“There is no safer location at the moment. Moving them before I put this under Klein’s nose is a lot riskier than holding them here. Trust me.”
Brad looked at his watch. “He should be here by now.”
“He’ll be here soon,” Winter said.
Brad’s radio sprang to life. “Unit Four to T.C. One, there’s a black Lexus a half mile out. One occupant.”
“Plate?”
“Vanity Tennessee LAW-ONE. We’re behind him. You want us to pull him?”
“Negative,” Brad said, smiling at Winter. “We’re expecting him. Let him come in.”
“Sheriff.” The deputy laughed. “It looks like he’s dancing.”
Winter unzipped his jacket, took off his glove, and slipped it into his pocket. Reflexively he touched the Reeder to make sure it was secure in its holster, and that all four of the loaded eight-round magazines were secure in the twin holders.
A few seconds later the Lexus flew into view as it roared up the long gravel drive.
“I just hope he isn’t, you know…” Brad said.
“It’s early for that,” Winter said.
The sedan stopped, and when the door flew open, something by ZZ Top spewed out from the interior at an incredible volume. After a few seconds, a man with a flowing blond ponytail, a long beard, and dressed in a topcoat, English riding boots, and a wide-brimmed hat leapt from the car and began to dance in the rain with what could only be described as a blending of the Frug, the Jerk, and the Boogaloo. When the song ended, the man reached in, cut the car motor, brought out a valise, and slammed the door.
“Gentlemen, your law dog has arrived to save the day,” he said, taking the porch steps two at a time.
Winter expected the rib-squeezing hug he got from his friend Billy Lyons, but not the kiss the attorney planted on his cheek. Releasing Winter, Billy turned to Brad and opened his arms.
Brad held out his palms defensively. “Don’t you come a step closer, Billy Lyons. You want to kiss my cheek, fine, but let me drop my pants first.”
“Well, here I am,” Billy said. “This sort of top-secret, faxed-map, come-to-Papa-right-now crap is why I get three bills an hour.”
“Don’t friends get a discount?” Brad asked.
“That’s with the discount, Bradley.”
Billy was hanging up his coat and hat on hooks in the foyer when he saw Alexa standing in the doorway of the den.
“Hello, Billy Lyons,” Alexa said.
“Well, hello, Alexa Keen,” he said jovially. “I didn’t know you were here.”
“Nice to see you, Billy,” she said. “Been a long time.”
“Are you still working for the man?”
“Yes,” she said.
Alexa had never cared much for Billy Lyons, but she was glad to see him now. It wasn’t that he was a show- off. He had developed his eccentricities early on to entertain his contemporaries and to separate himself from the crowd-especially his legal competition later in life. Alexa still held a slight grudge against him because he had once made people laugh by mocking her when she was a fifteen-year-old, mixed-race outcast who’d been shunned by both races in their high school. Billy had been close with Winter until she came along, and he had resented and not understood her friendship with Winter. That, as much as anything, had kept Billy and Alexa from becoming friends. But he was a friend of Winter’s, and she knew he had been a good and loyal one at that, and he was about to help them out in a big way.
Alexa stepped back as Winter led Billy into the den, where Leigh was staring at a picture of her children with a faraway look in her eyes. “Billy Lyons, this is Leigh Gardner,” Winter said.
“Nice to meet you, Leigh. Winter told me about your situation on the telephone,” Billy said, sitting in an armchair. “I’ve got most of it already prepared for your approval.”
Billy Lyons opened his briefcase and took out a laptop. After reading the document aloud, he listened to what Leigh had to say and added her suggestions to the legal document. He hooked up to Leigh’s computer, printed the document and Leigh signed it, as Alexa and Winter acted as witnesses. Using Leigh’s scanner and her Internet connection, he sent copies of the signed document to his office and to a judge pal in Jackson, Mississippi, storing a digital copy in his Yahoo e-mail folder.
“Now all I have to do is pop in at the courthouse on my way out of town and file this to make it official,” he said, slipping the original pages into his inside coat pocket before putting the coat on.
84
After Billy filed the papers at the courthouse, Winter had him drop him off at his Jeep. A white SUV-which Winter assumed was carrying cutouts-tailed him from town out to the Roundtable. Winter figured Tunica County was filled with cutouts.
He parked in the Roundtable’s lot. After putting on a ball cap and shades he walked to the entrance, joining the arriving gamblers. With any luck, he would get inside before he was spotted by security. Winter wanted to get to Kurt Klein before Mulvane or White got between them.
Winter walked onto the gaming floor and, unbelievably, spotted Kurt Klein seated at a three-card poker table next to the security man Winter had seen arriving with the wealthy silver-haired industrialist. While Klein gambled, the security man sat with a glass of water in his left hand.
Winter put his sunglasses into his pocket, walked straight up to the table, and took a seat beside Kurt Klein. The security man looked across Klein to stare at Winter.
“My name is Winter Massey,” he said.
Casually, Klein said, “I’m Kurt Klein. Nice to meet you.”
Klein placed a bet, looked at Winter for the first time, and smiled. He slid a stack of chips from his pile to rest in front of Winter. “Something to keep your hands busy?”
Winter pushed them back. “I’m not much with cards.”
The security man beside Klein nodded almost imperceptibly.
“This is Steffan Finch,” Klein said. “He works for me.”
Winter looked around and saw the two other security men who had arrived with Klein move forward, their hands behind their backs.
“I’m not armed,” Winter said, slowly drawing back his jacket so Finch could see the empty high-rise holster on his belt.
Kurt Klein won with a pair of kings. The dealer had jack high.
“Do you believe in luck?” he asked Winter.
“Sometimes luck is better than skill,” he answered. “It’s just not very dependable.”
“I never depend on luck,” Kurt Klein said, raking in the chips he’d won. “I bet you are more skilled than lucky yourself.”
Winter shrugged. “I’m careful when I can be.”
“So, Mr. Massey,” Kurt said. “Are you here because you want to test your luck?” He placed four chips in front of Winter. “Play a hand with me.”
Winter placed the chips Klein had given him into the bet box, and Klein made a large bet. They watched the dealer toss out the cards.
“I guess I’m all in,” Winter said.
Klein chuckled. “That appears to be the case.”
Winter had nothing, Klein had a pair, and the dealer a king high hand.
The dealer stacked black and yellow chips in front of Klein.
“Luck doesn’t seem to be on your side,” Klein said.
“Not with cards. Is there a place we can talk in private?”
“Let’s go upstairs,” Klein said, tipping the dealer a pair of black and yellow chips. A man dressed in an official
