make this place Sin City again. What's next? Drugs? Prostitution? Before long, you won't be able to make a dishonest living 'cause every vice is gonna be legal. We're expanding into Medicare fraud and your other white-collar criminal activities, but it's damn hard to compete with Wall Street.'
'So what was the repayment deal?'
'Trey would throw five tournaments. He'd win some, too, and the boys would up their ante slowly, so as not to attract any attention. First two tournaments went like clockwork, the boys made a killing and Trey reduced his debt by six million. But then he made that putt. A twenty-million-dollar putt.' Gabe shook his head. 'The boys got greedy, bet real big. Too big.'
'Trey would get to keep the money when he won?'
'Nope. Everything was divvied up. Trey got one-third.'
'One-third of everything? Including the mob's winnings?'
'Yep. More money than he would've made winning those tournaments, and tax-free, the best kind of money.'
'How do you know?'
'Because I made the payoff myself. At his house. Three million cash. Hundred-dollar bills.'
'Why would the mob pay him when he owed them?'
'They figured on this being a long-term investment.' He shrugged. 'Once you're in the mob, you're in it for life.'
'I wonder where that three million is now?'
Gabe shrugged again.
'Trey won the California Challenge a week before he was murdered. Didn't that make some money for the mob?'
'Not twenty million.'
'I take it you wouldn't care to testify at the trial?'
'No, I don't testify either.'
'I could subpoena you.'
'That would be a mistake. Look, Scott, I'm a nice guy, I run a clean business, I try to be helpful. But right here, this is where I talk. Not in a courtroom. Okay?'
'I could subpoena your bosses.'
'You could get yourself killed. Scott, defend your wife and get her off, I don't care. But don't go chasing after the boys in Vegas. Nothing good will come of that.'
'What do you know about the Muertos? '
'Animals. See, the mob never kills for the sake of killing. It's always a business decision. And we never kill women or children or innocent bystanders. We're civilized. They're not. They give crime a bad name.' Gabe nodded thoughtfully. 'So gambling wasn't Trey's only vice?'
'No.'
'You looking at Benito for his murder?'
Scott nodded. 'And you.'
Gabe smiled.
'You know Benito?'
'It's a small island. We keep tabs on our competitors for your discretionary entertainment dollars. Benito likes the horses.'
'He bets with you?'
'He utilizes my services. But I don't utilize his.'
'Smart.'
'Benito's not a killer.'
'The Muertos are.'
Gabe nodded, and Scott stood to leave. 'You said a lot of pro athletes gamble?'
'Yeah. From every sport. So?'
'So does the mob have other pros on the payroll, throwing football and baseball and basketball games?'
Gabe smiled. 'Trade secrets, Scott.'
Scott walked away. He was to the bar when Gabe called to him.
'Scott!'
Scott turned back. Gabe was pointing at the TV above the bar. Scott looked up and saw Renee Ramirez's face on the screen.
'Watch out for her, Scott. She's like a rattlesnake-pretty but deadly.'
'Who killed Trey Rawlins?' Bobby said. 'Pete Puckett, the Muertos, or the mob? Three prime suspects for one murder, each with a good motive.'
'You're forgetting Rebecca,' Scott said.
'No, I'm not.'
'She's the only one without a motive.'
'Why would Trey call Pete Puckett thirteen times the last week and three times on the day he died?' Karen said.
They were at the table on the back deck. Karen was reading down Trey's cell phone bills. The D.A.'s office had run the calls and identified each caller.
'He didn't call Pete,' Scott said. 'He called Billie Jean.'
'The list says Pete Puckett.'
'Phone's registered in his name, but it's Billie Jean's phone. Family plan, like the girls want.'
'First call to her was on May fourteenth.'
'Three weeks before his death. That's when their affair started.'
'Last call was at twelve-ten P.M. that Thursday, same day he was killed.' Karen tapped on her laptop keyboard. 'My notes say Billie Jean was in Austin that day, and Pete was in Florida playing at the Atlantic Open tournament.'
'They both lied. They were here. Billie Jean drove down from Austin in her black Mustang. She was calling Trey to tell him she was here because he left the club just after noon. Trey lied to Rebecca about practicing at the country club all day while she was shopping in Houston. He was here with Billie Jean. Pete flew in from Florida, confronted them at the house.'
'If Pete was in Florida,' Bobby said, 'how'd he know Billie Jean was here?'
'I don't know. Karen, find out what flight Pete took that day.'
She nodded then said, 'Is Rebecca still willing to take a polygraph?'
'Yeah. I've asked everyone else involved to take one-Pete, Benito, Gabe-no one else wants to.'
'No one else is charged with murder,' Bobby said.
'I'll set it up,' Karen said.
'Anything else?'
'The endorsement contracts. I reviewed the big one with Golf-a-zon. com… golf company. He endorsed their products, they paid him millions. Ten million guaranteed over two years, another ten million in performance incentives. He stood to make twenty million under that contract.'
'But once they found out about his drugs and gambling, they would've terminated the contract.'
Karen shook her head. 'They couldn't. The contract is iron-clad.'
'There's always a way out of a contract.'
'Only one way out: 'Article Twelve: Termination upon death of Athlete.' '
'Trey's sponsor wanted out of his contract,' Nick said.
Scott had called him from the back deck. 'Why?'
'Trey showed up at their big ad party flying higher than a kite. Stumbling, couldn't speak a complete sentence, mauling their wives. Fucking fiasco. I had to drag him out of the place. They were pissed.'
'But they couldn't fire him?'
'Nope. They were stuck with him.'
'Unless he died.'
'And he did.'
