Jackpot

He got another glass of tomato juice from the bartender. Over the years, he’d devised dozens of ways to cheat the slots, and liked to think of himself as an i

Fifteen minutes later the phone rang. Bronco snatched it up. “Where you been?”

“Looking at your mug shot on the department’s web site,” the cheating agent said. “Every cop in the state is hunting you. The casinos are on the alert, too.”

“Fuck ’em,” Bronco said.

“Suit yourself. One of the Drew Carey’s Big Balls of Cash machines at the Peppermill is ready to pay off. Jackpot will be ninety-six hundred and change. That enough money for you?”

Bronco liked most of the slot machines which featured celebrities, but he hated the Drew Carey machines. Every time a person played, a recording came on of the comic berating the player. It was sick, even by his standards.

“That’s enough,” Bronco said.

“Good. You’re going to need a claimer for the jackpot,” the agent said.

“You think so?”

“I sure do. The governor has ordered every casino to ID anyone who wins a jackpot, regardless of the amount.”

Bronco clenched his teeth. He would have to find a claimer, and he’d have to find them fast. Another headache.

“Which machine?” Bronco asked.

“I want you to promise me something, first.”

“I don’t make promises,” Bronco said.

“Well, you’re going to have to make an exception with me. I want you to promise me that this is it. No more phone calls. The partnership is dissolved.”

Bronco felt the veins in his head popping the skin, his brain twirling the way it did when he grew enraged. No one strong-armed him. No one.

“Sure,” he said through clenched teeth.

“I want to hear you say it,” the agent said.

“I promise,” he grunted.

The agent was stupid. He believed there was honor among thieves. He told Bronco which Drew Carey machine at the Peppermill was rigged, and Bronco slammed down the phone without saying goodbye.

Bronco walked through the pub. On the TV, the local news had started over, the lead story his daring escape from jail. He remembered the old Don Henley song about dirty laundry, and felt a tingle knowing that he was giving people their jollies.

The picture on the TV showed the local hospital. Standing in the parking lot was a male newscaster, beside him a young woman. She was a country girl, with freckles and a flat, unhappy face, with a small boy clutching her dress. The swipe at the bottom of the screen identified her as Rebecca Klinghoffer. Karl’s bride, he thought.

The newscaster was trying to make Karl Klinghoffer’s survival into a story, but Rebecca Klinghoffer was having none of it. Her face was drained of emotion, and she answered the newscaster’s questions in monosyllabic bursts.

Bronco started to walk away, then caught sight of the glimmering stone hanging around Rebecca Klinghoffer’s neck. It was a tear-shaped diamond pendant. The rest of her clothes and jewelry were ordinary, but not the pendant. At least two carats, the insetting made of platinum. Bronco had told Karl to buy her wife something pretty, and Karl had bought her that wonderful diamond. That was why she was acting defensive on the television. She was afraid.

Bronco left the pub with a smile on his face. He had found his claimer.

Chapter 33

Mabel was stuck in traffic. Normally, the drive to the Micanopy casino in Tampa took forty minutes, and required crossing the bay over a long bridge, driving past downtown Tampa, and heading east on I-4 toward Orlando. That was on a normal day. Today, the roads were a parking lot, and she weighed calling Ru

Traffic started to move. People drove at two speeds in Florida — fast, or not at all. Hitting the gas, she remembered a conversation she’d had with Tony about Ru

Five years ago, the city of Tampa had decided to build an ice hockey arena, and floated a hundred and sixty million dollar bond for the project. As construction workers started to dig the foundation, they were shocked to find hundreds of human bones. The bones were tested, and discovered to be several hundred years old.

A few days later, Ru

Tampa’s politicians caved in, and offered Ru

Mabel had reached Malfunction Junction, the infamous spot in Tampa’s highway system where all the major traffic arteries met. It was like something out of a third-world country, the exits appearing too quickly for any sane motorist. Luckily, Tampa’s drivers were kind-hearted, and a car in the next lane flashed its brights, allowing her to merge and take the I-4 exit.

She pulled into the casino parking lot exactly on time . The lot was filled with cars and tour buses, and she spotted a tall, striking looking Indian male with long flowing hair standing by the entrance. He was dressed in jeans, a fla

Ru

“Don’t tell me your job is in jeopardy,” Mabel said.

“I am an elected official, so I can’t lose my job,” the chief said. “But I can lose my integrity, and that means as much to me.”

Besides being packed with people, the casino was filled with smoke. As they walked past the tables, Mabel saw several employees staring at her. Their looks made her uncomfortable, and she stayed close to the chief’s side.

They reached the elevators and Ru

“Don’t worry, chief. We’ll straighten this situation out, trust me.”

“Thanks,” he said.

A minute later, Mabel and the chief entered a conference room with carpeted walls. The Micanopy’s seven elders sat at a long table with three pitchers of ice water with lemon, and a tray of upturned glasses. That was it for the niceties.

The elders rose, and nodded to their visitor. Like Ru