“How dare you,” Mulvane said.
“I’ll make this real simple,” Winter said. “Anybody threatens or tries to harm Leigh Gardner or her kids, I’ll assume it was you. And I generally act on my assumptions.”
“Who the hell do you think you are?” Mulvane said, baring his teeth. “I can have your badge.”
“You think I need a badge? You should check me out,” Winter said. “James Winter Massey. People who know anything about me will assure you that I am a man of my word. And I am giving you my word. So if the threat fits, wear it.”
66
WINTER STEPPED OUT AND PIERCE MULVANE brushed past him to hurry into the casino, followed by a red-faced Albert White, who had just burst through the stairway door.
“What did you say to Mulvane just now?” Brad asked.
“Not much. I think I got through to him. If he and White haven’t checked me out, they will now. Having a reputation like mine is sometimes a good thing. Hopefully their sources are good, and they’ll get rattled, which is something those fellows aren’t accustomed to. Mulvane will stew some and then he’ll make a move.”
“Well, now I’m a little confused. See, I thought we had a plan that involved wiring Leigh and catching Mulvane forcing the sale. The thing we discussed with Alexa—Federal charges of extortion, uttering threats, maybe murdering Sherry Adams?”
“I changed that plan,” Winter said.
“So I noticed. Why?”
“Mulvane’s smart and he’s never going to say anything incriminating to Leigh. And wiring her would put Leigh in more danger. I’m convinced that he’s done some stupid and criminal crap, and I want him to know that the only way out is through me. It could get intense.”
“This hasn’t been intense?” Brad asked, incredulous.
“Yes, it’s been that, but all of it could pale in comparison to the next day or two. Styer hasn’t left the area, and maybe this will spur Mulvane or White to sic him on me.”
“You seem sure of that,” Brad said.
“Yeah,” Winter said. “Trust me on this stuff. I know how to fuel a fire.”
67
ASIDE FROM PLAYING BOARD GAMES, ALEXA HAD never rolled a pair of dice. Right now, she felt as clueless about the goings-on at the craps table as a dog would be about open-heart surgery.
“Here’s the deal,” Jason told her. “You have to place a bet to get a turn at throwing the dice, so I’ll make the bets. You just concentrate on rolling the dice when it’s your turn.”
“Okay,” she said.
Jason Parr put several stacks of chips in the racks before him on the table’s ledge, and with each roll, he reached over and placed them on various marked areas. When it was his turn to throw the dice, he was up thousands of dollars, which he attributed to Alexa’s presence. After he rolled eight times in a row, he kept tossing chips down and when he rolled his point, he won big. He rolled three more times, making his point each time. When he rolled boxcars—double sixes—on the fourth point roll, he placed bets for Alexa as the croupier pushed the dice to her using his L-shaped stick.
“Just throw them hard enough so they hit the back of the table,” he told her. “And don’t change hands with them once you pick them up off the table. You might arrange them on the felt and throw them thinking you can control them, but you can’t.”
“So it’s a crapshoot?” she asked, smiling.
“Sure as shootin’ is,” he said, laughing.
Alexa rolled a nine. Unbelievably, she rolled ten times after that, hitting a nine on the last one. Each roll brought about a flurry of activity from the players, and she watched without any understanding of why the chips were going down and being taken up again. Nobody seemed all that concerned when she crapped out.
“Dang,” Jason said, looking at the long lines of black and yellow chips he had stacked in rows in the racks before him. “Alexa, you’ve put me ahead for the trip. I’m in the black. We’re gonna clean the house out. I got the feeling in my bones.”
“How much are those black and yellow chips worth?” Alexa asked.
“Five,” Parr said.
“Five dollars?” Alexa asked.
“Five hundred,” he replied.
Alexa’s cell phone rang.
She flipped it open.
“We’re leaving,” Winter said into her ear.
“Yes, dear,” she replied. “Two minutes.”
“Aw, don’t tell me,” Jason said.
“I have to go in two minutes.”
“Hey, will y’all let this little gal roll one last time?” he asked the other players.
Everybody at the table clapped their agreement.
Alexa rolled a six.
She watched as Jason Parr took everything he had in the chip racks and placed it in tall stacks around the board. “What are you doing?” she asked in horror.
“Gamblin’!” he said, smiling.
“But…”
“Get it, girl!” someone yelled.
“Roll them bones!” a woman in her sixties, who was wearing a red cowgirl suit, exclaimed.
“Roll,” Jason said.
“Hit that six!” someone yelled. Alexa noticed a red-haired man who looked like an evangelist walking through the casino with Albert White. He stopped behind the croupier, and stared down at the chips on the table. His smile was crooked.
“Mr. Mulvane!” Jason hollered. “Read it and weep!”
Alexa felt sick to her stomach. After rolling a four, a five, a four, an eight, and a three, Alexa rolled a six. While everybody around the table was screaming and celebrating—except the evangelist-looking man, who was smiling insincerely—Alexa moved away unnoticed, making a beeline for the front door.
68
WINTER AND BRAD EXITED THE CASINO JUST AS A limousine, its windows covered by dark film, rolled to a stop under the portico. An enthusiastic Pierce Mulvane rushed up, flanked by Albert White and the blonde secretary, who was holding an opened notebook, pen poised, awaiting dictation. A man in sunglasses with slicked-back brown hair and a deeply scarred face stood off to the side, scanning the crowd.
Two bellboys, each pushing a bag carrier, appeared and took up positions on the street side of the Lincoln. People on their way in and out of the casino stopped to gawk.
Albert White took out his cell phone, looked at the display and took the call, turning his wide back to the group.
Winter watched as the passenger door opened and two bull-necked security types got out and stood behind the limousine driver, who had opened the passenger door closest to the curb. A third security man, wearing an unbuttoned cashmere overcoat over a turtleneck sweater and gray woolen slacks, stepped out and scanned the area, his eyes hidden behind sunglasses. No doubt he was armed, the coat open to allow him immediate access to a weapon. He leaned back into the car and gave an all clear.
The main occupant, a man with short silver hair, gold-rimmed eyeglasses, and manicured nails that shone in the daylight like abalone, climbed out and the driver shut the door behind him. He smiled as Mulvane approached with his hand out. Winter was too far away to hear what was said, but close enough to read Pierce’s lips. As they shook hands, Pierce said, “Welcome to the Roundtable, Herr Klein. This is a great pleasure for us all.”
Klein? Now this is an interesting development, Winter thought. He looked from Mulvane to Albert White to the man with the deep facial scars, whom Winter caught staring in his direction. Although Winter had never seen the man before, he seemed to be familiar with Massey, probably thanks to Albert White. Big surprise. The scarred man was about Winter’s height and built like a middleweight. Winter figured he was with casino security. Unlike the men protecting the head of RRI, scar-face looked just like the sort of hard-edged muscle who might break legs when he was asked to, and would probably enjoy the work. Winter paid close attention to Klein’s and Mulvane’s security people, because he had a distinct feeling he would see them again soon. Unfortunately, he was rarely wrong about that feeling.
<
br /> 69
ALEXA WAS HEADED TO THE FAR EDGE OF THE casino parking lot when she heard someone yelling her name.
“Alexa! Alexa!”
She turned to see a panting Jason Parr running toward her, waving frantically. Alexa stopped and waited for him to catch up, breathless.
“Jason.”
“You…you…left before…you got…your cut.”
“Don’t be silly. I had a blast. You don’t owe me anything.”
“Man, I ain’t had a run like that since my second wife caught me with my secretary and got her hands on my forty-four Bulldog.”
“Sorry to hear it.”
“Well, my wife got me good.”
“She shot you?”
“Be better if she had. She gave me a divorce so I could marry my secretary. Talk about revenge.” Jason took an envelope from his coat pocket and offered it to her. “This is roughly ten points. I didn’t have time to do a count because you run off on me. They’re counting it up now.”
“I have to go,” Alexa said. “And I can’t take that.”
She saw Brad’s truck heading toward her.
“Sure you can,” Jason said. “We had a deal and I always honor my word.”
Brad pulled up. Winter was in the rear passenger seat.
“Good luck,” Alexa said to Jason.
“You come back anytime I’m here and gamble with me. Same deal. I’ll be here till Sunday.”
“I think this is my last time,” she said.
Alexa didn’t know Jason Parr was going to hug her, but he lifted her off her feet and turned them both three hundred and sixty degrees before putting her down.
“Now I’ll be lucky all day. I can feel it.”
Alexa said good-bye, opened the truck door and climbed inside, closing the door behind her. Jason was already running back to the casino.
“I think your new pal really likes you,” Winter said.
“He only likes my luck,” she said. “Who was the VIP in the limo?”
“That was Klein, the owner,” Winter said.
Alexa asked, “Mulvane was the carrottop fancy pants with fat Albert?”
“By the way, Winter changed your plan,” Brad told her.
“I’m not surprised,” she said. “I wasn’t in love with it.”
70
BACK AT THE SHERIFF’S OFFICE, ALEXA WENT ON THE Internet to research the Klein family and its businesses.
“Kurt Klein is the head of a family-owned industrial manufacturing conglomerate with roots that go back two hundred years,” Alexa said. “RRI is a very small piece of their holdings. Most of the RRI properties are large self-contained resorts located in Europe, the Caribbean, Las Vegas, and around the world. The Klein corporation isn’t publicly traded so there are no published financial figures. Maybe Klein isn’t aware of what is going on. If we assume he knows about the land and the murder, why would he be here before it was resolved?”
“If he isn’t aware, it could give us some leverage. Sometimes people are insulated, and they just say they want something to happen and other people make sure it does,” Winter said.
Alexa said, “And sometimes men with a great deal of money and influence aren’t what they seem, but what they choose to project. We just don’t know enough about Klein. I suspect the CIA would have a better idea about him than the FBI. I doubt Klein’s family businesses could have survived World War Two without some unpleasant alliances.”
“You think Leigh is in any danger now that you told Mulvane we were aware of the implied threat? He’d be crazy to let anything happen to her, right?”
Winter shrugged. “You’d think so.”
“I can have more of my people cover her,” Brad said.
“I can stay with her. Nobody knows me,” Alexa said. “I could just be a friend of hers visiting for support during a difficult time.”
“A larger official presence couldn’t hurt,” Winter told Brad.
71
RAYMOND GEE HAD BOUGHT THE THREE-BEDROOM house as an investment, and he made his son, Alan, work on it like a slave all that summer, only paying him twenty bucks a day for ten hours or more of hard labor. All that was left was to sand and paint the Sheetrock, which would take another couple of weeks. The central heating was hooked up, as was the plumbing. Raymond Gee owned seven rental houses and was always telling his son that by the time he retired, the houses would be paid for and the rent checks they generated, after legitimate expenses, would pay him more than he made as a salesman at Gates Tires in Batesville.
Since Alan had a key, he and his best friend, Buddy Graham, had been hanging out in the house’s basement. They would smoke cigarettes, drink a beer or two, and party with Amy Buckley when she could sneak out and come there with them. While she was only fourteen to their sixteen, she was built like an eighteen-year-old, and she loved to get high. In exchange for a few hits on a pipe and their sworn promises not to ever tell anybody, she would take off her shirt and let the boys look at her breasts as long as they didn’t touch them. She enjoyed watching them masturbate to the sight of her boobs. Although this had only happened twice in two months, they were getting worried. The house would soon be ready to rent and, once it was, they’d be without a clubhouse for their tit-peeking jerk-off sessions.
The boys knew that the neighbors were accustomed to Alan working inside the house, and since he parked his Ford Fiesta there all the time, they paid no particular attention to when the young boy’s car arrived or left the property. They were smart enough not to let other kids hang out or party in the house, as it would certainly have resulted in Raymond finding out and putting an end to the clubhouse, not to mention Amy’s intoxicating generosity.
When Alan put his key into the lock and turned it, there was no resistance.
“Damn, it isn’t locked,” Alan said, locking and unlocking the dead bolt twice, testing it. “If I forgot, and any tools got ripped off, my dad’s going to freak out.”
“Maybe your dad was here and he didn’t lock it. Sounds like there’s water running,” Buddy said. “Is the shower on?”
“Maybe a pipe busted,” Alan said. “Shit!” Alan rushed to the bathroom door. “My dad’s gonna freak out.”
When Alan opened the door and saw what was in the bathtub, he screamed, slammed the door, and ran from the house, Buddy hot on his heels.
72
AFTER PICKING UP HER BAG FROM BRAD’S HOUSE, Alexa trailed Brad’s truck out to the Gardner plantation. They passed a cruiser parked on the road going in. As they were pulling up, Jacob darted from the house and stopped beside his car, fumbling with the keys. He froze when Brad and Winter climbed from the truck and Alexa got out of her car.
“Come inside,” Brad told him. “We need to talk.”
“I have to go pick up Cynthia at my mother’s house in Memphis,” Jacob said, his hands visibly shaking. “So she can make the funeral. So the harassment will have to wait a couple of hours.” One side of his shirttail was out and his eyes looked feverish.
“When did you last talk to your daughter?” Alexa asked.
“Lady, if it’s any of your business, just a few minutes ago,” he snapped.
“Now is the only other time you are going to get,” Brad said. “You leave here now and you’re on your own.”
“What are you talking about?” Jacob asked him.
“This is Alexa Keen with the FBI,” Brad said, indicating Alexa. “She may be the only thing standing between you and Mulvane.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Jacob said.
“Your call,” Alexa said. “But you should know that Mulvane knows that Leigh told us everything. I expect that puts you in a bad place.”
“Mulvane never said that he was involved in anything like that. I never told Leigh that. And, anyway, if that is true, you think you can protect me from him? Like it’s just him we’re talking about. None of you know what you’re messing with. There is a billion dollars in play here.”
“Be th
at as it may, we’re the only shot you have, Mr. Gardner,” Alexa told him.
“So am I under arrest?” Jacob asked.
“No,” Alexa said.
Brad added, “But you know he killed Sherry for a lot less, and how good his hired killer is. He knows you’re a threat.”
Jacob took off his coat and threw it into the car. He looked at each of them, seemed to weigh a thought—it was easy to imagine what it was—then jumped into his Cadillac and roared off down the driveway. When it turned onto the farm road, the heavy car fishtailed, squealing the tires.
“He’ll be back,” Alexa said.
“I don’t know,” Brad said. “He isn’t exactly known for intelligent moves.”
“We need him,” Winter said, flatly.
As they were heading to the porch, Hamp ran out of the house, his face bright red.
“What’s the matter, Hamp?” Brad asked, grabbing him.
“Daddy!” Hamp yelled, stamping his foot. “He hit Mama!”
Brad left Hamp and ran into the house. Leigh was in the den seated on the raised stone hearth. She was trembling. There was a red spot below her left eye, and she had a split lip. Estelle came in and handed Leigh a plastic bag filled with ice to hold against her cheek.
“Damn his hide,” Brad snarled, his arm around Leigh’s shoulders. “What happened?”
Leigh turned her eyes to Hamp. “I’m fine,” she replied.
“I heard him hit her from the kitchen,” Estelle volunteered.
“Estelle, take Hampton to the kitchen,” Leigh said firmly.
“Arrest him, Brad,” Hamp hissed. “Lock that asshole up.”
“Hampton!” Leigh snapped. “He’s your father.”
“Not anymore he isn’t. I hate his guts.”
“We’ll discuss this later, after you’ve calmed down,” Leigh said. “Let me talk to Brad.”
Estelle and Hamp left the room reluctantly. Alexa and Winter took seats across from the fireplace.
Smoke & Mirrors Page 18