Текст книги "Jackpot"

Автор книги: James Swain

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Jackpot

James Swain

“Every day above ground is a good day.”

– Doyle Brunson

Part 1

The Claimers

Chapter 1

Their names were Bo and Karen Farmer. Bronco Marchese had chosen them to be his claimers because they were young and didn’t have criminal records. Best of all, they were about to be married. When it came to cheating a casino, there were no better claimers than a pair of newlyweds.

Dressed in their wedding clothes, Bo and Karen had left northern Sacramento early one Friday morning, and driven four hours to the Cal Neva Lodge in Nevada. The Cal Neva was a favorite spot for couples to get hitched, the lodge overlooking beautiful Lake Tahoe and the snow-tipped mountains that surrounded it.

Bronco was playing a slot machine when Bo and Karen entered the Cal Neva’s casino. The couple didn’t have much money, and had borrowed on their credit cards to rent Bo’s tuxedo and Karen’s wedding dress. It was a beautiful dress, with a long train and a fall skirt complete with stiff crinolines that made Karen look like an antebellum. As they’d walked through the casino to the wedding chapel in the rear of the building, every eye in the place had fallen upon them. Karen was blond and drop-dead pretty, Bo tall and ruggedly handsome, and they looked right for each other.

Bronco picked up his pail of coins, and followed them. There were weddings every half-hour in the chapel, and he slipped into a back pew without being noticed. The ceremony was short and sweet, and he watched them exchange vows and kiss. Two nights ago when they’d gone to dinner in the Old Town section of Sacramento and hatched their plan, Karen had confided in Bronco. She’d told him that she wanted to believe her late mother would have liked Bo, even though Bo had the devil in him.

“Does that bother you?” Bronco had asked her.

Karen had smiled coyly. “Most boys I’ve known did.”

Bronco had smiled back at her. Not everybody was cut out to cheat a casino. Bo and Karen were different. They were young and naive, and both had a touch of larceny, which made them perfect. Bronco had grabbed the check and paid up.

When the ceremony was over, Bronco returned to the casino and sat down at a slot machine. When Karen and Bo walked past moments later, Bronco found himself staring at the young bride. Although he was forty-five and physically out of shape, he still believed that young women found him attractive. Two nights ago, he’d been convinced that Karen had been coming on to him.

Bronco shifted his attention to Bo. To rob a casino, each member of the gang had to play a role. This was important because there were surveillance cameras in the ceiling, and they were always turned on. Bo’s role was the impatient groom. Bronco watched Bo walk up to the front desk and ask the female reservationist if their suite was ready. The reservationist checked her computer.

“Your room’s still being cleaned, Mr. Farmer,” she replied.

“Can’t you do something?” Bo asked, sounding angry.

“I’m sorry, sir, but there’s nothing I can do.”

“Come on, it’s my wedding day.”

“How about I give you a coupon, and you can play the slot machines until it’s ready?” the reservationist suggested.

“A coupon? How’s that work?” Bo asked.

The reservationist opened a drawer, and removed a coupon with the Cal Neva’s logo stamped on it. Handing it to him, she said, “The coupon is worth fifty dollars. Go to the cage, and present it to the lady behind the window. She’ll redeem it for you in quarters, and you and your wife can play the slot machines.”

Karen came over to where her husband was standing. “What’s wrong, honey?”

“Room’s not ready,” Bo sulked. “You want to play the slots?”

“Sure.”

The reservationist removed a second coupon from the drawer. “Here, Mrs. Farmer, you can have one, too. Good luck.”

Bronco found himself smiling. He’d used a lot of claimers over the years, but few took to it as easily as these two. He followed them across the casino to the cage, and watched Bo exchange the coupons for two plastic pails filled with quarters.

“Here you go, honey,” Bo said. “You know what they say about virgin luck.”

Karen blushed up a storm. “Very funny,” she said under her breath.

“It’s an old gambling expression,” Bo said, grinning. “People who gamble for the first time always win big.”

“Always?” Karen asked.

“Just about.” Bo undid his tie, and stuffed it into his pocket. He pointed across the casino at the banks of glittering slot machines. “Follow me.”

“Why thosemachines?” Karen asked.

“Because they have the biggest payouts,” Bo said. Looking at the cashier inside the cage, he said, “Isn’t that right? You should always play the slot machines with the biggest payouts.”

“That’s right,” the cashier said brightly.

They were better than good,Bronco thought. As they walked away, Bronco saw the cashier look at him.

“What a nice couple,” the cashier said.

Bronco followed the newlyweds across the busy casino floor. Karen walked holding her dress in one hand, her pail of free coins in the other, and looked like she was walking a tightrope. Bo went to a slot machine in the corner called Big Bertha. It stood six feet high, and had a million dollar jackpot as its grand prize.

“This one,” he declared. “Make sure you bet the maximum amount of coins.”

“Why’s that?” Karen asked.

“Because it won’t pay a jackpot if you don’t,” Bronco said, coming up behind them.

Karen turned and stared, not recognizing him. Bronco could not enter a casino without drastically altering his appearance, and his face had taken on dozens of wrinkles since Karen had last seen him.

“It’s me,” he said under his breath. “You kids ready?”

“Bronco?” Karen whispered. “Is that really you?”

“Yeah. Don’t use my real name, okay?”

“Sorry. How did you get so old?”

“Practice, baby.”

Bo put his arm around his bride. “We’re ready.”

“Good,” Bronco said. “Let’s make some money.”

Karen dug five quarters out of her pail and fed them into Big Bertha. She wasn’t very tall, and as she got on her tip-toes to grab the machine’s giant handle, her wedding dress billowed out, allowing Bronco to duck between her and the machine.

“No funny stuff,” she whispered.

Bronco pressed his body against Big Bertha. He never mixed business with pleasure, but with Karen, he might make an exception. Taking a skeleton key from his pocket, he unlocked the machine. One of his great gifts was the photographic ability of his brain: If he saw a key hanging on someone’s belt, his mind would make a mental picture, and he’d later duplicate the key with special equipment he carried in the trunk of his car. He’d opened dozens of slot machines this way, and never been caught.

Taking a small but powerful earth magnet from his pocket, he stuck it against the side of the machine to pacify it’s internal anti-cheating device. Then, he pulled open the door, reached up into the guts of the machine, and carefully lined up the reels to show five cherries. The machine instantly registered that a jackpot had been won, and bells as loud as a five-alarm fire went off. His heart started to race.

Closing the machine, he slipped the magnet and skeleton key into his pocket, then stepped away from Karen’s billowing dress and glanced into her eyes.

“Now the fun starts,” he said.

Bronco walked away from Big Bertha, then turned around to watch the scene unfold. Big Bertha’s bells were still ringing, and several employees were hurrying over to where Bo and Karen stood. Winning a million-dollar jackpot was like something out of a dream, and Karen played her part to the hilt. Dropping her pail of quarters on the floor, she jumped up and down and screamed with delight.

“You see,” Bo said over the clamor. “Virgin luck.”

Karen slapped her husband on the behind. A mob of patrons had assembled around her, and an elderly woman with blue hair stepped forward.

“Can I ask you a favor?” the woman asked.

“What’s that?” Karen said.

“Can I touch you?”

“You want to touch me?”

“For luck,” the woman explained.

Karen let the elderly woman touch her sleeve. Others in the crowd stepped forward and did the same thing. There was something about her wedding dress that made the event seem nothing short of magical.

Soon, a half-dozen casino employees were hovering around the newlyweds. One had a camera, and took Karen and Bo’s picture in front of Big Bertha. Another had a clipboard, and helped Karen fill out the necessary paperwork for the Internal Revenue Service so Karen could claim her jackpot. While this was happening, Big Bertha’s bells continued to ring, the casino happy to let its customers know that every once in a while, people did go home winners.

That afternoon, Bronco followed Bo and Karen around the casino. Everywhere they went, someone wanted to shake Karen’s hand, or get their picture taken with her. The attention seemed to bother her, and her beautiful face turned into a deep frown.

They went to the craps pit. Bo was playing on a line of credit that the casino had extended him, the casino people their new best friends.

“I want to go home,” she said loudly.

“We still have to collect the jackpot money,” Bo said.

“Can’t they send it to us?”

An apprehensive look crossed Bo’s face, and he pulled her aside and lowered his voice. “It will look suspicious. We need to stay and collect the million dollars.”

“But, I want to go home,” Karen said.

Bo glanced nervously at Bronco, who stood a few feet away. “Come on, honey. Just one more day. That’s all I’m asking.”

Karen glanced Bronco’s way as well. Her attitude had changed dramatically, the reality of what she’d done slowly settling in. She spoke in a hushed voice to her husband. Bronco couldn’t read lips, yet knew exactly what Karen was saying. She was living a lie, and wanted it to end. And Bo was trying to pacify her, knowing damn well there was nothing he could do about it.

Bronco stayed at a seedy motel down the road from the Cal Neva. The next morning he rose early, and spent thirty minutes putting fingernail polish on his face. When it dried, dozens of wrinkles appeared, making him look like an old man.

He drove to the Cal Neva, and had breakfast in the coffee shop. He chose a table that let him eat and watch the elevator banks at the same time. At nine, Bo and Karen came downstairs and went to the registration desk. The casino’s GM greeted them, then took them to his office and shut the door. Although Bronco had never been present when a jackpot was paid, he knew the procedure. The GM would make Karen sign some papers, and give her the money in a cheap briefcase. The GM would also ask them if they’d like an armed escort to take the money to their car. Then he’d shake hands, and invite them back to his casino the next time they were in town.

At nine-twenty, Bo and Karen left the GM’s office, and disappeared into an elevator. Bronco paid for his breakfast and walked out of the coffee shop. Normally, he would have met up with the Farmers at another location, and cut up the money. But last night’s conversation had bothered him. People who got scared did stupid things. He went to the house phone and called their suite.

“It’s me. Which suite you in?” Bronco asked

“Number four oh four,” Bo said.

“I’ll be right up.”

A minute later Karen showed him into the suite. As she shut the door, Bronco glanced into her eyes. Still scared,he thought. Bo had spilled the money onto the floor, and was lying face-down in it, doing the Australian crawl. Minus federal taxes, their winnings came to six-hundred and forty-five thousand dollars. Bronco got onto his knees and started stacking the money into two piles.

“You mind my asking you a question?” Karen asked.

“Shoot.”

“How did you get all those wrinkles?”

Bronco looked up at her. “I spread fingernail polish mask on my face, let it dry, then scrunched my face around until it looks like wrinkles.”

“You know all the angles, don’t you,” Karen said.

Bronco finished stacking the money and stood up. There were six stacks of one hundred thousand each, with ten grand on the side. With his foot he pushed two of the one hundred thousand stacks toward Bo, then began stuffing the rest into the briefcase. When Bo did not object, Karen let out a shriek.

“You lied to me,” she said to her husband.

Bo swallowed hard. “It’s still a lot of money.”

“You lied to me.”

“I’m sorry.”

“ On our wedding day.”

“I said I’m sorry.”

“ God damn you, Bo!”

Bronco found himself feeling sorry for Karen. “How much did he tell you?”

Her eyes had welled with tears. “Half.”

“Three hundred grand?”

“Yes.”

Bronco thought he understood. For three hundred grand, Karen had been willing to stand in front of a slot machine in her wedding dress, and let a man she hardly knew steal a jackpot. But not for a penny less. He edged closer to her. In a quiet voice he said, “You want the rest of your money?”

Karen swiped at her eyes and nodded stiffly.

“I’ll give you my half if you dump this loser, and hit the road with me.”

“ What?”

“The wedding dress is perfect cover. We can hit a couple of casinos a week, make out like bandits.”

Karen backed away from him with a horrified look on her face. “Get away from me. Bo, make him get away from me.”

Bronco felt a hand clamp down on his shoulder, and spin him around. Bo was standing directly behind him, his fist cocked. Bronco tried to duck as the punch connected with the right side of his face. He dropped the briefcase as he fell.

“You crummy son-of-a-bitch,” Bo said, towering over him. “You think you’re a big shot with your skeleton keys and magnets and your money. Well, you can keep that shit. Just get out of our lives. Understand?”

Bronco took a deep breath and rose on unsteady legs while staring at Karen. She had that sultry look he’d always liked. As if reading his thoughts, Bo stepped forward and shoved him into the wall. “Stop looking at her like that! She’s mine, understand? I should kill you for looking at her like that.”

But Bronco couldn’t stop looking. Seeing Karen in her wedding dress yesterday had stirred emotions in him that he’d thought had died long ago. She was too good for this loser, and he said, “She won’t be yours for long.”

Bo’s mouth dropped open.

“You lied to her,” Bronco said. “On her wedding day. Think about it.”

Bo pulled his arm back to strike him. Bronco wasn’t going to eat another punch, and drew a silver-handled gun from his pants pocket, aimed at Bo’s chest, and squeezed the trigger. The shot made a loud Pop!, the bullet passing through Bo’s heart like a tiny meteor. Bo crumpled to the floor and did not move.

Bronco tossed his money into the cheap briefcase. Opening the door, he glanced back at Karen. She knelt beside her dying husband and was sobbing. She looked at him, as if to say, Why?

“You deserve better,” Bronco said.

Chapter 2

Tampa Bay Downs was the oldest thoroughbred race track on Florida’s laid-back west coat. Located in the sleepy town of Oldsmar, it was far enough away from Tony Valentine’s home in Palm Harbor to be a nuisance to reach, with the last mile a true test of nerve. Called Race Track Road, it had enough crazed drivers to raise any sane person’s blood pressure.

Valentine didn’t need his blood pressure raised this afternoon; he already had his son, Gerry, to do that for him. They had come to the track to investigate card-cheating in the track’s Silks poker room, only Gerry had disappeared within a few minutes of walking into the joint. His son had never seen a wager he didn’t like, and Valentine guessed he was hanging off the track rail, betting his rent on a nag.

“Mr. Valentine?” a female voice asked.

An athletic woman with frosted blond hair, bronzed skin, and a hundred watt smile had materialized beside him. She extended her hand. “Suzie Brinkman, director of security. I called you this morning about the problem in our poker room. Thanks for coming out so fast.”

She was a dish. Valentine smiled and shook her hand. “My pleasure.”

“My father says you’re the best in the world at catching cheaters,” she said.

Suzie’s father owned the track, and had interests in several Nevada casinos. He was also a client, and Valentine felt obligated to make sure his daughter didn’t get ripped off. “How can I help you?” he asked.

“There’s a rumor floating around that one of our poker dealers is in cahoots with a player. I want to find out if it’s true.”

“Sounds right up my alley,” Valentine said.

“Good. I just spoke with my father, and he said it was okay if you went to the surveillance room, and looked at the tapes of the different dealers.”

They were standing in the bar next to the noisy poker room. Every table was filled, with lines of young men, and an occasional woman, waiting to fill the next available chair. Poker was all the rage, and brought huge business to the track.

“If you don’t mind, I’d like to walk through the room first,” he said.

“May I accompany you?”

“Of course.”

Valentine took a walk through the poker room with Suzie Brinkman glued to his side, stopping at each table to watch the dealer shuffle and deal. The track employed professional dealers who’d been trained in dealer schools. Their actions were uniform in every respect, and Valentine looked for any hesitation on the dealer’s part when they handled the cards. Before any sleight-of-hand move, there was always a tiny, pregnant pause. Hustler’s called these tells. Done, he walked back to the bar with Suzie still beside him.

“So what do you think?” she asked.

“Got him,” he said.

Her mouth dropped open. “Oh, come on.”

“Where are we going?”

A blush rose beneath her tan. “I mean, be serious. We weren’t in there five minutes.”

“Yeah, but I know what I’m looking for.”

She flashed him another smile. He found himself liking her, and pointed into the room at the dealer working Table #6. The man was built like a mailbox, with a thin body and large, square head, and had a way of handling himself that told Valentine he’d been in prison. Most gambling venues didn’t hire ex-cons, but Florida was an exception: The state had six hundred thousand ex-felons, and they needed to work.

“That guy’s your cheater.”

“Milo Kelly,” she said, shaking her head. “My dad caught him stealing chips, and gave him another chance. This is how he repays us. What’s he doing?”

“He’s giving his partner at the table the best cards. It’s called a pick-up stack.”

“I’ll have him pulled off the game immediately. Can you show me what he’s doing, in case I have to explain it to the police?”

There was a real hunger in Suzie’s eyes. She knew she was green, and she wanted to learn the ropes. Valentine wished his son had half her enthusiasm.

“My pleasure,” he said.

They grabbed a table in the cocktail lounge, and Suzie pulled a deck of cards from her purse. She sat directly across from him, her knees knocking against his. As Valentine dealt seven hands of cards onto the table, he adroitly pulled back his chair.

“Kelly deals Seven Card Stud, and has seven players at his table. Each player gets seven cards, with five coming faceup.” He pointed at the third, sixth and seven hands. In each hand, the third card showing was an ace. “Let’s say he wants to give these aces to his partner. He scoops the hands up when the game is over, and makes sure they go on the desk last. Then he false shuffles, and deals out seven cards. Voila – his agent, who’s sitting in the third seat, gets three aces.”

“What’s a false shuffle?”

“It’s a card-cheating move.”

“Please show me.”

The request was delivered with a twinkle in her eye, and he had a feeling that Suzie was enjoying herself. He separated the cards into reds and blacks, and gave the deck a false-shuffle. He’d learned to false-shuffle from a New Jersey wizard named Herb Zarrow, who’d revolutionized card handling with a shuffle which bore his name. Finished, he showed her that the cards were still separated by color. Suzie shook her head helplessly.

“Is Kelly as good as you?”

“No, but he doesn’t have to be.”

“Why’s that?”

“Because he’s the house dealer. Everyone trusts him.”

Suzie put her elbows on the table and looked into his eyes. She was a hell of a nice woman, only he wasn’t going there right now. Dating at his age was never an easy proposition. “I was thinking of firing Kelly, but now I think he should be arrested,” Suzie said. “Do you agree?”

“Absolutely.”

“Whose his agent?”

“The fourth player at the table.”

“The older woman with the wig? You can’t be serious.”

“I’m always serious,” Valentine said.

Gerry the prodigal son had entered the lounge, and was waving to him. There was a panicked look on his face, and Valentine wondered how much money his son had lost.

“I’ll be happy to be an expert witness, if it comes to trial,” Valentine said.

“Thank you,” she said.

They simultaneously rose from the table and practically banged heads. Without warning, Suzie took his head with her hands and planted a kiss on his cheek. It was his turn to blush, and he caught her winking at him as she walked away.

“Lose the rent yet?” Valentine asked as Gerry sat down. His son had just turned thirty-six, and with his salt-and-pepper hair, long Italian nose and dark coloring, bore more than a passing resemblance to his father.

“You know I can’t come to the track and not place a bet,” Gerry said. “Besides, I saw someone I knew at the betting windows.”

“Was it that stripper you once dated?”

“Cut it out, Pop, will you? The guy I saw was a crook.”

“Did you have a nice conversation?”

Gerry leaned forward. There was a look on his face that Valentine hadn’t seen very many times: His serious look. Lowering his voice, Gerry said, “I think the next race might be fixed.”

“Why do you think that?”

With his head, Gerry indicated a couple seated on the opposite side of the lounge. They were straight out of a 1930's gangster movie; the mustachioed man wore a shiny, sharkskin suit, his moll a baby-doll red dress with her face painted like a Kewpie doll. “That guy came into my bar two years ago, tried to place a huge bet on a horse race at Hialeah. I refused. Later, I heard the race was fixed, and he took another bookie for a huge score. Well, I just saw that guy make a hugebet on a loser named Corky’s Boy. Sound suspicious to you?”

“Fixed the race how?”

“Silking,” his son said.

Valentine leaned back in his chair, surprised that his son was willing to rat out another crook. Gerry had been on the wrong side of the law since he was a teenager, and dishonesty was a hard thing to change.

“What’s silking?” Valentine asked.

“You’ve never heard of it?”

Valentine had policed Atlantic City’s casinos for twenty-five years, and knew every casino scam and greasy hustle ever invented. The ponies were a different story, his knowledge limited to things he’d heard about, and not experienced firsthand.

“No.”

“The bookie I apprenticed with was named Fred Flammer. The first scam Flam taught me was silking. Said it was invented in England, where it was considered an art among cheaters. Look pop, we need to hurry. Corky’s Boy is in the next race.”

Valentine rose from his chair. “Did you see the woman I was just talking to?”

“How could I miss her? She was hot.”

“She’s the owner’s daughter. You need to tell her what’s going on.”

“Sure.”

As Gerry rose, he took a cocktail napkin from a dispenser on the table, and handed it to his father.

“You’ve got lipstick all over your face,” his son said.

Suzie Brinkman’s office was located on the top floor of the track’s club house. Valentine rapped on the door and moments later it opened, and a track steward stuck his head out. He wore a blue blazer and a yellow tie, and was as chummy as a marine drill sergeant. Valentine looked over his shoulder, and saw Suzie Brinkman standing by a picture window that overlooked the track, a pair of binoculars in hand.

“What do you want?” the steward growled.

“Tony and Gerry Valentine to see Ms. Brinkman.”

“Never heard of you.”

Valentine handed him a business card.

“Grift Sense? What the hell is that?”

“My company,” Valentine said.

Hearing his voice, Suzie spun around and smiled. He had become eligible for Social Security a few months ago, and something about that smile told him getting old wasn’t as bad as people thought. Suzie ushered them past the pit bull, and Valentine introduced his son, then asked if there was someplace they could speak in private. Suzie glanced at the steward, who had not taken his eyes off Valentine. “Bern is my father’s right hand. You can say anything you wish around him.”

“My son spotted a known horse-cheater placing a large bet at one of your cages,” Valentine said. “We think the next race is fixed.”

Suzie looked startled. “Do you know which horse?”

“Corky’s Boy in the sixth.”

“Corky’s Boy?”

“That’s right. He’s running at 30 to 1 odds —

“I know which horse he is,” Suzie said, dropping herself in a chair. “That’s Randall’s horse, isn’t it?” she said to her steward.

“Yes, ma’am,” Bern replied. “Came in this morning from Miami.”

“You know the owner?” Valentine asked.

Suzie nodded. “Randall is a business associate of my father’s, and owes him a great deal of money. Randall called yesterday, and asked that I let his horse run. He said it would be his final race before he put it out to pasture. And I fell for it.”

“Where is your father?” Valentine asked.

“He’s out of the country on business.”

Some of the greatest scams had occurred when the person in charge was gone, and someone inexperienced was handed the reins. Cheaters called these opportunities magic moments, and there was no doubt in Valentine’s mind that Randall had seen a magic moment in Suzie’s father’s absence, and seized the chance to fleece his partner. Gerry cleared his throat. “May I make a suggestion?”

“By all means,” Suzie said.

“I know how to catch these guys red-handed,” Gerry said. “But, it’s going to mean letting the race run, then withholding the purses. You’re also going to have to keep Corky’s Boy in the winning circle so we can expose him.”

“That sounds risky,” Suzie said.

“Trust me, it’s the best way to handle it,” Gerry said.

Suzie put her hand on Gerry’s arm. “You sound like you know what you’re doing. We’ll let the race run.”

Valentine was so impressed he didn’t know what to say. His son was taking charge, and sounding like a responsible grown-up. Pigs can fly, he thought.

“Expose him how?” Bern asked. In his hand was a lab report which the track ran on all horses. “We tested Corky’s Boy two hours ago; his blood came up negative for steroids and amphetamines. That horse is one-hundred percent clean.”

“I’m sure he is,” Gerry said.

“Then how you going to expose him?”

“With a garden hose,” Gerry said.