“Next time, wear regular clothes,” Valentine said.
Bill used a crow bar to break down the front door. Then, he stepped aside. “It’s all yours,” he said.
Valentine entered and waited for his eyes to adjust, then stared at a living room straight out of a college frat house. On every table were empty beer bottles and plastic ashtrays overflowing with stale cigarette butts. On the floor were piles of newspapers and magazines that dated back several months. Gerry whistled under his breath.
“Reminds me of my room when I was growing up.”
“I was thinking the same thing,” Valentine said. He watched his son head toward the kitchen. “Don’t touch anything.”
“Yes, sir.”
Valentine cased the living room. An 58" plasma screen TV hung from the wall. He had been thinking about getting a new TV, and had priced the same model at Best Buy, then decided he could live without it. It wasn’t that he couldn’t afford to spend five thousand bucks for a TV; there was simply nothing on TV worth spending five grand for. In front of the TV was a cracked leather chair that looked really comfortable. Next to it, a small table on which sat an empty fifth of Jack Daniels and three ashtrays overflowing with cigarette butts. It reminded Valentine of his father, who killed his evenings in front of the tube, smoking and drinking. He noticed a DVD on the table and picked it up. The writing on the DVD said, MARIE/FIRST DATE.
The remote control sat on the chair’s arm. Valentine powered up the TV, and the screen came to life. He inserted the DVD and hit play. A surveillance tape appeared on the screen, showing a group of people playing craps inside a casino. One woman stood out. Short, dark-haired and vivacious, with a melt-your heart smile. She was throwing the dice, and appeared to be winning.
“Hey Pop, in here,” Gerry called from the back of the house.
“You find something?”
“Yeah, but I don’t know what it is.”
“You didn’t touch it, did you?”
His son didn’t reply, leaving Valentine to believe that he had. As Valentine crossed the room, he saw Bill leaning against the wall with his arms crossed.
“He’s learning,” Valentine said.
He walked through the kitchen. It was a disaster area, the sink overflowing with dirty dishes that looked like science experiments, the counter tops covered with empty beer bottles. Most hustlers tried to stay away from the sauce; it was bad for business. Bronco obviously had a problem he couldn’t control.
“Where are you?” Valentine called out.
“In the garage.”
He found a short hallway that led to the garage. He stuck his head in, and saw Gerry standing at a work table that ran the length of the wall. The garage had been converted into a workshop, and contained every power tool ever invented. Gerry pointed at several boxes filled with rings of keys.
“What are these?”
Valentine walked over and pulled a ring from one of the boxes. There was a tag attached to it that said Harrah’s. He pulled out another. The tag on it said Caesars.
“They’re skeleton keys to slot machines. Bronco can see a key once, and make a duplicate. At one time, he probably could open half the slot machines in Las Vegas,” Valentine explained.
“What happened?”
“The casinos changed all their machines.”
“Because of him?”
“He was one of the reasons.”
Gerry moved down the table. A hundred metal devices that looked like reading lights lay stacked in another box. “What are these?”
Valentine stared into the box. A wireless transmitter lay on top of the stack. He pressed the power button, and the lights on every device began flicking on and off. “Strobes,” he said.
“You going to fill me in, or do I have to hold my breath?”
Valentine turned the transmitter off, and the devices stopped blinking. “They’re called monkey’s paws. Every slot machine has an optical sensor to count payouts. The monkey’s paw is inserted up the payout chute, and causes the sensor to overpay. Slot machines also have anti-runaway relays to stop overpayments. My guess is, the strobe light defeats the anti-runaway relay.”
“But why so many of them?” Gerry asked.
That was a good question. Picking up one of the devices, Valentine noticed two tiny magnets, one glued to the top, the other to the bottom. Smiling, he showed them to his son. “Bronco is leaving the monkey’s paws inside the slot machines. Someone inspecting the machine won’t see it, unless they know what to look for. Bronco picks up money whenever he needs it.”
Gerry shook his head in wonder.
“Sweet,” he said.
Valentine returned to the living room. The surveillance tape in the VCR was still playing, the woman with the great smile still shooting craps. She was on a roll, and everyone at the table was reveling in her good fortune. Valentine guessed this was Marie, whose name was written on the DVD.
He watched Marie throw the dice. His gut told him she was your everyday, average player. He wondered why Bronco would watch a tape of her. Had she been a member of one of his gangs? She was wholesome looking, and didn’t seem the type. Gerry and Bill entered the living room.
“We’re going to search the bedrooms,” his son said. “I know, don’t touch anything I’m not supposed to.”
“Keeping your hands in your pockets will do the trick.”
“Thanks, Pop.”
They walked down the hall and disappeared. Picking up the remote, Valentine started to turn off the player, then saw something strange on the screen. A man was leaning over the craps table, his face exposed to the camera. It was Bronco.
As the banker at the table paid Marie off, he was momentarily distracted. The banker turned his head, and Bronco added chips palmed in his hand to Marie’s bet. It was called past-posting, and Bronco did it as well as anyone Valentine had ever seen.
Marie made a startled face. She’s not part of it, Valentine realized. The banker turned his attention back to Marie, and paid her off the higher amount. Marie hesitated, then picked up her winnings, and hurried away from the craps table.
Moments later, the tape ended.
Valentine shook his head in bewilderment. He’d seen a lot of strange things in casinos, but never anything like this. Bronco had added his chips to her bet, even though she wasn’t working with him.
He was still thinking about it when he heard Gerry emit a blood-curdling yell from the other side of the house. Moments later, his son ran into the living room followed by two man-eating pit bulls.
“I opened the wrong door,” he screamed.
Chapter 9
Karl Klinghoffer’s shift at the county jail ended at two P.M. Instead of driving home and eating lunch like he normally did, he drove straight into downtown Reno. The streets were practically deserted, and he guessed he could have driven around with his eyes closed and not hurt anybody.
He drove beneath the famous Reno Arch on Virginia Street. Neon letters bragged against the clear blue sky, “The Biggest Little City in the World.” On a fine spring day in 1928, the arch had been raised to honor the paving of a two-lane highway over Donner Summit to California. As a band played brassy ragtime, the town’s casino operators and bankers had celebrated their good fortune. So had Klinghoffer’s grandfather, a local bootlegger. It had been a glorious time.
A car’s horn snapped him out of his daydream. He was driving below the speed limit, and goosed the accelerator of his fading Tercel. He’d bought the car the same week he’d met Becky, a preacher’s daughter, at a party where he’d had too much to drink. Three months later they’d gotten married. Six months after that, Karl Jr. was born. The car was a constant reminder of how messed up his life had become since that night.