Jackpot tv-8

by James Swain

  “I didn’t hear that, and you didn’t hear that. Understand?”

  His aides nodded like wooden soldiers. Smoltz turned to Valentine and his son. “You didn’t hear that, either.”

  “Right,” Valentine said.

  Smoltz came over to where the Valentines stood. The governor was a big man, and used to getting his way. “Don’t smart mouth me, Tony. You know how the game is played in this town. I have to protect the integrity of our casinos, at any cost.”

  “Protect them how? If you don’t do what Bill just suggested, your casinos will lose ten billion dollars,” Valentine said.

  “Bill’s a fool,” Smoltz said. “I can never admit our games are rigged, even if they are. Keep your mouths shut, and let me handle this. Now, I want your word that his conversation will go no further. Understood?”

  Valentine and his son exchanged looks. The governor clearly had come up with another plan of attack. It was his problem now, and they both nodded.

  “Good,” Smoltz said.

  Valentine and his son found Bill inside an empty hanger with a dejected look on his face. Bill had spent his entire career working for Gaming Control. He didn’t have any family or close friends. He lived for his work, and now it was a thing of the past.

  “Smoltz tell you what he’s going to do?” Bill asked.

  “No,” Valentine asked.

  “Guess we’ll find out at three o’clock.”

  “Guess so.”

  “What are we standing here for?” Gerry said impatiently. “Let’s go find Bronco.”

  “He’s long gone Gerry,” Valentine said. “Let it go.”

  “Like hell he is,” his son replied matter-of-factly. “Bronco’s in a casino, trying out the Pai Gow scam.”

  “Why do you say that?”

  “Because he’s got a new toy, and he wants to play with it.”

  “You think so?”

  “Damn straight,” he son said. “He threw on a disguise, drove to the other side of town, and went into a casino where he knew they had Pai Gow. Trust me. He’s ripping someone off right now.”

  “Then he shouldn’t be too hard to find.” Bill said, punching numbers into his cell phone. “I’ll alert the SIN network that a white male is cheating at a Pai Gow game, and ask them to alert the casinos. Since most people who play Pai Gow are Asian, Bronco will stick out like a sore thumb if your theory is true.”

  “It isn’t a theory,” Gerry said. “Just wait.”

  Ten minutes later, Bill got a call back. A white male playing Pai Gow at the MGM Grand had taken the casino for twenty-five grand in less than an hour. A surveillance photo of the player appeared on the screen of Bill’s cell phone.

  “You think this is him?” Bill asked.

  Valentine took the phone out of Bill’s hand and had a look. The player in question wore a baseball cap and tinted sunglasses. Most of his face was hidden, and Valentine couldn’t be sure if it was Bronco or not. But the shades bothered him. Only poker players wore shades in a casino, or cheaters using infra-red marks to beat the house. Maybe that was the secret of the Pai Gow scam.

  He showed the photo to Gerry. “What do you think?”

  “That’s him,” Gerry said after a pause.

  “You sure?”

  “Positive. Look how he cups his hands. He did that in the car in Reno.”

  “Hell,” Bill said, “he’s right across the street.”

  The MGM’s sparkling emerald green buildings were visible from where they stood. Valentine felt a tinge of excitement knowing that Bronco was so close. He listened as Bill called the MGM’s head of security and ordered him to put guards at every exit.

  “I’ve got my job until tomorrow,” Bill said, ending the call. “Maybe I can end it on a high note.”

  Gerry ran over to an airport employee driving a luggage cart, and talked him into giving the cart up. Jumping behind the wheel, Gerry drove over to where they stood, and Bill and Valentine hopped in.

  “What did you tell that guy?” Valentine asked.

  “Don’t ask,” his son said.

  Chapter 58

  They pulled into the MGM at five minutes till three. The front entrance looked like a parking lot, and Gerry drove the luggage cart on the sidewalk and braked by the front door. He threw the keys to a bewildered valet, and they hurried inside.

  The casino’s head of security waited in the lobby. His name was Richard Goldman, and he wore a designer blue power suit that was the trademark of his position. On the giant screens behind the check in area, a troupe of Chinese acrobats that were appearing in the hotel’s theater did gravity-defying somersaults through the air.

  “I’ve got a guard covering each exit,” Goldman said as he led them through the packed casino. “I would have used more, only there are so many players in the casino, I needed the others for crowd control.”

  The MGM’s casino was over three football fields in length. It had more video poker games than any other casino in town, and players were lined up to play them. It was a madhouse, and Goldman pushed his way through with a walkie-talkie to his ear.

  “He’s still there? Good. We’re coming.”

  Valentine glanced at his son. Gerry was gritting his teeth.

  “Don’t do anything stupid,” Valentine told him.

  “Wouldn’t dream of it.”

  They reached the area of the casinos devoted to Pai Gow. The tables had pretty Asian girls dealing the games, and Asian pit bosses watching the action. The players, all Asian males with excited looks on their faces, were drinking imported beer and talking excitedly amongst themselves, oblivious to the chaos taking place around them. As Valentine neared the table, he spotted an empty spot with a gigantic stack of chips. He motioned to the pit boss..

  “Whose sitting here?”

  “Some guy wearing a baseball cap. He’s taking a leak,” the pit boss said.

  “Is he winning a lot?”

  “He hasn’t lost.”

  “You need to shut down this table.”

  The pit boss acted shocked, and looked to Goldman for help.

  “Do as the man says,” Goldman said.

  To the anger of the Asian gamblers at the table, the game was shut down. The gamblers left, and the dealer went on break, leaving the pit boss to watch Bronco’s winnings.

  “When our friend comes back, tell him the game was shut down,” Valentine told the pit boss. “If he beefs, offer to give him a free meal voucher.”

  “Whatever you say,” the pit boss said.

  “What are you doing?” Bill wanted to know.

  “I don’t want to arrest Bronco on the floor,” Valentine said. “ Better to let him take his winnings to the cage. Then we’ll get him.”

  “Good idea.”

  They moved behind a bank of slot machines. From their vantage point, they had a clear view of the Men’s Room. Valentine’s palms were sweating, and his mouth had turned dry. He’d never hunted, and wondered if this was what a hunter felt when their prey was in range, ready to be taken down. He checked the time. In two minutes, the ball was going to drop. They needed to catch Bronco before that happened.

  “Here he comes,” his son said.

  Bronco sauntered out of the Men’s Room and approach the Pai Gow table he’d been playing at. Valentine had always wondered how Bronco had managed to slip through the hands of the law so many times. Watching him cross the casino, he saw the slow, unsteady walk of a gambler who’d had too much to drink. It was an act, and he realized then Bronco’s great secret. Bronco was a chameleon who could play any role.

  Bronco came to the empty table and halted. A strange look registered across his face. He knew something wasn’t right. He had a short conversation with the pit boss. Scooping up his chips, he began to slip them into his pockets. He took his time and stayed in character, a real pro. Then he headed across the floor to the cage, continuing his impersonation of a tipsy tourist. His shirt was pulled out, and Valentine guessed he had a gun tucked in his waistband. />
  Reaching the cage, Bronco began sliding his chips through the bars to the female cashier. She had big hair and an easy smile, and was talking a mile-a-minute. It was the best distraction they could ask for.

  They moved in fast; Bill to Bronco’s right, Valentine and Gerry to his left. Bronco was leaning on the cage’s marble counter, yukking it up with the cashier. He looked surprised when they sandwiched him in.

  “Freeze.” Bill had his weapon drawn, and pointed it at his suspect’s chest. “Put your hands behind your head, and keep them there.”

  Bronco dutifully raised his arms into the air. Bill reached beneath Bronco’s shirt, and removed the gun from where Valentine had guessed it would be.

  Bronco seemed resigned to his fate. He looked at Valentine and laughed.

  “How long you been chasing me?”

  “Twenty-five years,” Valentine replied.

  “That’s a long time. You happy, now?”

  Catching crooks had never made Valentine happy. It was about as much fun as cleaning septic tanks, which had been his first job before becoming a policeman. But, this was different. This was for Sal.

  “Sure am,” he said.

  “Glad somebody is,” he said, and laughed again.

  Bill made Bronco drop his arms, and began to cuff him. Bronco glanced at the cashier, who was watching, her eyes aglow.

  “Nice talking to you, sweetheart.”

  Valentine looked at his watch. It was exactly three. His eyes shifted to the casino, ready to see how many video poker machines lit up, and showed a million dollar jackpot. He wondered how Smoltz planned to deal with this disaster. The casinos couldn’t pay off that many jackpots without bankrupting themselves. But if the casinos didn’t pay off, no one would ever gamble in Las Vegas again.

  A few seconds later, he got his answer.

  Chapter 59

  The lights inside the MGM flickered, then went out all together, throwing the interior into darkness. The casino had no windows, and the blackness was like being inside a cave. A roar of panic came from the startled patrons.

  “Son of a bitch,” Bill shouted.

  “What’s going on?” Valentine said.

  “Smoltz!

  It took a moment for Valentine to understand what Bill was saying. Rather than allow a quarter of Vegas’s video poker machines to register jackpots and potentially bankrupt the casinos, Smoltz had killed the power throughout the city.

  Bill let out a startled yell. Then a gun went off, the sound ripping across the casino. Valentine hit the floor, and covered his head with his hands. Self-preservation had been the first thing he’d learned as a cop, and he rolled across the floor until he hit the wall where the cage was, and stayed there.

  “Gerry — you okay?”

  “Yeah, Pop.”

  “Bill — how about you?”

  Bill did not reply. Valentine preyed his friend was not hurt. On the other side of the casino came the sounds of people screaming, as well as chairs and tables being broken. Were people destroying the place out of anger, or just trying to escape?

  Valentine felt the toe of a man’s shoe catch him squarely in the face. He tasted his own blood and the world began to spin. The shoe kicked him again, this time in the forehead, and his head snapped back, and hit the wall. An ugly laugh accompanied the kick.

  “Hey Valentine,” Bronco said. “Guess who’s gun I’ve got?”

  Valentine lay perfectly still, and tried to determine where Bronco was standing. If he could just grab his leg…

  “Want me to shoot you?” Bronco asked.

  Valentine hesitated, then said, “Not really.”

  Another laugh. “You’re a funny guy. There’s something I’ve been meaning to tell you. Your brother-in-law Sal was on the take. He tried to squeeze me, so my boys and I killed him. He was dirty.”

  Valentine felt the anger rise in his throat. Sal was like most cops, and had lived close to the poverty line. He couldn’t have been taking bribes.

  Gerry started to say something. Valentine kicked him before the words tumbled out of his mouth, and his son fell silent.

  “Sal got what he deserved,” Bronco said, his voice moving away. “I’ll send you a postcard when I get settled. See you around.”

  A second gunshot ripped through the casino. A door leading to the street opened and closed, throwing light inside the darkened interior. Valentine pulled himself to his feet and ran toward the door. Blood was pouring out of his mouth, and his head was spinning. Gerry was right beside him, their shoulders almost touching.

  “You didn’t have to kick me so hard,” his son said.

  “Yes, I did.”

  The darkness was deceiving, and made it hard to judge distances. Valentine found the door and jerked it open. Sunlight flooded through the space. Lying on the floor was the guard assigned to make sure Bronco didn’t escape. He’d taken a slug in the shoulder and had his hand pressed against the wound.

  “You okay?” Valentine asked.

  “Flesh wound,” the guard said. “Get that son-of-a-bitch.”

  Valentine and Gerry went outside. The exit led to an overhead pedestrian walkway that connected the MGM to the other side of Las Vegas Boulevard. Vegas was filled with pedestrian walkways, and Valentine hated every single one of them. They served no other purpose than to give escape routes for criminals.

  Bronco was halfway across the walkway. He had eyes in the back of his head, and spun around, then aimed and fired. The bullet winged the building above their heads.

  “Fuck you, Valentine!”

  Laughing, Bronco climbed over the walkway’s restraining wall, and jumped to the street, landing on the hood of a car filled with people. Rolling off, he began to run. The loss of power had knocked out the traffic lights, and he darted through the sea of cars.

  “Let’s get him,” Gerry said.

  “Stay here. That’s an order.”

  The door to the MGM banged open. Bill staggered out, clutching his bloody arm. It was a nasty wound, but the pain was nothing compared to what he was feeling inside.

  “We lost him,” Valentine said.

  “What a way to end a career,” Bill said.

  “It’s not over, yet.”

  “It is for me.”

  “You don’t look good. We need to find a doctor.”

  “Where’s your son?”

  Valentine spun around. Gerry had taken off. He felt himself panic, and heard the pounding of footsteps as Gerry ran down a stairwell that led to the street.

  “Gerry!”

  Valentine was never going to outrun his son. He stepped onto the walkway, and hung his head over the railing, trying to find him down below.

  “There he is,” Bill said.

  His eyes followed the direction of Bill’s finger. Gerry stood in the middle of Las Vegas Boulevard in the spot where Bronco had rolled off the car. His son picked up a piece of paper lying on the street. Thirty seconds later, he was standing next to his father, all out of breath.

  “You trying to give me a heart attack?” Valentine asked.

  “This fell out of his pocket,” Gerry explained. “It’s a photograph.”

  Valentine had a look. The photo had been taken in the days before digital cameras. In it, a little boy was swimming in a plastic above-ground swimming pool. He was a cute kid, with loads of freckles and a playful smile. He flipped it over. Written on the back was the word Mikey.

  “You sure this was in Bronco’s pocket?”

  “Positive,” his son said.

  Valentine didn’t know what it meant, and wasn’t sure he ever would. Bill had turned white as a ghost, and looked ready to pass out. They went back inside the MGM. There was a flicker of light in the ceiling, and people in the casino cheered. Moments later the lights came on, only dimmer than before, the patrons enveloped in a sickly yellow glow. As they helped Bill across the floor, Valentine noticed that everyone had gone right back to gambling. It was as if nothing had happened.

  Which was ex
actly what Smoltz had wanted.

  Chapter 60

  Valentine stood on the balcony of his comped suite at the Acropolis, watching the neon jungle that was nighttime on the Las Vegas strip. Down below, thousands of people, some in cars, other on foot, snaked through the canyon formed by the gigantic casinos.

  They’d checked Bill into the hospital a few hours ago, then tried to find lodgings for the night. The town was sold out, and Valentine had called Nick, and asked a favor.

  Through the open slider came the voice of a TV newscaster, talking about the power outage that had taken down Vegas that afternoon. The outage was being attributed to a faulty generator in the city’s main power plant, located at the Hoover Dam. It was the first time since the assassination of President Kennedy that the city’s casinos had been shut down. The newscaster was making it sound like it had been no big deal, and Valentine supposed it wasn’t a big deal, unless you happened to know the truth.

  He went inside and killed the TV. Gerry lay on the bed, still fully clothed, snoring away. His son had surprised him on this trip, and made him think there was still hope.

  On the coffee table lay the photo of Mikey the mystery boy. He and Gerry had spent several hours trying to determine the photo’s significance. The photo had not been well taken care of, which had led them to believe that it wasn’t important to Bronco, and was something he planned to use when he established another identity.

  Or maybe it meant something else. He sat down on the couch, and stared into space. Bronco had always been an enigma. He’d been chasing him for a long time, yet had never understood what made him tick. The things he’d learned about him on this trip had only added to the confusion. It had started with the tape of the woman named Marie. She’d obviously meant a great deal to Bronco, yet there was no evidence that she’d been in his life recently. So why had Bronco kept her dresses in his closet, and a framed photo on his night table? Had he been in love with her? It didn’t seem possible. Bronco had impressed him as someone incapable of love. That was true with most killers. They did not know how to love, or be loved in return.

  Then Bronco had kidnaped Gerry. Bronco could have killed his son, only he hadn’t. Gerry’s comment about why Bronco hadn’t killed him had bothered Valentine. He has a heart. No, he didn’t. If Bronco had a heart, he wouldn’t have shot Bo Farmer on his honeymoon in front of his wife.