“I need to ask you a few questions.”
The lead elder considered it. “All right.”
“How many people live on the reservation?”
“Twenty-five hundred.”
“How many are related?”
“Nearly everyone,” he said stiffly.
“How many people work in the casino’s security department?”
The elder looked to Running Bear, who said, “Forty-six.”
“All related?”
Running Bear had to think. “Yes.”
“Which means your security people are watching their cousins, aunts, and grandparents, which is the worst possible thing you could have in this business.”
The lead elder stuck his jaw out. “Why is that?”
“In most casinos, security people are ex-cops and detectives. They never fraternize with anyone on the casino floor, nor do any socializing. This disassociation allows them to be objective observers. If you compare that to what’s going on in your casino—”
“Excuse me,” the pointy-headed lawyer said. “But is anyone going to offer up a shred of evidence here? Or are we going to let this man run off at the mouth? My clients have rights.”
The elders collectively frowned. They impressed Valentine as smart men who knew the truth when they heard it. What the lawyer was asking them to do was go backwards. It was the only thing the legal profession was really good at.
“Do you have any more proof?” the lead elder asked.
“Give me the surveillance tapes of these men dealing blackjack, and I’ll give you loads of proof,” Valentine said.
“You can do this right away?”
“I’ll need a day or two,” Valentine said.
The elders went into a huddle, then took a vote.
“Done,” the lead elder said.
Before Valentine could say another word, the elders had filed out of the room, followed by Running Bear and the other accused men. He’d taken this job because he wanted to escape from his problems. It wasn’t working out that way, and he found himself wishing that he’d stayed home.
“Nice job,” Gladys said as they left the trailer.
18
He followed Gladys into the casino through a back door, then into a stairwell marked EMPLOYEES ONLY. On the second floor they stopped at a door with a surveillance camera hanging over it. Gladys knocked once, then looked into the camera.
“Come on,” she said under her breath.
A lantern-jawed Indian wearing a blue blazer opened the door. His name was Billy Tiger, and he was running surveillance while Harry Smooth Stone cooled his heels in jail. He ushered them in.
The heart and soul of every casino’s security was its surveillance control room. These rooms were generally darkened spaces filled with expensive monitoring equipment used to detect and videotape suspected cheaters. The air was kept a chilly sixty-five degrees so the equipment would not malfunction. It also kept the personnel from turning into zombies as they stared at black-and-white images on their monitors for eight hours a day. Tiger led them to a corner office and shut the door.
“I figured you’d want some privacy,” he said.
Valentine was missing something. How did Tiger know what they wanted? As if reading his thoughts, Tiger said, “I got a call from the elders. All five of them. They said you needed to see some tapes.”
“All five of them?” Gladys said.
Tiger wore the slightly bemused expression of someone who woke up every day with a smile on his face. “Yeah. It was pretty funny. They can’t make a decision without taking a vote. I’d hate to see them ordering takeout.”
From his shirt pocket, Valentine removed the piece of paper that Running Bear had taken from Smooth Stone’s ledger. “I need to see a recent surveillance tape of each of these dealers, except Jack Lightfoot.”
Tiger read the list. “That shouldn’t be too hard.”
“And their personnel files.”
“I’ll get right on it.”
Tiger started to leave the room. Valentine had an idea and stopped him.
“Which of these dealers has the least experience dealing blackjack?”
Tiger took the paper and looked at it. “Karl Blackhorn. He was pretty new.”
“How new is that?”
“Four, five months.”
“Let’s start with him,” Valentine said.
Soon, Valentine and Gladys were watching a tape of Blackhorn. He was easily the sloppiest blackjack dealer Valentine had ever seen.
“How did this guy ever get a job?” Valentine asked.
“Running Bear,” Gladys explained. “When the casino has openings it can’t fill, he hires Indians from other tribes. If they have families, they can live on the reservation and go to school without cost. Other tribes around the country have adopted similar policies.”
Valentine watched Blackhorn deal a round. Each player at the table was dealt two cards. As Blackhorn came to himself, he hesitated. Standard casino procedure called for him to use his second card to flip his first card faceup. Then he was supposed to slip his second card underneath his first.
Only Blackhorn didn’t do this.
Instead, he glanced at the players’ hands. Then he awkwardly turned his
The piece of paper from Smooth Stone’s ledger lay on the desk. Picking it up, he stared at the numbers beside Blackhorn’s name.
DROP: 12,104 WINNINGS: 5,812 HOLD: 42%
Blackhorn had kept 42 percent of the bets wagered at his
table. The best blackjack dealers in the world kept 20 percent. These dealers were considered A dealers and assigned to work the tables when “whales” came to town. And here was a wet-
behind-the-ears kid winning
“Let me see his file,” Valentine said.
Gladys handed him a Pendaflex folder. Valentine read it, then said, “Blackhorn was in prison for armed robbery. Your casino did a background check and turned it up. Yet you still hired him.”
“That’s right.”
“Let me guess. This was Running Bear’s doing.”
“Yes. Running Bear spent time in prison. So do a lot of boys on the reservation. It’s a by-product of high unemployment and poor schooling.”
So what, Valentine nearly said. No legitimate casino would allow a person with a criminal record to work for them. It was too damn tempting, the money flowing back and forth, night after night. Running Bear had a vision and thought he could change people by treating them well. Only, it didn’t work that way with criminals.
