DreadfulWater Shows Up

by Thomas King

  “That’s what we should have done when that Columbus guy showed up.”

  Genesis Data Systems was owned by a corporation called Laurent Industries, which was owned by another corporation called National Associates. National Associates was based in the Cayman Islands.

  “Can you tell who owns National Associates?”

  “Nope.”

  “What about the other casinos that Genesis Data Systems does business with?”

  “Stanley says I have the magic touch.” Moses worked the keyboard. “He says computers tell me things that they won’t tell anyone else.”

  “Stick knows a lot about computers.”

  “Animals are the same way.” Moses hit a key, and the information moving across the screen slowed down.

  “Wait a minute.”

  Moses hit another key and the information on the screen came to a stop.

  “That can’t be right.”

  “Computers don’t lie,” said Moses. “Unless people tell them to lie.”

  “That’s a list of their clients?”

  “That’s what it says.”

  “I’ll be damned.”

  “Have you figured everything out?”

  Thumps pushed back from the computers and ran several scenarios through his head until he found the one he liked best.

  Then he turned to Moses. “Close enough.”

  “I guess it doesn’t go away, even if you want it to.” Moses was grinning as if he had just heard a good joke.

  “What?”

  “Feeling responsible.”

  It was four-thirty before Thumps got to the main gates of Buffalo Mountain Resort. Cooley was standing outside the guard shack looking positively regal. His uniform was clean and pressed, his shoes were polished, and his hair was loose so it could cascade down his back.

  “You know what this is?” Cooley wiggled a clipboard in front of Thumps’ face.

  “Beats me.”

  “It’s a list of important people. And if your name’s not on the list, I’m not supposed to let you in.” Cooley ran his finger down the list. “And, your name’s not on the list.”

  “I have to get in.”

  Cooley stuck his head close to the window. “Hell, you’re not even dressed for this party.”

  “Tuxedos?”

  “Penguins all the way down.” Cooley’s face softened. “I’m sorry about Stick.”

  “He’s going to be okay.”

  “No, I mean about thinking he killed Floyd.”

  “Why don’t you stop off at the hospital and say hello.”

  Cooley thought about that for a moment. “Naw,” he said. “Those places give me the creeps.”

  The opening ceremony was at the casino. The parking lot wasn’t full, but there were more cars than Thumps had expected. Including a television van. Cooley had been right. Dress was formal.

  Ora Mae and Beth caught him first.

  “Honey,” said Ora Mae, “you look like a pair of tennis shoes at a wedding.”

  “I didn’t know it was formal.”

  “I think you look fine,” said Beth.

  “Yeah, he does,” said Ora Mae, shaking her head, “if he’s going to a barbecue.”

  “Have you seen Claire?”

  Ora Mae reached out and straightened Thumps’ collar. “So, what are you going to do now?”

  “Maybe you should think about working as a private detective,” said Beth. “You know, Kate Fansler, V. I. Warshawski, Jane Lawless.”

  “’Course, you’d have to get up in the morning,” said Ora Mae.

  Thumps smiled. “Next time you find a body, call someone else.”

  Archie caught up with him next.

  “Thumps! What a party!”

  “Have you seen Claire?”

  Archie turned and looked across the crowd. “Sure. She was here with her boyfriend.”

  “Boyfriend?”

  “First it’s Claire. Then it’s Beth.” Archie shrugged. “What did you expect?”

  “Claire doesn’t have a boyfriend.”

  “Guess what?”

  “And Beth is not my girlfriend.”

  “I just got a first edition of Louis Owens’Dark River. Very hard to find.” Archie ran his hand along the lapels of his tuxedo. “How do I look?”

  “You look great.”

  “You want my advice?” said Archie. “Roses. And stop fooling around.” Archie gestured off to the left. “I’ll bet he bought her roses.”

  Claire was standing at the far side of the room with Sterling hanging onto her elbow as if she were a life raft. The man couldn’t be drowning. This was his environment. A room full of rich and important people who might just be in the market for a little something in real estate.

  Out of the corner of his eye, Thumps spotted Elliot Beaumont standing against the wall. Beaumont didn’t look happy. He seemed nervous, his eyes constantly in motion, as though he were trying to find someone.

  Decisions, decisions. Okay, Thumps said to himself, Claire first and then Beaumont.

  “Thumps!” Sterling looked ready to explode with good cheer. Claire mouthed a silent, thank you.

  “Hello, Sterling. Am I too late to get one of the condos?”

  It was a mean thing to say, but Thumps was still a little tired and a little grumpy.

  “They’re a great investment,” said Sterling as he shifted into sales mode. “We’ve had a lot of interest. They won’t last long.”

  “Excuse us, Sterling,” said Claire, not wanting to let the man get up a full head of steam. “Thumps and I have to discuss a business matter.”

  Sterling was not happy about losing his flotation device, and Claire had to peel his fingers off her arm.

  “Thank you,” she said, when they had cleared Sterling’s range of hearing.

  “What business do we have?”

  “Rescuing me from Sterling,” said Claire. “And what are you doing here?”

  “I need your help.”

  She looked at him. “Am I going to like it?”

  Thumps shook his head. “Chan didn’t kill himself.”

  Claire took in a deep breath of air and held it.

  “He was murdered. There was foam rubber in the wound. Someone used a pillow or a cushion to muffle the gunshot.”

  Claire turned away for a moment and when she turned back, Thumps could see her eyes. He wasn’t sure whether he was looking at simple anger or rage. Just so long as Claire remembered that he was one of the good guys.

  “What do you need?”

  “Today’s itinerary.”

  “The reception. A couple of speeches. A tour of the condos.”

  “Any gambling?”

  “One bank of slots is up and running.”

  “What about the computer?”

  “What about it?”

  “Is there anything scheduled?”

  Claire paused for a moment. “A full test of the system. They want to be sure everything works.”

  “I want to be there,” said Thumps. “Can you arrange it?”

  “What’s wrong?”

  “Maybe nothing.” Thumps could feel Claire’s eyes tearing strips of skin off the back of his neck. “Maybe something dangerous.”

  “Just knowing you is dangerous,” said Claire.

  “Who’s conducting the test?” Claire looked over the crowd, but Thumps already knew who she was looking for. “Elliot Beaumont?”

  “Yes.”

  “Anyone come with Beaumont?”

  “I don’t think so.”

  Thumps scanned the crowd one more time. “When’s the test?”

  Claire glanced at her watch. “Right about now.”

  “The sheriff’s on his way. When he gets here, tell him where he can find me.”

  “I’m coming with you.”

  “No, you’re not. Look, if I’m wrong, I’m going to look like an ass. If I’m right, there could be t
rouble. Either way, I don’t want you there.”

  “Then you better come up with better reason than that.”

  “Stick.”

  “Stanley?”

  “He’s too young and arrogant to be left on his own.”

  Claire took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “Damn you, DreadfulWater. I don’t want you getting hurt, either.”

  “Photographers are a dime a dozen.”

  The computer complex was cool and dark. Elliot Beaumont was seated at the console by himself.

  “How’s it going, Elliot?”

  Thumps’ voice in the deep silence of the room caught Beaumont by surprise.

  “God, you startled me.”

  “Sorry. Claire asked me to come by and monitor the test.”

  “Help yourself,” said Beaumont. “But there’s nothing much to see.”

  Thumps watched the screen as it went through some sort of routine. “What are you doing?”

  Beaumont turned back to the screens. “Checking the transfer sequences for the casino and adjusting the sweep of the security cameras at the condos. Here, have a look.” He pressed a couple of keys and over a dozen monitors lit up. “Stairwells, hallways, garage, everything safe and secure.”

  “Too bad they weren’t working when Takashi was killed.” Thumps leaned over Beaumont’s shoulder. “What’s a transfer sequence?”

  “Actually it’s the heart of our system. Do you know much about electronic banking?”

  “Debit cards?”

  “In a manner of speaking, yes. You see, nobody works with cash anymore. What I mean is, cash still exists, but most of it is moved electronically through large banks.”

  “Transfer sequences.”

  “Exactly. The money from the casino is deposited in one bank and then the funds are moved electronically wherever they need to go. To pay vendors. To pay employees.”

  “And the computer controls those transfers.”

  “Of course.”

  “Show me.”

  Beaumont’s fingers danced across the keys. That’s why the man’s hands were so smooth, Thumps thought. The only work he did was with his fingertips.

  “Every day at five o’clock, the computer deposits the day’s receipts and, at the same time, makes the necessary transfers.”

  Thumps tried to keep the sarcasm out of his voice. “Why do you need a computer to do that?”

  “It’s complicated.”

  “Why not just take the money down to the bank?”

  “Over half of the money that comes into the casino will be in the form of electronic transfers, credit cards, debit cards, charge backs to businesses and corporations. In five years, electronic transfers will account for over seventy-five percent of the money the casino takes in.”

  The time in the right-hand corner of the monitor said 4:59. “So, at five o’clock, the casino’s money begins moving.”

  “In a manner of speaking,” said Beaumont. “The transfers are actually drawn against the credit that the customer has at the bank. Let’s say that the casino made a gross profit of a hundred thousand. That same day, that amount of money would be credited to the casino’s account, and at the same time, the computer would generate the necessary transfers.”

  “What about the actual money?”

  “That has to be deposited within twenty-four hours.”

  “Who keeps track of where the money goes?”

  Beaumont looked amused. “Why the computer, of course.” Suddenly the big monitor came to life and began rolling figures across the screen. “Here we go.”

  As Thumps watched, the computer ran through a series of numbers.

  “Those are expenses,” said Beaumont. “And those are profits.”

  “How can you have profits when the place isn’t even open?”

  “They’re projected profits,” said Beaumont. “We put in some numbers just to see how the system would function under actual working conditions.”

  The phone on the desk rang. In the quiet of the computer room, it sounded like a fire alarm going off. Beaumont cradled the phone against his shoulder.

  “Yes?” he said, continuing to work the keyboard with one hand. “Yes, it’s fine . . . Perfect . . . Mr. DreadfulWater is here . . . To watch the test.”

  Beaumont handed Thumps the phone.

  It was Traynor.

  “Hi,” she said, with an airiness that made Thumps think of palm trees and white sand beaches.

  “Thought you were coming out for the grand opening.”

  “Elliot can manage on his own,” said Traynor. “It’s too nice a day to be indoors. Why don’t you join me?”

  “Where are you?”

  “Headed for the golf course.”

  “I don’t think I can.”

  “Six o’clock tee time. In case you change your mind,” said Traynor. “Give me back to Elliot.”

  Thumps waited while Beaumont and Traynor finished their conversation.

  “One of the perks of being the boss,” said Beaumont as he hung up the phone. “If I were you, I’d go play golf.”

  “Who came up with the idea for the system?”

  “The STS?”

  “Yes.”

  “Daniel. He was a genius when it came to stuff like this.”

  “What about Chan?”

  “George helped. But it was Daniel’s project all the way.”

  Thumps took the disk out of his pocket and dropped it next to Beaumont. “So who killed Chan? You or Traynor?”

  Beaumont turned in the chair. “What are you talking about?”

  “Chan didn’t commit suicide. He was murdered.” Thumps wasn’t sure what the man would do. Deny, bluff, run, attack. “It’s about what’s on this disk, isn’t it?”

  Beaumont leaned back in the chair. “Is this a joke?”

  “It’s no joke, Mr. Beaumont.” Sheriff Duke Hockney was standing in the doorway with his gun drawn. “We found the cushion that was used to muffle the shot.”

  “Where?”

  “In Mr. Beaumont’s townhouse.”

  Thumps glanced at Beaumont. It was hard to tell whether the man was amused or annoyed.

  “The sofas in Mr. Chan’s condo and in Mr. Beaumont’s are exactly the same. We didn’t catch that the first time through.”

  Beaumont wasn’t amused. “Bullshit! You’ve got nothing on me.”

  “You wouldn’t believe how many times I’ve heard that one.” Hockney brought his gun to eye level. “Put your hands on the table in front of you. You’re under arrest for murder.”

  “This is ridiculous!” said Beaumont, working himself into a rage. “I don’t have time for this!”

  “You have the right to remain silent . . .”

  Thumps would have guessed that Elliot Beaumont was generally stiff and unemotional, but the man standing in front of him and waving his hands around was anything but that.

  “You have the right to an attorney . . .”

  “And just what do you expect me to do with this?” Beaumont spread his arms and gestured toward the security camera screens and the computer monitor. “Just look at all this!”

  Thumps wouldn’t have believed the man could move that fast, but in the split second that the sheriff took his eyes off Beaumont to look at the monitors, Beaumont came off the table with a gun in his hand.

  “Duke!”

  The first shot hit the sheriff in the shoulder and knocked him down. With no lost motion, Beaumont swung back and found Thumps.

  “Looks like we get to play cowboys and Indians again.”

  “You can’t get away.”

  “Want to bet?” Beaumont reached down and picked up the sheriff’s gun. “I shoot you with the sheriff’s gun, and I shoot the sheriff with this gun and leave it on your body.”

  “No one is going to believe that.”

  “Probably not. But by then, none of us will care.”

  “I’ll care.” Co
oley Small Elk stepped out of the shadows of the room, his rifle levelled at Beaumont. Beaumont blinked, but kept his gun pointed at Thumps’ head.

  “I’ll shoot your friend,” said Beaumont.

  “He’s not a good friend.” Cooley shrugged. “Why, just the other day, he lied to me.”

  Thumps could see Beaumont thinking, calculating the odds. “Give it up, Elliot.”

  “All right,” said Elliot. “Just don’t shoot.”

  “Throw the gun away,” said Cooley.

  Beaumont let the gun swing from his finger by the trigger guard. Then he slowly turned the gun, butt first, and held it out for Cooley.

  Cooley shook his head. “Don’t do it.”

  But Beaumont was already committed. Even before he realized that Cooley hadn’t lowered his rifle, Beaumont snapped the gun around with a twist of his wrist into a firing position.

  The explosion from Cooley’s rifle was deafening. Elliot grunted once and pitched backwards into the main monitor.

  “You believe that?” said Cooley. “Everybody knows that move.”

  “Maybe he doesn’t watch enough television.” Thumps hurried to the sheriff’s side.

  “Jesus, that hurts.” Duke lay sprawled against the wall. His left arm was hanging down as though it was broken.

  “Lie still. I’ll get an ambulance.”

  “Is he dead?” asked the sheriff.

  Cooley walked over and poked Beaumont with his rifle. The man moaned softly, but didn’t move.

  “Nope,” said Cooley. “He’s still ticking.”

  “So, DreadfulWater, how come he didn’t shoot you?” said Duke.

  “He was too busy shooting you.”

  Hockney tried to shift his weight. “I suppose you figure you saved my life.”

  “No. Cooley did that,” said Thumps. “Shut up and hold this against the wound.”

  “How’d you know it was Beaumont?”

  “It was a guess.”

  Duke took a deep breath and grimaced. “You know, you’re kind of a good-news, bad-news guy.”

  “You’re not blaming me for getting shot?”

  “That’s the bad news.”

  “The fact that you’re old and slow isn’t my fault.”

  “You have any idea how much paperwork a cop has to do when he shoots someone?”

  “You didn’t shoot anyone.”

  “Yeah,” said Duke, trying to smile through the pain. “That’s the good news.”