The hairs rose on the back of Billy’s neck. No one had ever accused the men who ran the Nevada Gaming Board of being choir boys. Their agents had been caught falsifying evidence against suspected cheaters in court and illegally tapping the phone lines of defense lawyers. One agent had also gotten caught stealing jackpots from slot machines using the board’s own laptops. Bad stuff, but nothing compared to what Junior was telling him.
“You’ve done jobs for the gaming board?” Billy asked.
“You ask too many questions,” Junior said.
“Just curious. Those guys are always chasing me.”
“And now one of them wants you dead. Any idea who he is?”
Billy was not about to give up that piece of information, and he shook his head.
“Give me your cell phone number,” Junior said.
“What for?”
“Just give it to me, and stop asking so many questions.”
Billy recited the number. Junior logged it into his cell phone.
“I’m going to be calling you for updates,” Junior said. “We’ll meet up in a few days when you’re done and work out how we’re going to get paid.”
“Sounds like a plan,” Billy said.
“You’re a sneaky little bastard, so don’t even think of double-crossing us.”
“You don’t take checks?”
“That’s a good one. I’ll have to remember to tell my father that.”
The wind had shifted, and the foul smell coming off Junior was turning Billy’s stomach. As Billy tried to turn away, Junior clamped his hand on the young hustler’s shoulder.
“One more thing,” Junior said.
“What’s that?”
Billy never saw the punch coming. It snapped his head and flashbulbs exploded before his eyes. Junior broke his fall and carefully laid him out on the concrete deck.
Thirty-Four
While the casinos hated cheats, they hated the people who caught them even more.
The small army that made up the enforcement division of the gaming board was the most powerful law enforcement agents in Nevada. Gaming agents had the power to enter a casino at will, review surveillance tapes, and interview employees. No advance warning was given, and neither a search warrant nor a subpoena was needed.
Gaming agents also had the power to freeze a game. If a slot machine wasn’t paying out correctly, a gaming agent would hook a laptop into the machine and run a software program against the machine’s random-number-generating chip. This inspection was done while other patrons were watching, and it often hurt business.
Gaming agents could also freeze table games. If the payout from a blackjack game or roulette table deviated from normal percentages, a gaming agent had the authority to have the equipment carted away on dollies and taken to a lab for inspection. This was also done in full view of patrons and usually resulted in bad publicity for the casino.
Grimes had decided to bust the Bellagio’s cage manager on the casino floor. Grimes did this without consulting with Bellagio’s management so they wouldn’t be prepared for any fallout. It promised to be nasty, which suited Grimes just fine, as the special agent disliked casino people about as much as he hated cheats.
Grimes had brought three agents to assist him. Their names were Braun, Morrell, and Dawson. Grimes had told them to dress down, and each agent wore jeans and untucked shirts to hide their guns. Grimes wore a suit so everyone knew he was in charge.
Their suspect was named Nicky Corr. Grimes had gotten Corr’s work history from the sheriff’s department, which kept a file on every casino employee. Corr was thirty-six years old and had a bachelor’s degree from UNLV’s school of hospitality.
Corr had been in the Bellagio’s employ for ten years. He had started as a lowly security guard before becoming a cashier and eventually being promoted to cage manager. Corr’s work history was spotless, until now.
Corr was presently inside the cage, managing the cashiers. Grimes parked himself in front of a slot machine across from the cage so he could watch Corr in action. He displayed a nervous energy that Grimes believed was a fear of getting caught. The evidence of Corr’s misdeed was in the chip drawers, and it was eating a hole inside him.
Braun, Morrell, and Dawson also sat in front of slot machines, pretending to be Iggys, or ignorant tourists. Grimes clicked his fingers, and they sprang to life.
“Let’s nail this asshole.”
Grimes marched over to the cage door and banged loudly. Braun, Morrell, and Dawson flanked him, their badges pinned to the belt loops in their jeans.
The door sprang in. Corr stood there, gums flapping.
“Nicky Corr?” Grimes said.
“That’s right. Who are y-you?” Corr stammered.
“Special Agent Frank Grimes, Nevada Gaming Board. You’re under arrest for ripping off the cage this past Fourth of July. Please step back.”
The gaming agents entered the cage. Corr was cuffed and read his rights, while Braun, Morrell, and Dawson opened up the chip drawers and conducted an inventory of the counterfeit black chips that Corr had substituted for real chips over the July Fourth weekend. The cashiers stayed at their windows, trading whispers.
“There’s more than a hundred grand in fake chips here,” Braun announced.
“Did you really think you’d get away with this?” Grimes asked.
“It was worth a shot,” Corr said under his breath.
A phone hung on the wall. Grimes picked it up and got patched through to the casino’s general manager. Grimes explained what had happened and suggested that a substitute cage manager take over to make sure none of the cashiers got any bright ideas. The GM started to ask a question and Grimes hung up on him.
“I’m taking this douche bag downtown,” Grimes said. “Can you guys manage without me?”
“It’ll be hard, but we’ll manage,” Braun replied.
Grimes escorted Corr through the Bellagio’s busy casino.
“Can’t you spare me the walk of shame and take me out the back door?” Corr asked.
“Not on your life,” Grimes said.
Corr dropped his head as they marched past the blackjack pit and other table games, but he could not avoid his fellow workers’ hostile stares. Through the front doors they went to where a KLAS news team had set up camp. Grimes occasionally threw the media a bone to get good press. KLAS was his favorite, and they usually sent a pretty reporter to interview him. Today it was a comely redhead named Kelly Ringer who stuck a mike in Grimes’s face.
“Special Agent Grimes, can you tell us the name of your suspect and what he’s accused of?”
Grimes gave Ringer the gritty details while Corr stared at the ground. A cameraman circled, trying to get a close-up of the guilty man’s face.
“Get that camera away from me,” Corr snapped.
“Stop talking,” Grimes said.
“Have a heart. I’ve got three little kids,” Corr said.
“They have my condolences,” Grimes said.
Silent tears streamed down Corr’s face. Grimes finished the interview and told a valet to bring up his Jeep Cherokee. By the time his vehicle came up, Corr was racked with sobs. Grimes opened the back door and ordered Corr to get in. As Grimes walked around to the driver’s side, his cell phone rang. Caller ID said JH.
“Give me some good news,” Grimes answered.
“I just sent you a text. Take a look,” Junior Haney said.
“Is this going to make my day?”
“You could say that.”
Grimes hung up and retrieved Junior’s text. That’s just beautiful, he thought. Kelly Ringer hadn’t strayed far and Grimes tried to contain his excitement. He called Braun on his cell phone. “There’s been a change of plans. I need you to take Corr downtown and book him.”
“I’ll be right out,” Braun said.