Текст книги "Jackpot"

Автор книги: James Swain

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Текущая страница: 14 (всего у книги 20 страниц)

Chapter 42

Garrow was nearly dead by the time the Reno police broke down his front door.

Garrow lived in a fancy gated community with a guard at the front. His house had the best security system money could buy. Neither of those things had stopped Bronco from getting on the grounds and breaking into the house. He’d tied his attorney to a chair, and beaten him to a pulp.

Garrow was cut free, and laid on the floor with a pillow placed beneath his head. Bill called for EMS on his cell phone.

“I want to talk to him,” Valentine said.

“I don’t think he can talk,” Bill replied.

“He’s a lawyer. He’ll be talking five minutes after he’s dead.”

“Go ahead.”

Valentine got a cold beer from the refrigerator. It was a St. Paul’s Girl. He popped the top and poured some into Garrow’s mouth. The lawyer smiled weakly.

“That tastes good,” Garrow whispered.

“I want you to help me catch Bronco,” Valentine said.

“Give me some more beer.”

Valentine drained half the bottle into his mouth. “You want more, start talking.”

“Prick.”

Valentine took that as a compliment. “Tell me about the Asian. He was supposed to exchange scams with Bronco. A Pai Gow scam for Bronco’s slot machine scam.”

“Right. The Asian robbed me, stole my wallet. The slot machine scam was in it, although I don’t think he knows how it works.”

“What is the scam?”

“It’s an EPROM chip. The chip contains a special code. If you plug it into certain slot machines, they become rigged.”

“How does that work?”

“Beats me. Give me some beer.”

Valentine pulled Garrow’s head up and fed him more beer. Giving him liquor was a dirty trick, not that he cared. Garrow was scum, and scum deserved whatever they got.

“What’s the Pai Gow scam?”

“ The Asian showed me a pair of dominos. They looked normal. Then he said ‘Red not black.’ and laughed.”

“You examine them?”

“They were clean. More beer.”

Valentine gave him the rest of the beer. It was easing the pain and loosening his tongue at the same time. “So the Asian doesn’t know how the slot scam works.”

“Right. He needs Bronco to explain it . That’s why Bronco came to see me. He wants to hook up with the Asian, and do the exchange.”

“How they going to do that?”

“Easy. The Asian stole my cell phone. I told Bronco that all he had to do was call my number, and he’d get the Asian.”

“Is that why Bronco didn’t kill you?”

Garrow nodded weakly. Then his eyes rolled up into his head, and he passed out.

An EMS team came into the house and attended to Garrow, and Valentine got out of their way. A code. The slot secret was a code, whatever the hell that meant. Gerry stood in the doorway with a funny look on his face. He pulled his father into the next room.

“What’s the matter?” Valentine asked.

“I just figured out how the gaming agent is stealing jackpots,” his son said.

“Be still my beating heart.”

“Come on, Pop. I do have a brain, you know.”

“I never doubted that. Just your ability to use it.”

“Thanks. Bet you a steak dinner I’m right.”

“You’re on.”

“I’m in my bar in Brooklyn, eating lunch. White-haired guy comes into the bar who services the juke box. He serviced half the juke boxes in Brooklyn, and was always busy. I watched him open up the machine, and I realized that he used a key on his regular key chain, which was pretty small. For some reason, it didn’t feel right, so I stop him and said, ‘Look, I know you service all these different machines, how come your key chain is so small?’ And the guy gives me this sheepish look and says, ‘I probably shouldn’t be telling you this, but they all can be opened with the same key.’ And I say, ‘All the locks are the same?’ And he says, ‘Yeah. The manufacturer did it to save money.’”

“What does this have to do with the slot scam?”

Gerry smiled. He seemed to be clearly enjoying the fact that he had his old man over a barrel. “Remember when we were in Bronco’s house, and I asked you about those key rings hanging off the wall in Bronco’s work area? You told me that Bronco had discovered that casinos used skeleton keys to open up slot machines, which is similar to what the juke box company uses.”

“So?”

“Think about it, Pop. Both these things share one thing in common: the manufacturer skimped on cost, and created an exploitable flaw. Well, I think that’s what we have here with the slot machines. Remember what Impoco told us at the Peppermill? He said that each slot machine had a 32-word and number fingerprint, and that a cheater would have to know the fingerprint in order to hack the machine, and gaff the Random Number Generator chip.”

Valentine felt goose bumps rising on his arms. “And you think that a manufacturer didn’t do this, and instead has the same fingerprint on all its machines?”

“Right. The manufacturer didn’t think anyone would notice. Well, the only people who could notice would be the people who check slot machines for the ESD. They look at this stuff everyday. Somebody over there discovered the flaw, but instead of exposing it, he decided to use it to steal jackpots.”

“It’s a good theory.”

“It’s not a theory. It’s a fact. I can prove it.”

This was scary. His son was starting to sound like him.

“How?”

“It stands to reason that if I’m right, all the machines which have been ripped off where manufactured by the same company. Well, we know of two machines which were ripped off. The first was by Karl Klinghoffer at the Gold Rush. The second by his wife at the Peppermill. So I called the casinos, and asked them to tell me the make of the machines the Klinghoffers played on. Guess what? Both were made by a company called Universal. I Googled them on my cell phone. Universal makes twenty percent of the slots sold around the world. I’ll bet my house they all have the same fingerprint.”

“That’s brilliant Gerry.”

His son grinned. “I want a potato with my steak, and a Caesar Salad.”

“Coming right up.”

A uniformed cop entered the room. He pulled a spiral notebook out of his pocket along with a pen. “Which one of you was the last to speak to the deceased?”

Valentine glanced into the adjacent room. Garrow was lying motionless beneath a white sheet. He’d been so busy talking to his son, he hadn’t heard Garrow croak.

“I was.”

“What did he tell you?” the cop asked.

Valentine hesitated. Did he really want to tell the cop what Garrow had said, or Gerry’s theory? It was the kind of information that could destroy the casino business over night, which was exactly what he’d been hired to prevent.

“Nothing.”

The expression on the cop’s face said he didn’t believe Valentine.

“You sure about that?” the cop asked.

“Positive,” Valentine said. “He didn’t say a thing.”

The cop flipped his notebook shut. “Whatever you say.”

Chapter 43

Bronco drove around the Reno hills on Karl Junior’s dirt bike, the full moon illuminating the paths and keeping him from breaking his neck. Right around midnight, he drove back to the storage facility on the north end of town where he’d left Gerry Valentine that morning, and unlocked the second storage unit he kept there. Keeping two units in Reno had cost him a lot of money over the years, but he’d figured that one day, he’d be glad he had. Like every cheater he’d ever known, he understood the odds of the games, including the one he played with the police.

The car in the second unit was a Lexus coupe. Because the car’s anti-theft device was always on, the car’s battery died when not in use. He’d left a trickle charge attached to the battery which he now unhooked, then closed the hood and got behind the wheel. The engine started up on the first turn of the key.

From the trunk he removed a box of disguises and an envelope containing fake ID. The Lexus was registered to Thomas Pico, one of the many aliases he’d adopted over the years. Thomas Pico was fifty-five, the CEO of a film studio in L.A., and a known “player,” with a fifty-thousand line of credit at every casino in Las Vegas. Pico was the casinos’ best customer – a sucker – and welcome wherever he went. Of all his aliases, Pico was the safest.

Bronco slipped into black designer slacks and a black silk shirt – Pico’s trademark colors – then took a pair of electric hair trimmers from the box, and shaved his head. Pico’s bald head was known to every pit boss in Las Vegas, and when he was finished with the trimmers, he covered his head with shaving cream, and ran a razor over his skull. Then, he applied skin toner to his face, and made the wrinkles disappear.

He appraised himself in the Lexus’s mirror. The transformation was complete, and he wondered if maybe this time, he’d leave Bronco for good. He’d make a last big score, and head down to sunny Mexico and buy a place on the beach. He’d meet a decent woman, and start his life over. As dreams went, it was a good one, and he backed the Lexus out of the storage unit feeling good about things. It had been a long time since he’d felt that way.

Glenn, his old teacher, had a theory about ripping off casinos. Glenn believed that a cheater should only target casinos in places with lots of people, like Las Vegas, Atlantic City and Reno. These were tourist towns, and the rules were different in tourist towns. Take the police roadblock just ahead. The cops were glancing into cars, and pulling an occasional driver over, but their hearts weren’t into it. Perhaps they’d heard that he’d gotten a dirt bike, and believed he was long gone. More than likely, they’d been told by their superiors to keep the traffic moving. Catching him was important, but it wasn’t important enough to stop the flow of tourists. Nothing was more important in a tourist town.

He crawled through the roadblock while listening to a news station on the radio. His jail break was no longer the lead story. In a few days, it wouldn’t be a story at all. The perfect swan song if he’d ever heard one. ‘And he escaped from the Reno jail, never to be seen again…’

A highway patrolman shone a flashlight in his face and waved him through. Soon he was on open highway. He called Garrow’s cell phone, which was now in the possession of the Asian. If the Asian was smart, he would have left Garrow’s phone on, in anticipation of his call.

His call was answered by a man with a heavy Asian accent.

“Who is this?” the man asked.

“This is Bronco.”

“Hello, Bronco.”

“I didn’t catch your name.”

“My name is Xing. Are you still in jail?”

Xing was no longer in Reno. If he had been, he’d have heard about Bronco’s escape over the news wires.

“I broke out,” Bronco said. “The police are looking for me. Do we still have a deal?”

“No.”

“No? What do you mean?”

“I have the chip. It was in your lawyer’s wallet.”

“You don’t know how the chip works. No one does but me. Stop fucking around. Do we have a deal?”

There was a pause on the line. Xing was playing it cute, just to see where it got him. Bronco would make him pay for that.

“All right,” Xing said. “But you’ll have to come to me.”

“Are you in Vegas?”

“Who told you that?” Xing asked suspiciously.

Bronco smiled into the phone. Reno and Las Vegas were the only real cities in Nevada. There was no place else for Xing to have gone.

“I guessed. I’ll call you when I reach the outskirts of town, and we can meet up.”

“I’ll be waiting. Don’t bring the lawyer.”

“Don’t worry. I got rid of him.”

“It was about time.”

The line went dead. Xing had gotten in the last word. He was in control of things, which was how most criminals liked to do business.

The highway opened up, and Bronco floored the Lexus’s accelerator. The ragged neon skyline grew smaller in his mirror, and disappeared from view.

Chapter 44

Every casino in Nevada had a steakhouse. The Peppermill’s was called The Bimini Steakhouse, and featured hardwood grilled steaks and prices that would make you swoon. Gerry cut into a sixteen ounce porterhouse as Bill approached the table.

“Sorry I’m late,” Bill said, taking a seat. “What’s the occasion?”

“Gerry solved your crooked agent’s slot scam.”

“You’re kidding me.”

Gerry stopped eating long enough to explain the Universal slot scam to Bill. In conclusion, he said, “Someone in your Electronic Systems Division has programmed your field agents’ notebooks to identify the Universal fingerprint, and add a code that will pay a jackpot. It’s not very difficult. Hackers do it to computers all the time.”

Valentine had brought the files of the seven ESD agents that Gerry had identified as their primary suspects, and spread them across the coffee table. “We’ve narrowed it down to these agents. Do any of them program laptops for ESD?”

Bill glanced at each file. “They all do.”

“So it could be any one of them,” Valentine said.

Bill nodded. He was frowning. It was rare for him to show any emotion. While waiting for their food, Valentine had read the files again, and seen something disturbing. Each of the seven agents had taken an extended leave three years ago, which Bill had approved. Something tied these agents together, only Bill wasn’t telling him what it was. Valentine said, “How many Universal slot machines are in Nevada?”

“About twenty thousand,” Bill mumbled.

“You need to take them out of commission.”

“Tony, you’re talking about a fifth of the slots in the state. That’s a lot of money.”

“I don’t care. Those slot machines can be corrupted, and shouldn’t be played.”

“I’ll have to get Governor Smoltz’s approval. He’s not going to like it.”

“You want me to call Smoltz?”

Bill shook his head. He took out his cell phone, and pulled up Smoltz’s number. His chair made a harsh scraping sound as he left the restaurant.

“I’d like to be a fly on the wall for that conversation,” Gerry said.

Valentine ate his New York strip steak in silence. Bill was holding out on him. Friends didn’t hold out on each other. Before this was over, he was going to find out why, even if it meant putting their twenty-five years on the line.

While eating a piece of warm apple pie, Valentine had another epiphany. This one was so obvious, he was surprised he hadn’t seen it sooner. Scooping up the files of the ESD agents, he threw down money for the meal, and rose from the table. Gerry was pigging out on an ice cream sundae, and in no hurry to leave.

“Where you going?”

“I need to run a little errand. See you in the morning.”

Valentine took the elevator to the main level. It was late, and the casino was filled with the drunk and desperate. The front desk was empty, and he rang the bell. A manager appeared who looked like he’d just snapped out of a coma. There was a reason they called it the graveyard shift; only the dead seemed to work it.

“I need to use your fax machine.”

“Business office is closed,” the manager said, smothering a yawn.

He shoved a twenty into the manager’s hand.

“That isn’t necessary,” the manager said, pocketing the money.

Soon Valentine was feeding the files of the seven ESD agents through the hotel fax machine. He knew why Bill had clammed up on him. These agents were Bill’s friends, and Bill didn’t want to see anything bad happen to them. It was a natural reaction, and he couldn’t hold it against Bill for feeling that way.

When the faxes had gone through, he checked the time. It was three A.M., which made it six A.M. back home. He hated calling Mabel so early, but saw no other choice. He punched her number into his cell phone, and heard the call go through.

Mabel awoke to the sound of her ringing phone. It was still dark outside, the birds singing softly. Only Tony called this early in the morning. If he hadn’t paid her so well and had such nice manners, she would have stopped working for him a long time ago.

“Yes, boss,” she answered.

“Sorry to wake you up. I’ve got a job for you.”

“Is that why you called? I thought it was to whisper sweet nothings in my ear.”

“Later, beautiful.”

Tony explained what he needed done. Barely awake, Mabel didn’t tell him about all the excitement from the previous night, or how Running Bear had come to her rescue, or how she’d gone to the police station and filed charges against the man who’d attacked her. That was yesterday, and seemed like old news.

Ten minutes later, she shuffled down the sidewalk to Tony’s house with a steaming cup of coffee in her hand. The humidity was starting to drop, the mornings feeling downright pleasant. She’d discovered that people from Florida didn’t like winter, and considered anything below seventy degrees cold. Back in her day, men went shirtless in thirty degree weather, and shoveled snow in their tee-shirts.

She entered Tony’s house and disarmed the security system, then went to the study. Lying in the fax machine tray were the files of seven gaming agents Tony had just sent. She removed the files, sat down in front of Tony’s computer, and got onto the Internet.

She typed in the homepage for the Nevada Gaming Control Board’s intranet. The GCB used an intranet to communicate with its employees, which could only be accessed through a special password. Because Tony did so much work for the GCB, he’d been given the password, which she now used to gain access.

A warning appeared on the page. Non-employees of the GCB were not allowed on the site. Anyone caught hacking the site would be punished.

“I’m just going to pretend I didn’t see that,” Mabel said.

She went to the Personnel Section, which contained a files for all nine hundred agents in the GCB. Each file contained the agent’s bio, and a recent head shot.

Mabel pulled up the head shots of the seven suspected agents, and printed their photos on a color laser printer. Putting the photos into an envelope, she walked out of the study with her coffee cup, reset the security system, and locked the front door.

She headed home. As she neared her house, she stiffened. A beat-up pick-up was parked in her driveway, a large man at her front door. She felt her heartbeat quicken. It was Running Bear. She had kissed him last night, and that was all. But it had been enough to tell her that there was something real between them.

“Good morning,” the chief said, coming off the stoop.

Mabel had left the house without makeup, and couldn’t remember if she’d brushed her hair. The bride of Frankenstein returns.

“Hello.”

“How are you this morning?”

“I’m well. What brings you out so early?”

“I spoke with the police a short while ago,” Running Bear said, holding his cowboy hat in his hand. “The man who attacked you last night and our crooked poker player are brothers. There is a third brother, whom the police cannot account for. They think it would be wise if you stayed someplace else until this man is found.”

“Do you really think he’ll try to hurt me?”

“I would hate to find out,” Running Bear said.

His answer made Mabel smile. She liked the fact that instead of calling, Running Bear had come over to tell her in person. “I’m doing a job for my boss,” she said. “Once I’m done, I’ll take your advice, and lay low.”

“Will you be going out?”

“Yes. I need to see an unusual lady in the next county.”

Running Bear did not seem comfortable with her decision, and Mabel guessed he didn’t like the idea of her being on the road by herself.

“You can drive me, if you’d like. I’d be happy for the company.”

“Of course,” Running Bear said. “May I ask who this person is?”

“She’s a face reader,” Mabel said.

“What is that?”

Mabel’s eyes twinkled. For someone who ran a casino, there was an awful lot the chief didn’t know. That was good, because it gave them plenty to talk about.

“I’ll be right back,” she said, and went inside to get ready.

Chapter 45

Bronco took his time driving to Vegas.

Normally, he liked to race. It was not unusual for him to drive over a hundred miles per hour on the highway. But then outside of Reno he’d remembered something. Throughout the Nevada desert there were hidden surveillance cameras whose sole purpose was to photograph speeding motorists, and compare their faces to data bases of known criminals. The cameras were everywhere – in signs, trees, even road art. Avoiding them was next to impossible. It was better to drive slow, which was exactly what he’d done.

At four A.M. he pulled into the deserted valet stand of the Mandalay Bay Resort & Casino on the south end of the Strip. The place was a tomb, and he stood next to his car, and waited for a uniformed attendant before turning over his keys.

He checked in at the front desk. The Mandalay Bay’s theme was straight out of an old Tarzan movie, with screeching macaws and parrots in the lobby, and the staff decked out in camel-colored safari clothes. He didn’t have to give a credit card to the smiling receptionist, just a fake driver’s license that said he was Thomas Pico. And because Thomas Pico was a preferred customer – i.e. a whale – his entire stay would be comped. He took the elevator to his penthouse suite. It was high-roller heaven, and contained three spacious rooms with marble floors, leather furniture, a well-stocked bar, and a spectacular view of the famous Shark Reef swimming pool. Somebody once said that the best things in Las Vegas were free, only nobody could afford them.

He called room service and ordered a bottle of Moet and lobster thermidor, then took off his clothes and put on the terrycloth robe he found hanging in the closet.

The food came a half hour later. He ate in front of the picture window in the living room. To think he’d been locked up that morning, and now look where he was. He felt like a king.

When he was finished, he decided to call Xing. He’d tried calling the Asian from the road, but got no answer. He hoped Xing wasn’t trying to screw with him.

He went into the master bathroom and shut the door. It was befitting a Roman emperor, and had a marble tub and its own steam room. He turned on the water so there was plenty of noise, and called Xing on his cell phone. High-roller suites were often bugged so the casino could keep tabs on their most important customers, and he didn’t want anyone working for the casino to overhear his conversation.

The call went through. This time, Xing picked up.

“Who’s this?” the Asian asked.

“It’s Bronco. I just got into town. You ready to make the exchange?”

“Yeah. I was watching you on TV. You made the national news.”

“How did I look?”

Xing laughed. “The people on the TV said you were the devil.”

Bronco glanced at his reflection in the bathroom mirror. Steam from the shower was swirling around him. He wasthe Devil. “Say when, and I’ll be there.”

“I’m staying at the El Cordova on Fremont. Room 28. Meet me in two hours.”

“See you then.”

Bronco walked out of the bathroom with a smile on his face. In two hours, he would have the Pai Gow scam, and the ability to rip off any casino in the country whenever he wanted. More importantly, he’d be able to start his life over.

The phone next to the bed started to ring. It was nearly six A.M., and he wondered who’d be calling at this hour. He decided not to answer it, and after a while the ringing stopped. Then, it started again. In anger, he snatched up the phone.

“Hello,” Bronco snarled.

“Is this Tom Pico?” a man’s voice said.

Bronco froze. No one knew he was in Vegas except the girl at the front desk.

“Who the hell is this?”

“Joey Carmichael. We met a couple of months ago playing blackjack in the casino. I just saw you check into the hotel. Guess you don’t remember me.”

“Afraid not.”

“Well, I remember you.”

Bronco didn’t like the direction the conversation was headed. He took the phone into the bathroom and turned the shower back on in case anyone was listening.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Bronco asked.

“We had a couple of pops at the bar,” Carmichael said. “You told me you were in the film business, had a studio in Santa Monica called Jackpot Productions, even invited me to drop by when I was in town. I was in Santa Monica a few weeks ago, and I looked you up. Guess what I found out? There’s no such person as Thomas Pico, or Jackpot Productions. You’re a phony.”

Bronco sat down on the toilet seat. He had no idea who this clown was, not that it really mattered. He’d been made, and his cover was blown.

“What do you want?”

“Let me ask you a question, Tom, or whatever the hell your name is. How do you think the Mandalay Bay will react when they find out you’re not a high-roller, and that you lied to them to get special treatment? Think they’ll call the cops?”

“I said, what do you want?”

“I do. I think they’ll call the cops and haul your ass to jail.”

“One more time. What do you want?”

“I just got wiped out at the blackjack tables,” Carmichael said. “Give me five grand to keep my mouth shut, and you’ll never hear from me again.”

“Are you trying to blackmail me?”

“Call it what you want. I just need some money to tide me over.”

“If I agree, will you promise to leave me alone?”

“You bet.”

He’d been in Vegas for less than an hour, and somebody was already shaking him down. He had no other choice but to deal with the guy, and he said, “There’s a restaurant on the south end of Las Vegas Boulevard called the Instant Replay. Meet me there at nine o’clock, and I’ll give you the money.”

“Make it noon. I’m taking my kid to the pool in the morning.”

“You’re here with your family?”

“My son. I’ve got visitation rights this week.”

“Noon it is.”

“See you then, Tommy,” Carmichael said, laughing softly.

Bronco killed the call and punched the wall hard enough to crack a tile. Joey Carmichael was a problem, and he had more than enough of those right now. He needed to take Carmichael out of the picture, or risk seeing his life go up in flames. His meeting with Xing would have to wait. He called the Asian back.

“Change in plans,” Bronco said.