by T C Miller
Rick shrugged. “Don’t know…making small talk, I guess. It’s not like I’m breaking the law, or anything, right? So, long story short…what’s wrong with talking about it?”
“Nothing, I guess,” Jason answered. “I’ve actually thought about doing something like it myself. I mean, come on now, who hasn’t? Haven’t you ever wondered what it’d be like to knock off an armored car? You know, just like in a movie. An organized team of guys swoop down with every second planned out in stopwatch precision…Black hoods over their faces and high-power weapons in their hands. It’d be a snap, unless, of course, one of the guards gets the drop on you…Then, things could go south in a hurry. Sure, I’ve thought about it…just never bothered talking about it ‘til now.”
He paused and looked around at the others who sat with mouths half-open, staring at him.
He smiled sheepishly. “Whoa, where’d that all come from, anyway? Guess I got a little carried away…”
The others laughed and it was easy to tell Jason was expressing thoughts they all had at one time or another.
Rick rubbed his hands together and stood. “I think it’s time for another beer…Anybody?” Bud and Jack took him up on the offer. He stopped on his way to the small refrigerator behind the bar and turned back to the group.
“Look, guys, I’m not trying to start any arguments or anything…Just thought you might find my little plan interesting.”
“Little plan…Wait, you’ve actually got a plan?” Jason spoke for the group.
“Matter of fact, I do…Even made a few notes. Anybody want to hear about it?”
The others nodded in agreement. Why not? It looked like the card playing was over for the night and none of them wanted to go home early. It might be fun to hear what Rick had to say. They settled back, ready to listen…
BART WINFIELDS HOME
RANCHO CORDOVA, CA.
Nora made a vain attempt to return to the pleasant dream she had been enjoying before the phone jarred her awake. She left the pleasant tropical beach locale to have the brief conversation with Bart before he left and then rolled over. Unfortunately, the sparkling blue water was replaced with blood that was splattered on the street and walls in a back alley in London.
The effort to force the terrifying thoughts away failed and she kept returning to the last covert mission she and Bart had done for the White House.
In spite of Bart’s assurances it would be the last time they ever subjected themselves to that level of danger, she knew the dark world of international espionage would somehow hunt them down and draw them back in.
Although there was no indication of involvement from their former enemies, her intuition told her that there was more to the attack on the base than local criminals seeking a quick score.
She sat up in bed, reached for the organizer she kept on the night stand and dialed a number for their old contact on the National Security Council. Half expecting to intrude into his sleep, she was only mildly surprised when the voice that answered was crisp and concise.
“Hello, Jules, it’s Nora Winfield…hope I didn’t wake you…”
“Hardly, Nora, I’ve been up for an hour reading intel briefs…How are you and how is that rapscallion you’re married to?”
“Fine, thank you…although at the moment I’m not sure what’s going on. There’s been some kind of an incident…”
“Before you continue, remember this is not a secure line. Yes, I am aware of what is happening. Can you get to a secure line?”
“In less than an hour. Are the events connected to our former work?”
“Difficult to ascertain at this point, which is why we should talk on a secure line.”
“I’ll call you at this number as soon as I can.”
She hung up the phone and tried to arrange her thoughts. Bart was one of the best intelligence assets she had ever worked with. So much so, that she felt comfortable in marrying him. He was a legend among international operatives and would keep her safe—no matter what happened.
Her job would be to gather information needed to analyze the threat and ascertain how it affected them. A quick shower and she would be on her way to the local office of the CIA. Fortunately, it was only a few minutes away. She headed for the bathroom.
JASON’S HOME
RANCHO CORDOVA, CA
“This is probably gonna sound a little weird, but yeah, I think I’d kinda like to hear this so-called plan of yours,” Bill said. “I mean, I may be a little crazy or bored, or maybe there’s something in the water…But, hell yeah, I’d like to hear what you have to say…You know, just for the sake of it…How about you guys? Anybody else wanna hear what he’s come up with?”
They nodded and shrugged and Jason said, “Okay, Rick, so why don’t you go ahead and tell us about your little plan. Bill’s right…Might be kind of interesting.”
They took a break to go to the bathroom and refill their drinks.
When they came back, Rick sat down at the table and cleared his throat. “Let me just start by saying that if you wanted to get away with a whole lot of money from the Tahoe casinos, it really wouldn’t be all that hard…for the right bunch of guys, that is…Let me explain how I’d do it with a little help from my friends and what’s involved. Then, make up your own mind about whether or not it’d work.”
The card playing was put on hold indefinitely and within a few minutes they were listening intently. Rick laid out a plan that grabbed their imagination and touched something deep within each of them.
“I gotta admit, you’re right about a lotta stuff,” Bud offered. “You hear guys talking about it now and then over a few beers and lets face it, nobody likes the casinos takin’ their money. It’s just that most guys don’t have a clue what to do about it, and wouldn’t know diddly-squat about how to pull it off, even if they did.”
“We’re not the only ones thinking about it either,” Bill added. “Look at all the movies out there about robbing casinos and banks. Casinos may be legal, but just barely. They’re only there to take your money away from you and they do everything they can to keep the little guy down.”
“You’re right about that,” Jason offered. “Odds are stacked against you the minute you walk in the door…Be nice to have a little edge for a change.”
“Ain’t that the truth,” Bud commented. “I understand that they gotta win now and then to stay in business, but why do they have to take such a big cut?”
“Maybe that’s why there are guys who do cheat a little…
figuring the casinos take a whole lot more than they should.”
“You bet they do…You gotta have a leg up on ‘em just to keep their hands outta your pockets.”
“Question is, how do you go about getting the edge over them? What do you think, Rick?”
“I think it can be done…All it takes is teamwork and a little gear.”
“We got the team right here…Just needs a name.”
“How ‘bout Casino Cats?” Jason offered.
“Seriously? Sounds like a high school chess team.”
“What’s wrong with that?”
“Nothin’…’cept we’re supposed to be tough.”
“You got anything better?”
“I don’t know for sure…But it’s gotta be something that tells who we are.”
“Hey wait, I know,” Bill exclaimed. “How about the Thursday Night Mafia?”
“Well, we do meet every Thursday…And it’s gotta be something strong…”
“Everybody else like it?”
Heads nodded and the name stuck. A pizza delivery kept them going until well after midnight as they kicked the plan around, modifying and discussing it as they went.
“It’s kind of funny.” Jack Hamilton scooped salsa out of a cereal bowl with a tortilla chip and addressed the group, “Never thought about doing something like this, but now that I have, it’s kinda…Whadda they call it, liberating? Yeah, that’s it…Really frees you up.”
Bud paused from
his attack on a bag of sour cream and onion potato chips. “You’re so full of crap….Only thing that’d free you up’d be about a ton of laxative.”
The group laughed and Jack stopped with a chip halfway to his mouth. “Screw you! Whadda you know, anyway? You’re just another two-bit pipe wrench slinger.” Salsa dribbled down his chin and he wiped it off with his sleeve.
“Hey, I charge a hell of a lot more’n two bits…Besides I was just messin’ with you. Actually, I kinda know what you mean. I might’ve daydreamed about doing something like this after seeing something in a movie or on TV. But to actually go out and do it? Now, that’s a whole different ball game.”
Jason was sitting at the table with a plate of cold-cuts in one hand and a beer in the other. “You’re right, Bud, it is a whole different thing and I’m not sure it’s good. I mean, has anybody stopped to think about what will happen if we get caught? Anything could go wrong and if it does, we are in a world of hurt…Think about it, we could lose our security clearances and our jobs, to boot.”
He grimaced as bile rose up in the back of his throat. “On top of that, we could be facing a lot of time behind bars…and we’re not talking about one of those country club prisons, either. We could end up spending the rest of our lives doing hard time in the big house.”
Bud stopped laughing and leaned forward. “So friggin’ what? I don’t know about the rest of yous, but I’m ready for some adventure. Besides, Pressley, I’ve had just about enough of your constant whining. Every step of the way you’ve come across like some weak-kneed punk and I’m fed up to here with it. Nobody’s puttin’ a gun to your head, so quit your bitchin’ and make up your mind…You in, or out? I mean, that’s what it comes down to, ain’t it, paper-pusher?”
Jason started to stand, stopped, and sat back down with a sigh. “You’re absolutely right. I’m in, no matter what…Just saying, what with the security and all, there’s a chance we might get caught.”
“Yeah, and you can step off a curb and get hit by a bus,” Jack replied. “I’m with Bud…We can’t do this thing halfway. We gotta commit one hundred percent or it’ll go straight down the crapper. So shut up with any of this dumbass talk about getting caught, ‘cause it ain’t gonna happen.”
He jabbed his forefinger in the air for emphasis. “Besides, with all the gear Rick’s gonna get from his buddies, there ain’t no way we’re gonna get caught.
“Wait a minute…I thought this was just for fun. Sounds to me like you actually want to go through with it,” Jason replied.
“Sure, why not?”
“Jail, for one thing. Losing everything else, for another.”
“Jail? Are you back to that? We’d be first time offenders and like Rick says, most they’d give us is easy time in some minimum security joint and then parole our asses back into the real world. Little slap on the wrist and we start all over…Course, we don’t get caught and we’re fixed for life!”
“You’re missing my point, Jack. I’m not talking about the cops…I’m talking about the mob.”
It was Rick’s turn to join the conversation. “The mob? Are you serious? They got chased out of the casinos years ago with their tails tucked between their legs. Starting with the Kevauver Commission and down through the RICO Act, the Feds have had them on the run for years. They’re afraid to so much as jaywalk within a hundred miles of a casino for fear they’ll be thrown in jail for the rest of their natural born lives. I wouldn’t give the mob a second thought. All we gotta worry about are the cameras and the pit guys.”
Everyone nodded. “That’s right,” Jack said, “You been watching way too much TV.”
Rick softened his tone. “Look, buddy, you’re letting your doubts get the best of you. I’m telling you right here and now we’re not gonna get caught. We’ve been through this a hundred times and it’s foolproof. Besides, you can’t back out on us now…We need you. You’re the key player in this.”
Jason stared at the beer bottle in front of him and picked at the label. Been a long time since anybody said they need me. “Well, since you put it that way, yeah…guess I’m your man, and like you said, we can always back out if something doesn’t look right.”
“You got that right…One sideways glance from anybody in the casino, even the janitor, and we’re long gone. All they’ll have are bits and pieces of recordings and the hazy memories of a few bored dealers. We’ll be gone so fast it’ll make their heads spin. So, what do you say, you in or out?”
“Damn straight, I’m in! Like you said, it’s just a case of the jitters. Although, you gotta admit, some of those guys look like they could be ‘made men’…”
Jack let out an exasperated sigh. “There you go again with that TV talk…Made men! Gimme a friggin’ break. They hire guys that look like that to scare the tourists. Most of ‘em couldn’t spell mob if you gave ‘em a dictionary and underlined the word.”
“All right, all right, I get the point. Like I said already, I’m in. I just wondered if anybody else had any doubts…How ‘bout you, Bill? You haven’t said much.”
Bill’s head popped up. “Hey, don’t you girls drag me into your little spat. I was just lettin’ you geniuses do all the talking…But yeah, you bet your sweet ass I’m in! I say go on…Roll the dice and hope they’re good to us”
“I guess that about clinches it.” Rick walked over to the couch and held out his hand, palm down. Bill put his hand on top of it, as did Bud and Jack.
Jason hesitated for a second, grinned and placed his hand on top of the others. “Like the Musketeers…all for one and one for all. Long as nobody gets hurt…I’m behind it.”
“That’s the plan, my man, that’s the plan.” Rick smiled back.
Their hands separated and he continued, “Okay, let’s go through it one more time and if everybody thinks we’re ready, we’ll try it next weekend…assuming the gear comes in on time.” The stuff that’s already in my garage.
Rick watched as they filed out the door. His plan was advancing nicely. A few more training sessions and even stronger doses of drugs added to their drinks and he would have them right where he wanted them. Life is good when you have a plan.
***
CHAPTER 5
MAJESTIC CASINO AT LAKE TAHOE
STATELINE, NEVADA
Jason’s hand touched the shiny brass door handle and he paused for a moment. The view through the tinted glass doors beckoned to him in a way he could never put into words. A shrink might be able to explain the steel grip casinos had on him, but it didn’t matter. He never felt more alive or in charge than when he was inside waging the battle for what he thought of as his money.
His heart was pounding nearly out of his chest as he swung the door open and crossed the threshold. The jangling sounds and loud conversation engulfed him like an avalanche and swirled around him like a warm blanket on a cool night.
The smell of stale cigarette smoke and spilled drinks wafted through the doors. He half-expected the action to stop and hear the PA system announce his presence.
Instead, a half-drunk stumbling gambler with the dejected look of a loser bumped into Jason without apologizing and mumbled under his breath as he pushed past him.
A few more steps and he was in the middle of the call of coins clattering into the tin trays of slot machines. The chink a-chink sound quickened both his breathing and his pace.
He hurried past the rows of quarter machines with their whirling wheels and clinking cacophony of sounds and headed toward the open area in front of the card tables. The rich burgundy and gold carpet led him toward the blackjack tables like the landing lights on an airport runway.
This was where he belonged. This was where skill and timing outweighed the ability to merely pull down a handle or push a button. Leave the smalltime action to the salivating seniors and chattering conventioneers. This was where the real action and the biggest thrills were.
His hand went to the fake hearing aid in his right ear. He adjusted it and appeared to hum to himse
lf. “Dum, de dum, dum, can you guys hear me?”
The reply was immediate. “Yes, we can hear you.” The voice of Rick Eichner blasted into his ear.
He winced, reached up, and turned the volume down a little. The clarity and strength was unbelievable. Jason had no idea where Rick got the gear, but it was great.
The laptop computer in the van would calculate the odds and Rick would tell him which bets to place and when. All he needed to do was silently transmit the card information to them.
Tiny switches in the toes of his shoes let him tap out a code that nobody around him could hear. That, combined with the occasional voice cue as he talked to himself or the people around him, would give Rick the information needed to compute the bets.
They had already figured out which casinos used the largest shoes and avoided them. So far, the strategy had rewarded them.
A dark-suited man standing against the wall made eye contact with him and then looked away. The coiled wire of his ear piece screamed security, as did the bulge under his jacket. It served to remind Jason that even the sloppiest casino security people would begin to watch him closely as he started to win big.
He sat down at the first twenty-five-dollar minimum table he saw and started laying hundred-dollar chips down. Small bets at first, that were soon followed by larger and larger wagers. The pile of chips in front of him grew as his winnings increased.
A squat pit boss in an ill-fitting suit made a big deal of replacing the dealer after a dozen hands or so. The switch didn’t slow his winning streak, so a floor supervisor consulted with the pit boss, after which the entire shoe was replaced. The supervisor closed the table a couple of hours later and the other players wandered off.
Jason sat and toyed with a stack of thousand dollar chips, separating them carefully from a larger pile of hundred dollar chips. He guessed that he had about sixteen thousand dollars in winnings and was contemplating his next move when a tall swarthy man in an expensive suit sat down on the stool next to him.
He offered his hand and an introduction, “Good evening, sir. I’m Nick Boretti, one of the managers here. I couldn’t help but notice how well you play.”