Bronco dropped his head, and stared at the words written on the table. Not a joke, but a premonition. He wasn’t getting out of here alive if Valentine was involved. “Afraid so.”
Garrow gestured nervously with his hands. “Let me guess. He hates your guts.”
“Yeah.”
“What did you do to him?”
“You don’t want to know.”
“Then we’re sunk.”
Bronco stared up at him. “I can still go to the media. I’ll tell them the name of the crooked Gaming Control Board agent, and the casinos will be fucked.”
Garrow lowered his body so his chin was a few inches from Bronco’s face. “What if the police don’t
“But I’ve got rights,” Bronco said.
“You’re holding them hostage,” his lawyer said. “Smoltz will do whatever it takes to keep you muzzled. Think about it.”
“Then you talk to the media, and tell them the agent’s name,” Bronco said.
Garrow pulled back. “Me? Are you insane? I’ll be run out of the state. No thanks.”
“So you’re saying I’m on my own.”
“I’m saying give them the agent’s name, and we’ll ask the judge to go lenient on you for shooting Bo Farmer, claim it was self-defense.”
“What kind of sentence are you talking about?”
“Six to eight years, with time off for good behavior. I’ve already talked to the D.A. about it.”
Bronco glanced at the big clock hanging on the wall. The second hand was sweeping in twelve noon. Less than ten minutes had passed since he’d entered the visitor’s room, and his high-priced lawyer had already sold him down the river.
“Listen to me,” Bronco said in a whisper. “If you don’t help me get out of this fucking place, I’ll tell the D.A. about all the crooked shit you’ve done, like laundering money, and hiring hit men for clients. You’ll go to jail for the rest of your life.”
Garrow looked stricken. “I’m doing everything I can.”
“Do more. I need time so I can figure a way to get out of here.”
“Tell me what you want, and I’ll do it,” his attorney said.
Bronco stared at the pocked table. This whole conversation had started because Tony Valentine was involved in the case. That gave him an idea.
“Take Valentine out of the picture.”
“But he’s a cop.”
“Ex-cop. Nobody cares about them.”
“You want him whacked?”
“You’re a mind reader.”
Garrow understood what his client was saying, and nodded solemnly.
“Consider it done,” the lawyer said.
Walking back to his cell, Bronco glanced over his shoulder at the guard who was escorting him. His name was Karl Klinghoffer, and he was as big as a mule and half as smart. As they reached his cell, Bronco said, “You married?”
Klinghoffer lifted his bovine eyes. “What if I was?”
“Want to make your wife happy?”
“Don’t go there,” Klinghoffer warned.
Bronco dropped his voice. “I’m talking about buying her a fancy appliance, or a big diamond. Think she’d like that?”
Klinghoffer unlocked the cell door, and brusquely shoved him in. Then, he closed the door and started to walk away. It was a slow walk, and Bronco knew that he’d taken the bait.
“This isn’t a bribe,” he called after him.
Klinghoffer shuffled back to Bronco’s cell. His shoes were at least a size fourteen and he couldn’t walk without scuffing the floor.
“Then what is it?”
“Free money.”
“Ain’t no such thing.”
“Yes there is.” Bronco pressed his face against the bars. “There’s a casino in Reno called the Gold Rush. You know it?”
“Sure.”
“Go inside, and go to the first row of slot machines you see.”
“Front door or back?”
“Front. Third machine from the end is a Quarter Mania. Put three quarters into the machine, and pull the handle. Then put in two, and pull the handle. Then put in one, and pull the handle. Then you’re set. Make sure you bet the maximum amount of coins after that.”
Klinghoffer stared at him. There was a security camera watching them, and he was smart enough to answer while barely moving his lips.
“Why should I do that.”
“Because you’ll win a jackpot.”
“Machine rigged?”
“Never been touched.”
“Then how?”
Bronco pulled away from the bars and lay down on his cot. He propped his pillow against the wall, and lay on it with his arms behind his head. “It’s free money, my friend. I have the keys to the kingdom, and I’m willing to share them with you.”
Klinghoffer’s mouth twisted in confusion, his conscience battling with the devil called greed. He started to walk away, then halted, and turned to stare at his prisoner.
“Three, two and one?”
“That’s right. Make sure you buy your wife something nice.”
Chapter 8
The next day, Valentine and Gerry flew to Las Vegas to meet up with Bill Higgins. It was six hours of flying with all the stops, and when they got off at McCarren International Airport in Las Vegas, Bill was waiting for them outside the terminal. A Navajo by birth, Bill’s dark suit complimented his jet black hair and steely disposition.
“I’ve got some good news,” Bill said.
“Let me guess,” Valentine said. “You found the bad agent in your department, and we can go home.”
“No, but we did find Bronco’s apartment. He’s been living in Henderson under an alias. I figured you’d want to be there when we searched it.”
“Who’s we?” Valentine asked.
“Two of my best field agents, plus two detectives with the Metro LVPD.”
“And the three of us?”
“Correct.”
Bill was the smartest law enforcement agent Valentine knew who’d never been a cop. But there was something missing from not having that cop experience. As a cop, you got to learn how bad people could really be.
