Jackpot tv-8

by James Swain

  “I have shared your e-mail with the elders of our tribe,” Running Bear said. “The elders have final say in these matters. They have asked if you would be willing to come to the casino this evening, and explain your reasoning. You will be compensated for your time, if you choose to accept.”

  Something dropped in Mabel’s stomach. Go over to the casino? Talk to the elders? She hadn’t spoken to a roomful of people since highschool.

  “Well, I don’t —”

  “I should tell you that I am in agreement of your assessment of the situation,” he said, “and would like to see this dealer terminated.”

  “You would?”

  “Yes.”

  “I don’t mean to be rude,” Mabel said, “but if the elders of your tribe won’t listen to you, what makes you think they’ll listen to me?”

  “The elders don’t believe a crime has been committed. You make a case in your e-mail that a crime has been committed since the dealer broke the rules of play, which constitutes a breach of trust. I need to hammer this point home, with your help.”

  Mabel considered what Running Bear was asking. Because the Micanopys were a sovereign nation, they ran their casinos by their own rules, and not the state’s or the federal government’s. These rules weren’t as strict as other casinos, and as a result, not as good. Running Bear needed help; otherwise, he’d have unscrupulous dealers stealing him blind.

  “Our firm charges three thousand dollars for house calls,” she said. “We prefer checks, although we will take cash. Is this agreeable to you?”

  “That sounds fine. Will Tony Valentine be coming with you?”

  “Tony Valentine is out of town,” Mabel said. “I’ll be coming alone.”

  Chapter 25

  Bronco was close enough to take both their heads off with his shotgun. Valentine braked the rental and waited. Without a word, Bronco marched over to the car, climbed into the backseat, and shoved the shotgun’s barrel into the seat behind Gerry’s back.

  “Drive,” Bronco said.

  As Valentine pulled out of the visitor’s parking lot, he glanced in his mirror, and saw policeman spilling out of the jail and frantically running around the grounds. No doubt Bronco had planned to drive away in one of their cars. If he had, the police would have had little problem finding out which car, and tracking him down. But since he was in Valentine’s rental, there was no way for the police to know where he’d gone. Bronco was home free, and Valentine saw him grinning in the mirror.

  “Isn’t this wonderful,” Bronco said. “You came out here to stick me in prison, and you help me get out. There must be a name for that.”

  “Irony,” Gerry said, staring straight ahead.

  “There you go. That’s a fancy word, isn’t it?”

  “Just to you,” Gerry said.

  Bronco stuck his head between them. “He’s a smart one, isn’t he, Tony? Knows I won’t shoot him while we’re here in the city around all these people. Now, when we get out in the desert, that’s a different story.” To Gerry, he said, “You punch hard, kid.”

  “I had a good teacher,” Gerry said.

  “Your old man here?”

  “That’s right.”

  They came to an intersection. Bronco gave Valentine instructions to get out of town. Valentine drove with his eye in his mirror, hoping for a police cruiser to magically appear behind them. He saw Gerry staring at the road, and guessed his son was hoping for a similar miracle.

  Ten miles outside of town, Bronco made Valentine pull down a side road, then after a mile take another road, this one made of crushed gravel. It led to a deserted auto graveyard, the rusted carcasses of vehicles piled high in the air, with families of crows nestled within the metal skeletons. Bronco told him to brake and the car came to a halt.

  “Get out,” he said to Valentine. To Gerry, he said, “Take your father’s spot behind the wheel. Do it real slow.”

  Valentine got out. Except for the graveyard, there was nothing but scrub brush and flat land, with no real place to hide. His mind was racing for an escape, only none were making themselves apparent. It made his soul ache to know that Bronco had outsmarted him, but no one had ever said life was perfect.

  Bronco rolled down the back window, and poked the barrel of the shotgun out the window. The look in his face was stone cold evil.

  Valentine looked up at the sky. It was a flawless blue, the sun a perfect hole within that blue. As he’d grown older, his fear of dying had ebbed. He’d been married to a great woman, raised a halfway decent son, and had his share of good times. He’d played by the rules, and had no regrets.

  “You want to say anything to your son?” Bronco asked.

  Valentine glanced over his shoulder. Gerry’s face was white. He mouthed the words I love you. and looked back up at the sky.

  “Anything else?” Bronco asked.

  Valentine shook his head. He wasn’t going to look at Bronco, and give him the satisfaction of knowing he’d won this fight. In the auto graveyard he spied a car bumper, and in its shiny reflection Bronco aiming the shotgun at his back.

  He closed his eyes. His late wife appeared as if my magic. She was standing in a lush forest, holding her arms out, and looked as beautiful as the day they’d met. He imagined himself holding her in his arms and kissing her, and could not think of a more wonderful gift. As Bronco’s shotgun went off, he was actually smiling.

  Chapter 26

  Valentine heard the shotgun blast and saw his life flash before his eyes. A flock of crows nesting in a car skeleton burst into the air around him. He felt their wings violently brush against his body, and imagined they were taking his soul to the hereafter.

  The birds continued to fly upward, leaving him behind. He blinked and realized he was still standing, then heard the sounds of wheels spinning. He spun around and saw the rental race past, it’s rear end fish tailing. The vehicle was halfway across the field before he realized what had happened. Gerry had floored the accelerator just before Bronco had squeezed the shotgun’s trigger.

  Valentine watched the rental burn across the field, expecting to hear a shotgun blast at any moment. Bronco would pay Gerry back for doing this. His son was doomed.

  But the blast never came, and he guessed Bronco hadn’t shot Gerry because his son was driving too fast. But it was a temporary reprieve from an inevitable situation. Gerry eventually had to slow down, and Bronco would kill him. Valentine took out his cell phone, and powered it up. If he could alert the police, perhaps they could save his son. His cell phone made an unpleasant sound, and he glanced at its face. NO SERVICE. He lifted his eyes, and stared across the field. The rental was a blip on the horizon, his son still driving like he was protecting the Pole at the Indy 500. Tears rolled down his cheeks, and he wiped his eyes with his sleeve.

  The back country of Reno was bumpy and uneven. Gerry came to a wide ditch he couldn’t cross, and was forced to slow down. He’d pulled some wild stunts with cars as a teenager, but he’d never driven this fast before without pavement under his wheels. If Bronco was going to kill him, at least he was going to die with adrenalin pumping through his veins.

  The ditch was about fifteen feet wide and ten feet deep with brownish water in its bottom. Gerry turned the rental so he was driving parallel with the ditch. As the speedometer fell below fifty, he felt the shotgun’s barrel being scraped across the back of his neck. It felt like a hot wire and he braked the car, then threw it into park. Bronco leaned forward, and put his lips next to Gerry’s ear.

  “Give me one good reason why I shouldn’t kill you.”

  Gerry thought about it, then shook his head.

  “Can’t think of any?” Bronco asked.

  “I can think of plenty,” Gerry said. “None of them are any good.”

  Bronco let out a mean little laugh. “Get out of the car.”

  “You going to shoot me in the back, like my old man?”

  Bronco stared back, saying nothing. Gerry realized he was a goner unless he did some
thing. Think, he told himself.

  “You’re going to need money,” Gerry said.

  Bronco blinked. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “You’re on the lam and don’t have any money. Well, neither do I, unless you think you’re going to get far with my credit cards and the forty bucks in my wallet. You’ll be back in jail before you know it.”

  “That’s all that’s in your wallet? Forty bucks?”

  “That’s right.”

  Bronco chewed on his lower lip, thinking.

  “I know how you can make a fast buck,” Gerry said.

  “How? Flipping burgers at McDonald’s?”

  Gerry grinned. His father had liked to say that even Hitler had a sense of humor.

  “With a monkey’s paw,” Gerry said.

  Bronco lowered the shotgun so it was no longer touching Gerry’s neck.

  “Where’d you get a monkey’s paw?”

  “From your house in Henderson,” Gerry said. “The Las Vegas Metro Police found the place, and they let me and my father have a look around. We found the monkeys paws in a box in your workshop; my father explained how they worked. I grabbed one when he wasn’t looking, and shoved it into my suitcase.”

  “Why?”

  “Because I planned to use it.” Gerry turned his head and looked Bronco in the eye. “I used to be a bookie. My wife talked me into quitting the rackets, and going into business with my old man. Only, I can’t quit. It’s something in my blood. So I stole one of your little devices.”

  “You’re saying you’re a scammer,” Bronco said.

  “All my life.”

  “Where’s the monkey’s paw you took from my house?”

  “In my suitcase in the trunk.”

  “Show me,” Bronco said.

  Gerry pushed a button beneath the dashboard that popped the trunk, then climbed out of the rental with his hands stuck on his head like a POW. He’d gotten Bronco to start thinking about his own salvation, and sensed that Bronco wasn’t as intent on killing him as he had been a few minutes ago.

  Bronco climbed out of the vehicle in his baggy guard’s uniform and cheap prison sandals. He aimed the shotgun at Gerry’s face. Gerry dropped to his knees. Bronco went and flipped open the trunk. There were two suitcases in back.

  “Which’s one yours?”

  “The black Tumi. The monkey’s paw is on top, wrapped in plastic.”

  Bronco unzippered the Tumi. Seeing the monkey’s paw, his eyes lit up like someone who’s found buried treasure. He removed the cheating device along with a shirt and a pair of pants, then slammed the trunk closed. Coming around the rental, he shredded the plastic from the slot-cheating device, then pushed the button that made the strobe light flash on its end.

  “You took my favorite one.”

  “Lucky me,” Gerry said.

  Chapter 27

  Valentine hiked down the dirt road back to the highway, all the while staring at the face of his cell phone, waiting for a satellite signal so he’d could make a call. Several times the phone lit up like it was working, only to betray him by losing the signal when he tried to call. He’d hated cell phones and always would. Whenever he went to the movies, some guy who couldn’t make the rent was blabbing loud enough to ruin everyone’s good time. He stared at the one clutched in his hand.

  “Come on, you crummy piece of junk,” he said.

  He came to a rise in the road, and as he reached the top, saw the cell phone light up. Was it really working, or just trying to torture him? He stopped walking and waited for the signal to disappear. When it didn’t, he began to dial Bill Higgins’ cell phone number, thinking it would be best if he had Bill tell the police what had happened, rather than trying to get a police operator to believe him.

  He heard the call go through, then saw a car racing across the field in the distance. It was their rental, and it was coming towards him.

  “Higgins here,” he heard Bill say.

  Valentine considered running, then realized there wasn’t enough time. Instead, he retreated several steps, then lay down on his belly in the tall grass, keeping his head up so he could watch the car, the cell phone pressed to his ear.

  “Tony, is that you?”

  “Yeah,” he said, watching the rental bump across the field. His vision wasn’t worth a damn anymore, and he strained to see how many people were inside. It looked like two, but he couldn’t be sure.

  “Where have you been?” Bill said. “Bronco escaped from jail; every cop in Reno is hunting for him. I tried to call you, but your cell phone was turned off.”

  “He hijacked my rental and kidnaped my son,” Valentine said.

  “What?”

  Valentine explained how Bronco had abducted them, then told Bill the getaway route they’d taken. Bill repeated it back to him, word-for-word. Valentine was still watching the rental approach as Bill finished.

  “How did you get away?” Bill asked.

  “My son saved my ass,” Valentine said.

  The rental was a hundred yards away. Valentine stared at the driver’s side, and saw Gerry manning the wheel. Bronco was in the bucket seat, and had the shotgun stuck against Gerry’s neck. He got a good look at Gerry’s face. His son looked flat-out terrified, and Valentine’s heart did the funny thing it did when he was faced with a situation out of his control. His doctor called it a flutter, but Valentine had always thought it was God’s way of reminding him that life was rarely fair.

  The rental flew past, then disappeared down the road. Valentine slowly rose and dusted himself off, the cell phone still to his ear. He started to walk toward the highway.

  “You there?” Bill said.

  “Barely,” he said.

  Chapter 28

  “You’re a liar,” Bronco said.

  Gerry stared at the dirt road through the rental’s dirty windshield. There was not another car in sight. He had planned to flash his brights at the next car he saw, and alert them so they’d dial 911 on their cell phone. But that option suddenly seemed like a bad idea: Bronco was acting like he was going to kill him the first chance he got.

  “What are you talking about,” Gerry said.

  “Look at these clothes I’m wearing.” He shoved the shotgun’s barrel into Gerry’s chin. “Look at them!”

  Gerry glanced at the clothes Bronco had taken from the trunk and exchanged for Klinghoffer’s uniform. The pants were black, the shirt a white Brooks Brothers with a button-down collar. They were old man’s clothes, and Bronco looked ridiculous in them.

  “What about them?” Gerry said.

  “These aren’t your clothes.”

  “Sure they are.”

  “You think I was born yesterday?”

  “The day before,” Gerry said.

  Bronco cuffed him in the side of the head. The car swerved dangerously over to the side of the road, nearly flipping. Gerry quickly straightened the wheel.

  “These are your old man’s clothes,” Bronco said. “The monkey’s paw was in your father’s suitcase. He took the monkey’s paw from my house, didn’t he?”

  Gerry resumed staring at the road. Still no sign of another car. If he’d learned anything from the rackets, it was that there was always an angle to exploit. This angle had run its course, and he said, “That’s right. My father said it was the nicest one he’d ever seen. He asked the cops in Las Vegas if he could take it, and add it to his collection of cheating equipment. You had so many of them, the cops said sure.”

  “So you made up that stuff about being a scammer to save your neck,” Bronco said.

  Gerry glanced at his captor. “That part was true.”

  “Bullgarbage.”

  “I was a bookie in New York for ten years. I’ve only been clean for a little while.”

  “Tell me who the last person was you scammed.”

  Gerry told Bronco about scamming the Daily Double at Tampa Bay Downs, while helping his father expose the horse that had been silked. He glanced at Bronco while he spoke, and
saw the same surprised look in his captor’s eyes as he’d seen in his father’s two days ago. He guessed Bronco had never heard of silking, either. By the time he’d finished, they’d reached the main highway. Bronco made him hang a left, and a short distance later, another left.

  “Where we going?”

  “Back to Reno,” Bronco said.

  Gerry remembered the route they’d taken from the jail, and this wasn’t it. He watched Bronco reach across the seat, and remove the pack of Marlboros tucked in Gerry’s shirt pocket. Bronco banged one out, then offered Gerry one.

  “Sure.”

  Bronco lit two cigarettes from the same match, and shoved one into Gerry’s mouth. Bronco smoked his cigarette while studying him. “Let me get this straight. You and your old man were hired by the track to catch some cheaters. While you were there, you saw another scam going on, and you bet money on it, and took the track for six grand.”

  “That’s right,” Gerry said.

  “Why didn’t you bet more, and make a killing?”

  “It’s a small track.”

  “And you were afraid it would get noticed.”

  “Yeah.”

  Bronco blew smoke at him. “How do I know you ain’t bullgarbageting me again?”

  “The winning stub’s in my wallet.”

  Bronco pulled Gerry’s stolen wallet from his pocket, and extracted the winning stub. Gerry had kept the stub as a memento. In his bar in Brooklyn, he’d framed the first hundred dollars he’d ever made as a bookie, and he’d planned to frame this stub to signify that his days in the rackets had come to an end.

  Bronco took his time studying it. Then he removed the money from the wallet, and counted it on the seat. Forty dollars in wilted bills.

  “Where’s the rest of it?” Bronco asked.

  “What do you mean?

  “You won six grand. Where’s the rest of the money?”

  Gerry didn’t think Bronco would believe he’d given the money back. He pointed at the photo section of the wallet. “In there.”