The Black Chip

by Gary Land

  Noly knew the best way to deal with a group of hostiles was to take out the leader in a quick, vicious attack. The others usually backed down--most of the time. The real trick as far as Noly was concerned was taking him down without killing him.

  As Noly maneuvered for position, with the Leader and his two buddies following, the other three were trashing the Lexus. The sounds of breaking glass and metal-on-metal pounding filled the air. Noly stole a quick glance at his car, and saw all four tires flat. The gun was well hidden inside the car, but they would find it soon enough. This had to end before that.

  The Leader made his move and swung at Noly. He ducked, and brought the side of his hand up into the base of Leader’s nose, just under the tip. Like a reverse karate chop. If Noly hit him a quarter inch higher, Mr. Leader would be dead, because the force of the blow would push the cartilage in the nose up into the brain. Instead, he bled profusely, and would be in need of a dentist and a plastic surgeon.

  As it turned out, Noly didn’t have to deal with the Buddies, because they turned tail and ran. It may have been because of Noly, or it may have been the police sirens screaming down the street. Either way, Noly was satisfied.

  #

  After dealing with the police, and calling Jim Collins to get him off the hook, Noly took a taxi back to his apartment with Alex, and safely delivered him to Mrs. H. He promised Alex not to tell his grandmother what had happened, but if Noly ever caught him disobeying Mrs. H again, he would answer to him.

  Noly quickly ran to his apartment, picked up a document, and headed back out to the taxi.

  The taxi eventually dropped Noly off at the front of the “Otto-mobile King’s” Cadillac dealership. He stepped out, paid the cab driver, and walked onto the lot. He knew the salesperson next up in the rotation would approach him immediately thinking he had found himself a real sucker who was stupid enough to arrive in a taxi. If that didn’t signal the need for a new car then nothing did.

  Noly watched a group of three men talking in the showroom when one of them split off from the others and headed towards the door leading to the car lot. He wore jeans and a cowboy-style shirt that looked one size too small for his frame. His hair was badly receding, and he was already sweating when he approached Noly.

  “Howdy, how’s your day going so far?” the salesman said.

  “Well, not that good. Crashed my old car so I’m going to need a new one,” Noly said.

  “Ooh, bad luck. Sorry to hear that, pal, but I’m sure I can find you something...”

  Noly cut him off. “I’m looking for an Escalade, fully-loaded.”

  “Hey, great-–my name’s Walter, but just call me Walt,” he said. He wrinkled his brow and continued, “You know, I think we just got a fully-loaded black Escalade off the truck this morning.”

  “No, shit? Well, I’ll take it.”

  “Excuse me?”

  “I’ll take it.”

  “Don’t you want to see it first, um, test drive it?”

  “No, don’t need to. But I need the car ready in thirty minutes.” Noly clapped his hands. “Come on let’s go. Clock’s ticking.”

  “What--um, I don’t think we can have it all ready in thirty minutes.”

  Noly started walking towards the showroom with Walter following by his side.

  “It takes twenty minutes or less to prep the vehicle to leave the lot,” Noly said. “The other ten minutes is to prepare the DMV paperwork and sign the vehicle over to me.”

  “Ah, yes, well, we haven’t even agreed on the price yet plus there are the finance documents to complete.” Walter complained.

  “The price is free so you can see we won’t need any financing. Let’s go see your manager,” Noly said, as he opened the door and stepped inside. The cool air felt great.

  “Are you just jerking me around?” Walter said in an irritated manner.

  Noly turned to Walter and pulled a legal document from his pocket, unfolded it, and handed it to Walt. “Take this to your manager. You see the time on the clock there?” Noly said, pointing to a large, round clock on the far wall. Walter’s head turned automatically to look. Noly said, “I’m going to be a nice guy and restart the clock – thirty minutes from...now – I suggest you go get the manager.”

  “Shit, why do I get all the assholes?” Walter muttered as he threw the paper on the floor, and walked away.

  “Walt!” It was a demand-–the tone clear in Noly’s voice. “I’m going to pretend I didn’t just hear you call me an asshole, and I’m going to do you a favor.”

  Walt didn’t move. He looked around to see what help was available if he was attacked, but everyone was either occupied with other duties, or pretending they couldn’t hear what was going on. Then he saw Shirley scampering into the manager’s office and thought how much he loved her at that moment.

  “Uh, what favor’s that?” Walt asked in an attempt to stall.

  “According to the carefully worded legal document you threw on the floor, if you refuse to give me the car of my choice there is a one-hundred thousand dollar penalty due and payable immediately with interest of ten percent per year due on any unpaid balances.” Noly paused to let this sink in and then went on. “If you are responsible for causing this dealership the loss of one-hundred thousand dollars then I’m pretty damn sure you’re going to lose your job. Now, pick up the document and let’s go see your manager.”

  A well-tanned man with salt and pepper hair, wearing slacks and a pressed shirt and tie, walked up to Noly and put out his hand. “Mr. Butowski?”

  “Yes.”

  “I, um, recognize you from the picture I have in my office. Can I see some identification, please--just to keep this legal?”

  Noly showed him his driver’s license.

  “Thank you. My name is Nathan Borders. I’m sorry for any delay Mr. Butowski. All of our dealerships have been notified that you may approach us for a vehicle under the terms of your settlement. Mr. Emery here has only been with us three weeks, and we neglected to inform him. Please forgive us.”

  Noly smiled. “You see, Walt, pal, that’s how it’s done.” He paused then added, “I’m still waiting for you to pick up my document.”

  Walt, who had his mouth hanging open since the moment Nathan arrived, scrambled to the floor, picked up the paper, and handed it to Noly.

  Nathan turned to Walt. “What car has Mr. Butowski chosen?”

  “The black Escalade...with the premium package.”

  Nathan winced. The car retailed for over sixty-five thousand. Mr. van Leesle was ultimately responsible and the dealership would get a replacement car, but it still hurt to see what would amount to a ten percent profit drive off the lot for nothing, especially in this economy.

  “Walt, get the car prepped immediately, and have Shirley draw up the DMV forms,” Nathan ordered. “We’ll get this done as fast as we can Mr. Butowski.”

  “Thanks, you have about twenty-two minutes left. I’m sure I don’t have to remind you that for every twenty minute delay after the initial thirty minutes there is a five thousand dollar penalty due.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Noly drove off the lot with three minutes to spare.

  Chapter 18

  Las Vegas likes to promote itself as a paradise in the desert, and it may be that in one of those Kodak moments on the Strip, especially at night, when the lights of the city fulfill that image.

  Noly knew the dark side of the city, those places that the bright lights didn’t quite reach. And there were many of them. Drugs, gangs, prostitution, and more cheaters and scammers than any other city in the world. The mob was still here too, although they kept a lower profile than in years past.

  Noly sped up to make a yellow light so he wouldn’t be late meeting Collins. Honking and squealing tires caused him to look up into his rear-view mirror. He saw a blue Honda Accord race through the red light Noly had just missed, and swerve wildly around two cars entering the intersection.

  The car had a spider-crack in
the lower, left-side windshield under the driver’s sight line. It was probably low enough that a cop wouldn’t bother ticketing the driver, but it was still dangerous. Once a crack like that started, it didn’t stop until it ran out of glass.

  Noly met Collins in front of the Desert Oasis Bank on

  Rainbow Boulevard. A modern, four-story concrete and glass building, it was set back on property that included a water sculpture with cascading falls that splashed down into a green pool filled with bronze mermaids. The ground floor consisted of the bank branch itself, while each succeeding floor contained the offices and conference rooms of the elite employees of Desert Oasis. Presumably, the higher up your office the more elite the bank considered you.

  “New car?” Collins asked.

  “Yeah--got in an accident with the Lexus.”

  “Nice--black Escalade, that’s the Secret Service car. Now, you just need a little American flag pin on your lapel and an ear bud.”

  Noly and Collins crossed the branch and headed towards the bank of elevators situated across the lobby from the teller windows. Before a security guard could stop them, Collins flashed his badge and hit the button for the elevator.

  “Where can I find Troy Buckley?” he asked the guard.

  “On three.”

  When they were in the elevator, Collins turned to Noly and reminded him of his promise. “You’re here to observe only--no talking.”

  Noly looked at Collins, smiled, and nodded his head. The doors opened for their floor, and they stepped out onto a pale green plush carpet with a mauve border. The furnishings were all the finest cherry wood. Very classy. It looked more like a successful law practice than a bank.

  Collins stepped up to the reception desk and waited for the secretary to finish a phone call. She was an attractive Asian girl of no more than twenty who looked like she just stepped off a fashion runway. A perfect little Stepford world.

  She hung up the phone, smiled at Collins with perfect teeth, and said, “May I help you?”

  Collins showed her his badge. “We have an appointment with Mr. Buckley.”

  “Yes, sir, he’s expecting you. Please step down to the conference room on your right.”

  “Thanks.” Collins smiled at her, and then peeked over his shoulder to take another look as he headed for the conference room. “Cute,” he told Noly.

  “Yeah, I’ll be sure and tell your wife you think so,” Noly said.

  “Hey, I told you no talking.”

  The conference room didn’t disappoint. If you wanted to impress potential new clients this was the place to do it. Thirty-foot, polished marble table, high-backed leather chairs, 50” flat screen television, and more green carpet.

  The view from the floor-to-ceiling windows didn’t add anything to the ambience. A third floor generic scene of taller buildings and little else. The same scenery could be found anywhere--Noly and Collins could just as well have been sitting in Knoxville, Tennessee as Las Vegas, Nevada.

  While they sat in the conference room waiting, Noly told Collins about the magic store, the hollowed out chip, and the fact that Joey came back for more chips.

  “What do you think that means?” Collins asked.

  “Well, it’s hard to say, but that palming book can only mean one thing.”

  “Come on, Noly, this isn’t a test--just tell me.”

  “Joey had a partner.”

  “Yeah, how do you figure?”

  “He has a plan to do something with the chip, right?” Noly said. Collins nodded. “I don’t know what it was yet, but he’s going to do it and then he goes back for more chips and the book.”

  “The palming book--so he was going to switch the chips.”

  “Right, double-cross. Find his partner, find the murderer.”

  After ten minutes, the door finally opened and an officious little man entered and introduced himself as Troy Buckley, Vice President of Business Affairs. He wore a blue three-piece suit that cost at least two thousand dollars. He was in his fifties, but had already had a face-lift, his skin no longer natural looking. Noly couldn’t decide what he detested most about this self-important, diminutive dandy, but he decided it was the caterpillar mustache he sported just above his upper lip.

  “Thanks for seeing us, Mr. Buckley. I’m Detective Collins--this is my...associate, Noel Butowski.”

  “Yes, well, I’m afraid I won’t be able to help you after all,” Buckley said. He remained standing.

  “And why is that?” Collins asked.

  “Because this has become a Federal matter. The F-B-I is now handling things.”

  “I like the way he stretched out the letters, don’t you?” Noly asked Collins.

  “Noly!” Collins pointed a finger at him. He turned back to Buckley. “Mr. Buckley, are you aware that Jennifer Thomas has been murdered?”

  Buckley’s poker face gave nothing away. “I saw the news reports on TV.”

  “Well, the murder of Jennifer Thomas is being handled by our office.”

  “I’m sure that is only temporary now that the FBI has arrived. They consider the murder to be part of the bank fraud investigation. And that has federal jurisdiction.”

  Noly stood up, and Buckley tripped in an effort to step away from him. “What bank fraud investigation?” he said.

  Buckley righted himself and made a great effort to stand as tall as possible, and yet he only stood about chest high to Noly.

  Buckley tugged on his vest and said, “I believe this meeting is now over. If you will excuse me.”

  Noly blocked Buckley’s exit from the room. Collins, who had remained seated during the exchange, shook his head at Noly. Collins stood and approached Buckley.

  “This meeting is over when I say it is...Troy,” Collins said.

  “Well, I...I’ll call security. You can’t hold me against my will--that’s...kidnapping.”

  “Answer Mr. Butowski’s question--what bank fraud investigation? Why is the FBI now involved?”

  Buckley raised his chin in the air. “I’m not answering any of your questions. I suggest you speak with the FBI directly.”

  “Mr. Buckley, do you drive a car?”

  “Yes, of course.”

  “Then you probably don’t want any of my officers stopping you--like maybe every time one of them sees you on the street.”

  “Are...are you...threatening me?” Buckley was indignant.

  “Why do people always ask if you’re threatening them?” Noly asked Collins. “Isn’t it obvious?”

  Collins just sighed. Noly wouldn’t stop now.

  “Buckley!” Noly wanted his full attention. He gave Buckley his most intimidating stare. “All we want is some information. We won’t take notes. It’ll be unofficial. Just answer some questions,” Noly said.

  “I...I won’t.”

  Collins thought Noly would grab Buckley and throw him through the wall, but instead Noly said, “Okay, then get Scott on the phone.”

  “Wh--Who?” Buckley stammered.

  “R.Scott Newhouse, the president of your bank. Get him on the phone--let’s ask him. I’m sure he’ll give you permission to speak to us.”

  “I...Mr. Newhouse is a very busy man, and...”

  “Are you afraid to call him?” Noly asked.

  “Of course not, I simply won’t bother him...besides he’s out of the office.”

  “Call him on his private cell phone--you do have the number, don’t you Troy?”

  When Troy didn’t answer, Noly took out his cell phone, flipped it open, and punched in the address book. After a few seconds, Noly turned the cell screen around so Buckley could see it. It showed R.Scott Newhouse for the name and it listed three sets of phone numbers, office, home, and cell.

  Buckley stared at the screen with his mouth open. “How would you know a man like Mr. Newhouse?”

  “I know a lot of people, Buckley. Scott and I play golf together--we have ever since I provided private security for him.” Noly let that sink in for a moment. “Now, do I pu
sh the send button, or do you turn into a human being and answer some questions for us?”

  Buckley hesitated a second. He was going to challenge Noly and say, “go ahead,” but before he could Noly pushed the send button. Buckley grabbed the phone and flipped it closed. “No notes?” he asked.

  “No notes,” Collins said.

  “You won’t mention my name.” It was a statement from Buckley. A last ditch effort to maintain some dignity. “If you do, I’ll deny I ever spoke with you.”

  “No problem,” Noly agreed.

  Collins looked at Noly who threw a half-smile back at him.

  “What was Jennifer Thomas’ job at the bank, besides being Assistant Vice President?” Collins asked.

  “She managed our Corporate Accounts,” Buckley replied.

  “What does that mean?”

  “She opened accounts for our high end clients, and assisted them in their banking activity,” Buckley said as if it was obvious.

  “What else?”

  “Everything else--she had authority to handle all transactions.”

  “She had authority...”

  “Up to her limit, of course.”

  “And what was her limit?”

  “One million dollars.” Buckley sniffed as if that was a paltry amount.

  “When did you last see her?”

  “Yesterday morning--late morning.”

  “Did she seem okay to you?”

  “No, she seemed rather upset about something. I suppose that’s why she left early.”

  “She left early? Do you know where she went?”

  “Of course not.”

  “What about the bank fraud?” Noly asked.

  Buckley sighed. How tedious this was for him. “Our auditors discovered certain...irregularities. We’re required to notify--”

  “The FBI--yeah, we get it.” Collins was getting irritated. “What types of irregularities?”

  “Well, to be precise, it involved two point eight million dollars in unauthorized wire transfers...”