No one but me,he thought.
Bronco removed the handcuff key resting in his pants pocket. He shoved the key into the handcuff on Johnny’s right wrist, and heard the lock click open. Johnny whispered “What you doing?” and Bronco said, “Shhh,” then took the baton hanging from his belt, and shoved it into Johnny’s hands. Johnny’s fingers clumsily grabbed the handle.
“This my ticket to freedom?” he whispered.
“You bet,” Bronco said.
Lifting his foot, Bronco placed the heel of his shoe into the small of Johnny’s back, and shoved him into the center of the booking room. Johnny fell forward like a man slipping on ice, then righted himself, the baton clutched in his hands.
“Escaped prisoner!” Bronco yelled at the top of his lungs.
Johnny Norton had killed a girl named Sandy the day before he’d been arrested. He’d met her in a roadside bar and seen she wasn’t all right in the head. That and she was all liquored up had told her she’d be easy pickings. He’d taken her out to his car and screwed her in the backseat. When they were done and Sandy asked for the fifty dollars he’d promised her, Johnny strangled her. There had been no reason to kill her, only a repulsed look in her eyes he wanted to extinguish. All his life, Johnny had been seeing that look in other’s people’s faces. Like he wasn’t clean or something.
The cops were going to find out he’d killed Sandy. He’d left his prints on her clothes and done a crummy job of dumping her body in a deserted lot. The other times he’d killed girls, he’d dumped them in bodies of water, only those were hard to find in the desert. He’d left too many clues, and it was just a matter of time before the police connected him to the crime.
These were the thoughts going through Johnny’s mind as he swung the billy club at the cop closest to him. He was a goner, so he was going to go out in style. It didn’t bother him that Bronco had betrayed him, just that he hadn’t seen it coming. Given the chance, Johnny would have done the same.
The cop shielded his head with his arms, and the club bounced off his forearms. People in the room were yelling, the noise so loud that Johnny couldn’t hear himself think. The cop who’d arrested him, a Pollock named Turkowski, rose from his desk with his gun drawn, and shot Johnny in the stomach.
Johnny flew backwards into a wall, then sank to the floor. He stared down at himself. The hole in his stomach was as big as his fist, his blood gushing out. The baton slipped out of his hand and pools of black appeared before his eyes. He saw Bronco slip out the door with the shotgun cradled to his chest.
As he died, Johnny closed his eyes, and wished it was him going out that door.
“You’re not yelling at me,” Gerry said.
Valentine saw the Washoe County Detention center a block ahead. “Is that a statement or a question?”
“You’re not mad?”
Valentine shook his head. He’d had his pocket picked several times when he was a cop. There was nothing you could do except be more careful the next time.
“Hopefully, the guard that led Bronco back to his cell kept him handcuffed,” Valentine said.
“You think Bronco would use my pen to attack him?”
He nodded. The gambling world was replete with stories of Bronco wrestling with security guards and jumping through plate glass windows rather than allow himself to be captured by the police. He pulled into the visitor parking lot. It backed up on the employee lot, and he saw a cop wearing a baggy uniform running up and down the aisle of cars, pointing his key chain at the vehicle.
“What's that guy doing?”
“Looks like he's using the unlock mechanism in his key chain to find his car,” Valentine replied.
“How does that work?”
“You forget where your car is parked, you point the key chain, and press the unlock button until your car lights up. I do it all the time.”
“Holy shit — he's got a shotgun.”
The cop in the baggy uniform was running directly toward them. It was Bronco, and he raised the shotgun hanging by his side, and aimed at their windshield.
“Sweet Jesus,” Valentine said.
Chapter 24
Mabel was examining a double-sided chip when the phone rang. The chip had been sent by a grateful casino boss, along with a thank-you card. Tony had spotted the gaff while watching a surveillance tape, and alerted the casino to the theft.
The double-sided chip was a marvel of ingenuity. On one side was a $5.00 red chip; on the other, a $25.00 dollar green chip. The scam used two people — a crooked blackjack dealer, and a dishonest player. The player would make a bet with his double-sided chip, with the $25.00 side showing. If the player won, the dealer paid him even money. If the player lost, the dealer would pick the losing bet up, flip it over secretly in his hand, and place it in his tray with the $5.00 dollar chips. The player would toss twenty-five dollars in bills on the table, and ask for chips. The dealer would give him five $5.00 chips, including the double-sided chip. What made the scam so deadly was no matter what happened, the player always came out ahead.
“Grift Sense,” she answered.
“Good afternoon,” a man said. “May I please speak to Mabel Stuck.”
Mabel Stuck?It sounded like some pesky telemarketer.
“The name’s Struck, not Stuck, and this number is on the national Do-Not-Call-Registry,” she informed her caller. “Please remove us from your list, or we will contact the Florida attorney general.”
“Ms. Struck, I’m terribly sorry. Please accept my apology.”
“Who is this?”
“Chief Running Bear of the Micanopy nation,” the man said.
Mabel brought her hand up to her mouth. Running Bear ran the show at the Micanopy Indian Reservation casino. Because of a court fight he’d waged twenty-five years ago, casino gambling was now legal on over four hundred Indian reservations. All Mabel could think was he’d read the e-mail she’d sent, and had called to fire her.
“Hello, chief,” she said.
“Please call me Running Bear.”
“Sure. Please call me Mabel.”
“I’m calling in response to the e-mail which you sent my director of surveillance. You were rather blunt in your assessment of how we are handling this situation.”
Mabel liked the chief’s choice of words. Tony had worked for Running Bear before, and had said the chief was as honest as the day was long. “You have a dealer who has been caught on videotape using known cheating techniques. The fact that this dealer is still working for you is absolutely shocking.”
There was a pause on the other end. Mabel liked how her response had come out. Not too harsh or prickly. And calling their inaction shocking was a nice touch.
“I have shared your e-mail with the elders of our tribe,” Running Bear said. “The elders have final say in these matters. They have asked if you would be willing to come to the casino this evening, and explain your reasoning. You will be compensated for your time, if you choose to accept.”
Something dropped in Mabel’s stomach. Go over to the casino? Talk to the elders? She hadn’t spoken to a roomful of people since highschool.
“Well, I don’t —”
“I should tell you that I am in agreement of your assessment of the situation,” he said, “and would like to see this dealer terminated.”
“You would?”
“Yes.”
“I don’t mean to be rude,” Mabel said, “but if the elders of your tribe won’t listen to you, what makes you think they’ll listen to me?”
“The elders don’t believe a crime has been committed. You make a case in your e-mail that a crime has been committed since the dealer broke the rules of play, which constitutes a breach of trust. I need to hammer this point home, with your help.”
Mabel considered what Running Bear was asking. Because the Micanopys were a sovereign nation, they ran their casinos by their own rules, and not the state’s or the federal government’s. These rules weren’t as strict as other casinos, and as a result, not as good. Running Bear needed help; otherwise, he’d have unscrupulous dealers stealing him blind.