by James Swain
Time to run.
He went into the bathroom and shut the door. Put down the toilet cover and climbed onto it. The window above the toilet was wide enough for him to slither through. He stuck his head out to make sure no policemen were in the alley, then climbed through, and dropped to the ground. The alley was filled with overflowing garbage cans, and flies swarmed around him. He’d turned up his collar and walked onto Fremont Street.
The policeman with the newspaper was still outside his room. His back was to Xing, and Xing walked in the opposite direction, and became lost in the swarm of people.
The east end of Fremont Street was covered by a giant metal canopy which was transformed into a Star Wars-like special effects show every half hour. The show was called the Fremont Street Experience, and as Xing passed beneath the canopy, a booming voice came over the Public Address system, and announced that the next show would begin in exactly two minutes.
The street quickly filled with people. There were lots of uniformed cops, no doubt for security, but they put Xing on edge. He ducked into a souvenir shop, and bought a pair of shades and a baseball cap. He appraised his disguise in a mirror, and decided it wasn’t enough. From the racks he grabbed a black leather jacket. On its back was printed Jesus Wasn’t Born in Las Vegas Because They Couldn’t Find a Virgin. He took another look at himself in the mirror, and decided he looked like every other misfit he’d seen walking around. He paid for the items and headed outside.
A laser light show had started, with booming music and lots of explosions. He checked the time. Over an hour had passed since he’d last spoken to Bronco. Bronco had sounded eager to do the exchange, and he wondered what the holdup was.
Xing walked around and tried to act like every other tourist. A few minutes later, his cell phone vibrated in his pocket. He pulled it out, and saw that it was Bronco.
“Yes?” he answered, having to shout over the music.
There was no one there. He wondered if the canopy was killing his connection, and started to walk to where the canopy ended. His phone vibrated again.
“Hello?”
Still nothing. He flipped the phone shut and continued to walk. Ten seconds later, his phone vibrated again. He was standing directly outside the Golden Nugget, one of the larger casinos on Fremont and one of the busiest. He tried again.
“Are you there?”
Xing felt the barrel of a gun being shoved into his back. He lowered the phone, and stared into the reflection in the glass windows of the Nugget. A man with a shaved hand stood behind him with a scowl on his face. A stocky Italian with eyes like black ice.
“Turn around. Do it slow,” Bronco whispered into his ear.
Xing obeyed. Bronco was holding a magazine in front of his chest, and had hidden his gun behind it. The idea that Bronco might shoot him right in the street was not far from Xing’s thoughts. Hadn’t he shot a man inside a casino?
“You set me up,” Bronco said. “There are cops all over your motel.”
“I just saw them myself,” Xing replied.
“Really. Why didn’t you warn me?”
“I was waiting for you to call.”
“You’re a liar.”
“I had no reason to set you up.”
Xing waited. He was not going to beg for his life. To do that would have meant losing face, and he would rather have died than let that happen.
“Do you have the Pai Gow secret?”
Xing felt himself relax. They were back on even terms. He nodded, and they edged over to the curb to do the exchange. Despite all the people on the street, it was the perfect hiding place, Xing thought. Everyone sees us, yet no one sees us.
“You go first,” Xing said.
“My pleasure,” Bronco replied.
Xing took out his wallet, and removed a piece of tissue paper. He carefully unfolded the tissue to reveal a small black object that resembled a miniature toothbrush. He had found this miniature toothbrush inside Kyle Garrow’s wallet in Reno when he robbed him in the strip club, yet had no idea what it was.
“Guess you don’t know what this is,” Bronco said.
Xing shook his head. Had he known, he’d be back in China by now.
“Its called an EPROM chip,” Bronco explained. “With it, you can rig any slot machine made by a company called Universal. Universal slot machines are all over the world, so you shouldn’t have any problem finding them in China.”
“How does it work?”
“Put the EPROM chip into a laptop computer, and run a diagnostic test on the Universal machine’s RNG chip. When the test is done, you must play three coins, two coins, and one coin, and you’ll win a jackpot. Got it?”
Xing repeated the instructions and saw Bronco nod.
“You’re all set. Now tell me the Pai Gow secret.”
The pair of Pai Gow dominos were resting in the breast pocket of Xing’s shirt. He handed them to Bronco, happy to be rid of something that he had no use for. Bronco still held the gun hidden beneath the magazine. With his free hand, he held the dominos up to the glaring overhead strobe lights.
“Tell me.”
“Red not black,” Xing said.
Bronco looked confused. He held the dominos at a different angle. Then, his face lit up. “Isn’t that beautiful. They’re made out of red plastic instead of black. The red’s so dark, you can’t tell the difference. Are all of them like this?”
All the dominos being used in American casinos were being manufactured at a plant in China. Whatever had been done to this pair, was true with them all.
“Yes. They’re all the same,” Xing said.
“Do you understand how this works?”
“No. My boss did not explain the scam to me.”
“Red plastic can be penetrated by an infra-red lens. With a special pair of glasses, I can see through these dominos, and know what the dealer has. You just made me a very rich man.”
Bronco patted Xing on the shoulder and started to smile. Suddenly, his scowl returned. Xing followed his gaze, and saw the manager of the motel where he was staying leading a group of policemen down the middle of Fremont Street. The manger was pointing at young men the same age as Xing, and the policeman were grabbing the men, and showing them to the manager, who kept shaking his head. Then, Xing saw the manager point directly at him.
“Run,” Xing said.
Xing stepped off the curb, then felt his legs stop moving. His stomach was burning, and he placed his hand inside his leather jacket, came away with blood. He looked over his shoulder; Bronco had disappeared into the crowd.
Xing fell to his knees as the policeman swarmed around him. The noise went away, and the world grew still. The reality of what had happened was slow to sink in. Bronco had shot him in the back so he could get away, and save himself.
And I just made him a rich man, Xing thought.
Chapter 54
Everybody died differently. Valentine had learned that the hard way as a cop. He’d seen plenty of people pass on to the great craps game in the sky, and each departure was a little different and carried some signature of that person’s time here on earth.
The Asian with the bullet in his back died with a thin smile on his face. Valentine had gotten to him first, and had knelt down, and pulled the Asian’s head into his lap. Even though he didn’t know the guy from Adam, he thought it was the least he could do.
“Bronco’s getting away,” Gerry said, sounding panicked.
“Let the cops run him down,” Valentine said.
“But Pop—
“He’s got a gun, Gerry. Stay here.”
His son reluctantly agreed. Valentine gazed down into the Asian’s face. He tried to remember the guy’s name? Was it Xing or Zing or Bling? He couldn’t recall. He looked like a decent enough sort, but most people did when they died, all the bad things they’d done seemed to seep out of them, and just the core remained, until that too was gone. The Asian’s eyes fluttered and his smile grew. What was that about?
“
Anything I can do?” Valentine asked.
The Asian shook his head, and then he was no more.
One of the cops got a blanket from inside the Nugget, and laid it over the dead man’s body. Valentine stood up and crossed himself. Then he grabbed Gerry and went looking for Bill, who was handling the search for Bronco on Fremont Street. They’d caught a glimpse of their fugitive as he’d run away; he had disguised himself by shaving his head, and would not be hard to pick out of a crowd.
The Fremont Street Experience was still in full swing, with laser lights flashing across the steel canopy accompanied by blaring disco music that was a few seconds out of sync with the rest of the show. The Experience normally drew a good crowd, and today was no exception. Thousands of tourists were packed on the street, standing shoulder-to-shoulder with their plastic cups of beer and glazed expressions on their faces.
“Where did all these people come from?” Gerry asked.
“This is Vegas, Gerry.”
“I know, but this is unreal.”
They sifted their way through the throng. Soon they could barely move. Gerry was right — the crowd was huge, and seemed to be growing by the minute. There was no sign of Bill or his posse, although he could have been a few feet away, and Valentine wouldn’t have spotted him. They reached the end of the Experience where Fremont met Las Vegas Boulevard, and Valentine pulled his son out of the crowd to a secluded spot beneath a withered palm tree where a homeless man lay sleeping.
“Look at all those cars,” Gerry said.
Valentine followed his son’s gaze. The boulevard was jammed with vehicles, none of which were moving. An irate motorist honked their horn. Within seconds, everyone was making their displeasure known, the situation spiraling out of control.
“What do you think’s going on?” Gerry asked.
“I don’t know.”
“Let’s ask someone.”
Gerry had a knack of being able to talk to complete strangers. He jogged over to one of the stuck vehicles, and struck up a conversation with the driver, a white-haired man traveling with his wife. The driver handed Gerry a sheet of paper, and Gerry thanked him and shook his hand. Then, his son jogged back.
“It’s some kind of promotion,” his son explained.
“Let me see.”
Gerry handed him the sheet of paper. It was an e-mail addressed to Harold and Lorraine Duffy, its sender THE LAS VEGAS CONVENTION & VISITOR’S BUREAU. The print was huge, and practically leapt off the page.
Dear Video Poker Enthusiast — Never let it be said that money doesn’t grow on trees! At three P.M. today, money will grow on trees in the form of five million dollar jackpots, payable to five lucky people playing a video poker machine at a Las Vegas casino. As any video poker player knows, the casinos are required to pay a certain number of jackpots, or risk losing their licenses. This afternoon, five lucky players will win a jackpot, courtesy of this wonderful rule. So, grab your honey and your money, and head to your favorite casino. Remember to do the following when you play:
1) Bet the maximum number of coins the machine allows
2) Be sure you are playing at 3:00 P.M.
3) Be at a Las Vegas casino.
Have fun and good luck!
Yours truly,
The Las Vegas Convention & Visitors Bureau
Valentine smelled a rat. A big, giant rat. Still holding the email, he crossed the street with his son and entered Fitzgeralds, one of the older casinos on Fremont Street. The joint was mobbed, and he had to push his way through the front doors.
He pushed his way to a bank of video poker machines. Every seat at every machine was taken, and there were lines of people standing behind each seat. He approached several of the people on line, and held the email in front of their faces.
“Did you get one of these emails?” Valentine asked.
The people on line said they had. He showed the email to the people in the seats, just to be sure. They’d all received the email as well.
The noise inside the casino was too loud to think. Valentine went back outside with his son, and stood beneath the withered palm tree. The homeless man was still sound asleep.
“Who do you think’s behind this email?” his son asked.
“Fred Friendly and his gang,” Valentine replied. “The convention and visitors bureau does email promotions to bring customers into town. Fred and his gang got their hands on the data bases, and sent this letter to them.”
“You think they’re trying to skip town, and this is their smokescreen?”
Valentine glanced at the email clutched in his hand. The letter hadn’t been written on a whim. Someone had spent time constructing it.
“I think it’s real,” Valentine said.
“You do?”
“Friendly and his gang have a score to settle with Governor Smoltz. I’m guessing they rigged a bunch of video poker machines to pay off jackpots, and planned to send out that e-mail if the law ever caught up to them. When they heard that Bill ordered the Universal slot machines taken out of commission, they put the plan into effect.”
Valentine’s cell phone was vibrating. It was Bill, and he answered it.
“Bronco’s gone,” Bill said.
“Forget Bronco,” Valentine said. “I’ve got some really bad news for you.”
Chapter 55
Bill was at the other end of Fremont Street. Normally, it would have taken two minutes for him to walk to the sidewalk outside of Fitzgerald’s casino where Valentine and Gerry were standing. Because of the crowds, it took ten minutes.
Bill looked frustrated and angry when he arrived. Bronco was in the wind, and their chances of now finding him were slim. Valentine didn’t think his news would make Bill feel any better, and showed him the email. Then, he explained what Friendly and his gang were up to. When he was finished, a wall of resolution rose in Bill’s face.
“That isn’t possible, Tony.”
“Why not?”
“Because I personally worked on a project to upgrade the security of every video poker machine in Nevada,” Bill said. “This is one game which can’t be scammed.”
“You’re sure about that.”
“Damn straight I am. I’d bet my paycheck on it.”
Gerry started coughing. It wasn’t a natural sounding cough, and Valentine quizzed him with a glance. “What’s the matter?”
“Bill’s wrong,” his son said. “Video poker machines can be scammed.”
“They can?”
In a quiet voice, Gerry said, “Yeah. I helped scam one.”
Valentine stared long and hard at his son. There was a streak of gray hair on the back of Gerry’s head, just like his own. They were alike in so many ways, yet there were times that he felt he hardly knew his son at all.
“Go on,” Valentine said.
“This was back when I was running the bar in Brooklyn. This guy came in one day, a client of mine.” He glanced at Bill. “I used to be a bookie.”
“So I’ve heard,” Bill said.
“Anyway, this guy owed me five grand from some football games he bet on. He had this thing about the Jets, and their quarterback was having a lousy year—
“Get on with it,” Valentine said.
“Sorry. So, this guy offers me a deal. He says his kid brother, who’s a computer wiz, knows how to scam a video poker machine in Atlantic City. If I play the machine, I can win my five grand back. I told him I wanted to know how his kid brother had scammed the machine. You know, just to be sure that it couldn’t be traced back to me.”
Valentine’s face felt like a four-alarm fire. He’d still been working for the Atlantic City police department when Gerry had his bar, which meant that his son had scammed an Atlantic City casino while he was still policing them. He knew Gerry had balls; he just hadn’t known how enormous they were.
“So the guy brings his kid brother into the bar the next day,” Gerry went on. “The kid explains how he got a video poker machine for Christmas. He analyzed the machine with
his computer, and discovered that it used something called a random function to shuffle its internal deck of cards. This random function created different “seeds” which insured that the cards were always different.”
Valentine had little experience with video poker machines because the belief in the industry had been that no one had ever successfully scammed one. Looking at Bill, he said, “This make sense to you?”
Bill nodded. “Random functions generate starting values, which are called seeds. The seeds are randomly changed to insure a fair game.”
“Exactly,” Gerry said. “The kid discovered that his game used the machine’s internal clock to create seeds. When he hit the start button, the random function looked at the number of milliseconds which had elapsed since 12:00 A.M., and used that number to create the seed. Since there are eighty-six million milliseconds each day, the seed should have been random. Only it wasn’t, because the kid could generate the same eighty-six million seeds on his computer because he knew the starting point. That let him calculate which cards were coming out.”
“How did this translate to you beating a video-poker machine in Atlantic City?” Valentine said. “The kid was playing a game, for Christ’s sake.”
“The kid’s game was manufactured by a company that made casino video poker games,” Gerry explained. “He told his brother, and his brother went to Atlantic City, and played one of the company’s real games. Guess what? The same cards came out as his brother’s game at home. They were generating the same seeds.”
Bill crossed his arms. “Gerry, what you just described is ancient history. Remember what I told you before, about my being involved in updating the machines? We discovered that flaw, and made the manufacturers stop using internal clocks.”
“But what if a company didn’t?” Gerry said. “What if one company ignored your order, and didn’t change the program? You know, to save money.”
“Like Universal did when it used the same fingerprint on its slot machines,” Valentine said.