Bronco sat down on the toilet seat. He had no idea who this clown was, not that it really mattered. He’d been made, and his cover was blown.
“What do you want?”
“Let me ask you a question, Tom, or whatever the hell your name is. How do you think the Mandalay Bay will react when they find out you’re not a high-roller, and that you lied to them to get special treatment? Think they’ll call the cops?”
“I said, what do you want?”
“I do. I think they’ll call the cops and haul your ass to jail.”
“One more time. What do you want?”
“I just got wiped out at the blackjack tables,” Carmichael said. “Give me five grand to keep my mouth shut, and you’ll never hear from me again.”
“Are you trying to blackmail me?”
“Call it what you want. I just need some money to tide me over.”
“If I agree, will you promise to leave me alone?”
“You bet.”
He’d been in Vegas for less than an hour, and somebody was already shaking him down. He had no other choice but to deal with the guy, and he said, “There’s a restaurant on the south end of Las Vegas Boulevard called the Instant Replay. Meet me there at nine o’clock, and I’ll give you the money.”
“Make it noon. I’m taking my kid to the pool in the morning.”
“You’re here with your family?”
“My son. I’ve got visitation rights this week.”
“Noon it is.”
“See you then, Tommy,” Carmichael said, laughing softly.
Bronco killed the call and punched the wall hard enough to crack a tile. Joey Carmichael was a problem, and he had more than enough of those right now. He needed to take Carmichael out of the picture, or risk seeing his life go up in flames. His meeting with Xing would have to wait. He called the Asian back.
“Change in plans,” Bronco said.
Chapter 46
Gerry couldn’t sleep. It was nearly dawn, and he’d been doing ceiling patrol for hours. Finally he pulled away the sheets and hopped out of bed.
He went to the window and parted the blinds. The harsh neon of Reno looked sad in the early morning light. Every sign promised a winner, yet somehow everyone went home broke. He’d been gambling since he was a kid, and never had a problem with it. Now, he did. Gambling now seemed like a huge waste of money. Maybe it had something to do with having a baby, and all the responsibilities that came with raising a family. Or maybe he was finally growing up.
A sign on the casino across the street advertised nickel slots. How desperate was that? He put on his clothes with his back to the window.
Gerry realized something was bothering him. He decided it was this case. Something about it wasn’t adding up. He thought back to his father’s comment about him being able to think like a crook, and how that was a plus in their line of work. Leave it to his old man to see the silver lining in his wasted youth.
He thought back to the bar in Brooklyn he used to own. He’d run the bookmaking business out of the backroom. Running a criminal enterprise had taken a lot of work. He’d had to keep his customers happy, make sure the books were in order, and stay on top of the odds for the different games that he took wagers on. He often got to work at eight in the morning, and didn’t quit until midnight. During football season, his hours were sometimes longer.
Then there had been the money. He’d made a decent buck as a bookie, and dealing with the cash had been a real chore. He couldn’t just go to the bank, deposit his ill-gotten gains, and not expect someone from the IRS to give him a call. He’d had to launder his profits and keep them hidden from Uncle Sam. That had taken time and a certain amount of ingenuity, made all the more difficult by the fact that he’d had to keep everything a secret. Whoever had said that being a crook was easy had never been in the business. It was hard work, no different than any other job.
That was when Gerry realized what was bothering him.
The crooked gaming agent was running a sophisticated scam. Hundreds of jackpots had been stolen across the state of Nevada. That had taken a lot of time, and plenty of leg work. Then there was the cash to deal with. Millions of dollars had been stolen, and laundered in some fashion. That had taken time as well. It was inconceivable that an agent could do his job, and pull off a scam like this.
“Holy crap,” he said aloud.
The smoke had cleared, and he saw the picture clearly. The agent had help. Lots of it. There was no other way he could pull this off for as long as he had.
His father needed to hear this. Gerry went to the door that connected their rooms and rapped loudly. It swung open, and his father filled the doorway. He was dressed and his packed suitcase lay on the bed. Bill Higgins stood in the bedroom as well. He was the last person Gerry wanted to see right now.
“Get packed. We’re heading back to Vegas,” his father said.
“We are?”
“The police have been tracking Kyle Garrow’s cell phone. They picked up the signal from Fremont Street in old downtown. They think Bronco went to Vegas to do the exchange. Time’s a wasting. Let’s go.”
Gerry hesitated. He needed to tell his father what he knew. Only he couldn’t do it with Bill around. Under his breath he said, “We need to talk, Pop.”
Their eyes met, and his father realized something was wrong.
“What’s the matter?” his father asked.
Gerry glanced at Bill. Bill was hanging on every word.
“I’ll tell you later,” Gerry said under his breath.
“So tell me, what is a face reader?” Running Bear asked.
They were driving north on Highway 19 in the chief’s pick-up truck, Mabel holding onto the handle above her door for dear life. To say they were driving fast down the busy eight-lane highway was an understatement. They were flying.
“Do you always drive so fast?” she asked.
“Only when I’m excited. Am I scaring you?”
“A little. Why are you excited?”
“Because I learn something new every time I’m with you.”
The chief had a wonderful way with words. Not too glib, not too smooth, just the right amount of flattery. Best of all, he was sincere about it.
“I’ll explain. To make money playing poker, you have to have an advantage over your opponents. Gamblers call this having an edge. All the top pros have an edge.”
“Makes sense.”
“Some have photographic memories which let them remember every hand their opponent has played. That’s an edge. Others are math wizards, and can do rapid calculations to determine the odds of the cards they’re holding, and also something called pot odds. That’s also an edge. The third group are face readers. They have the god-given ability to read people’s faces. They know when they’re opponents are bluffing, or when they’re strong. It’s why so many players wear sunglasses when they play.”
“I remember my grandfather telling me that words could trick you, but never a man’s face,” Running Bear said.
“Your grandfather was one hundred percent correct,” Mabel said. “ The woman we’re about to meet is named Mira, and she’s a face reader. Tony spotted her playing poker in a casino one night. He uses her when he’s working on a tough case.”
“Uses her how?”
“Mira can look at a photo, and tell you if someone is hiding something. ”
“This I’ve got to see,” Running Bear said.
He sounded like a bubbling kid. Mabel patted him on the arm, and saw him smile.
They drove into the next county to an area called Keystone. It wasn’t on most maps, and there wasn’t really a town, just dozens of fresh-water lakes surrounded by Florida-style cracker houses built to withstand just about anything nature had to offer.
Mabel pointed them down an unmarked dirt road where a clapboard house sat at the very end. She’d been here before, and explained the drill to Running Bear: Stay in the car, honk the horn three times, then wait for someone to come out the front door. No matter what, do not get out, she warned him.