Jackpot

Chapter 18

Valentine’s investigation had hit a wall. Karen Farmer had told him a lot, but nothing that would lead him to tracking down the crooked gaming control agent. His case was stalled. He needed to talk to Bronco if he wanted it to move forward.

He drove into downtown Reno with his son, and checked into the Peppermill. It was an old joint, and one of his favorites. The place had started out as a restaurant, and gained fame for the giant fruit dishes it served at meals. That had led to a hotel being built, and then a casino. The rest, as they say, was history.

He and his son were given adjoining rooms. Gerry came into his room, and they went out onto the balcony and stared at the skyline. The sun had set, and the desert was starting to cool down, the sky dotted with stars and passing jets.

Gerry lit up a cigarette, handed it to his father.

“Take a puff before you have a stroke.”

Valentine took the cigarette and stuck it in his mouth.

“That girl in the psych ward really got you worked up, didn’t she?”

Valentine puffed on the cigarette. Talking to Karen Farmer had put him in a funk. She was a decent kid, yet somehow Bronco had corrupted her, her husband as well. It was the one part of this puzzle he didn’t get. Decent people didn’t become thieves at the drop of the hat. Yet, Karen had done it, and so had Lucy Price. He passed the cigarette back to his son.

“She sure did,” he said.

His cell phone vibrated. Caller ID said it was Bill.

“What’s up?” Valentine answered.

“We just tracked down Kyle Garrow,” Bill said.

“Let me guess. You put an illegal trace on his cell phone.”

“I didn’t say that.”

“Yes, you did. Where is he?”

“Garrow’s at a strip club called The Pink Pony, waiting for the Asian to show up so he can do the exchange. One of my men is watching him.”

“You need to arrest him, Bill.”

“I can’t arrest him until the exchange goes down. Garrow hasn’t broken any laws.”

“Yes, he has. He lied to the cops about his whereabouts.”

“You want to arrest a lawyer for lying? That’s a good one.”

“I’m not auditioning for a comedy club. Garrow lied to buy time for Bronco. That makes him Bronco’s accomplice. You need to drag his sorry ass in.”

Arresting a lawyer was serious business, even if the lawyer was pond scum. Bill knew that as well as anyone, and said, “How about if I pick you up, and we arrest him together?”

“Now you’re talking,” Valentine said.

Kyle Garrow had been a dreamer and a schemer all his life. He envisioned himself a master criminal, but didn’t have the spine to really break the law. So he’d become a criminal defense attorney instead. By representing criminals, he stayed close to the action, and felt like he knew the score. He’d represented some of the worst scum bags society had to offer — bank robbers, jewel thieves, casino cheats — and learned something new from every one of them.

Take Bronco Marchese. Bronco had learned how to rip off slot machines from a GCB agent. The problem was, the secret was useless to Bronco. But Bronco was smart, and told Garrow to shop the secret around. There had to be someone out there who could use such a secret.

Garrow had put the word out, and within a few days, gotten a phone call. To his surprise, the call did not come from any of the known syndicates that bankrolled criminal enterprises. It came from a Triad boss in Macau.

The Triad boss had made Garrow a unique offer. His gang was running a devious Pai Gow scam in Macau’s casinos. The scam was foolproof, and the player always won. Was Garrow interested in trading Bronco’s slot scam for the Pai Gow scam? If so, the Triad Boss would send a man to do an exchange.

It had sounded like the kind of money-making opportunity that Garrow had been looking for. He had told the Triad boss yes, knowing that Bronco would agree. The Triad boss had said he’d send his man immediately.

Garrow had hung up the phone with dollar signs in his eyes. He had always been an opportunist, and he decided that he would turn the tables on Bronco the first opportunity he got, and go out on his own with the Pai Gow scam.

Garrow was feeling the champagne when Xing entered the strip club. Xing was a shade under six foot, thin as a rail, with dark bangs that hung lifelessly on his forehead. He wore a sullen expression on his unshaven face, and looked like a punk. Garrow waved him over to his table.

“Have a seat.”

Xing pulled up a chair. A topless waitress hit the table like a shark, and explained the two drink cover. Xing ordered a Heineken, while Garrow got another glass of bubbly. Xing gave him a hard look when she was gone.

“What’s wrong?” Garrow asked.

“You’re drunk,” Xing said.

“Mind your own fucking business.”

Xing grew silent. His face was a blank, and it was hard to get a read on him. They watched a couple of girls get naked on the stage beneath a strobe light. The waitress returned with their drinks. Xing asked her if they served food.

“What are you in the mood for?” she asked.

“Steak. Rare.”

“Coming right up.”

“I’d like some bread.”

The waitress left. Xing took a long swallow of his beer. He acted like he had ice cubes running through his veins. Garrow downed his champagne and slapped the empty glass on the table. The moment of truth had arrived. He was ready to stop being a five-hundred dollar an hour hired mouth, and start being a player.

“Do you have the Pai Gow secret?” Garrow asked.

“Yes. Do you have the slot machine secret?”

“It’s in my wallet. You go first.”

Xing removed two Pai Gow dominos from his shirt pocket, and handed them to the lawyer. The dominos looked perfectly normal. Pai Gow was a simple game where the player attempted to beat the house using the values of the dominos he was dealt.

“What’s the secret?” Garrow asked.

Xing said something in Chinese, then started laughing.

“Say it in English,” Garrow snapped.

“Red, not black,” Xing replied.

“What the hell does that mean?”

“Your client will know.”

“Fuck my client. I want you to tell me.”

“I don’t know what it means. I’m just the messenger. Do you have the slot machine secret? That was our deal.”

The waitress brought the bread to the table, then left. The champagne had gone to Garrow’s head, and the club was starting to spin. His dreams were going up in flames. Without thinking, he said, “I’m not giving you the slot machine secret until you explain how the Pai Gow scam works.”

“I just told you — I don’t know what it means.”

“Then call your boss in Macau, and ask him.”

“That would not be wise.”

“Call him anyway. Otherwise, I’m not giving you the slot secret, pal.”

Xing’s face hardened. Taking out his cell phone, he punched in a long number, and spoke rapidly in Chinese to his boss in Macau while looking menacingly across the table at the lawyer. Garrow found the courage to smile.

“My boss wants to talk to you.”

“Put him on,” Garrow said.

Xing rose from his chair and handed Garrow the cell phone. The lawyer put the phone to his ear, and heard a dial tone. It was a trick, and he stared at the small bread knife clutched in Xing’s other hand.

Valentine blew past the bouncer of the Pink Pony with Bill on his heels. Traffic had been heavy, and it had taken ten minutes to drive to the club. His eyes canvassed the darkened interior. A lone figure sat at a table in the VIP lounge.

“Is that Garrow?” Valentine asked.

“That’s him,” Bill said.

“Where’s the Asian?”

“I don’t see him.”

“Where your guy?”

“I don’t see him, either.”

They crossed the noisy club and entered the VIP lounge. Bill had clipped his badge to his lapel, and patrons were getting out of their way as fast as they could. Valentine stiffened as they reached the lawyer’s table. Garrow was trying to remove a small knife stuck in his shoulder, and was a bloody mess.

“Help me,” the lawyer gasped.

Valentine pulled out the knife, and Garrow screamed. Folding a napkin, he made the lawyer hold it against the gaping wound.

“What happened? Where’s the Asian?” Valentine asked.

“Who told you—”

“Answer the damn question.”

“The Asian double-crossed me.”

“Did he get the slot secret from you?”

“Yeah.”

Valentine checked Garrow’s pockets, just to be sure. His wallet and cell phone were gone. The Asian had stabbed and robbed him, and no one inside the club had bothered to jump in. A waitress appeared, and tapped Valentine on the shoulder.

“His tab’s still open. You going to settle for him?”

“In your dreams,” Valentine said.

He looked around the lounge for Bill. His friend stood in the corner, shaking his head. Hurrying over, he saw a man lying on the floor next to a broken Heineken bottle. His throat was slit from ear-to-ear.

“That your guy?” Valentine asked.

“Afraid so,” Bill replied.