Jackpot

Chapter 54

Everybody died differently. Valentine had learned that the hard way as a cop. He’d seen plenty of people pass on to the great craps game in the sky, and each departure was a little different and carried some signature of that person’s time here on earth.

The Asian with the bullet in his back died with a thin smile on his face. Valentine had gotten to him first, and had knelt down, and pulled the Asian’s head into his lap. Even though he didn’t know the guy from Adam, he thought it was the least he could do.

“Bronco’s getting away,” Gerry said, sounding panicked.

“Let the cops run him down,” Valentine said.

“But Pop—

“He’s got a gun, Gerry. Stay here.”

His son reluctantly agreed. Valentine gazed down into the Asian’s face. He tried to remember the guy’s name? Was it Xing or Zing or Bling? He couldn’t recall. He looked like a decent enough sort, but most people did when they died, all the bad things they’d done seemed to seep out of them, and just the core remained, until that too was gone. The Asian’s eyes fluttered and his smile grew. What was that about?

“Anything I can do?” Valentine asked.

The Asian shook his head, and then he was no more.

One of the cops got a blanket from inside the Nugget, and laid it over the dead man’s body. Valentine stood up and crossed himself. Then he grabbed Gerry and went looking for Bill, who was handling the search for Bronco on Fremont Street. They’d caught a glimpse of their fugitive as he’d run away; he had disguised himself by shaving his head, and would not be hard to pick out of a crowd.

The Fremont Street Experience was still in full swing, with laser lights flashing across the steel canopy accompanied by blaring disco music that was a few seconds out of sync with the rest of the show. The Experience normally drew a good crowd, and today was no exception. Thousands of tourists were packed on the street, standing shoulder-to-shoulder with their plastic cups of beer and glazed expressions on their faces.

“Where did all these people come from?” Gerry asked.

“This is Vegas, Gerry.”

“I know, but this is unreal.”

They sifted their way through the throng. Soon they could barely move. Gerry was right — the crowd was huge, and seemed to be growing by the minute. There was no sign of Bill or his posse, although he could have been a few feet away, and Valentine wouldn’t have spotted him. They reached the end of the Experience where Fremont met Las Vegas Boulevard, and Valentine pulled his son out of the crowd to a secluded spot beneath a withered palm tree where a homeless man lay sleeping.

“Look at all those cars,” Gerry said.

Valentine followed his son’s gaze. The boulevard was jammed with vehicles, none of which were moving. An irate motorist honked their horn. Within seconds, everyone was making their displeasure known, the situation spiraling out of control.

“What do you think’s going on?” Gerry asked.

“I don’t know.”

“Let’s ask someone.”

Gerry had a knack of being able to talk to complete strangers. He jogged over to one of the stuck vehicles, and struck up a conversation with the driver, a white-haired man traveling with his wife. The driver handed Gerry a sheet of paper, and Gerry thanked him and shook his hand. Then, his son jogged back.

“It’s some kind of promotion,” his son explained.

“Let me see.”

Gerry handed him the sheet of paper. It was an e-mail addressed to Harold and Lorraine Duffy, its sender THE LAS VEGAS CONVENTION & VISITOR’S BUREAU. The print was huge, and practically leapt off the page.

Dear Video Poker Enthusiast — Never let it be said that money doesn’t grow on trees! At three P.M. today, money will grow on trees in the form of five million dollar jackpots, payable to five lucky people playing a video poker machine at a Las Vegas casino. As any video poker player knows, the casinos are required to pay a certain number of jackpots, or risk losing their licenses. This afternoon, five lucky players will win a jackpot, courtesy of this wonderful rule. So, grab your honey and your money, and head to your favorite casino. Remember to do the following when you play:

1) Bet the maximum number of coins the machine allows

2) Be sure you are playing at 3:00 P.M.

3) Be at a Las Vegas casino.

Have fun and good luck!

Yours truly,

The Las Vegas Convention & Visitors Bureau

Valentine smelled a rat. A big, giant rat. Still holding the email, he crossed the street with his son and entered Fitzgeralds, one of the older casinos on Fremont Street. The joint was mobbed, and he had to push his way through the front doors.

He pushed his way to a bank of video poker machines. Every seat at every machine was taken, and there were lines of people standing behind each seat. He approached several of the people on line, and held the email in front of their faces.

“Did you get one of these emails?” Valentine asked.

The people on line said they had. He showed the email to the people in the seats, just to be sure. They’d all received the email as well.

The noise inside the casino was too loud to think. Valentine went back outside with his son, and stood beneath the withered palm tree. The homeless man was still sound asleep.

“Who do you think’s behind this email?” his son asked.

“Fred Friendly and his gang,” Valentine replied. “The convention and visitors bureau does email promotions to bring customers into town. Fred and his gang got their hands on the data bases, and sent this letter to them.”

“You think they’re trying to skip town, and this is their smokescreen?”

Valentine glanced at the email clutched in his hand. The letter hadn’t been written on a whim. Someone had spent time constructing it.

“I think it’s real,” Valentine said.

“You do?”

“Friendly and his gang have a score to settle with Governor Smoltz. I’m guessing they rigged a bunch of video poker machines to pay off jackpots, and planned to send out that e-mail if the law ever caught up to them. When they heard that Bill ordered the Universal slot machines taken out of commission, they put the plan into effect.”

Valentine’s cell phone was vibrating. It was Bill, and he answered it.

“Bronco’s gone,” Bill said.

“Forget Bronco,” Valentine said. “I’ve got some really bad news for you.”