Tumblin' Dice

by John McFetridge

  Two days in this fucking hotel and the best customer she had was the old guy in the rock band, and then she thought maybe she’d find him in the bar, their concert wasn’t for hours and he seemed like a cool guy, knew what he was doing, could handle himself.

  Nobody else had a clue what was going on.

  • • •

  They sat down in the interrogation room and Price said, okay, “A nice lady, Detective Bolduc, is coming down from Huron Woods to talk to you,” and Boner said, “What?” and Price said, “About that guy you shot in the parking lot of the casino,” and Boner said, “Fuck.”

  McKeon said, yeah, “Fuck.”

  Price said, “The thing is, Boner, that one happened on an Indian reservation so it’s going to be federal.”

  “So?”

  “So,” Price said, “it was also a casino so it’s bad for tourism, bad for business.”

  McKeon said, “What they’re going to do is rush you through a quick trial, throw you in the can, probably in Saskatchewan, and let you rot for the rest of your life if the Indian Posse doesn’t get you.”

  Boner smirked and Price said, “But we know you were just doing your job, same as you were here when you got the wrong car and those two people died.”

  Boner was leaning back in his chair, looking from Price to McKeon and shaking his head, not about to say a word.

  Price said, “And what we really want to know is who’s giving these orders, who’s making these calls. We know you’re just doing your job, this shouldn’t all fall on you,” and Boner was still smirking, looking smug, and he said, “Yeah, you’re all so worried about me. Give me a fucking break.”

  McKeon said, “Somebody has to be worried about you, Brent. None of your friends are.”

  Then Boner folded his arms across his chest and shook his head slowly from side to side.

  Price said, “We can make you a deal: you tell us who’s giving the orders and we can charge you with manslaughter here in Toronto. Be a good boy and you could do your time right around here and be out in ten years.

  “Ten?”

  McKeon said, “Depends how co-operative you are, how much you help us.”

  And again Boner just shook his head no.

  Price said, “It’s all going to come out, Boner, the whole thing and then your boys will just let you rot, best thing for you to do is get out in front of this,” and Boner said, “Where’s my lawyer?”

  McKeon said, “I don’t know, you called him. Maybe your boss who’s paying him told him not to come.”

  “We can get you a lawyer,” Price said, “one that works for you.”

  Boner shook his head again, said, “I’ll wait,” and Price said, that’s okay, “But we’re allowed to ask you as many questions as we want,” and Boner said, yeah, “And these are the best you can come up with?”

  Then there was a knock at the door and Price opened it and then motioned for McKeon to step out into the hall with him.

  A young uniformed cop said, “Detective Bolduc is upstairs,” and Price said, okay, “Wait here, watch Boner — we’ll be right back,” and he and McKeon went upstairs to the homicide office and there was Detective Sandra Bolduc standing by McKeon’s desk, saying, “I figured this was yours,” and McKeon said, “Because it isn’t a mess?” and Bolduc pointed under the desk to a couple pairs of high-heeled shoes, and McKeon said, “Been a while since I wore those.”

  Bolduc said, “How old is the baby?” and McKeon said, “Three.”

  “You’ll be back in heels soon.”

  McKeon said sure, but didn’t look convinced, and Bolduc smiled and said, okay, “Thanks for picking up Boner.”

  Price said, “I have to be honest, we’re still trying to get him to turn for the double from last year,” and Bolduc said, “Sure, first come, first served. How’s it going?”

  Price shrugged and Bolduc nodded, understanding, and she pulled a file from her shoulder bag and spread it out on McKeon’s clean desk saying, “Turns out our boy was all over the casino.”

  “You didn’t even need a warrant,” McKeon said, “to get access to the security cameras?”

  “Burroughs doing his civic duty.”

  Price said, sure he is.

  Bolduc pointed to the photos and said, “Here’s Boner with a guy they call J.T., I think it’s Justin Tremblay, but we’re still looking into that. And here’s J.T. with a woman named Gayle MacDonald who happens to be married to Danny MacDonald, national vice president of the Saints of Hell Motorcycle Club.”

  “And,” McKeon said, “here’s Gayle MacDonald with a couple of players in expensive suits.”

  Bolduc said, “The older one is Frank Kloss, runs the entertainment at the casino. Used to be at Niagara Falls, used to manage bands.”

  “You got a lot of intel,” Price said, “in a short period of time.”

  Bolduc was still looking at the photos, spreading out some more, and she said, “Not really so short. We’ve been looking at this place for a while.”

  “Because of these bikers moving in.”

  Bolduc tapped the photo of Gayle with the two guys in the suits, tapped the younger guy and said, “Felix Alfano from Philadelphia. Works for the Philadelphia Gaming and Accomodation Company Inc., which our provincial govermnment, in its wisdom, gave the management contract to run the casino.”

  McKeon said, “Philadelphia,” and Bolduc said, “They needed another place to operate when they got kicked out of Atlantic City because of their ties to organized crime,” and McKeon said, “Holy shit, too dirty for Atlantic City so we hand them a casino in Ontario?”

  “Two, so far. They also run Niagara Falls and they’re trying to get into Windsor.”

  Price said, “They all look pretty close in this picture. They making deals with these bikers?”

  “Don’t know,” Bolduc said, “but someone told Boner to shoot Dale Smith. Could have been part of the negotiations.”

  “You sure it wasn’t personal, something between Boner and Smith?”

  “Doesn’t look like it. We’ve known Smith a while: he deals speed, a little cash for gold, that kind of thing. I guess it’s possible he pissed off Boner somehow, but really, that’s not what it looked like.”

  “So,” Price said, “the bikers are moving in. Big changes coming.”

  “Moving the players around, maybe,” Bolduc said, “but the game’s the same.”

  “Still,” Price said, “Loewen and the task force would be really interested in Boner if we could get something from him.”

  McKeon said, “They might make him a really good offer — looks like his six degrees of seperation takes him close to the top,” and Bolduc said, yeah, “But it could take years for that to play out.”

  “And,” Price said, “cost millions of lives.”

  Bolduc looked from Price to McKeon and said, “I’d like to take a run at him, see if I can get anywhere on this one, be a start,” and McKeon said, yeah sure, “Give it a try.”

  Bolduc packed up her photos and the uniformed cop led her downstairs to the interrogation room.

  McKeon sat down at her desk and checked her email and said, “Hey, look at this,” and then kept reading until Price said, “What?” and she said, “Blood and skin under Amaal’s fingernails,” and Price said, yeah?

  McKeon said, yeah, “Recently painted nails.”

  “So, there was a fight. We know that.”

  McKeon said, “There was nothing on the dad — no scratches, nothing.”

  “You sure?”

  McKeon looked at the monitor, clicked through more of the reports and said, “Nothing.” Then she looked at Price and said, “So who’d she fight with?”

  “There’ll be DNA on whatever they got from under her nails.”

  “Yeah, in three weeks.”

  Price said yeah.

&
nbsp; McKeon said, “Do we have that translator’s report yet?” And Price said, “No.”

  “Can you give her a call?”

  “She did about a dozen interviews, Mo. You want to give her half a day.”

  “Just preliminary, see what they said about the fight.”

  Price said, “You think it’ll be any different from what the mom and dad said,” and McKeon said, “Just check, okay?” and Price said okay, got out his cell, thumbed through till he found the number and pressed call. A couple rings later a woman came on the other end of the line saying, “What do you want now?” and Price said, “Is this Nahla Odeh?” and the woman said, “Jason?” and Price said, no, “It’s Detective Price. This Nahla Odeh?”

  She said, “Oh, I’m sorry, yes,” sounding afraid, and Price said, “I’m calling about the translating you’re doing, the Amaal Khan case.”

  Nahla said, “I’m just typing the report up now.”

  “Okay, that’s good. Look I just wanted to know if there were any differences from what the mom and dad told us.”

  He waited a few seconds and heard fingers on a keyboard and he said, “This isn’t official, Nahla. I don’t need you to read it to me, just anything general. The parents said that Amaal had been out all night and came home in the morning and went to her room in the basement.” Price paused and pictured the room in the basement with no door and the mess and then said, “They said she was throwing things around, breaking things, and the dad went downstairs to try and get her under control.”

  Nahla said, “That’s right, sir. They said they were worried she was going to hurt herself.”

  “Is that what everyone else said, that Amaal was out all night and came back in the morning and was causing a danger to herself?” Saying it like he was giving evidence.

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Who else was in the house?”

  “I’m not sure.”

  Price said, “Well, how many of the people interviewed live in the house?”

  “Quite a few, Detective — the mother’s mother lives there and a sister.”

  “The grandmother’s sister?”

  “No, sorry, the mother’s sister. And her husband, the sister’s husband, I mean.”

  “And everybody said the same thing: Amaal came home, went into the basement, and was throwing stuff around?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “No one was surprised to see her just show up in the morning like that?”

  “Sir, they all said exactly the same thing.”

  Price said, “Okay, that’s good, thanks.”

  Nahla said, “The report will be emailed to my supervisor in about half an hour,” and Price said, okay, good, “Thanks,” and he hung up.

  McKeon said, “Nothing?” and Price said, “All said exactly the same thing: she came home pissed off and Dad tried to settle her down.”

  “So who did she scratch?”

  “Yeah,” Price said, “and there was nothing on the dad?”

  “You think there’d be blood on his hands?”

  “Or bleach.”

  “You think he watches CSI?”

  McKeon looked at the monitor and said, “He didn’t even wash his hands. There couldn’t have been anything there.”

  Price said, okay, “Let’s go find whoever Amaal really fought with.”

  And McKeon was already on her way to the elevator, Price following, thinking there goes the most straightforward case of first degree they’d ever had.

  As if it could have been any other way.

  • • •

  Danny’d already been watching Gayle stomping around the condo pissed off about everything all morning when her phone rang and she went into the bedroom and slammed the door.

  He didn’t even try to listen, just sat there at the little table in the breakfast nook (what the real estate agent called the glassed-in room that felt like a fucking fish tank), looking out at all the buildings downtown, and he waited till she came back out and stood there looking at him like he’d done something wrong.

  Finally, when he could tell she was just going to stand there and stare at him, he said, what? She just kept staring till he said, “Jesus Christ, Gayle, what the fuck is it?” and then she said, what do you think?

  He just kept staring, there was no way he was going to get pulled into her crap — she wanted to talk about it, yell about it, she had to do it herself.

  Finally she said, “They pulled Boner in again,” and Danny said, yeah, “So?”

  “So? So this time it’s for the one at Huron Woods. Some cop came all the way down here to talk to him,” and Danny said, “So, some cop wants an expense-account trip to the city, tell Boner to make sure the asshole uses our escorts,” and Gayle said, “It’s a woman cop,” and Danny said, oh well, “So she’s going to a fucking spa, what do we care?”

  “She has pictures, Danny. She has pictures of Boner and J.T. and J.T. and me, and me and that fucking Frank Kloss and the fucking American, Felix.”

  She was standing there yelling at Danny, pretty much stomping her foot, looking at him like there was something he was supposed to do, and he was just about to say, hey, this whole casino deal was your play, but he let that go and he waited a minute to see if she’d calm down, but she just kept staring at him till he finally said, “It’s no big deal,” and she said, “No big deal. No big deal?”

  She stomped around the living room, looking out the big window at the construction crane across the street, another condo going up, and then she said, “That fucking Felix just sat there and smiled at me, smug fucking bastard, and said he wouldn’t deal.”

  Danny leaned back in his chair thinking, okay, now we’re really getting to it, and picked up his pack of smokes and got one out. He held the pack out for Gayle and she was still scowling at him, fuck, but she finally took a cigarette and sat down across from him, taking the lighter after he used it and lighting up.

  She took a deep drag and then blew smoke at the ceiling and said, “They’re offering Boner all kinds of shit,” and Danny said, let them.

  Then he waited till she was looking right at him and he said, “Gayle, honey, listen to me: Boner isn’t going to give them shit.”

  “How do you know?”

  “Because I know.

  “You don’t even know Boner.”

  “I know him.”

  “How? How can you know him? You met him like twice.”

  Danny kept looking at Gayle while she took another drag, and he said, “I know him — I know what he’s been through, I know what he’s thinking.”

  “Yeah? What he’s thinking? He’s sitting in a fucking cell — he’s thinking he wants to get out.”

  “He knows he’ll get out.”

  “Those cops telling him all kinds of bullshit.”

  “That’s right,” Danny said, “bullshit. And he doesn’t believe a word of it.”

  “How do you know?”

  Danny took a drag, flicked ash into the tray, and said, “Because he’s one of us.”

  Gayle was nodding then, taking another drag on the smoke, and Danny noticed her hands were still shaking but he waited for her, and then she said, “So, he’s afraid of what would happen to him if he talks,” and Danny said, no, “He’s not afraid of that. He’s thinking about what will happen if he doesn’t talk, everything he’s going to get.”

  “He’s going to get fifteen years for killing the shylock.”

  Danny said, no, “Morrison’ll bargain down to manslaughter, save everybody the expense of a trial, Boner’ll get sentenced to five to ten and serve three. You know how good it looks if a guy does three years for us?”

  Gayle just shook her head and Danny nodded, realizing that as much as she thought she was inside this thing she really wasn’t, not until now with this deal at the casino, and he said, “This is
why we do things the way we do. This is why we have hangarounds and prospects and guys have to work their way up. Shit, you add it all up, I’ve done more than five years. I wouldn’t be here now if I hadn’t done the time.”

  Gayle smoked and listened, Danny thinking this was maybe the first time she’d really listened to him in years, and he said, “This’ll get him his patch,” and Gayle said, “His patch,” and Danny said, “Yeah, his patch. Hundreds of these guys, thousands of them, they’d all do three years to get a patch — hell, they’d all do ten to get a patch. Don’t worry about Boner.”

  Gayle nodded yeah, and Danny could see it was making sense to her, and then she said, “And I can’t ever do that — I can’t ever be a hangaround or a prospect or get a patch,” and Danny said, no, “You can’t,” and she said, “Well, fuck that.”

  “Hang on,” Danny said, “this is different. You’re not some chick who just showed up: you’ve been on the inside for a long time. You may not have a patch, but you have history and you’re running things now.”

  “It’s not the same.”

  Danny said, no, not the same, exactly, “But things change — we got where we are by being able to change with the times. It’s why we can take on these Italians. They’re such a closed club: not only do you gotta be a guy, you gotta be Italian. It’s not like that for us, we keep up with the times. Who knows, someday maybe you’ll get a patch, go to the ceremony, the girls’ll suck your dick.”

  Gayle said, fuck off, but Danny saw the edge was gone and she was almost smiling but before she could say anything her phone rang and she looked at the display and said, “Stancie,” and then stood up and answered it while walking out to the balcony.

  Danny finished his smoke and Gayle came back in saying, “Stancie’s girl got smacked around at the casino, guy told her she couldn’t work there,” and Danny said, “Fuck.”

  “You see,” Gayle said, “they aren’t taking me seriously at all,” and Danny said, “They are, don’t worry — they’re just negotiating. This Felix can’t run back to Philly saying he didn’t do shit. He’s got to do something.”