The Black Chip

by Gary Land

  Noly’s head whipped around and he saw a man standing at the bar drinking a beer. It looked like he was speaking on a Bluetooth headset. He wore jeans with a button-down shirt, and a PP Casino baseball hat pulled down low on his head.

  As Noly started sliding out of the booth, Hutchinson looked up, locked eyes with Boots, and bolted towards the escalator. Noly moved so fast that Eddie jerked in his seat and ended up wearing his whisky.

  Noly flew around the bar and hit the escalator at a full run. Hutchinson was already out of sight. Noly analyzed the options available as he bounded down the steps. He knew that Hutchinson could hide in the casino, or he could leave and go somewhere deemed safe. If he hid in the casino, Noly would never find him. If Hutchinson left the building, the question was where he parked his car. Noly didn’t think he’d leave it with the valet, so that probably left the employee parking lot, which was adjacent to the multi-story customer garage.

  Noly couldn’t run through the casino for a couple of reasons. First, there were too many people walking around and someone would get hurt. He wasn’t going to pull a Flip Steal and knock down some unsuspecting person. The second reason was even more problematic. Running through a casino attracted a lot of attention from the wrong kind of people. If he ran, he wouldn’t make it half-way before several security guards detained him.

  He fast-walked his way to the rear of the casino and burst through the door onto the first level of the garage. The fumes and hot, oppressive air surprised Noly. He needed to take a deep breath after his exertion, but there didn’t seem to be enough oxygen in the air to keep a candle lit. The employee lot sat kitty-corner to the far side of the garage. Before Noly took two steps, he heard tires squealing in the distance and knew he had lost the opportunity. As he walked back towards the valet it occurred to Noly that Hutchinson had had the advantage, because he could actually run through the casino since he was part of the security team.

  Noly stood out front, flipped open his cell, and made a call.

  “Jo-Jo, how fast for you to get to the PP?”

  “I’ll catch a ride and be there in, like, ten minutes.”

  Fifteen minutes later, Jo-Jo arrived sitting on the backend of a Harley. He held tight to the leather jacket of a guy who could have come straight from Central Casting. Long, stringy hair, tats up and down his arms, and a beer belly that was just too much to handle for the generic black rocker t-shirt he wore.

  Jo-Jo extricated himself from the back of the bike and gingerly walked up to Noly. “Man, I ain’t getting back on that bike.”

  “You don’t have to.” Noly handed him a letter-sized envelope stamped in the upper-left corner with the Platinum Palace logo. “Here’s five-thousand dollars, Jo-Jo.”

  Jo-Jo’s eyes got as big as roulette wheels. “You shittin’ me?”

  “No, I’m not. Listen to me; I need you to focus here.”

  “Hey, I’m focusing, man. I been working the street.”

  Noly pulled out the picture of Hutchinson. “Take this picture to Kinko’s, and get some copies made. Pass it around all over town--I mean everywhere. Use the money. I want this guy. His name’s Frank Hutchinson, works security here at the casino. You get me a lead on him, and there’s plenty of more money for you, Jo-Jo. You got it?”

  “Yeah, yeah. Make copies and spread the money around. Shit.”

  Noly glared at Jo-Jo. “Don’t mess with me, JJ.”

  Jo-Jo took a couple of steps backward. “Jesus, Noly, don’t look at me like that. I almost pissed my pants.” He put his hand over his heart. “You the last guy I’d screw with, man.”

  “Okay...find Hutchinson for me.”

  “What about the bike?” Jo-Jo asked.

  “Use a taxi.” Noly whistled and raised his hand, and the next cab in line pulled forward.

  Chapter 21

  Twelve minutes before the Clark County courthouse closed at 5:00PM on Friday, Raymond Brewster filed a lawsuit on behalf of his clients, Otto van Leesle, Junior, and his sister, Catherine. The suit expounded on how one Noel Butowski did cause the wrongful death of the “Otto-mobile” King, Otto van Leesle, Sr. And furthermore, this act, witnessed by Catherine van Leesle, was unprovoked. And “yada-yada-yada,” to quote from a Seinfeld episode.

  The van Leesles requested that all Butowski assets be immediately frozen in anticipation of the return of the “ill-gotten twenty million dollar reward,” plus interest and profits achieved by means of use of said twenty million dollar reward.

  The key document in the suit was the signed affidavit from Catherine van Leesle detailing how Noel Butowski (known popularly as Noly Boots) had illegally entered the van Leesle mansion, murdered the security staff, and confronted Otto, Sr.

  “Mr. Butowski burst through the library door, immediately shot and killed two security guards (Archie Crane and Walt Jameson,) and then confronted my father, Otto van Leesle, Sr.

  Mr. Butowski was infuriated because he had heard that I had returned home with the assistance of the two guards who were subsequently murdered as stated above. He realized he would not be receiving the twenty million dollar reward offered by my father for my safe return, and so, devised a scheme to claim the reward by ultimately staging my death at the hands of my father. His story would be that upon safely returning me home, my father reneged on the reward, and then tried to kill Mr. Butowski. The truth is that my father died trying to save my life, and the horror of seeing him killed by Noel Butowski sent me over the edge. I lost all sense of reality. I have been told that I picked up my father’s gun, shot Mr. Butowski until I believed him to also be dead, and then...I have no further memories of this nightmare.”

  Of course, the affidavit was utter nonsense. Filled with half-truths and outright lies. But in the legal world it was enough to initiate both civil and criminal investigations into the events and actions of Mr. Noel Butowski.

  Junior nodded to himself as he re-read a copy of the affidavit. When finished, he smiled, and passed the document back to Brewster.

  Raymond Brewster was a man in his early fifties who, most would agree, would not make it to his early sixties. He easily topped the scales at 350 pounds and possessed every bad habit and vice known to man. He was beyond reproach--but not in a good way. There was no point in criticizing a man that looked at the next guy like something that needed to be wiped from your shoe. For the right price, Brewster was a dedicated, loyal, pit bull of a lawyer. And, of course, Junior had the right price.

  Brewster sat with Junior at a dining table puffing on a giant cigar in between ingesting mouthfuls of caviar, and pâté de foie gras served on delicate toast points.

  Rounding out the axis of evil, Dr. Charles Caulder, sat down to the left of Junior. Caulder, a psychiatrist with no office, and a medical license under review had a client list distinguished only by the size of their net worth, and the depth of their dysfunction.

  The three psychos sat at a massive antique oak dining table, circa 1860. When fully extended with six leaves, the table measured out at almost sixteen feet.

  “Charles, what progress have you made with my dear sister?” Junior inquired.

  “Progress? I’ve been with her for thirty minutes. I realize I have a reputation as a miracle worker, but really,” he said.

  “Alas, I suppose I expected too much of you,” Junior said laughing.

  “You find something amusing?”

  “I find most everything amusing--if looked at from the right perspective,” Junior said.

  Brewster blew smoke rings across the table in between sips of cognac. “You, my friend, have a serious hard-on for this Butowski fella.”

  “Yes, yes, I do indeed. Destroying a man of his talents is no easy task, mind you, but I am well on my way to achieving this goal, assuming the good doctor delivers the goods.”

  “Good doctor,” Brewster said. “I don’t think anyone’s ever referred to Charles in those terms before.” Brewster gave way with a belly laugh that sent him into a coughing fit.

  “Ho
pe you choke to death, you fat bastard,” Charles said.

  “Now, now, you two, let’s be civil. We have a job to do. A job I am paying you both extremely well for.”

  “Well, I have Catherine on a cocktail of medication I created myself,” Charles said. “She’s already quite damaged and coupled with the half-truths involved in the affidavit, it should be relatively easy to convince her of the rest.”

  “Excellent, my dear Charles.” Ignoring the ripe strawberries in front of him, Junior instead dipped his finger into a bowl of melted chocolate, then lovingly poked it into his mouth and sucked the brown liquid until it was gone.

  “Disgusting,” Brewster said.

  “Yes, you would be the expert on that, my fat friend,” Junior responded. “Did I tell you about Mr. Butowski’s wife and daughter?”

  “No, not me.” Charles seemed to perk up at this. “Please tell me more.”

  “Well, my sources tell me that someone has abducted them.” Junior leaned forward on the table excited to tell his story. “I understand the woman and her daughter are both quite attractive...oh, what plans I have.”

  “Don’t forget the old saying, my friend,” Brewster started, “’the best laid plans of mice and men...’”

  “That’s right,” Charles said. “You think a man like this Noly Boots is going to sit around and let you ruin his life?”

  “I, uh, hadn’t actually thought it through that far,” Junior admitted.

  “Why he could bust down this door right now and shoot you down like the dog you are,” Charles laughed.

  They all paused, silent as they listened for the sound of the front door crashing open. Satisfied that wasn’t going to happen in the next few minutes, they continued their orgy of gastronomical enlightenment.

  “Well, we’ll just have to keep him busy, won’t we? Will Butowski’s lawyer get the lawsuit today?” Junior asked.

  “Yes,” Brewster laughed. “We simultaneously delivered the lawsuit and filed with the Court Clerk ten minutes before closing. Then, we issued a press release to the papers, TV, other media. It should make the evening news.”

  Junior smiled, and absently rubbed the corners of his mouth. “Lovely...quite lovely.”

  Chapter 22

  Noly walked into the police station like he owned the place. Other than the rookies, every cop in the building knew that Noly was friends with Detective Collins, and more than that, everyone knew Noly’s reputation. He stood by the locked inner security door waiting for the buzzer that signaled the lock’s release. There wasn’t any question that the officer on duty would let him in even though it was strictly against protocol. Noly was the exception to the rule. The exception to many rules.

  Collins stood at a coffee station tucked into the corner of a make-shift galley someone had fashioned from a couple of empty desks. Coffee cup in hand, he was busy chatting up an attractive uniformed officer that looked at him like she had just met Brad Pitt.

  Noly watched his friend for a few minutes. He approached them unobserved. “Detective Collins--your wife is waiting for you in your office.”

  Collins, flustered, spilled his coffee on Ms. Uniform’s shirt. He reached out to wipe it away, then thought better of it, and handed her some napkins.

  “Not funny, Noly.” Collins scowled.

  When Collins mentioned Noly’s name, Ms. Uniform’s eyebrows shot up, her eyes went wide, and she froze in place. Collins patted her on the shoulder, then grabbed Noly’s arm and steered him towards a small meeting room. Once inside, Collins pulled the black chip from his pocket and handed it to Noly.

  “I signed this out of evidence--here...but it can’t leave the building.”

  Noly just nodded his head. Detective Johnson knocked on the door just in time to watch Noly open the chip and show Collins a microchip inside.

  “Hey, neat trick,” Johnson said. “Is that a computer chip?”

  “Looks like it,” Collins said. “Makes sense now that I think about it--what else could you fit into that small a space?”

  “What’s on it?” Johnson asked.

  “That’s the question,” Collins acknowledged.

  “What was Joey downloading at the casino?” Noly asked. “He was running this scam and diverting the money into a different bank account with Jennifer’s help. She was then transferring the money off-shore, where she obviously had the account numbers and access, right?”

  “Yeah, I see what you mean--I just assumed the bank account info was on the chip, but he already had that...maybe he needed to use the Casino computer to...”

  “No. Whatever he needed to do, he could do from home on his laptop. There had to be something else...”

  “Something he could only get from the Casino computer.” Collins finished the thought.

  “I know who can read it,” Noly said. “Thornton. Let me take it, Jim, and I’ll have him read it.”

  “Noly, you know you can’t take evidence out of here...”

  “He won’t do it for you, Jim--we need to know what this is. It’s all we have.”

  “Maybe not,” Johnson said, waving a stack of papers. “I got the phone records from Joey Trainor’s cell.” He handed a copy to Collins, and Noly looked over his shoulder as he skimmed the pages.

  “What did you find?” Collins asked Johnson.

  “Usual calls--only thing of interest is calls to his girlfriend Jennifer, and incoming calls from a throw-away phone. Untraceable.”

  Collins found the number highlighted on his copy. There were three calls in total. The last one had a date stamp of Thursday, the same day Joey died.

  “The phone number may be untraceable, but the purchase isn’t,” Noly said.

  Johnson looked confused. He turned to Collins.

  “Call Brad Williams,” Collins told Johnson. He turned to Noly and said, “He’s our tech guru.”

  “What can he do?” Johnson wanted to know.

  “He can tell you the manufacturer and find out what store it was shipped to,” Collins answered.

  “Once you get the store, they should be able to tell you when it was purchased, the day, the time, what register was used,” Noly instructed.

  “Whoever it was probably paid cash,” Johnson said. “How’s that going to help?”

  “That’s part of being a detective,” Collins said. “Do the leg work, maybe the buyer got careless. You won’t know until you track it down.”

  Johnson smiled, excited at having a new angle to follow-up on. “Great, I’ll let you know what I find.”

  Noly waited until Johnson left. “I wish Johnson hadn’t seen the chip.”

  “I can’t keep this a secret, Noly.”

  “Let me take it to Thornton.”

  “We don’t need to--Brad Williams can probably read it for us.”

  Noly worked his jaw muscle trying to keep his anxiety under control. “I don’t want anyone else to know about this, don’t you see that? This chip is the only leverage I have--someone wants it, and I’m betting it’s the same person that has Sarah and Kacy.”

  Collins pulled his hand down the back of his head, massaging his muscles in a vain effort to relieve the tension.

  “Jim...you know what this means to me,” Noly said. He lowered his head, not used to showing any weakness.

  Collins sighed. “Yeah, I know. Ah, shit, I should be retired anyways.” Collins flipped him the chip. He pointed a finger at Noly. “Keep me in the loop.”

  After promising Collins he’d update him later, Noly left the station. He fingered the chip in his pocket to make sure it was still there as he walked to his car. He had his phone out, ready to make a call, when it started ringing.

  “Boots.”

  “Heard you were looking for me.”

  “Where were you, Thornton?”

  “Listen, I have my own life, Boots. I have things to do, responsibilities,” Thornton said.

  “What about Hutchinson, does he have responsibilities too?”

  “I just found out about that
. I don’t know what happened. He was supposed to work a shift last night.”

  Noly rubbed his scar. “I need to see you--now. In private.”

  “Sure, uh, just give me a half-hour. I’ll meet you at the casino.”

  They met up in Thornton’s private office. Noly took the black chip out of his pocket, opened it, and handed the bottom half of the chip to Thornton.

  “Son-of-a-bitch.”

  Thornton took the chip from Noly, and carefully placed it on his desk.

  “A chip in a chip--I suppose Joey thought that was funny. He probably had a nice laugh as he ripped me off.”

  “Ripped you off?” Noly asked.

  Looking flustered, Thornton said, “Me, the casino--same thing.”

  “Right, well, can you read it?”

  “Sure. Where do you think Joey got this from?”

  Thornton pulled out a device that looked like a flash drive--Noly had used those before on his personal computer--opened the case, and popped out the computer chip inside. He retrieved a pair of rubberized tweezers from his desk, picked out the computer chip from inside the black casino chip, and placed it inside the device.

  Thornton powered up his laptop and inserted the device into the USB port. After logging into Windows, he called up Explorer, switched to the drive and found one file, a Word document. He double-clicked on it, and a dialog box popped up asking for a password.

  “It’s password protected,” Thornton said.

  “Can you open it?” Noly asked.

  “Depends on how creative Joey got. Some passwords are virtually unbreakable. If you use a combination of letters, numbers, and symbols, there are literally millions of variations. You could spend your whole life guessing and never come up with it.”

  Noly looked defeated. “I need to know what’s on that chip.”

  Thornton picked up the phone, punched in four digits, and waited for the line to pick up.

  “Franklin--Thornton. Meet me at Joey’s desk in five minutes.”

  Thornton shut down his laptop, and pulled the chip-reader device from the computer port.