“Anybody here named Carmichael?” she called into the bar.
Someone said yes, and picked up the phone. “Hello?”
“Guess who,” Bronco said.
“Tommy Pico? Where are you?”
“I’m nearby. There’s a pay phone across the street at the gas station,” Bronco said. “I’ll call you there in a minute.”
“What the hell are you trying to pull?”
“I wanted to make sure you came by yourself. You can never be too careful.”
“Don’t screw with me, Pico. I’m warning you.”
“Goodbye.”
Bronco killed the connection. He retrieved the pay phone’s number from his cell phone’s memory bank, and hit Send. Hearing the call go through, he placed the phone down on the roof, then picked up his rifle, and stared through the telescopic lens at the Instant Replay’s front door.
Carmichael came out of the restaurant a few moments later. He could have shot him right then, only he’d learned that it was damn hard to hit a moving target, especially at this range. Carmichael crossed the street and entered the phone booth. He looked around suspiciously, then snatched up the receiver. Bronco picked up his cell phone, and stuck it into the crook of his neck.
“Hello?” Carmichael said suspiciously.
“Hey,” Bronco said.
“This better not be a trick.”
“No tricks. I want to ask you something before I give you the money.”
“You’re pushing it, Pico.”
“Who else did you tell about me?”
“Why? Does it matter?”
“It does to me.”
“I didn’t tell a soul. I didn’t think anyone would care. Now, where’s the money?”
“Reach beneath the phone. I left a present for you.”
Through the lenses, he watched Carmichael stick his hand underneath the pay phone, and tear away the wad of money. Carmichael was no fool, and he pulled off the rubber band, and saw the deception.
“You lousy bastard,” he said.
“See yah.”
He squeezed the trigger, then felt the rifle’s sharp recoil. The plexiglass wall of the phone booth exploded into a thousand tiny pieces. The bullet had blown off the front plate of the machine, causing hundreds of coins to spill out. Carmichael spun around, and started to run, his body covered in broken glass.
He took aim and fired again. Carmichael had reached the curb. His body twisted violently as a giant blood stain appeared in the center of his shirt. He halted momentarily, then somehow found the strength to start walking across the street toward his car in the restaurant lot. In the middle of the street he stopped, and fell to his knees.
Carmichael looked up into the cloudless sky. The bills were still clutched in his hands. His fingers opened, and they fell and were picked up by the wind. He pitched forward and lay motionless on the pavement.
Bronco lowered the rifle. Served the bastard right.
“Daddy!”
Bronco felt his heart start to race. The voice had come from the vicinity of the restaurant. He lifted the rifle, and found the child through the lenses. A boy of maybe ten, with cute blond bangs and an iPhone dangling around his neck. He had jumped out of the Mercedes, and was running toward his father’s lifeless body.
“Daddy! Daddy!”
The boy knelt down and tried to gather his father in his arms. He started to scream, his youthful wail ripping into Bronco’s very soul.
What have I done?Bronco thought.
Bronco thought he was going to be sick. He jumped off the roof and tossed the rifle into the trunk of his Lexus. Normally, he would have cleaned up after himself, and made sure nothing was left behind that might lead the police to him. But those were the farthest thoughts from his mind. All he could think about was the boy, and the fact that he’d just seen his old man die. He drove back to the Mandalay Bay hearing police sirens going in the opposite direction, filling the air with panic.
He walked into the Mandalay Bay five minutes later, still feeling sick. He needed to lie down, and headed for the bank of elevators to go upstairs to his room. A brightly colored parrot in a cage in the lobby screeched at him. Someone said, “Mr. Pico?” and he went to the concierge desk where an attractive young woman stood.
“What’s up.”
She held a ticket in her hand. “The Loopers are playing in the House of Blues tonight. Front row ticket, compliments of the house.”
He waved her off. The image of the kid holding his dead father in his arms was stuck in his head like a bad dream. He couldn’t get rid of it, no matter how hard he tried. He went to the elevators and pulled out his room key. Across the way were a bank of glittering slot machines with yellow police tape stretched across several of the machines. A bellman walked by, and he stopped him.
“What’s wrong with those slot machines?”
“A group of gaming agents shut them down,” the bellman explained.
“Any idea why?
“I guess they’re not working right. Have a nice day.”
Bronco went over to check the slot machines out. The manufacturer’s plate was usually found on the left side. Kneeling, he stuck his head between two of the machines, and read the plate. It was made by Universal. Then he checked out the others. They were made by Universal as well.
Shit.
Going upstairs to his suite, he sat on the couch, and stared into space. The slot machine scam was worthless now that the police knew about it. He could only hope that Xing hadn’t heard, and that he’d be able to make the exchange before they found out.
If he didn’t get the Pai Gow scam, his cheating days were over. And then what was he going to do? Live a normal life? He didn’t know what that meant.
He went into the bathroom and washed his face, then stared into the mirror at the black hole that was his soul. He’d wanted to be normal once. Falling in love with Marie had done that to him, and having a kid. But it hadn’t lasted. His wife had gone to jail, and the court had thrown Mikey into a foster home. That was the extent of what he knew about the normal life. It didn’t last.
He needed the Pai Gow scam more than he’d realized. But what if Xing refused to hand it over? Then he’d have to take it, even if it meant killing him.
He went to the window, and stared down at the wave machine in the hotel pool. He’d never killed two men in one day, and supposed there was a first time for everything.
Chapter 51
Gerry walked out of the Acropolis into the blinding sunlight. He’d been inside the Acropolis less than an hour, yet had already lost track of the time. If casinos were good at anything, it was making a person forget the real world. He spotted his father parked next to the valet stand in the rental. He hopped into the passenger seat, and they peeled out with a rubbery squeal, and were soon heading north on the strip.
His father drove without speaking. There was a faraway look in his eyes, and Gerry assumed he’d retreated to that place that he went to when life got him down.
“Rough time at the prison?”
His father nodded. Lying on the seat was a snapshot of Lucy Price. The woman was a bad news buffet, yet his father still cared deeply for her. Gerry wasn’t surprised; his father hadn’t abandoned him, and he’d been screwing up his entire life.
“I’m sorry, Pop.”
“Thanks,” he mumbled.
They drove through the canyon of gigantic casinos that lined both sides of the strip. Gerry guessed they were going to meet up with Bill Higgins, who was with the police stake out team on Fremont Street in old downtown.
“Lucy identified the ringleader of the gang,” his father said, breaking the silence. “It’s Fred Friendly, the head of the Electronic Systems Division.”
“You sound surprised.”
“I am. Fred’s got twenty-five years on the clock, and is up for retirement in a few years. Why decide now to start stealing? It doesn’t make sense.”
“Yes, it does. Nick Nicocropolis told me.”
His father braked at a light. They had passed the Wynn and its sister property, Encore, and the strip had started to turn seedy. His father waited for him to continue.