straight out of an old Marlboro ad. There was a hard direct challenge in the eyes above the smile. He said, “So she brought a lawyer.”

  Nina smiled too. “Just along to enjoy the show.”

  “What is she so worried about?” Munzinger asked.

  “She’s not worried. She’s excited. Wouldn’t you be, Mr. Munzinger?”

  Munzinger didn’t answer. His blue eyes stayed blank. Yikes, Nina thought, but she kept on smiling.

  Prize’s director of communications, Andy Miguel Doig, had a head full of auburn curls and a patient smile. He seemed to be the one appointed to keep the reporters in check.

  Gary Gray, the aging slots director for Prize’s, still wide-eyed, shook his head in amazement as he greeted them, though four hours had passed since Jessie’s win and he should be adjusted to the concept by now. He held Jessie’s hand for a long time, staring at her as if he couldn’t get enough of her. He wore a red rose in his lapel.

  Ully Miller, an electronics engineer with the Nevada Gaming Control Board, which Nina knew was the state agency regulating the gaming industry, was a quiet, close-shaven, middle-aged man. When he shook her hand she noticed he was wearing soft kid gloves. When he smiled, Nina saw that he had a gap between his front teeth, like Alfred E. Neuman or David Letterman. It gave him a slightly goofy appearance.

  “Sorry about the delay,” Nina said.

  “Oh, there would have been a delay anyway. We had to check the machine very thoroughly. It takes a couple of hours. And for this size jackpot, naturally we checked even more thoroughly.”

  “And—I assume there was no problem?”

  Miller said, “No problem at all. Bet that’s the best news the little lady ever had. She sure is skittish. A win like this, I can understand, though. She still has that stunned look. She okay?”

  “It’s the amount. She just can’t believe it.”

  “It’s one of the biggest wins in Nevada history. Incredible. What will she do with it?”

  “We haven’t even talked about that.”

  And last but definitely not least, Nina shook hands with the one she worried most about, a short, gingery man straight out of South Boston wearing green suspenders under his suit. He was P. K. Maloney, supervising agent for the fourth district of Nevada, United States Internal Revenue Service. She had heard of him. He was part of the audit process, an awe-inspiring figure. She had not wanted to meet him.

  An ornate, curved-legged desk sat under the window. While Paul chatted with the others, Nina, Jessie, Kenny Leung, and Maloney adjourned to the desk. Jessie had an inch-thick stack of forms to sign, and not one of them was easy. Nina sat down beside her and read through each form, talking to her in a low voice, trying to keep it all straight. Kenny readily produced his driver’s license when Maloney asked for Jessie’s, and the trouble roared out of the tunnel.

  “We’ll need yours, Mrs. Leung,” Maloney told her. “You’re the winnah.”

  Nina took his measure. A long Irish lip. A fleshy Irish face. He looked like her dad. Tired eyes, the eyelids drooping. A cleft in the chin. The expression of one who endures. Rough skin and a small curvy mouth. And a pair of ears at a ninety-degree angle to his jaw.

  She smiled and said, “We’ll be glad to provide that in a day or two. The Leungs are from Mountain View. Mrs. Leung forgot to bring her wallet up here. But, after all, Mr. Leung has his ID.”

  “But my dear lady. His ID is not her ID.”

  “What’s the problem, Mr. Maloney? We all want Mrs. Leung to get her check tonight, don’t we? That’s what these folks from the press are waiting for, aren’t they? And we all want to get some sleep. Mrs. Leung is exhausted.”

  “It’s a regulation, Mrs. Reilly,” Maloney said, not stiff but not bending either. “You understand.” There was no Mr. Reilly, but this was no time to get picky. Nina nodded.

  “I’m aware of that.” She had looked it up just before she left.

  “You see my problem,” Maloney said. “I don’t have the authority.”

  “But you’re the one here in the field tonight and you have to have some discretion in handling these things,” Nina said. “You must get winners who are drunk, unable to speak English, with all sorts of problems.”

  “They’ve all had driver’s licenses up to now,” Maloney said. “And Mr. Jovanic has probably told you, this is a major jackpot. The club has to be able to establish that she’s over twenty-one, for another thing, even if I could . . .”

  “She’ll sign an affidavit to that effect, which will protect everyone. I took the liberty of preparing one,” Nina said, pulling it out and handing it to him. “You’ll note that in that document Mrs. Leung also declares under penalty of perjury that she is in fact Mrs. Kenneth Leung and currently married. It includes her address and Social Security number, and my own acknowledgment. You’re in substantial compliance with that reg.”

  “Maybe we should all sleep on this,” Maloney said. “I could call my office.”

  “Mr. and Mrs. Leung need to get back home to the Bay Area,” Nina said. “There’s nothing in the regs that allows you to compel them to stay here. She has to sign your form W-2G as required for all big winners. She is prepared to do that.”

  “Why, goodness me, I’d be the last to compel anyone. But surely you’re not going to go out in the dark of the night when the casino wants to comp you into this fabulous suite?” Maloney said to Jessie. He spread an arm. “Why not stay?”

  “I have important business to take care of at home,” Kenny Leung said, speaking for the first time.

  Maloney looked him over. He didn’t seem impressed.

  “I
am the executive vice president and chief operating officer of City of Gold, Incorporated, an Internet firm with its primary offices in San Jose,” Kenny went on. He handed Maloney one of his company cards. “Unfortunately, I have to get back.”

  Maloney raised his eyebrows. He took the card, read it carefully, turned it over. He seemed to be wavering. He read Nina’s affidavit. “What’s the hurry? Look at all these good people gathered here to celebrate with you. And tomorrow, why, you’ll be treated like the King of Siam.”

  “I have important—I may say crucially important— conferences tomorrow,” Kenny said firmly. “And my wife’s not feeling too well, as you can imagine. She has a stress-related condition. She’ll have excellent security in our home. Therefore, we’ll be going home as soon as we have the ch—uh, completed the formalities.” Jessie was looking at Kenny with astonishment. Kenny seemed to have mustered up a new persona, and he was pulling it off. There was some Dogbert in his Dilbert.

  “It’s very, very unusual,” Maloney said, frowning, but his ears being what they were, his solemnity still had a comic edge, like Ross Perot pondering the success of Jesse Ventura.

  Nina took her turn. “Mr. Maloney, what exactly is the problem? The Internal Revenue Service isn’t going to prevent this nice young couple from collecting their prize tonight, I hope? Look at all those photographers and reporters waiting over there. I know they’ve been waiting for hours.”

  “We’ve all been waiting for hours.”

  “Well, then,” she said briskly. She looked at her watch. “I’m sure none of us want to tell them the casino, or the U.S. government, refuses to give my clients their winnings. Particularly since Mr. Miller has certified the win as legitimate. That would be such a black eye for all concerned. I hate to think of it—instead of the papers saying, ‘Woman Wins Jackpot,’ they’ll say, ‘Woman Wins Jackpot, Casino Keeps the Cash.’ ”

  “Well, we do have her Social Security number,” Maloney said. “That, plus your ID and the affidavit, might be enough for now.”