Jackpot tv-8

by James Swain

  “It was Bronco,” Valentine told James. “He called and cleared it.” To the cashier, he said, “How long ago did they leave?”

  “Couple of minutes,” the cashier said. “You might still catch them at the valet.”

  The Peppermill’s valet stand resembled a car lot, with junkers and expensive sports cars parked side-by-side. Valentine went to the front of the line, his son and Impoco to the rear, determined to check every car before it left.

  The valets had put up orange traffic cones to keep everyone driving at a safe speed. Valentine grabbed several, and used them to block off the exit. Hearing the screech of burning rubber, he lifted his head.

  A white SUV had jumped onto a concrete median. It side-swiped a mini-van filled with people, then returned to the macadam. A valet ran toward it, waving frantically at the driver. The SUV sped up, and the valet dove out of its path.

  Valentine froze in his tracks. The SUV was coming straight for him. Bronco was manning the wheel, Rebecca Klinghoffer riding shot, the kid strapped in back. He dropped the cones in his hands, and looked for someplace to hide.

  There was none. He was a goner. He looked right at Bronco, and their eyes locked. He’d been chasing Bronco for as long as he could remember, making the guy’s life miserable every step of the way. Not the kind of thing to build a friendship over. When the SUV was on top of him, he dove instinctively to the ground.

  The wheels passed inches from his head. Hugging the ground felt good, and he heard the SUV hit its brakes. It started to back up, and Valentine tried to roll away. Only, there wasn’t anyplace to roll away too.

  From the car, he heard Rebecca Klinghoffer’s son screaming. The kid had Pavoratti’s lungs. It reminded Valentine of his granddaughter, who could scream so loud it set your hair on end. He braced himself to be run over, then heard Gerry’s voice.

  “Don’t move, Pop!”

  He lifted his head. A Cadillac Escalade leapt out of the line. It drove directly over Valentine, its wheels missing his body on both sides, then braked. It prevented the SUV from backing up onto him. Bronco hit the gas, and roared out of the valet stand.

  Valentine crawled out from beneath the sports car. His son helped him to his feet, and brushed his father off.

  “You okay, Pop?”

  His son had been hell to raise, but was starting to make up for it.

  “Never been better,” he said.

  Chapter 37

  Mabel’s cell phone rang as she was passing through downtown Tampa. It was Running Bear, and he was pouting. She hated when men did that.

  “I’m sorry, but I just don’t feel safe in that room,” she said.

  “I would trust the elders with my life,” he said. “They are honest men.”

  “What about the bird tattoos on the lead elder’s hand?” she asked.

  “What about it?”

  “Your crooked dealer has the same tattoo. I think they’re related.”

  “Not all. The bird is an old symbol among the Micanopys. It means may your crops prosper. Many tribal members wear those tattoos on their hands.”

  “Oh. Well, I’m sorry I overreacted.”

  “There is no need to apologize. May I make a suggestion? Lets take the elders to the surveillance control room, and show them a tape of our crooked dealer in action. If they see him deal off the bottom, perhaps they’ll be convinced.”

  “You want me to come back?”

  “Please, Mr. Struck.”

  “Only if you protect me,” Mabel said.

  The chief laughed softly into the phone. “Of course.”

  Patience, Mabel knew, was more than just a virtue.

  The first day she’d worked for Tony, he’d sat her down at his kitchen table, then gone into the other part of the house to get something. Mabel had watched the birds through the back window. Five minutes had passed, then ten. Annoyed, she’d started to get up. Tony returned, and sat down across from her.

  “The first thing you have to learn in this business is patience,” he’d said.

  So Mabel had taught herself how to be patient. It wasn’t easy. She was the type of person who wanted everything done yesterday. But over time she’d learned.

  The situation at the Micanopy casino was a perfect example of being patient. She, Running Bear and the elders were crammed into a corner of the surveillance control room, watching a video of the crooked poker dealer taken several night ago. Ten minutes passed without anyone saying a word.

  “There,” Mabel said, pointing at the screen. “Did you see that?”

  The seven elders of the Micanopy nation leaned forward. So did Running Bear, who’d been leaning against the wall.

  “See what?” asked Bill Bowlegs, the lead elder.

  “Your dealer is staring at the discards on the table. He’s looking for certain cards. The way he paused is a dead giveaway. Can you freeze the frame?”

  Bowlegs called to a technician. “Freeze it.”

  The tape stopped. Mabel pointed at the discards. “There’s the Ace of Hearts and the Ace of Spades. As he picks up the discards, he’ll control those cards.”

  “Play it,” Bowlegs called out.

  The tape resumed playing. They watched the crooked dealer place the two aces on the bottom of the deck, then shuffle around them.

  “Damn,” Bowlegs said. “I see what you mean.”

  The other elders nodded. So did Running Bear.

  “Let’s call him off the floor, and have a talk with him,” Bowlegs suggested.

  Mabel put her hand on Bowleg’s sleeve. Every man in the room looked at her.

  “May I make a suggestion?” she asked.

  Bowlegs said yes with his eyes.

  “We still don’t know what the scam is. I suggest you let him continue to deal, and watch him. Sooner or later, he’ll try it again, and then you’ll know.”

  “You’re a smart lady, Ms. Struck.”

  Mabel flashed her best southern smile. It was the first nice thing he or any of the other elders had said to her. “We’ll see about that,” she said.

  An hour later, the crooked dealer made his move.

  Cheating at poker was different than cheating casino games. Every casino game had a set limit on how much you could wager. As a result, a casino cheater had to beat a game many times in order to make any money. Poker was different: All a cheater had to do was win one big pot.

  The game was seven card stud, with the first two cards dealt facedown. They had watched the crooked dealer pause as he was picking up the discards, and place four kings on the bottom. He shuffled around the kings, then dealt two rounds, dealing kings off the bottom to the player on his immediate right. The elders emitted a collective gasp.

  “I’ll be damned,” Bowlegs said.

  The game progressed, with the dealer dealing rounds of faceup cards to the players, with betting going on between rounds. When the fifth and sixth rounds were dealt, the dealer again dealt a pair kings off the bottom to the player on his right.

  Bowlegs whistled through his teeth. “That pays a bonus.”

  “What pays a bonus?” Mabel asked.

  “Four kings. The casino pays a ten thousand dollar bonus to any player that gets four of a kind.”

  Mabel drew back in her chair. Tony had always told her the bigger the crime, the bigger the crook. “So that’s the scam,” she said aloud.

  Bowlegs rose from his chair. Mabel took the opportunity to take a hard look at him. He did indeed have bowed legs.

  “I want him pulled off the floor and arrested,” Bowlegs said. “Agreed?”

  Mabel interrupted him. “But we still don’t know what’s going on.”

  “We don’t?”

  “No. Remember the last time you caught him? When you interviewed the player he was helping, he proved to be innocent. My guess is, the man who just got the four kings is also innocent. That appears to be your crooked dealer’s MO.”

  “His what?”

  “Modus operandi. He deals winning hands to
strangers.”

  Bowlegs look flustered. “Why would he do that?”

  “I don’t have any early idea. Lets watch him, and find out,” Mabel said.

  Bowlegs parked himself in his chair and resumed looking at the monitor. Out of the corner of her eye, Mabel caught Running Bear smiling at her. The chief seemed to be enjoying himself, and she gave him a wink.

  Chapter 38

  Valentine’s heart was racing. He wasn’t sure what was causing it; nearly being run over, or the spectacle his son was creating. Gerry had hopped back in the Escalade he’d used to save his father’s life, and was trying to chase Bronco. There was only one problem. The car’s owner, a muscular black guy, wanted his vehicle back. Valentine made Gerry get out of the car.

  “But Bronco’s getting away,” his son protested.

  “He already got away. Let the police run him down.”

  “But…”

  “This isn’t a rodeo, Gerry.”

  “Meaning what?”

  “We’re not cowboys. Let it go.” To the owner of the Escalade, he said, “Thanks a lot, buddy. Your car saved my life.”

  The car’s owner nodded. “No problem, man.”

  Valentine and his son entered the Peppermill. Impoco was in the lobby, talking to the police on his cell phone. Holding the valet slip of the getaway car, he read the license to the police operator. Finished, he hung up, and spoke to Valentine.

  “You okay?”

  “Never better.”

  They followed Impoco into the casino. They went straight to the slot machine which Rebecca Klinghoffer had beaten, and watched a team of casino employees open the machine up, and test every conceivable bell and whistle that the machine had. Impoco went upstairs to the surveillance control room, got his laptop, and returned as the employees were finishing up. He plugged the laptop into the machine, and ran another diagnostic test. Thousands of numbers flashed by in the blink of an eye. When the test was done, Impoco stared at the laptop’s screen, then let out an exasperated breath.

  “Damn it.”

  “Let me guess,” Valentine said. “The machine is showing nothing wrong.”

  “That’s right.”

  Taking out his wallet, Impoco went to the cage on the other side of the casino. He exchanged ten bucks for a roll of quarters. Coming back, he sat down in the chair that Rebecca Klinghoffer had occupied. To Valentine he said, “If I remember correctly, she played the machine three times before winning the jackpot. The first time it was with three coins, the second time, two coins, and the third time, one coin. That sound right to you?”

  Valentine thought about it. “Yeah, that’s right.”

  Impoco repeated what Rebecca Klinghoffer had done. After losing his money three times, he put in five quarters — the maximum bet — and pulled the handle. The reels spun and the machine made lots of ridiculous noise. When the reels stopped, two cherries and two lemons were staring him in the face. A loser.

  “Did anyone ever tell you that you’re terrible at this?” Drew Carey’s voice asked.

  “How can you eat at a time like this?” Gerry asked.

  Valentine had gone into the Peppermill’s coffee shop with his son. Once seated, they were brought a bowl of fresh fruit. The Peppermill had started out as a coffee shop that served enormous servings of fruit with every meal. Somehow, that had been parlayed into the largest hotel and casino in Reno. Valentine bit into a peach.

  “I’m serious,” Gerry cajoled him.

  “I eat because I’m working, and working makes me hungry,” Valentine said, taking another bite. “Remember, no matter how big a job is, it’s never more important than eating, or thinking about your family, or anything like that. A job is just a job. It’s the rest of the stuff in your life that’s important. Understand?”

  His son dipped his chin. “I guess.”

  “Speaking of which, have you talked to your wife lately?”

  Gerry shook his head. “No. I left her a couple of voice messages.”

  “Not the same thing. Call her.”

  Gerry called Yolanda on his cell phone, and his wife proceeded to talk his ear off. Gerry pulled the cell phone away from his ear, and handed it to his father.

  “Pop, you need to hear this.”

  Valentine put his peach down and the phone to his ear. He listened to Yolanda describe a message she’d gotten from Mabel. His neighbor was at the Micanopy casino in Tampa, trying to help Chief Running Bear catch a crooked poker dealer. Valentine felt the blood drain from his head. Sensing his father’s discomfort, Gerry took the phone and put it to his mouth.

  “I’ll call you back,” he said.

  “I thought you said Running Bear was a square guy,” Gerry said after hanging up.

  “He is,” his father said.

  “So, why the long face? You afraid he’ll put the moves on Mabel?”

  His father give him a look that made Gerry feel like he was twelve years old. A long, excruciating moment passed. Realizing his father wasn’t going to give him an answer anytime soon, Gerry racked his brain.

  “You’re afraid of something happening to Mabel,” his son said.

  His father ate his peach mechanically. Gerry thought some more.

  “The Micanopys are all related, and you think that someone might tip this crooked dealer off, and one of his buddies will come after Mabel, just like they came after you that time down in south Florida, and stuck the alligator in your car.”

  His father stared at him with simmering eyes. “Might tip him off?”

  “Come on, Pop. You can’t predict the future.”

  “Sure I can.”

  “How?”

  His father tapped his skull with his finger. “Remember what I told you about the Micanopys? They employ lots of dealers who have criminal records; so do many of the Indian casinos. Hell, some even have ex-cons sitting on their boards. They can’t avoid it, because so many of them get in trouble when they’re young. It sounds like a noble thing for the tribes to be doing, but the fact is, many of these are bad guys.”

  “You think this dealer who Mabel’s caught is bad?”

  Gerry thought his father was going to hit him. He’d never done that, even as a kid when he’d raised hell, and Gerry had figured it was because his grandfather had whacked his father around pretty good when he was a kid. But that didn’t mean it hadn’t crossed his father’s mind.

  “He’s a god damn thief,” his father said. “ If he catches wind that he’s facing arrest, he’ll do everything he can to keep Mabel from testifying against him.”

  “You mean, like hurting her?” Gerry said.

  “That’s exactly what I mean.”

  Gerry watched his father take out his cell phone and get the number for the Micanopy casino from information. A minute later, his father was leaving a message on Running Bear’s voice mail. His father could be a world-class jerk when he wanted to, and Gerry listened to him tell Running Bear that if anything happened to Mabel while she was working for the Micanopys, his father was going to hold the chief personally responsible. Gerry tried to imagine Mabel not being in their lives. It was an unsettling thought, and he waved the waitress away when she asked if he was hungry.

  Chapter 39

  Running Bear heard his cell phone ring, but decided to leave it in his pocket. He was standing in the Micanopy casino’s surveillance control room, staring at a pair of monitors. The tribe’s elders were also in the room, as was Mabel Struck.

  On one monitor was the crooked poker dealer Mabel had caught dealing a $10,000 hand to a player; on the other monitor, the player himself. They had been watching the two men for an hour, waiting for them to “hook up” and prove they were working in collusion. While watching the monitors, Running Bear had been smelling his visitor’s perfume, which reminded him of lilacs. He had not grown up around woman, and all his life he’d found their habits a mystery. How did they choose which perfumes to wear, or their hairstyles and clothes? Strange questions for an Indian chief to be askin
g, yet they’d always fascinated him. Mabel turned to stare at him, and he felt himself blush.

  “Don’t you think you’d better answer that?” she asked.

  Running Bear removed his cell phone and picked up his lone message. He erased it and hung up. “Your boss is not happy with me,” he said.

  Mabel raised her eyebrows. The lights inside the surveillance control room were kept dim to make it easier to watch the monitors, and Running Bear tried to read the expression on her face. A little unhappy, he decided.

  “Your boss thinks I have placed you in harm’s way.”

  “Is that so?” she said.

  “Yes. He’s afraid one of our crooked dealer’s friends might try to hurt you. To be honest, the thought never crossed my mind, but he’s probably right. This is not a safe environment for you. I think I should take you home.”

  Mabel crossed her arms in front of her chest.

  “But my job isn’t finished.”

  “Your safety is more important than this job.”

  Her face softened, and she touched his sleeve. “My boss told me that you were in the Special Forces in Vietnam.”

  “That’s correct.”

  “Well, then I’ll just stick by you, and I’m sure my safety will be fine.”

  Running Bear was thankful for the muted light, and looked deeply into Mabel’s face. Growing up in the swamps of the Everglades had made his duty in Vietnam easier than for most soldiers, he supposed. Only that had been a long time ago, and he was not sure how well he’d fare in hand-to-hand combat if such a situation were to present itself. He’d grown old, not that he particularly wanted to tell his visitor that.

  “I still would like to take you home when we’re done,” he said.

  “Only when we’re done,” Mabel said.

  Money talks.

  Mabel had never understood what those two words meant until she’d gone to work for Tony. In the gambling business, it was always about money — who had it, and who was trying to get it.