by James Swain
Their eyes met, and his father realized something was wrong.
“What’s the matter?” his father asked.
Gerry glanced at Bill. Bill was hanging on every word.
“I’ll tell you later,” Gerry said under his breath.
“So tell me, what is a face reader?” Running Bear asked.
They were driving north on Highway 19 in the chief’s pick-up truck, Mabel holding onto the handle above her door for dear life. To say they were driving fast down the busy eight-lane highway was an understatement. They were flying.
“Do you always drive so fast?” she asked.
“Only when I’m excited. Am I scaring you?”
“A little. Why are you excited?”
“Because I learn something new every time I’m with you.”
The chief had a wonderful way with words. Not too glib, not too smooth, just the right amount of flattery. Best of all, he was sincere about it.
“I’ll explain. To make money playing poker, you have to have an advantage over your opponents. Gamblers call this having an edge. All the top pros have an edge.”
“Makes sense.”
“Some have photographic memories which let them remember every hand their opponent has played. That’s an edge. Others are math wizards, and can do rapid calculations to determine the odds of the cards they’re holding, and also something called pot odds. That’s also an edge. The third group are face readers. They have the god-given ability to read people’s faces. They know when they’re opponents are bluffing, or when they’re strong. It’s why so many players wear sunglasses when they play.”
“I remember my grandfather telling me that words could trick you, but never a man’s face,” Running Bear said.
“Your grandfather was one hundred percent correct,” Mabel said. “ The woman we’re about to meet is named Mira, and she’s a face reader. Tony spotted her playing poker in a casino one night. He uses her when he’s working on a tough case.”
“Uses her how?”
“Mira can look at a photo, and tell you if someone is hiding something. ”
“This I’ve got to see,” Running Bear said.
He sounded like a bubbling kid. Mabel patted him on the arm, and saw him smile.
They drove into the next county to an area called Keystone. It wasn’t on most maps, and there wasn’t really a town, just dozens of fresh-water lakes surrounded by Florida-style cracker houses built to withstand just about anything nature had to offer.
Mabel pointed them down an unmarked dirt road where a clapboard house sat at the very end. She’d been here before, and explained the drill to Running Bear: Stay in the car, honk the horn three times, then wait for someone to come out the front door. No matter what, do not get out, she warned him.
Running Bear parked beneath a stand of cypress trees, then beeped three times. A heavyset Mexican shuffled out of the dwelling wearing his shirt out of his pants. It was obvious by the bulge in his waist that he had a handgun. He eyed them suspiciously, then broke into a gap-toothed smile when he spotted Mabel. She rolled down her window and greeted him. “Hello, Jorge. Is Mira here?”
Jorge nodded. “I go get her. You stay here.”
When Jorge was gone, Running Bear said, “What are they running here?”
“A high-stakes poker game, ten thousand dollar buy in,” Mabel explained. “I’m told that Mira has been fleecing the regulars for quite a while. She lets them win every once in a while to keep things civil.”
“Smart lady.”
The front door of the house opened. Mira emerged wearing a navy tee-shirt and a sarong. She was a small, delicately-boned Asian-American in her early thirties who Mabel would have considered beautiful if not for the look of distrust stamped on her face. Mabel did not know Mira’s story, and was not sure she wanted to.
Mira came up to Mabel’s side of the pickup, but her eyes were fixed on Running Bear. She crossed her arms, and stared at him like he was a lab specimen. Mabel had seen her do this before. Mira was unpacking the chief’s face, studying the bulges and wrinkles that mirrored his character. She said, “You were a soldier, weren’t you?”
The chief nodded. “Long time ago.”
“But it seems like yesterday,” Mira said.
Again he nodded. “Yes.”
“You like to protect things, don’t you?”
“Yes.”
“Yet, you also like to hunt. How do you explain the contradiction?”
“It was how I fed myself when I was a boy,” Running Bear said.
“What you got for me?” she said to Mabel.
Mabel handed her the envelope containing the photographs of the seven gaming agents she’d printed off Tony’s computer. “One of these people is stealing slot machine jackpots in Nevada. I was hoping you could figure out which one.”
“You want me to find the thief?”
“Please.”
“Where’s Tony?”
“He’s out in Nevada, trying to catch this guy.”
“Tell him to call me when he comes home.”
“I will, Mira.”
Mira opened the envelope and removed the seven photographs. Paper-clipped to them was a smaller envelope with her fee. She removed the stack of hundred dollar bills and counted the money. Satisfied, she stuffed the bills into the pocket of her sarong, then said, “You got these photographs off the Internet. That makes my job harder. I need to look at them in seclusion. I’ll be back in a little while.”
Mira walked away. Not to the house, but down to the edge of the lake where tiny schools of fish were doing a flawless ballet just above the water’s surface. Stopping, she fitted on a pair of reading glasses, and carefully studied the photographs.
“What was that about?” Running Bear asked.
“She’s got a crush on Tony.”
“I sensed that. She’s half his age.”
“I know. Tony is a magnet for — how should I say it? — problem women. I think it has something to do with him being an ex-policeman.”
“It must make his life difficult. Would you like to have dinner with me?”
“That was some segue, chief.”
Running Bear gestured awkwardly with his hands. “Sorry. It’s been a long time since I asked a woman on a date.”
“Of course I’ll have dinner with you.”
“You will? I mean, that’s wonderful. How about tonight?”
“That would be splendid. Pick me up at seven.”
The chief smiled like he’d just won the lottery. Mabel had no idea where this was going, but she was looking forward to the ride. She glanced down at the lake, and saw Mira slip the photographs back into the envelope, and start walking toward the pickup.
The expression on her face was best described as hostile.
“What’s wrong?” Mabel asked when Mira reached the car.
“These are all cops, aren’t they?” Mira said.
“They’re in law enforcement, yes.”
“That’s too bad.”
“Why do you say that?”
Mira tossed the envelope through the window into Mabel’s lap.
“They’re all thieves,” she said.
Part 3
Jackpot
Chapter 47
McCarren International Airport in Las Vegas had a special area reserved for private planes. It was one of the busiest areas of the airport, with hundreds of private planes and jets landing at all hours of the day and night. Many of these planes had wealthy gamblers coming to town for a few days of fun, and a long line of chauffeur-driven limousines sent by the casinos were parked just outside the gates, waiting to whisk these gamblers away. Governor Smoltz’s private jet landed at seven-thirty in the morning with Valentine, his son, and Bill Higgins on board. As the three men disembarked onto the windy tarmac, Valentine’s cell phone rang. Caller ID said Mabel. He told Gerry and Bill that he’d meet them inside the terminal, and moved into the shade before answering the call.
“How’s i
t going?” he said by way of greeting.
“I just met with Mira,” Mabel replied. “You’re not going to believe what she told me.”
“Try me.”
“Mira is convinced that all seven GCB agents are involved in a massive conspiracy. Mira said it was apparent from the downturn of the triangularis — that’s the muscle that depresses the corner of the lips — that they were involved. Tony, it was so amazing. The moment she pointed it out to me, I could see it! Their mouths had a distasteful look, like they’d just bitten into a sour piece of fruit.”
Valentine felt something drop in the pit of his stomach. His earlier suspicion that Bill was holding back was taking on new meaning. Something had happened to those seven agents that had turned them into crooks. Their jobs, or something related to their jobs, had pushed them to the dark side.
“I need to run,” he said. “Thanks for doing this.”
“One more thing,” Mabel said. “I looked at these seven agents’ files again. They all report directly to your friend Bill Higgins. It occurred to me that they may not be the only people involved in this conspiracy.”
“Come again?”
“Your friend Bill. I checked him out as well.”
“How did you do that?”
“I pulled up his photograph on my cell phone, and showed it to Mira. It wasn’t a good photo, but Mira was able to read Bill’s face.”
Valentine felt an icy finger run down the length of his spine. Was Bill involved? It was a jump he’d been unwilling to make. He’d known Bill for twenty-five years, and considered him more than just a friend. But it was possible. When it came to money, just about anything was possible.
“And?”
“She said that Bill was filled with dark secrets.”
Valentine found himself nodding. Bill did have his secrets. He’d been sent away from the Navajo reservation by his parents at an early age, something he’d never gotten over. Valentine guessed there were plenty of things hidden beneath Bill’s calm exterior, and said, “Did she think Bill was involved?”
“Mira said it was possible. She said you should be very careful.”
“Will do. Talk to you later.”
Valentine went inside the terminal and found his garment bag waiting for him in the baggage claim. His son was at the car rental counter, getting them a set of wheels. He tapped Gerry on the shoulder and said, “Where’s Bill?”
“He went outside to make a call. He said the reception was better out there.”
Valentine frowned. Bill always seemed to walk away when he needed to make a call. It hadn’t seemed suspicious before, but now it did. He walked outside the terminal and found Bill standing in a remote spot, talking on his cell. He looked at his friend in the bright sunlight, and tried to see what Mira had seen. Bill finished his call.
“That was Sheriff Bolden of the Metro Las Vegas Police Department,” Bill said. “His men tracked down the Asian through Garrow’s cell phone. His name’s Xing Han Wong, and he’s holed up at the Cordova motel on Fremont Street. The police are parked in the room next to Xing’s, listening to his phone calls. Xing talked to Bronco a couple of hours ago. They’re going to meet up this afternoon, and do the exchange. I told Bolden we wanted to be there when the bust went down.”
Valentine studied Bill’s face as he spoke. It was hard to tell what he was thinking. “You’re going to let the police arrest him?”
“Yes. Is that a problem?”
“Bronco stabbed a guard at the Reno jail yesterday. You know how the Vegas cops treat people who attack cops. They shoot them.”
“I’m not going to shed any tears if Bronco gets killed.”
If Bronco got taken down by the Vegas cops, they’d never hear him say who the crooked gaming agent was. And since they didn’t have any real proof that a gaming agent had stolen jackpots, the scam would get swept under the rug, just like every other bad thing that happened in this town.
Bill pulled out his car keys. “My car is parked in the lot. Follow me once you get your rental.”
Now Bill was ordering him around. His friend had forgotten that this was his investigation. Or maybe it had never been his investigation at all.
“Will do,” Valentine said.
“What did Mabel say?” Gerry asked when they were on the road.
Valentine clutched the wheel of his rental. He was driving down Las Vegas Boulevard into the heart of the strip, the lanes filled with lunatic drivers. Bill’s silver Volvo was a hundred feet ahead with its government-issued plates.
“Mira looked at the photos. She thinks all seven agents are involved in the scam.”
“What? Jeesus.”
“It gets worse.”
“How can it get worse?”
“Bill might be involved, too.”
Gerry fell back in his seat. It was rare for his son to be at a loss for words. This was one of those special occasions.
“I want to get to the bottom of this. It’s going to mean us going rogue, and sticking our noses where they don’t belong. You up for it?”
His son swallowed hard and nodded.
“Good. Hold on.”
They had reached the intersection with Harmon Avenue. The palatial Aladdin Resort and Casino was on their right, the majestic water fountains of the Bellagio on their left. Valentine jammed on his brakes and spun the wheel, taking the corner on two wheels. Within seconds they were heading away from the strip, and had lost Bill.
He drove down several side roads, keeping his eye on his mirror. When he decided that Bill hadn’t followed them, he returned to the strip, and drove to the Acropolis Hotel & Casino. The Acropolis was an old-time joint and a monument to debauchery, with statues of naked women everywhere you looked. The old ad campaign that had touted Las Vegas as a family destination had never mentioned the place.
He drove up the snaking front entrance and braked at the valet stand. “Here’s the deal. I want you to talk with Nick Nicocropolis, the owner of this dump. Nick and I go back a long way. Nick knows all the dirt about this town. Ask Nick what might have caused seven gaming agents to go dirty, and start ripping off the casinos.”
“Where are you going?” his son asked.
“To have a talk with Lucy Price. Lucy was approached several years ago by a man who got her to play a rigged slot machine. I’m sure he’s the gang’s ringleader.”
“Why do you say that?”
“That’s the way it works with gangs. The ringleader is the front man. In this case, he was recruiting claimers while the others rigged the laptops the field agents used. If I can get Lucy to pick his photo out, we can pull in the ringleader, and grill him. Chances are, he’ll give up the rest of them.”
“Pop, she tore your heart out the last time. Let me go talk to her.”
Gerry was right. His last meeting with Lucy had ripped him apart. But a part of him had to see her again, no matter how painful that might be. He patted his son’s arm. “This one’s mine. I’ll be back in a couple hours. Say hi to Nick for me.”
His son got out, and Valentine peeled out of the valet stand.
Chapter 48
Valentine drove to the Jean Correctional Facility with the snapshot of Lucy Price that he kept in his wallet stuck on the steering wheel. She reminded him a lot of his late wife. Same height, same hair color, and a killer smile.
During the drive, he called the warden on his cell phone, and requested that Lucy be brought to the visiting area in the main administration building. The warden had agreed, having remembered him from a few days ago. Valentine appreciated that. Just about every other law enforcement officer in Nevada had challenged him in the past few days, and it was nice not to run into another wall.
He checked in with the receptionist, then passed through a metal detector and made his way to the visiting area. Walking down a hallway, he stared through a window onto a yard, and saw several hundred women inmates talking and puffing on cigarettes. Three months ago, he’d talked Lucy into throwing herself upon the merc
y of the court, and now tried to imagine her surviving here, with drug addicts and prostitutes and who knew what else. Had he made a mistake? He sure hoped not.
He sat in the visitor’s room and waited. The room smelled like a tobacco factory, and he found himself craving a smoke. He didn’t think he’d ever really kick the habit until they threw dirt on his face. After a few minutes, a bearded man wearing a navy sports jacket entered the room. His name tag said Dr. R. Bob Smith, III.