Ten minutes later, she shuffled down the sidewalk to Tony’s house with a steaming cup of coffee in her hand. The humidity was starting to drop, the mornings feeling downright pleasant. She’d discovered that people from Florida didn’t like winter, and considered anything below seventy degrees cold. Back in her day, men went shirtless in thirty degree weather, and shoveled snow in their tee-shirts.
She entered Tony’s house and disarmed the security system, then went to the study. Lying in the fax machine tray were the files of seven gaming agents Tony had just sent. She removed the files, sat down in front of Tony’s computer, and got onto the Internet.
She typed in the homepage for the Nevada Gaming Control Board’s intranet. The GCB used an intranet to communicate with its employees, which could only be accessed through a special password. Because Tony did so much work for the GCB, he’d been given the password, which she now used to gain access.
A warning appeared on the page. Non-employees of the GCB were not allowed on the site. Anyone caught hacking the site would be punished.
“I’m just going to pretend I didn’t see that,” Mabel said.
She went to the Personnel Section, which contained a files for all nine hundred agents in the GCB. Each file contained the agent’s bio, and a recent head shot.
Mabel pulled up the head shots of the seven suspected agents, and printed their photos on a color laser printer. Putting the photos into an envelope, she walked out of the study with her coffee cup, reset the security system, and locked the front door.
She headed home. As she neared her house, she stiffened. A beat-up pick-up was parked in her driveway, a large man at her front door. She felt her heartbeat quicken. It was Running Bear. She had kissed him last night, and that was all. But it had been enough to tell her that there was something real between them.
“Good morning,” the chief said, coming off the stoop.
Mabel had left the house without makeup, and couldn’t remember if she’d brushed her hair. The bride of Frankenstein returns.
“Hello.”
“How are you this morning?”
“I’m well. What brings you out so early?”
“I spoke with the police a short while ago,” Running Bear said, holding his cowboy hat in his hand. “The man who attacked you last night and our crooked poker player are brothers. There is a third brother, whom the police cannot account for. They think it would be wise if you stayed someplace else until this man is found.”
“Do you really think he’ll try to hurt me?”
“I would hate to find out,” Running Bear said.
His answer made Mabel smile. She liked the fact that instead of calling, Running Bear had come over to tell her in person. “I’m doing a job for my boss,” she said. “Once I’m done, I’ll take your advice, and lay low.”
“Will you be going out?”
“Yes. I need to see an unusual lady in the next county.”
Running Bear did not seem comfortable with her decision, and Mabel guessed he didn’t like the idea of her being on the road by herself.
“You can drive me, if you’d like. I’d be happy for the company.”
“Of course,” Running Bear said. “May I ask who this person is?”
“She’s a face reader,” Mabel said.
“What is that?”
Mabel’s eyes twinkled. For someone who ran a casino, there was an awful lot the chief didn’t know. That was good, because it gave them plenty to talk about.
“I’ll be right back,” she said, and went inside to get ready.
Chapter 45
Bronco took his time driving to Vegas.
Normally, he liked to race. It was not unusual for him to drive over a hundred miles per hour on the highway. But then outside of Reno he’d remembered something. Throughout the Nevada desert there were hidden surveillance cameras whose sole purpose was to photograph speeding motorists, and compare their faces to data bases of known criminals. The cameras were everywhere — in signs, trees, even road art. Avoiding them was next to impossible. It was better to drive slow, which was exactly what he’d done.
At four A.M. he pulled into the deserted valet stand of the Mandalay Bay Resort & Casino on the south end of the Strip. The place was a tomb, and he stood next to his car, and waited for a uniformed attendant before turning over his keys.
He checked in at the front desk. The Mandalay Bay’s theme was straight out of an old Tarzan movie, with screeching macaws and parrots in the lobby, and the staff decked out in camel-colored safari clothes. He didn’t have to give a credit card to the smiling receptionist, just a fake driver’s license that said he was Thomas Pico. And because Thomas Pico was a preferred customer — i.e. a whale — his entire stay would be comped. He took the elevator to his penthouse suite. It was high-roller heaven, and contained three spacious rooms with marble floors, leather furniture, a well-stocked bar, and a spectacular view of the famous Shark Reef swimming pool. Somebody once said that the best things in Las Vegas were free, only nobody could afford them.
He called room service and ordered a bottle of Moet and lobster thermidor, then took off his clothes and put on the terrycloth robe he found hanging in the closet.
The food came a half hour later. He ate in front of the picture window in the living room. To think he’d been locked up that morning, and now look where he was. He felt like a king.
When he was finished, he decided to call Xing. He’d tried calling the Asian from the road, but got no answer. He hoped Xing wasn’t trying to screw with him.
He went into the master bathroom and shut the door. It was befitting a Roman emperor, and had a marble tub and its own steam room. He turned on the water so there was plenty of noise, and called Xing on his cell phone. High-roller suites were often bugged so the casino could keep tabs on their most important customers, and he didn’t want anyone working for the casino to overhear his conversation.
The call went through. This time, Xing picked up.
“Who’s this?” the Asian asked.
“It’s Bronco. I just got into town. You ready to make the exchange?”
“Yeah. I was watching you on TV. You made the national news.”
“How did I look?”
Xing laughed. “The people on the TV said you were the devil.”
Bronco glanced at his reflection in the bathroom mirror. Steam from the shower was swirling around him. He wasthe Devil. “Say when, and I’ll be there.”
“I’m staying at the El Cordova on Fremont. Room 28. Meet me in two hours.”
“See you then.”
Bronco walked out of the bathroom with a smile on his face. In two hours, he would have the Pai Gow scam, and the ability to rip off any casino in the country whenever he wanted. More importantly, he’d be able to start his life over.
The phone next to the bed started to ring. It was nearly six A.M., and he wondered who’d be calling at this hour. He decided not to answer it, and after a while the ringing stopped. Then, it started again. In anger, he snatched up the phone.
“Hello,” Bronco snarled.
“Is this Tom Pico?” a man’s voice said.
Bronco froze. No one knew he was in Vegas except the girl at the front desk.
“Who the hell is this?”
“Joey Carmichael. We met a couple of months ago playing blackjack in the casino. I just saw you check into the hotel. Guess you don’t remember me.”
“Afraid not.”
“Well, I remember you.”
Bronco didn’t like the direction the conversation was headed. He took the phone into the bathroom and turned the shower back on in case anyone was listening.
“What’s that supposed to mean?” Bronco asked.
“We had a couple of pops at the bar,” Carmichael said. “You told me you were in the film business, had a studio in Santa Monica called Jackpot Productions, even invited me to drop by when I was in town. I was in Santa Monica a few weeks ago, and I looked you up. Guess what I found out? There’s no such person as Thomas Pico, or Jackpot Productions. You’re a phony.”