He left through the backdoor. Crossing the backyard, he saw a fluttering of curtains behind a neighbor’s window. He’d been spotted, and started to run. The ground was uneven and his foot landed in a hole. The photograph slipped from his grasp, and hit the ground.
He picked it up with a shudder. The glass frame had turned into a web of fractures. He felt a catch in his throat, his body humbled by the weakness of love. He was crying by the time he reached his car.
Chapter 53
Xing did not believe in taking chances.
He knew that the police were looking for Bronco. Bronco’s face was being shown regularly on the TV news shows, and there were only so many places a man could hide, especially in a city like Las Vegas. If Xing was going to meet with Bronco and do the exchange, he needed to be sure that Bronco wasn’t being tailed. Otherwise, he’d end up sharing a jail cell with him.
Xing’s motel was directly on Fremont Street. He could open the front door, and step right into the action. He started to do that now, and spotted a man standing by the curb, reading a newspaper. Something about the man’s body language felt wrong, and he silently shut the door.
Xing went to his room’s only window and tilted the blind with his finger. Outside, the man continued to read his paper. Xing couldn’t remember seeing anyone on Fremont Street reading a paper. Either they were talking on cell phones or walking around drunk. He studied the man. Muscular in build with a short haircut and conservative clothes. Everything about him screamed policeman. And if there was one cop, there were probably many more, all waiting for Bronco to appear before swooping in.
Time to run.
He went into the bathroom and shut the door. Put down the toilet cover and climbed onto it. The window above the toilet was wide enough for him to slither through. He stuck his head out to make sure no policemen were in the alley, then climbed through, and dropped to the ground. The alley was filled with overflowing garbage cans, and flies swarmed around him. He’d turned up his collar and walked onto Fremont Street.
The policeman with the newspaper was still outside his room. His back was to Xing, and Xing walked in the opposite direction, and became lost in the swarm of people.
The east end of Fremont Street was covered by a giant metal canopy which was transformed into a Star Wars-like special effects show every half hour. The show was called the Fremont Street Experience, and as Xing passed beneath the canopy, a booming voice came over the Public Address system, and announced that the next show would begin in exactly two minutes.
The street quickly filled with people. There were lots of uniformed cops, no doubt for security, but they put Xing on edge. He ducked into a souvenir shop, and bought a pair of shades and a baseball cap. He appraised his disguise in a mirror, and decided it wasn’t enough. From the racks he grabbed a black leather jacket. On its back was printed Jesus Wasn’t Born in Las Vegas Because They Couldn’t Find a Virgin. He took another look at himself in the mirror, and decided he looked like every other misfit he’d seen walking around. He paid for the items and headed outside.
A laser light show had started, with booming music and lots of explosions. He checked the time. Over an hour had passed since he’d last spoken to Bronco. Bronco had sounded eager to do the exchange, and he wondered what the holdup was.
Xing walked around and tried to act like every other tourist. A few minutes later, his cell phone vibrated in his pocket. He pulled it out, and saw that it was Bronco.
“Yes?” he answered, having to shout over the music.
There was no one there. He wondered if the canopy was killing his connection, and started to walk to where the canopy ended. His phone vibrated again.
“Hello?”
Still nothing. He flipped the phone shut and continued to walk. Ten seconds later, his phone vibrated again. He was standing directly outside the Golden Nugget, one of the larger casinos on Fremont and one of the busiest. He tried again.
“Are you there?”
Xing felt the barrel of a gun being shoved into his back. He lowered the phone, and stared into the reflection in the glass windows of the Nugget. A man with a shaved hand stood behind him with a scowl on his face. A stocky Italian with eyes like black ice.
“Turn around. Do it slow,” Bronco whispered into his ear.
Xing obeyed. Bronco was holding a magazine in front of his chest, and had hidden his gun behind it. The idea that Bronco might shoot him right in the street was not far from Xing’s thoughts. Hadn’t he shot a man inside a casino?
“You set me up,” Bronco said. “There are cops all over your motel.”
“I just saw them myself,” Xing replied.
“Really. Why didn’t you warn me?”
“I was waiting for you to call.”
“You’re a liar.”
“I had no reason to set you up.”
Xing waited. He was not going to beg for his life. To do that would have meant losing face, and he would rather have died than let that happen.
“Do you have the Pai Gow secret?”
Xing felt himself relax. They were back on even terms. He nodded, and they edged over to the curb to do the exchange. Despite all the people on the street, it was the perfect hiding place, Xing thought. Everyone sees us, yet no one sees us.
“You go first,” Xing said.
“My pleasure,” Bronco replied.
Xing took out his wallet, and removed a piece of tissue paper. He carefully unfolded the tissue to reveal a small black object that resembled a miniature toothbrush. He had found this miniature toothbrush inside Kyle Garrow’s wallet in Reno when he robbed him in the strip club, yet had no idea what it was.
“Guess you don’t know what this is,” Bronco said.
Xing shook his head. Had he known, he’d be back in China by now.
“Its called an EPROM chip,” Bronco explained. “With it, you can rig any slot machine made by a company called Universal. Universal slot machines are all over the world, so you shouldn’t have any problem finding them in China.”
“How does it work?”
“Put the EPROM chip into a laptop computer, and run a diagnostic test on the Universal machine’s RNG chip. When the test is done, you must play three coins, two coins, and one coin, and you’ll win a jackpot. Got it?”
Xing repeated the instructions and saw Bronco nod.
“You’re all set. Now tell me the Pai Gow secret.”
The pair of Pai Gow dominos were resting in the breast pocket of Xing’s shirt. He handed them to Bronco, happy to be rid of something that he had no use for. Bronco still held the gun hidden beneath the magazine. With his free hand, he held the dominos up to the glaring overhead strobe lights.
“Tell me.”
“Red not black,” Xing said.
Bronco looked confused. He held the dominos at a different angle. Then, his face lit up. “Isn’t that beautiful. They’re made out of red plastic instead of black. The red’s so dark, you can’t tell the difference. Are all of them like this?”
All the dominos being used in American casinos were being manufactured at a plant in China. Whatever had
