Текст книги "Jackpot"

Автор книги: James Swain

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Текущая страница: 6 (всего у книги 20 страниц)

Chapter 15

O’Sullivan drove them to the Washoe Medical Center. While Gerry and Bill waited in the lobby, Valentine went upstairs to interview Karen Farmer.

Psych wards in hospitals were depressing places. Valentine’s mother had ended up in one before she died, his father’s years of abuse having finally taken their toll. Walking down the hall to where Karen Farmer was being kept, a little voice inside his head told him to turn around, and go back to the lobby. Let Bill interrogate her, the voice said.

He stopped outside the ward. There was no shame in walking away. He’d learned that from a book by Ernest Hemingway called Death in the Afternoon.It was about bull-fighting, and Hemingway talked about famous matadors who’d run away from bulls they didn’t like the looks of. He started to walk away when the door opened, and a woman in a starched white nurse’s uniform stepped out.

“Mr. Valentine? We’ve been expecting you. Please come in,” she said.

Valentine followed her through the psych ward with his eyes downcast. Out of the corner of the eye, he appraised the room. Most of the patients were strapped down, like his mother had been. A man wearing a maniacal grin hissed at him.

“We put Karen on anti-depression medication this morning, and she appears to be doing better,” the nurse said. “I told her that she was going to have a visitor, but didn’t say who you were. No point in upsetting her.”

“Thanks.”

His voice was barely a whisper and the nurse shot him a concerned look.

“Are you all right, Mr. Valentine?”

“Fine.”

Karen Farmer’s bed was in the corner of the large sterile room, and had a view of the parking lot. A metal chair had been placed beside her bed. There was an Ace bandage around her neck and a contusion below her left cheekbone. Her eyes looked sore from crying.

“Karen,” the nurse said, “your visitor is here.”

Karen Farmer glanced at the nurse, then at Valentine.

“Oh, boy,” she said hoarsely. “Another cop.”

The nurse left, and Valentine sat down, and placed his elbows on his knees. It was a neutral pose, intended to put a suspect at ease. “Want something to drink?”

“A cigarette,” she said.

“I wish.”

“You trying to quit?”

He nodded that he was.

“Me, too. Bad for my health.”

He fished the nicotine gum out of his pocket, and offered her a piece.

“Have a piece. It’s the next best thing.”

Karen mumbled okay. He leaned forward, and fed her a piece of gum. When she opened her mouth, he saw that one of her lower teeth was busted. She chewed the gum and made a face. “Ugh. You’re not trying to poison me, are you?”

“You don’t chew it for the taste. Give it a minute to work.”

“Whatever you say.”

Valentine tried not stare at her. She had soft blond hair and bedroom eyes, the kind of girl boys fought over in grade school. She didn’t have a criminal record, and he guessed her late husband had talked her into stealing the jackpot. That was how it usually happened: The husband talked the wife into joining the gang. It hardly ever happened the other way around.

“I’m not a cop,” he said. “I used to be, but these days I’m a private consultant. I help casinos catch cheaters. I took this case because I want to nail Bronco Marchese.”

Karen stared at him. “You want to nailhim? Like in the movies? Track him down and rub his face in the ground?”

“That’s right.”

Tears rolled down her face and blood rose like a curtain behind her skin. “Well, so do I. Bronco Marchese shot my husband through the heart.” She stifled a sob and brought her head back against her pillow, which was propped against the wall to protect her from hurting herself. She stared at the ceiling like it was a portal that could take her back in time, and everything in her life would be normal again. When she looked back at him, her face had grown hard. “Bo died at ten-fifty eight in the morning. We were married the day before at eleven o’clock. We weren’t married one whole day.”

“I’m —

“Sorry?”

“Yes.”

She shook her head and the tears flew off her face. “I wanted to spend the rest of my life with him. We met in highschool. My first date, my first love. He wasn’t perfect, and neither am I. But, we were perfect together. Know what I mean?”

Valentine stared at the tiled floor. He’d met his own wife over a Bunson burner in an eleventh grade highschool chemistry class. It had lasted forty-five years.

“Yes,” he said.

“Bo was my future. We were going to have a couple of kids. We had it all planned out. You understand what I’m saying?”

“Yes, I do.”

“Then don’t come in here and tell me how you want to nailBronco Marchese, you piece of shit cop,” she said, spitting her gum into his face.

Valentine found a sink and washed his face. When he came back to Karen’s bed, he had a pair of soda cans in his hand. He popped them both.

“Promise you won’t do that again, and I’ll let you have one,” he said.

“Fuck you,” Karen said.

He took a long swallow of his soda. He was glad for the walk. He didn’t like being spit in the face, even by someone who’d just lost her husband.

“You know something, Karen —

“What’s that?” she snapped.

“Everyone has a history.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“It means that everyone has reasons for what they do. Want to hear mine?”

She looked out the window beside her bed, her eyes peeled to a moving car in the parking lot, and said nothing.

“When I became a cop in Atlantic City, I was introduced to an old guy named Johnson. I don’t know if that was his first name, or his last. Everyone just called him Johnson. He was a drunk, used to live in the bars. Eventually he got sick and died.”

“This is real uplifting,” she said.

“Right after his funeral, I heard his story. Johnson was a cop during Prohibition. Part of his job was to stop the bootleggers from landing on the island’s beaches.”

“What’s Prohibition?” she asked, still not looking at him.

“Back in 1919 the government outlawed the manufacture, sale or distribution of liquor,” Valentine said. “The country was dry for thirteen years.”

“What did people do instead, get high?”

He nearly laughed, then realized she wasn’t joking. “Maybe some of them did. But the majority made liquor in bath tubs, or bought it from bootleggers. The bootleggers bought whiskey from Canada, scotch from Scotland, and rum from Cuba. They brought it offshore in ships, and used speedboats to deliver it to the mainland. Because Atlantic City has thirteen miles of beaches, it was a prime unloading area.

“One night, Johnson gets a call. An informant tells him that two Jews and two Italians from New York are coming to Atlantic City to hijack a shipment of whiskey. The informant says that these four guys are responsible for all the major heists in New York, and are running the city’s illegal gambling. Know who those four guys were?”

Karen finally looked at him. She wasn’t beautiful in the traditional sense, but had a sultry look that made you pause. It had gotten her in trouble once, and would probably get her in trouble again. “Not a clue,” she said.

“Lucky Luciano, Frank Costello, Meyer Lansky and Bugsy Siegel.”

“I’ve heard of them. They were gangsters.”

“They were more than gangsters. They were the beginning of organized crime in America. They later joined forces with Al Capone, and became the mafia.”

“I guess Johnson didn’t get them.”

“No, he didn’t. He figured they’d probably kill the bootlegger, and that would be one less bootlegger. So he stayed at home and listened to a ball game on the radio.

“The hijacking went so smoothly, the four boys from New York took over allof the bootlegging on the east coast. That one night made them all very rich men.

“Johnson later realized what he’d done. He talked about it openly with other cops. His conscience ate at him, so he eventually turned to the bottle. Okay, now you’re probably wondering, what the hell does this have to do with me?”

Her eyes were cold and unfriendly. “Come to mention it, yeah.”

“Well, here’s the deal. I had a brother-in-law named Sal. He was a vice cop with the Atlantic City police. I started dating his sister in highschool. After we got married, Sal talked me into joining the force. He was my best friend.

“One night, Sal called me. He was about to arrest four casino cheaters. Sal told me these cheaters were from New York, and had ripped off every casino in the city. Two Jews and two Italians.”

“Sort of like Johnson,” Karen said.

“Yeah, sort of like Johnson. Sal wanted me there as backup. I drove to the Boardwalk right as the arrest went down. They were all there. There was a full moon, and I saw Sal lying in the sand. I fired my gun in the air, and the cheaters ran. When I got to Sal, I saw he was shot. I held him in my arms, and he died.”

“Did you run after the cheaters?”

Valentine crushed the empty soda can in his hand. It made an angry sound, and the ward grew still. “No.”

“Why not?”

“I couldn’t leave him.”

“Was Bronco one of those cheaters?”

“Yeah. After Sal’s funeral, I made a vow to myself. I was going to run every one of them down, and put them in prison.” He picked up the second can of soda, and held it in front of Karen’s face. “I got all of them but Bronco. You want any of this?” She nodded, and he put the can to her lips. When he took the can away, he saw that the hostility had melted from her face, and decided it was now, or never.

“So, are you going to help me, or not?”

“Bo was playing craps in Reno when he met Bronco,” Karen said, her face lighting up whenever she mentioned her late husband’s name. “Actually, Bo wasn’t playing. He was, well, I’d guess you call it stealing.”

“Stealing how?”

“He’d discovered that people sometimes didn’t pick up their bets after the game was over, so he’d claim them if no one else did. Bo said it wasn’t really stealing, being that the house would take the money otherwise.”

It wasstealing – the chips belonged to another player – but, there was no use in soiling Karen’s last memories, so Valentine kept his mouth shut.

“Bronco approached us, and made Bo an offer. Said if we’d claim a jackpot from a rigged slot machine, he’d split the money with us. Bo and I talked it over. We both carry a lot of credit card debt. I figured it was a way to start clean, you know?”

“Sure,” Valentine said.

“Later, when we split the money up, I found out that wasn’t really the deal. Bo had agreed to take less money. It made me mad, so I started yelling at him. Then Bronco said something nasty, and Bo jumped him. Then Bronco shot Bo.”

Her eyes returned to the parking lot. Valentine let a few moments pass before speaking again. “The night before, when you had dinner, what did Bronco talk about?”

“Scams.”

“Did he mention a Nevada gaming agent stealing jackpots?”

Karen thought about it. “Yeah. He said a gaming agent was using laptops to rig slot machines. I didn’t understand what he was talking about.”

“Did he mention the agent’s name?”

“Naw.”

“Did he tell you how the scam worked?”

“He said it was an insider thing, and that he couldn’t use it.”

It was the same thing Gerry had said. Score another one for his son.

“What else do you remember?” Valentine asked.

“Bronco said he had a meeting set up in a few days with a member of the Asian Triads. He was going to exchange the laptop scam for a Pai Gow scam.”

Valentine pulled his chair up closer to her bed. Cheaters didn’t tell you things unless they wanted something in return. There had been a reason why Bronco had told Karen and Bo about the Asian. “Did Bronco want you to get involved?”

Karen blew her cheeks out. “You’re real smart, aren’t you?”

“I know how these people think.”

“Bo was stationed in the Far East when he was in the army, and knew how to play Pai Gow. Bronco offered to stake Bo. Said we’d make a fortune with this scam.”

Valentine leaned against the bed’s iron railing. Pai Gow was played in many casinos in the United States. Each player received tiles shaped like dominos, and tried to beat the dealer’s score with the score on their tiles. It was a tough game to cheat, and he had a feeling this scam was something really good. He saw Karen studying him, the expression on her face almost wistful.

“What’s next?” she asked.

“I’ll tell the DA you cooperated, and gave me lots of valuable information.”

“Think he’ll cut me some slack?”

“Yes, Karen, I do.”

“I hope you’re right. Things haven’t been going so hot for me lately.”

She said it without bitterness, and a wave of sadness overcame him. Not a bad kid at all, he thought. He thanked her for her help, and put his chair back against the wall. He started to leave, then went back to her bed. “I’ll also tell the governor.”

“You trying to be funny?”

“No. I’m doing this job for him.”

“Seriously?”

“Yes. I’ll ask him to go light on you.”

She thanked him with her eyes. Valentine had no idea what Bo Farmer was like, yet could imagine him wanting to spend the rest of his life with this young woman.

“Sorry about the gum,” she said.

“Don’t worry about it,” he told her.

Chapter 16

Bronco got a cell mate right after dinner. His name was Johnny Norton, and he was a dirty-haired street rat with dark shadows beneath his eyes. Johnny took the bottom bunk bed, said he’d been arrested for passing a couple of worthless checks. The catch in his voice said there was more to his story, and Bronco guessed he was hiding from something. Most guys in jail were.

Bronco was standing against the concrete wall opposite the bunk beds, sizing Johnny up. He was a degenerate, and probably used to getting kicked around. A loner, but also capable of seizing an opportunity when it came his way. He’ll do,Bronco thought.

Johnny had stopped pretending to be asleep, and stared at Bronco from his bunk, his eyes shining like a fox hiding inside a hole.

“What you looking at, buddy?”

“What the hell else is there to look at?” Bronco said.

“You got something on your mind?”

“Maybe. You been in this joint before?”

Johnny patted his pockets for a smoke. He snapped his fingers, remembering where he was. “Couple of times.”

“What for?”

“I scammed some old geezers.”

Robbing the elderly. That qualified Johnny for a low-life scum bag award. Bronco hunched down on his knees and looked Johnny in the eye.

“You know the layout?”

“I can find the front door. You thinking of taking a walk?”

Bronco nodded that he was. “I’ve figured out how to get out of the cellblock, and down the hall to the booking area, but from there I’m lost. Interested?”

Johnny drew his head back into the shadows, thinking it over. The truth was, Bronco didn’t need help escaping. His mind had made a picture of the jail when he’d been booked. He knew where the guards sat, the number of electronically controlled doors, and how many steps to the front door. He’d memorized the layout just like he memorized the pattern of every slot machine key he’d ever seen. His brain was good that way. It made pictures, then stored them.

But he couldn’t tell Johnny this. Johnny needed to think he was the lynchpin. That was the key to having partners; the partner needed to think they were in control. Otherwise, they wouldn’t get involved.

“What are you in for?” Johnny asked.

“First degree murder and ripping off a casino,” Bronco replied.

Johnny brought his face into the light and smiled. His upper and lower teeth didn’t match, and it ruined his face. “You’re a regular public menace, huh?”

“That’s right. What about you?”

“I told you, I got arrested for passing bad checks.”

“Is that why you want to break out?”

Johnny frowned, realizing he’d tripped up. He climbed out of his bunk and stood his full height, then shoved Bronco into the wall. Bronco saw no gain in fighting him, and held his hands up in mock surrender.

“You’d better not be an undercover cop,” Johnny said.

“Is that what I look like?”

“You’re trying to trick me, that’s what it is.”

In the light, Johnny Norton was truly dangerous-looking. Someone watching a security camera would stare hard at Johnny if he came into the picture. And that’s all they’d stare at.

Bronco said, “I think we’d make a good team. I just want to know what your deal is, that’s all.”

“You’re not a cop?”

“I sweat on my mother’s grave.”

“You really want to know what I did?”

“Yeah.”

Johnny tugged back the sleeve of his orange jumpsuit. His left forearm was covered with ugly-looking scratches. Bronco guessed Johnny had attacked someone, and his victim had raked her fingernails down his arm . Lucky for Johnny, the cops hadn’t noticed the scratches when they’d booked him.

“I picked up a woman in a bar and slept with her,” Johnny said. “When she asked me for money, I strangled her.”

“Dead?”

“Uh-huh. Satisfied?”

“You bet.”

Johnny rolled his sleeve down, then went to his bunk, and slid onto the bed. “So when are we gonna break out?”

“Soon. Just be patient.”

“Whatever you say.”

And with that, Johnny closed his eyes and went sound to sleep.

Bronco went to the cell door and grasped the bars. It occurred to him that he hadn’t heard from his crummy attorney since that morning. Something didn’t feel right, and after a few moments of hard thinking, he realized what it was.

Garrow had turned on him. There could be no other explanation. He’d given Garrow the secret to the gaming agent’s slot machine scam for safe-keeping. That had seemed the smart thing to do at the time. He’d also told Garrow how he planned to trade the secret for the Pai Gow scam. In hindsight, he realized how stupid that was.

Garrow was going to cut him out. There could be no other explanation for him not making contact. Garrow knew the details, and was going to go solo. Right now, sitting in a seedy motel room in downtown Reno, was a member of the Triad who’d traveled all the way from China to exchange secrets. All Garrow had to do was call the Triad, and do the deal himself. Then, Garrow could take the Pai Gow scam, and make his fortune. He didn’t need Bronco anymore.

Bronco started to sweat. He had trusted his attorney, and that was always a mistake. He needed to break out of here, and set things right. He had thought Tony Valentine was his biggest problem, but in fact it was his own attorney who was the problem.

He stared at the chairs where the guards sat. Karl Klinghoffer would be starting his next shift in a few hours. Bronco couldn’t escape without Klinghoffer’s help, and he waited nervously for the guard’s return.

Chapter 17

Xing Han Wong lay on an unmade bed, staring at the dirty popcorn ceiling. He’d been cooped up in a seedy Reno motel for two days, watching stupid sitcoms and eating greasy take-out food while waiting for the phone to ring. He hadn’t shaved, combed his hair, or bathed, and was bored out of his mind.

The Asian hit man removed a pair of Pai Gow dominos from his shirt pocket. They were made out of thick plastic, and had red and white dots on one side. He’d been given the dominos by his Triad boss before coming to the United States, and been told to give the dominos to a criminal named Bronco Marchese, then say three words:

“Red, not black.”

This was the secret to the devious Pai Gow scam, even though Xing had no idea what it meant. His Triad boss had said that Bronco would understand, and in return, would give Xing the secret to rigging slot machines.

“A secret for a secret,” his Triad boss had explained.

Xing had traveled seven thousand miles to Reno, expecting to hook up with Bronco, and do the exchange. Then he’d turned on the TV in his motel room, and learned that Bronco was cooling his heels in a Reno jail. He’d called his Triad boss, and explained the problem.

“You wait,” his boss had said.

“For how long?” Xing had replied.

“Until he gets out of jail. Don’t leave without that secret.”

“What if he doesn’t get out?”

“You wait!”

“But…”

“You heard me! No fuck-ups this time! Understand?”

His Triad boss had slammed down the phone before he could reply. His words had been filled with anger, their meaning painfully clear. If Xing didn’t get the slot secret from Bronco, there was no reason for him to return to China.

He slipped the dominoes into his pocket and got off the bed. Going to the room’s single window, he lifted the blind and gazed at the ugly six-lane highway that ran alongside the motel. Cars and heavy trucks rumbled past, the noise a cacophony of sound. Reno was like most cities in China. Everyone was in a hurry, but not going anywhere. Just home to their TV sets, or to eat, or sleep.

It was strange how things turned out. Not that long ago, he’d been living the good life, driving fast cars and sleeping with beautiful girls. Then, he’d been told to execute a Chinese gambler who had not paid his debts. The job had broken bad, and his status within the Triad organization had suffered because of it. Coming to Reno to meet Bronco was his punishment which now felt like a jail sentence.

Returning to the bed, he lay down, and resumed staring at the ceiling. Soon his eyelids grew heavy, and he drifted off to sleep.

The Golden Dragon in Macau was like no other casino in the world. Asians were passionate about gambling, and players stood five deep at the tables, with each player trying to put down a bet. Gamblers who couldn’t get near the table ventured upward on a spiral ramp, and lowered their bets down on long, bamboo poles.

It was all about gambling at the Golden Dragon. Everything else was window dressing. The spiral ramp had two sets of moving walkways. One went up, the other came down. Hookers stood on the walkways, showing off their wares. They were not allowed on the casino floor, for fear they might slow down the games.

Xing had entered the Golden Dragon at a few minutes past midnight and gone straight to the bar, which was shaped like an electric guitar. Up on a small stage, girls in skimpy costumes lip-synched to Madonna’s Like a Virginwhile doing a dance number .Xing motioned to the bartender, who served him a Ting Sao.

“Which one?” Xing asked under his breath.

“The bloated one with the cute girl on his arm,” the bartender said.

Xing found his victim in the bar’s smoky backlit mirror, an enormous Chinese gambler in a white silk suit playing 21 while snuggling with an underage girl.

“How much does he owe?” Xing asked.

“Too much.”

The bartender slipped away to serve another patron. Xing smoked a cigarette and sipped his beer. He was in no rush to carry out his assignment. Let the fat man enjoy his last minutes on earth, he thought.

It wasn’t the first time he’d had to shoot a gambler inside the Golden Dragon. The casino did not offer credit to its customers, and gamblers often borrowed money at exorbitant rates from the Triad gangs that hung around the bar and restaurants. Gamblers that did not pay off their loans in time were punished, usually with a bullet.

Xing saw movement in the mirror. The dealer was scooping up the last of the fat man’s chips. The fat man had lost all his money, and looked dejected.

Xing unbuttoned his jacket while hopping off his stool. It was every gambler’s dream to die broke, and the fat man was about to fulfill that dream. He walked directly over to the 21 table with his eyes peeled on his prey.

“Out of my way,” he said loudly.

The crowd around the table parted. They knew what was about to happen. It was part of life in the Golden Dragon. Losers died.

The fat man spun around in his chair. Seeing Xing, his eyes grew wide with fear. Xing drew his gun from its shoulder harness and blew a hole in the fat’s man chest. He was dead before he hit the floor.

Xing blew smoke off the barrel of his gun like a cowboy in the Old West. The sound of a man yelling snapped his head. The bartender was pointing excitedly at the exit. Xing shifted his gaze to see another fat man running out the door. The beer in his stomach started to rise. He had shot the wrong man.

The phone rang, snapping Xing awake. Picking up the receiver, he said hello in Chinese, realized his mistake, and said hello again in halting English. He had learned English in school, and from watching American TV shows, which were shown in China with subtitles.

“This is Kyle Garrow, Bronco Marchese’s lawyer,” an unsteady voice said, shouting to be heard over disco music in the background. “I’m ready to do the deal.”

“Is Bronco out of jail?” Xing asked.

“No,” the lawyer said.

“Then how do we do the deal?”

“Bronco put me in charge. I have the secret to the slot scam. I’ll give it to you in exchange for the Pai Gow scam, and you can go home.”

“How do I know I can trust you?”

“You don’t have a choice, pal.”

Xing tightened his grip on the receiver. He did not like this change in plans, or that Bronco’s lawyer was calling the shots.

“I’m at a strip club down the road from your motel,” Garrow went on. “Meet me in ten minutes, and we can do the exchange. And don’t be late.”

Xing’s face burned. He did not like to be ordered around. He wondered if the lawyer knew he was a Triad assassin. Somehow, he didn’t think so.

“Give me the instructions,” Xing said.