Smoltz finished his call. His hair was unkempt, his face flush. He looked like a pressure cooker with too much steam, and glared harshly at Valentine.
“Sit down,” Smoltz said.
Valentine remained standing and crossed his arms. “Tough morning?”
“You have no idea.”
“Let me guess. The media wants a more thorough explanation of how the power went out yesterday. Only you can’t give it to them.”
“They’ll go away. They always do.”
Smoltz poured himself a glass of water, but did not offer his guest a glass. The gesture was not lost on Valentine.
“I need a favor. Actually, several of them,” Valentine said.
“Why should I do you a favor?”
“I caught Bronco Marchese this morning. He’s cooling his heals over at the Stewart Street jail. In Bronco’s car I found a tape he secretly recorded of Fred Friendly, talking about why he ripped off the casinos. It’s pretty heavy.”
“Did you give the tape to the police?”
Valentine shook his head.
“Will you give it to me?”
“Yes. But I want some things in return.”
“Are you trying to blackmail me?”
“Actually, I’m doing you a favor. This tape is evidence. By law, I should turn it over to the police, and give a copy to Bronco’s defense attorney. If I did that, it would eventually get played in court. Then you’d have to take the sign on Las Vegas Boulevard that says ‘Welcome to Fabulous Las Vegas!’ and replace it with one that says, ‘Hello, Suckers!’ It would be more appropriate.”
“You’re an asshole, Valentine.”
He had Smoltz exactly where he wanted him. He picked up an empty glass off the desk and poured himself some water. It tasted good and cold. A sheet of sweat did a death march down Smoltz’s face, and he stammered like a punk on the witness stand.
“What do you want in exchange for the tape?”
“Give Bill Higgins his job back, with the promise that you’ll let him keep his position until he’s ready for retirement. He did nothing wrong.”
“Very well. Have Bill call me, and I’ll reinstate him.”
“No. You have to call him.”
Smoltz grit his teeth. “You want me to eat crow? All right, I’ll eat crow. What else?”
“There’s a casino owner named Diamond Dave living in California,” Valentine said. “I want you to find a reason to arrest him, and throw his ass in jail. He cheated his customers, and is also responsible for the death of his casino manager.”
“I can’t go after Diamond Dave.”
“Why the hell not?”
“The evidence against him was destroyed. I ordered it.”
“Diamond Dave pocketed several million bucks in illegal winnings. I’m sure he didn’t report it on his income tax return. Sic the IRS on him.”
“You know all the angles, don’t you?”
“Is that a yes or a no?”
“I have friends with the IRS. Consider it done. What else?”
“My fee.”
A look of indignation rose in Smoltz’s face.
“You want me to pay you myself?” the governor asked.
“Yes. I don’t work for free.”
“What are the damages?”
“Ten grand.”
Smoltz took a check book from his desk and wrote him a check. Ripping it out, he held it in the air and said, “Where’s the tape?”
Valentine removed the tape from his jacket pocket. They did the exchange. Then Valentine stuck out his hand. Smoltz stared at it.
“We have a deal,” Valentine said. “I don’t talk, and you keep up your end of the bargain. Agreed?”
The best deals were ones that weren’t written on paper. Smoltz stood up and shook his hand.
“Agreed,” the governor replied.
Valentine went to the door, then remembered something. He’d become a cop because he liked helping people. It was the same reason he ran his consulting business. If he could make someone’s life better, then he’d accomplished something far greater than earning a paycheck. Turning around, he walked back to the governor’s desk, and cleared his throat. “I have another request I’d like you to consider.”
“I thought we were done,” Smoltz said.
“This is personal.”
“I’m listening.”
“There’s a woman I know who’s in jail here in Nevada. I want you to pardon her.”
Smoltz leaned back in his leather chair and considered the request. “I don’t release criminals on a whim. Why should I help this woman?”
Valentine was surprised by his reply. Even Smoltz had his limits.
“Let’s just say she deserves a break.”
“Girlfriend?”
“That’s none of your business.”
“But you know her.”
“Yes, I know her.”
“What if she breaks the law again?”
“She won’t.”
“How can you be so sure?”
Valentine thought back to their last conversation. He’d never been more sure about anything in his life. “I’ll vouch for her,” he said.
Smoltz drummed the desk. “Is this the end of it? No more requests?”
“Yes.”
“I didn’t hear you.”
Valentine hesitated. He had always respected authority, even when it came in the form of the sleazy stuffed suit sitting on the other side of the desk.
“Yes, sir,” he said.
A thin smile formed across Smoltz’s face. Order had been restored.
“All right, give me her name.”
Valentine gave him the name, and watched Smoltz write it down. He left the governor’s suite feeling better than he had when he walked in.
Chapter 63
People called different places home. For her, it was an eight-by-ten green concrete cell with a plastic chair, a steel toilet, and two bunk beds bolted to the wall. There was also a tiny window which she tried not to look through. Looking at the sky only made her feel sad, and life was tough enough inside the jail.
She spent most of the day sleeping. Sleep was the antidote to the black hole her life had become. In sleep, everything was peaceful and sane, her dreams filled with chirping birds and long walks in the forest and beautiful sunsets. The hard part was waking up, when she had to erase those beautiful images from her mind.
Today had been a little better. She’d been allowed outside for a walk in the yard with the other female prisoners. Looking up, she’d seen a chalky white cloud in the shape of an exclamation mark, and taken it as a promise of better times ahead.
She’d spent the afternoon reading an adventure novel given to her by another inmate. It was about a fishing guide named Thorn who helped people in the Florida Keys. She’d become lost in it, and did not hear the guard until he was standing outside her cell.
“You’ve got a visitor,” the guard said.
She put her book down. “I do. Who’s that?”
“Kimberli Bronson, your lawyer.”
The guard led her to the visitor’s room, where Bronson sat behind an five inch-thick wall of plexiglass. Bronson wore a dark blue suit and had her hair tied in a bun. Nice-looking, but not a show-off. She pulled up a chair expectantly.
“I have wonderful news,” Bronson said.
Wonderful was a relative term when you lived in a concrete cell.
“What are you talking about? What’s happened?”
“The governor of Nevada has pardoned you.”
Time seemed to stand still, and a pool of darkness appeared before her eyes. She took several deep breaths until her composure returned.
“Did you hear what I just said. You’re going to go free.”
“When?”
“Today, right now. The governor signed the papers a short while ago, and his office called me. I thought I should deliver the news in person.”