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 Virgin while 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.