Brad offered. “That cash’ll hold him like a gut pile holds bottle flies.”
“You’ll be done there by what time?” Alexa asked.
“Funeral’s at one. Say two-thirty. I’ll leave after the graveside service. City cops are handling the traffic.”
“Lex and I will be there, too, with the family. I think this morning we ought to go talk to that casino manager and stir the pot,” Winter said. “Press him about Beals, see how he reacts.”
“He may be totally out of the land loop,” Alexa said. “His Bureau files are squeaky clean.”
“And so are RRI’s,” Winter said. “Maybe their files are all clean, but that doesn’t mean the individuals are. If the land deal isn’t done, their other land is worthless.”
“They could build around it,” Brad said.
“Probably,” Alexa said, “but that would be a pain in the ass and a complication down the road. Especially if Ms. Gardner left it as is, or worse, made it into a trailer park. Think of the view from the hotel rooms.”
Brad smiled. “Under normal circumstances she would do just that. She’s that ornery. But you’re right, they are better off acquiring it. If by some miracle we get Mulvaneor whoever is behind this for the murder of Sherry Adams, the owner can just say he didn’t know the details. Hell, according to Alexa, he doesn’t even live in this country. One thing for sure,” Brad continued, “having an FBI agent along while we’re asking questions might be a sobering experience for whoever is behind this mess. Mulvane may control the MBI in this, but the FBI is a different matter.”
“I don’t think we should show them an FBI badge just yet,” Winter said. “Best to keep you in reserve.”
“Whatever you think, Winter,” Alexa said.
“I need to think about it some more,” Winter said. “I’m still trying to work out some plan other than using Leigh if we can help it. The risk is too great.”
“Well, as a last resort there’s always the trusty bull-in the-china-shop approach,” Alexa said.
64
At eight-thirty A.M. Brad pulled into the Roundtable’s parking lot. “Alexa, you going to wait out here?” Winter asked.
“Drop me here and park closer. I want to go in and look around while nobody knows who I am. Ring me when you’re ready to leave. Is there a metal detector?”
“This is Mississippi, Alexa,” Winter said. “Everybody is packing heat.”
As Alexa made it to the front doors, a large rosy-cheeked man with bright red hair and bushy brows held the door open for her. He was dressed in a leather sports coat over a T-shirt. His new-looking jeans broke on fancy cowboy boots.
“Hope you brought money and luck with you,” he said cheerily.
“I sure did,” she replied.
The man walked in after her, drawing even as they entered the expansive foyer. “Normally, I’m surrounded by pigs,” he said.
“Normally, so am I,” she said.
“Jason Parr,” the man said, offering her his hand, which was dry and callused. “I raise hogs all year until my vacation rolls around, and then I come here to Tunica and roll dice. I sure could use some luck, if you’ve got any to spare. As of last night, I’m down to my last two thousand hogs.”
“You’re playing craps?” Alexa asked. She was amazed that the place could be so busy so early.
“‘Playing’ isn’t the first word that springs to mind.”
“I’m sorry. Maybe your luck will change.”
“You ever played craps, Miss…?”
“Alexa Keen,” she said. “No, Mr. Parr. I never have.”
“Well,” the smiling pig farmer said, “it’s about time you did. It’s a fascinating game.”
“I don’t know anything about gambling,” she said, giving him a once-over. “I just wanted to look around.”
“All you have to do is throw dice. I’ll do the rest. If I win, I’ll give you ten percent of whatever I get. And I’ll cover one hundred percent of the losses. It’s what they call a win/win situation, Mrs. Keen.”
“I’m not married. Call me Alexa. I can only play until I get a call from my boyfriend. Then I have to leave.”
“Okay, then, Alexa. Let’s you and me put a choke hold on the cashiers’ cage while you’re on the playground.”
Alexa saw Winter and Brad enter the casino and spotted a large man in a loose-cut suit holding a walkie- talkie and following them. He was built like a pineapple and his face was red from exertion. When he shouted, Winter and Brad turned at the sound of his voice. Based on Brad’s description, Alexa figured he was Albert White, the head of casino security.
65
As Winter and Brad entered the casino, Alexa walked ahead of them, beside a beefy red-haired man who talked with his hands waving in the air. Alexa was smiling at him, probably using him as cover.
“Sheriff,” a voice behind them called out. “Hold up!”
Brad and Winter turned and waited for Albert White. Winter hadn’t seen Albert outside, but there he was coming up behind them, his face as red as if he’d been running a city block after a bus.
Winter turned and saw Alexa walking away, the man’s arm making dice-shaking motions. Alexa put her hand behind her back and waggled her fingers to say good-bye.
“What brings you fellows back out?” Albert asked, smiling tentatively as he mopped his brow with a handkerchief.
“We need to talk to Mr. Mulvane,” Brad said.
“Mr. Mulvane is a very busy man,” White said. “You should have called first. He has a guest arriving shortly and he’s tied up with last-minute details.”
“A VIP?” Brad asked, smiling. “A whale?”
“Yes. Exactly. In half an hour or less,” White said.
“Now is good,” Winter said.
White turned angry eyes on Winter and frowned. “I was talking to the sheriff.”
Brad said, “It’s official county business.”
“Let me call him and see if he has a minute,” White said, lifting his cell phone.
“We’ll need more like ten minutes,” Brad said.
White clipped his radio to his belt, and took out his cell phone to make a call. “Mr. Mulvane, sorry to disturb you, but Sheriff Barnett and a deputy are down in the lobby. They want to talk to you for a few minutes.” White listened to whatever Mulvane was saying for several seconds, nodding.
“I explained that to them. Yes, sir, I’ll escort them upstairs,” White said, closing the phone.
“After you,” Brad said.
Albert White led them through the casino. As they walked, Winter scanned the crowd scattered around the playing floor on either side of the wide aisle.
Albert White’s size made the private elevator ride to the executive office suites a close affair.
Albert led them into a mirrored foyer and down the hall to a door marked GENERAL MANAGER. An attractive young woman with dirty blonde hair, a pink ribbon lapel pin, and a wide smile sat at the desk in the reception area. The nameplate on her desk read JANICE PRITCHETT, EXECUTIVE ASSISTANT.
“Mr. Mulvane is expecting you,” she chirped.
Albert led them to the hand-carved door and knocked firmly.
