Текст книги "Jackpot"

Автор книги: James Swain

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Текущая страница: 17 (всего у книги 20 страниц)

Chapter 52

Bronco was setting up the meeting with Xing, when there was a knock on his hotel room door. He said, “Hang on.” into his cell phone, and placed it down.

Going to the door, he stared through the peephole. A male uniformed hotel employee pushing a metal cart stood in the hallway.

Bronco opened the door. “What’s up?”

“Would you like your mini-bar restocked?”

“No thanks.”

He shut the door in the employee’s face. He’d had three visitors in the past hour. A maid wanting to turn down his bed, a maintenance man wanting to check the AC, and now this guy. It didn’t feel right, and he guessed the casino was getting antsy about him being in his room, and not downstairs gambling.

Or maybe it was something else. The police had probably figured out he was in town, and asked the hotels to check on any male guests who’d registered in the past twenty-four hours. Which meant that staying here was no longer safe.

He got back on the phone with Xing.

“You still there?”

“I’m here,” the Asian replied.

“Let’s do this now.”

“Come to my room in an hour.”

“Why not now?”

“Why? Are you in a rush?”

Xing was testing him. The Asian seemed to enjoy getting under his skin.

“No, I just want to get this over with.”

“One hour. The Cordova motel, room #24.”

“Got it.”

He folded his phone. If Xing knew that the slot machine scam was worthless, he hadn’t mentioned it. Hopefully, he hadn’t strayed far from his motel, and gone into any of the casinos on Fremont Street. If he did go into a casino, he was going to know, and then Bronco would have to kill him to get the Pai Gow secret.

Throwing his clothes into a suitcase, Bronco went downstairs and got his car from the valet. He still had not shaken the events of that morning, and his shirt was soaked with sweat. He pulled out of the hotel, and decided to cruise the strip.

He drove to the north end, turned around, and drove back. Back when he’d been married to Marie, he’d owned a convertible, and they’d often driven the strip with the top down, and looked at the tourists. He imagined Marie was sitting next to him, and heard her singing along with the radio. She’d always loved the slow stuff.

He came to Tropicana Avenue, and put his blinker on. The light changed, and his hands instinctively spun the wheel. He drove down Tropicana until he was in the desert. Up ahead, a road sign said Henderson, 10 miles. He was heading back to his house, and hadn’t even realized it.

He parked one street over from his house, and walked across a neighbor’s property to his own backyard. Yellow police tape was stretched across the back slider, telling him that his house had been turned into a crime scene investigation.

He stuck his head around a corner. No police cars were in the driveway or the street. He went to the front door, removed a key from a flower pot, and let himself in.

He wasn’t ready for the smell. Old cigarette smoke and spilled beer mixed with the house’s dead air. He considered opening up the windows and airing the place out, then realized he wasn’t coming back, so what was the point?

His next stop was the master bedroom. He instantly noted what things inside the room the cops had touched or moved. Nosy bastards.

Opening the closet door, he unzippered one of Marie’s clothing bags, and stuck his face into her dresses. Whenever he missed her so much that he felt like sticking a gun in his mouth, he’d gone and smelled her clothes. It was hard to explain how much he’d loved Marie; even he didn’t understand it. Or why he couldn’t get over her.

They’d met at a craps table at the MGM Grand. She’d been gambling with some friends. She was an innocent looking kid, real pretty, and Bronco had sensed she was someone he could work with.

The shooter had won. As the dealer paid the shooter off, he turned his back on Marie, and Bronco had added a stack of chips to Marie’s bet. He didn’t think the dealer would accuse her of cheating, because most dealers were suckers for pretty girls.

He’d been right. The dealer had paid Marie off without squawking. Marie had taken the money while staring at Bronco with her big blue eyes, like she couldn’t imagine anyone being so brazen. Bronco had stared right back. He’d never believed in love at first sight until he’d laid eyes on her.

Marie had taken her winnings and left the table. He’d followed her outside the casino, his palms sweating from the arrow that Cupid had shot in his ass. Marie walked to her car, then spun around. Taking her winnings from her purse, she threw half at Bronco’s feet.

“That’s what you want, isn’t it?” she said accusingly.

He’d stood there helplessly. She was a vision; dark hair, dancing eyes, with a small, full figure and a face that every Italian kid dreams about.

“We could have both gotten arrested,” she said.

Bronco realized what she was saying. She’d thought it out, and decided the risk was worth taking. That was why she’d thrown his half at him. She knew what she’d done was wrong.

“Let me buy you dinner,” he’d said.

He’d expected her to walk away, and out of his life forever. Only she’d hesitated. It was just enough for him to know.

Reaching down, he scooped the money off the pavement, and handed it back to her. It was the beginning of something, and they’d both known it.

On the night table was a framed photograph of Marie taken on their honeymoon. There was a slit in the cardboard backing of the frame. He slipped his fingers into the slit, and removed the photograph of Mikey he’d hidden there long ago. It was the only photo of Mikey he had, and Bronco counted all the freckles on his son’s face. Mikey had died a year after Marie, and nothing had ever been the same.

He slipped Mikey’s photograph back into the frame so it lay next to Marie. He hadn’t planned to touch anything in the room, but now realized that was impossible. He had to take some memento of Marie and the boy, and he slipped the photograph under his arm.

He left through the backdoor. Crossing the backyard, he saw a fluttering of curtains behind a neighbor’s window. He’d been spotted, and started to run. The ground was uneven and his foot landed in a hole. The photograph slipped from his grasp, and hit the ground.

He picked it up with a shudder. The glass frame had turned into a web of fractures. He felt a catch in his throat, his body humbled by the weakness of love. He was crying by the time he reached his car.

Chapter 53

Xing did not believe in taking chances.

He knew that the police were looking for Bronco. Bronco’s face was being shown regularly on the TV news shows, and there were only so many places a man could hide, especially in a city like Las Vegas. If Xing was going to meet with Bronco and do the exchange, he needed to be sure that Bronco wasn’t being tailed. Otherwise, he’d end up sharing a jail cell with him.

Xing’s motel was directly on Fremont Street. He could open the front door, and step right into the action. He started to do that now, and spotted a man standing by the curb, reading a newspaper. Something about the man’s body language felt wrong, and he silently shut the door.

Xing went to his room’s only window and tilted the blind with his finger. Outside, the man continued to read his paper. Xing couldn’t remember seeing anyone on Fremont Street reading a paper. Either they were talking on cell phones or walking around drunk. He studied the man. Muscular in build with a short haircut and conservative clothes. Everything about him screamed policeman. And if there was one cop, there were probably many more, all waiting for Bronco to appear before swooping in.

Time to run.

He went into the bathroom and shut the door. Put down the toilet cover and climbed onto it. The window above the toilet was wide enough for him to slither through. He stuck his head out to make sure no policemen were in the alley, then climbed through, and dropped to the ground. The alley was filled with overflowing garbage cans, and flies swarmed around him. He’d turned up his collar and walked onto Fremont Street.

The policeman with the newspaper was still outside his room. His back was to Xing, and Xing walked in the opposite direction, and became lost in the swarm of people.

The east end of Fremont Street was covered by a giant metal canopy which was transformed into a Star Wars-like special effects show every half hour. The show was called the Fremont Street Experience, and as Xing passed beneath the canopy, a booming voice came over the Public Address system, and announced that the next show would begin in exactly two minutes.

The street quickly filled with people. There were lots of uniformed cops, no doubt for security, but they put Xing on edge. He ducked into a souvenir shop, and bought a pair of shades and a baseball cap. He appraised his disguise in a mirror, and decided it wasn’t enough. From the racks he grabbed a black leather jacket. On its back was printed Jesus Wasn’t Born in Las Vegas Because They Couldn’t Find a Virgin. He took another look at himself in the mirror, and decided he looked like every other misfit he’d seen walking around. He paid for the items and headed outside.

A laser light show had started, with booming music and lots of explosions. He checked the time. Over an hour had passed since he’d last spoken to Bronco. Bronco had sounded eager to do the exchange, and he wondered what the holdup was.

Xing walked around and tried to act like every other tourist. A few minutes later, his cell phone vibrated in his pocket. He pulled it out, and saw that it was Bronco.

“Yes?” he answered, having to shout over the music.

There was no one there. He wondered if the canopy was killing his connection, and started to walk to where the canopy ended. His phone vibrated again.

“Hello?”

Still nothing. He flipped the phone shut and continued to walk. Ten seconds later, his phone vibrated again. He was standing directly outside the Golden Nugget, one of the larger casinos on Fremont and one of the busiest. He tried again.

“Are you there?”

Xing felt the barrel of a gun being shoved into his back. He lowered the phone, and stared into the reflection in the glass windows of the Nugget. A man with a shaved hand stood behind him with a scowl on his face. A stocky Italian with eyes like black ice.

“Turn around. Do it slow,” Bronco whispered into his ear.

Xing obeyed. Bronco was holding a magazine in front of his chest, and had hidden his gun behind it. The idea that Bronco might shoot him right in the street was not far from Xing’s thoughts. Hadn’t he shot a man inside a casino?

“You set me up,” Bronco said. “There are cops all over your motel.”

“I just saw them myself,” Xing replied.

“Really. Why didn’t you warn me?”

“I was waiting for you to call.”

“You’re a liar.”

“I had no reason to set you up.”

Xing waited. He was not going to beg for his life. To do that would have meant losing face, and he would rather have died than let that happen.

“Do you have the Pai Gow secret?”

Xing felt himself relax. They were back on even terms. He nodded, and they edged over to the curb to do the exchange. Despite all the people on the street, it was the perfect hiding place, Xing thought. Everyone sees us, yet no one sees us.

“You go first,” Xing said.

“My pleasure,” Bronco replied.

Xing took out his wallet, and removed a piece of tissue paper. He carefully unfolded the tissue to reveal a small black object that resembled a miniature toothbrush. He had found this miniature toothbrush inside Kyle Garrow’s wallet in Reno when he robbed him in the strip club, yet had no idea what it was.

“Guess you don’t know what this is,” Bronco said.

Xing shook his head. Had he known, he’d be back in China by now.

“Its called an EPROM chip,” Bronco explained. “With it, you can rig any slot machine made by a company called Universal. Universal slot machines are all over the world, so you shouldn’t have any problem finding them in China.”

“How does it work?”

“Put the EPROM chip into a laptop computer, and run a diagnostic test on the Universal machine’s RNG chip. When the test is done, you must play three coins, two coins, and one coin, and you’ll win a jackpot. Got it?”

Xing repeated the instructions and saw Bronco nod.

“You’re all set. Now tell me the Pai Gow secret.”

The pair of Pai Gow dominos were resting in the breast pocket of Xing’s shirt. He handed them to Bronco, happy to be rid of something that he had no use for. Bronco still held the gun hidden beneath the magazine. With his free hand, he held the dominos up to the glaring overhead strobe lights.

“Tell me.”

“Red not black,” Xing said.

Bronco looked confused. He held the dominos at a different angle. Then, his face lit up. “Isn’t that beautiful. They’re made out of red plastic instead of black. The red’s so dark, you can’t tell the difference. Are all of them like this?”

All the dominos being used in American casinos were being manufactured at a plant in China. Whatever had been done to this pair, was true with them all.

“Yes. They’re all the same,” Xing said.

“Do you understand how this works?”

“No. My boss did not explain the scam to me.”

“Red plastic can be penetrated by an infra-red lens. With a special pair of glasses, I can see through these dominos, and know what the dealer has. You just made me a very rich man.”

Bronco patted Xing on the shoulder and started to smile. Suddenly, his scowl returned. Xing followed his gaze, and saw the manager of the motel where he was staying leading a group of policemen down the middle of Fremont Street. The manger was pointing at young men the same age as Xing, and the policeman were grabbing the men, and showing them to the manager, who kept shaking his head. Then, Xing saw the manager point directly at him.

“Run,” Xing said.

Xing stepped off the curb, then felt his legs stop moving. His stomach was burning, and he placed his hand inside his leather jacket, came away with blood. He looked over his shoulder; Bronco had disappeared into the crowd.

Xing fell to his knees as the policeman swarmed around him. The noise went away, and the world grew still. The reality of what had happened was slow to sink in. Bronco had shot him in the back so he could get away, and save himself.

And I just made him a rich man, Xing thought.

Chapter 54

Everybody died differently. Valentine had learned that the hard way as a cop. He’d seen plenty of people pass on to the great craps game in the sky, and each departure was a little different and carried some signature of that person’s time here on earth.

The Asian with the bullet in his back died with a thin smile on his face. Valentine had gotten to him first, and had knelt down, and pulled the Asian’s head into his lap. Even though he didn’t know the guy from Adam, he thought it was the least he could do.

“Bronco’s getting away,” Gerry said, sounding panicked.

“Let the cops run him down,” Valentine said.

“But Pop—

“He’s got a gun, Gerry. Stay here.”

His son reluctantly agreed. Valentine gazed down into the Asian’s face. He tried to remember the guy’s name? Was it Xing or Zing or Bling? He couldn’t recall. He looked like a decent enough sort, but most people did when they died, all the bad things they’d done seemed to seep out of them, and just the core remained, until that too was gone. The Asian’s eyes fluttered and his smile grew. What was that about?

“Anything I can do?” Valentine asked.

The Asian shook his head, and then he was no more.

One of the cops got a blanket from inside the Nugget, and laid it over the dead man’s body. Valentine stood up and crossed himself. Then he grabbed Gerry and went looking for Bill, who was handling the search for Bronco on Fremont Street. They’d caught a glimpse of their fugitive as he’d run away; he had disguised himself by shaving his head, and would not be hard to pick out of a crowd.

The Fremont Street Experience was still in full swing, with laser lights flashing across the steel canopy accompanied by blaring disco music that was a few seconds out of sync with the rest of the show. The Experience normally drew a good crowd, and today was no exception. Thousands of tourists were packed on the street, standing shoulder-to-shoulder with their plastic cups of beer and glazed expressions on their faces.

“Where did all these people come from?” Gerry asked.

“This is Vegas, Gerry.”

“I know, but this is unreal.”

They sifted their way through the throng. Soon they could barely move. Gerry was right – the crowd was huge, and seemed to be growing by the minute. There was no sign of Bill or his posse, although he could have been a few feet away, and Valentine wouldn’t have spotted him. They reached the end of the Experience where Fremont met Las Vegas Boulevard, and Valentine pulled his son out of the crowd to a secluded spot beneath a withered palm tree where a homeless man lay sleeping.

“Look at all those cars,” Gerry said.

Valentine followed his son’s gaze. The boulevard was jammed with vehicles, none of which were moving. An irate motorist honked their horn. Within seconds, everyone was making their displeasure known, the situation spiraling out of control.

“What do you think’s going on?” Gerry asked.

“I don’t know.”

“Let’s ask someone.”

Gerry had a knack of being able to talk to complete strangers. He jogged over to one of the stuck vehicles, and struck up a conversation with the driver, a white-haired man traveling with his wife. The driver handed Gerry a sheet of paper, and Gerry thanked him and shook his hand. Then, his son jogged back.

“It’s some kind of promotion,” his son explained.

“Let me see.”

Gerry handed him the sheet of paper. It was an e-mail addressed to Harold and Lorraine Duffy, its sender THE LAS VEGAS CONVENTION & VISITOR’S BUREAU. The print was huge, and practically leapt off the page.

Dear Video Poker Enthusiast – Never let it be said that money doesn’t grow on trees! At three P.M. today, money will grow on trees in the form of five million dollar jackpots, payable to five lucky people playing a video poker machine at a Las Vegas casino. As any video poker player knows, the casinos are required to pay a certain number of jackpots, or risk losing their licenses. This afternoon, five lucky players will win a jackpot, courtesy of this wonderful rule. So, grab your honey and your money, and head to your favorite casino. Remember to do the following when you play:

1) Bet the maximum number of coins the machine allows

2) Be sure you are playing at 3:00 P.M.

3) Be at a Las Vegas casino.

Have fun and good luck!

Yours truly,

The Las Vegas Convention & Visitors Bureau

Valentine smelled a rat. A big, giant rat. Still holding the email, he crossed the street with his son and entered Fitzgeralds, one of the older casinos on Fremont Street. The joint was mobbed, and he had to push his way through the front doors.

He pushed his way to a bank of video poker machines. Every seat at every machine was taken, and there were lines of people standing behind each seat. He approached several of the people on line, and held the email in front of their faces.

“Did you get one of these emails?” Valentine asked.

The people on line said they had. He showed the email to the people in the seats, just to be sure. They’d all received the email as well.

The noise inside the casino was too loud to think. Valentine went back outside with his son, and stood beneath the withered palm tree. The homeless man was still sound asleep.

“Who do you think’s behind this email?” his son asked.

“Fred Friendly and his gang,” Valentine replied. “The convention and visitors bureau does email promotions to bring customers into town. Fred and his gang got their hands on the data bases, and sent this letter to them.”

“You think they’re trying to skip town, and this is their smokescreen?”

Valentine glanced at the email clutched in his hand. The letter hadn’t been written on a whim. Someone had spent time constructing it.

“I think it’s real,” Valentine said.

“You do?”

“Friendly and his gang have a score to settle with Governor Smoltz. I’m guessing they rigged a bunch of video poker machines to pay off jackpots, and planned to send out that e-mail if the law ever caught up to them. When they heard that Bill ordered the Universal slot machines taken out of commission, they put the plan into effect.”

Valentine’s cell phone was vibrating. It was Bill, and he answered it.

“Bronco’s gone,” Bill said.

“Forget Bronco,” Valentine said. “I’ve got some really bad news for you.”