Mr. Lucky tv-5

by James Swain

  David, the boy with the baseball cap, said, “The four seasons of the year?”

  “That’s right. How did you get so smart?”

  The kids were all smiling now. Valentine upjogged all the jacks, queens, and kings and pointed at them. “Okay. There are twelve picture cards in the deck. Do any of you know what they stand for?”

  “The twelve months in the year?” Sara said.

  “Very good. Now, here’s a tough one. There are thirteen values—ace through the king. What do these stand for?”

  The kids acted stumped. Then a lightbulb went off over Terry’s head.

  “The thirteen lunar cycles?”

  “Right. Now, here’s an easy one. What do the fifty-two cards stand for?”

  “The fifty-two weeks in the year,” Kristen said.

  “That was an easy one. Okay, here’s the last one, and it’s a doozy.” He leaned forward and lowered his voice. “If you were to add up the values of all the cards in a full deck, counting the joker as one, what do you think you’ll get?” The kids looked at each other and shook their heads. Out of the corner of his eye he saw Mary Alice nodding in approval. He said, “You’ll get exactly three-hundred and sixty-five, the number of days in a year.”

  The kids looked at one another. “That’s really cool,” Annie said.

  Valentine squared the deck between his palms. He had big hands, and they completely obscured the cards. When he opened his hands a moment later, the deck had disappeared. He removed them from his jacket pocket with a faint smile on his face.

  “Show’s over,” he said.

  The kids left the library chattering among themselves. Valentine offered to give Mary Alice a lift back to wherever she lived. She declined, saying a friend was coming by later to take her home.

  She escorted him down the empty hallway to the entrance of the school. She walked without a cane, and he thought how nice it was that she worked in a place that her memory still remembered. She stopped a foot before the front door.

  “I know this might sound strange,” she said, “but you aren’t the man I expected you to be.”

  He stared through the glass cutout in the door. His car looked lonely in the empty parking lot. He tried to imagine how a blind person would envision him.

  “Did I live up to your expectations?”

  A startled look registered across her face. She reached out, groping to find his arm. Her fingers found his wrist and squeezed it. “I thought you would be some kind of brute,” she said. “I was wrong. You’re a caring man beneath the tough exterior. You can help us.”

  “You think so?”

  “Yes, I most certainly do.”

  “Help you how?”

  “By straightening out this mess.” With her free hand, Mary Alice made a sweeping gesture. “First Ricky wins all that money in Las Vegas, then he comes home and starts winning lotteries and sweepstake drawings. And then the robbery at the bank. That mess.”

  “You think they’re connected?”

  She released his wrist. “Yes. I just wish I could tell you how.”

  Valentine watched her walk away. Her steps reverberated down the hallway, and when she was safely back in the library, he went outside and started up his car.

  24

  Lamar Biggs sprung Gerry out of the Harrison County jail at 5:00 A.M. He was dressed in jeans and a Mississippi State sweatshirt and had a haggard look on his face. Every cop in the place knew him, confirming Gerry’s earlier suspicions that Lamar was not casino security but in fact involved in some area of law enforcement.

  “Explain to me what happened during your drive,” Lamar said.

  Gerry stared out the windshield. They were on the major east-west artery of I-10, six lanes of superhighway that shot traffic from Florida to west Texas. It was an industrial wasteland, and white dust jumped up from the road with each passing car. He found himself wishing he was back home with his wife and baby daughter.

  “Three good ole boys ran me off Highway 49 near the pine-milling factory,” he said. “They had shotguns and were trying to kill me. I got desperate and pulled a lever that said do not pull. It released about a hundred logs and killed them.”

  Lamar mumbled under his breath. He drove like a New York cabbie, his body hunched forward, his chin a few inches off the wheel. He took an exit and five minutes later pulled down an unmarked dirt road. They came to a handsome, two-story shingle house hidden behind a stand of trees. Lamar pulled up the driveway and killed the engine.

  “You live here?” Gerry asked.

  “Yeah. I figured it was the safest place to bring you.”

  Gerry stared at him. “What am I hiding from?”

  “My wife is making breakfast,” Lamar said. “Let’s have something to eat first, and then I’ll explain what’s going on.”

  The smell of grilling sausage greeted them as they entered the house. The dining-room table had two place settings, and his host pointed at one of the empty chairs. Gerry dropped into it. Taking out his cell phone, he powered it up and checked for messages. Yolanda and his father had called, both sounding worried as hell. The door leading to the kitchen swung open, and Isabelle, the lady from Louisiana he’d met the day before, entered with two steaming plates of food. She served them, all the while smiling at Gerry.

  “I heard you’ve had a rough night,” she said. “Hope this helps.”

  Gerry stared down at his plate. Grits, sausage, a pile of scrambled eggs with green stuff mixed in, and two steaming-hot biscuits. That was one of the things he liked about the South. No one was ever on a diet. He dug in.

  “Those three boys you killed were the Dubb brothers,” Lamar said, pushing back from the table when he was done. “They’re hit men for the Dixie Mafia.”

  Gerry dropped his fork on his plate. “There’s Mafia in Mississippi?”

  “Yeah. They’re not Eye-talian. But that’s what they call themselves. You done?”

  Gerry nodded, and Lamar stacked their plates and took them into the kitchen, then returned with a pot of coffee. He filled Gerry’s cup without being asked, then his own. Sitting, he said, “Before the casinos came, Mississippi was the poorest state in the Union. Jesse Jackson once likened it to Ethiopia. The Dixie Mafia ran the crime. Mostly drugs, like crank and blow and amphetamines, but also prostitution and small-time gambling. They even sold ruckus juice now and then.”

  “What’s that?”

  “Moonshine. Then the casinos came. It wiped out their gambling dens overnight. Over time, it began to eat into their other operations, as well. Their customer base started to dry up.” He shook a toothpick out of a container on the table and worked it between his gums. “Now, what I’m going to tell you is not to be repeated.”

  “Okay,” Gerry said.

  “The Dixie Mafia has infiltrated the Dixie Magic and probably a couple of other casinos in town, as well. They’re stealing a lot of money. It’s their last stand, so to speak.”

  Gerry understood the gravity of what Lamar was saying. If word got out that Mississippi had organized crime figures working in its casinos, the state’s gambling business would be ruined overnight. It would affect everything from health care to education.

  “How do you figure in this?” Gerry asked.

  “I run the enforcement division of the Mississippi Gaming Commission,” Lamar said. “Isabelle and everyone you saw in that room yesterday works for me. My job is to figure out how the Dixie Mafia is cheating the casinos, and put everyone involved behind bars.”

  “Wow,” Gerry said.

  “Wow is right. Now, I need to ask you a question, and I want you to come clean with me.”

  Gerry stiffened. “Sure.”

  “What the hell happened between you and Tex Snyder yesterday?”

  The truth, Gerry knew, could be your best friend or your worst enemy. It all depended upon how it came out of your mouth. He put his elbows on the table and lowered his voice. “Tex asked me to help him fleece a sucker in a poker game yesterday afternoon
. He offered me fifty grand. I’d be lying if I told you I wasn’t tempted.”

  “But you said no.”

  “That’s right. I said no and walked out on him.”

  Lamar worked the toothpick between his teeth and gums. “That explains a lot.”

  “Why, what happened?”

  Lamar smiled thinly. “From what we can figure out, the sucker got lucky and beat Tex for a few hundred big ones. The problem was, Tex wasn’t playing with his own money. He was playing with the Dixie Mafia’s money.”

  Gerry felt like he’d been jabbed with a cattle prod. “Did they—”

  “Go after him? Oh, yeah. The Dubb brothers beat Tex to within a few inches of his life. He’s lying in the hospital in critical condition. My guess is, Tex told them that you ran out on him and screwed up his scam. That’s why the Dubbs went after you.”

  Gerry stared into the depths of his coffee and took a deep breath. If Yolanda hadn’t put his daughter on the phone, he probably would have gone along with Tex and fleeced the sucker. And that would have put him in cahoots with a group of organized criminals.

  “Am I a marked man?”

  “You are until we catch the last Dubb,” Lamar said.

  “There’s another brother?”

  “No, he’s the father. Name’s Huck. He was behind the beating of Tex. He let his sons go after you.” Lamar rose from the table, came back with a mug shot. “You can keep this.”

  Gerry stared at Huck Dubb’s mug shot. He was in his mid-fifties, wore bib overalls, and looked like a hillbilly with his scraggily beard and visible nose hair. Gerry slipped the picture into his shirt pocket.

  “The police are going to need you as a witness,” Lamar said, “so here’s what I’d like to suggest. You can stay here with me and Isabelle. We’ll make sure no harm comes to you, and you can enjoy some more good home cooking.”

  “How long are you talking about?”

  “Three, four days, tops.”

  “That’s all?”

  “The law works quick here.”

  Gerry considered it. If Lamar’s position with the Gaming Commission was anything like the enforcement directors in other states with casino gambling, he was incredibly powerful. So powerful that he could tell the police to stick Gerry in a seedy motel and watch him round the clock. Offering to put him up was beyond the call of duty. “I’m happy to help,” Gerry said. “I appreciate the hospitality.”

  Lamar smiled with his eyes. “There is one thing I’d like to ask in return.”

  “You mean there’s a catch to eating Isabelle’s wonderful cooking?”

  “Afraid so. The Dixie Magic is getting ripped off badly. I need you to look at all the games, see if you can spot anything. It would really help.”

  Gerry took another deep breath. Telling Lamar he was an expert on casino scams had just bitten him in the ass. Would he ever stop lying to people? He doubted it; he’d been doing it too damn long. With his father’s and Mabel’s help, he guessed he could figure out what was going on.

  “Be glad to,” he said.

  Isabelle did not permit smoking in the house, and Gerry went out behind the garage and lit up. As he brought the match to his face, he saw that his hand was shaking. He’d nearly gotten himself in a whole lot of trouble. But somehow, for some reason, he’d been spared. He wondered if it had something to do with going to confession with Father Tom last month. Coming clean had been the hardest thing he’d ever done. But it was going to be harder to stay clean. He knew that now, and it scared him.

  He removed Huck Dubb’s mug shot from his shirt pocket and stared at it. How had Huck reacted when he’d learned his three boys had gone to the big double-wide in the sky? He’s probably looking for me right now, Gerry thought.

  He powered up his cell phone. He hadn’t talked to Yolanda since killing the Dubbs. He hadn’t known how to explain to her that he’d just killed three men, even though it was in self-defense. He’d disappointed his wife too much to drop this on her. So he decided to wait until he got back home. He knew it was shitty, but it was the only way he could handle it.

  25

  Mabel unlocked the front door of Tony’s house and was punching the code into the security system when the phone in the study rang. She didn’t like coming in Sunday mornings, but when Tony was out of town, there was no other choice. Casinos around the world did big business on Saturday nights and, as a result, were more susceptible to cheaters than any other day of the week.

  The security system accepted the code and beeped. She walked down the hallway to the back of the house. Entering the study, she heard the phone stop, then immediately start ringing again. She guessed the caller was using speed dial to call back and was desperate.

  “Grift Sense,” she answered cheerfully.

  “Do you do psychic readings?”

  It was Tony. She lowered her body into the chair behind the desk. “Just tarot cards and tea leaves.”

  “No palm reading?”

  “Afraid not. I once had a man read my palm. He told me I had a wet future and spit in my hand.”

  She heard him laugh. It was an infectious sound, and she realized that he hadn’t been doing enough of that lately. She guessed it was because of that damn woman in Las Vegas, Lucy Price. Every time Lucy called, it put Tony in a terrible mood.

  “Heard from Gerry?” he asked.

  “Yolanda talked to him last night,” Mabel said. “Gerry met with Tex Snyder but didn’t learn anything. He was on his way home.”

  “Tex didn’t think he was cheated?”

  “No,” Mabel said. “Is that bad?”

  “It’s the one part of the puzzle that doesn’t make sense. Games can be rigged. But cheating a world-class poker player is different.”

  Mabel stopped reading e-mails. “So you think Ricky Smith is a cheater?”

  “Let’s say I’m getting warm,” he said.

  Tony’s computer sat on the desk, and Mabel scrolled through his e-mail messages. Over a dozen casinos had contacted him since yesterday. Normally, Tony would ask her to read the messages to him. He was more than warm, she decided.

  “I need you to take a road trip and do some snooping for me,” he said. “Feel up to it?”

  “Today?”

  “Yeah. Take Yolanda and the baby with you. Make an outing out of it.”

  “Well, aren’t you just filled with wonderful ideas. Next you’ll be telling me to pack a picnic. Now, where exactly am I going?”

  “To the land of make-believe,” he replied.

  At noon, Mabel pulled out of her driveway in her Toyota Tercel, drove half a block, and pulled up in Yolanda’s driveway. To her amazement, Yolanda came outside a few seconds later, holding the baby in one arm, the car seat in the other. Mabel had never known a new mother to ever be on time to anything. Yolanda strapped the baby in, then jumped into the front seat.

  “Let’s roll,” she said.

  Mabel stared at her. “Are you auditioning for Super-woman?”

  “Why, is something wrong?”

  “New mothers are always late. It’s a tradition.”

  “I talked to Gerry earlier, and he got me so excited,” she said, a smile lighting up her face. “He’s going to be staying in Gulfport a few more days. The Mississippi Gaming Commission is asking him to help them with a case.”

  Mabel backed down the drive. “You sound happy he isn’t coming home.”

  “Oh, no. I miss him terribly. It’s just…” Yolanda struggled for the right words. “I’ve always wanted Gerry to be engaged in something. I think working for his father is going to turn out great.”

  Mabel handed her a sheet of paper lying on the seat. It was driving instructions she’d printed off an Internet site called MapQuest. Yolanda’s eyes scanned the page. “Is this where we’re going?” she asked.

  “Yes. The little town of Gibsonton. It’s about an hour’s drive.”

  “What’s in Gibsonton?”

  “Carnival people,” Mabel said.

&
nbsp; Gibsonton was eight miles south of the interstate and smack in the middle of nowhere. The town barely resembled one, with a few businesses and mom-and-pop restaurants lining a deserted street, and a trailer park at the far end of the road. It was like many central Florida towns—sleepy and small—and Mabel found herself feeling mildly disappointed. She’d loved going to carnivals as a child and had envisioned the town having men walking around on stilts and jugglers on every corner. Yolanda pointed at a building on the other side of the street. A hand-painted sign said SHOWTOWN BAR & GRILL.

  “Let’s go in there,” she suggested. “I need to change the baby’s diaper.”

  Mabel pulled into the lot and parked by the front door. The drive had taken less time than she’d expected, and it was only twelve-thirty. Bars and restaurants weren’t allowed to sell alcohol on Sundays until after one, and she had a feeling that no one would be inside. Maybe they could get a bite to eat and wait for the regulars to arrive.

  The Showtown was your average watering hole, with a long water-stained bar and a few tables scattered around the room. It was deserted save for two men—the bartender, a rail-thin man in his sixties sporting a goatee, and a dwarf sitting on a bar stool, nursing a glass of tomato juice. They both said hello.

  “Good afternoon,” Mabel said, sidling up to the bar. The backlit mirror was covered with postcards, most of them showing traveling circuses and sideshows. The dwarf courteously removed his hat, and a butterfly flew out of its folds. He cackled with laughter.

  “My name’s Brownie, and this here’s Little Pete,” the bartender said. “How can we help you ladies?”

  “I was trying to get some information about a carnival that used to run out of Panama City,” Mabel said, “and was hoping one of you gentlemen could help me.”

  Little Pete glanced over his shoulder. “Gentlemen? Who walked in?”

  “You’ll do,” Mabel told him.

  The dwarf smiled and so did the bartender.

  “Hey,” Yolanda said from the other side of the room.