Writ of Execution (25 page)

“You’d d-do anything,” she said. This pierced Paul’s heart like a hot needle.

“Don’t idealize him,” Paul said. “Don’t make him the measure of all other men. He wouldn’t want you to turn him into a plaster saint.”

“It’s not about him!”

“It shouldn’t be. It should be about us. Listen, maybe you’re with me for the wrong reasons tonight.” He was stroking her back, trying to relax her. “That doesn’t matter. Let me show you—I’ll make everything right.”

“It’ll never be right again.”

“That’s not true,” Paul said. He took her in his arms and tasted the salt on her cheeks. “You’re coming back. You’re recovering. I can tell.”

“I died with him,” she sobbed.

“No. No, honey. Part of you, maybe, but the rest of you wants to be happy again. Let me make you happy.”

“I’m s-sorry.”

“There, there.” He patted her as if he could soothe her with the gentle motion of his fingers and join the fragments of her shattered emotions together. “Settle down.”

She couldn’t settle down, and gradually Paul realized that she was still stuck in a vision that didn’t include him. With her good man.

Bitterly, he thought, I’ll never live up to it. I’ll never earn her love. She came to me out of gratitude, not because she really wanted me.

He covered her up and went over to sit in the chair by the window. It seemed to him that he had never felt so low. He was still sitting there, sound asleep, when Nina got up softly, blew her nose in the bathroom, got dressed, and left.

The next morning, she drove Bob to the meeting place of an Audubon Society hike, and arrived at her office ready to plow through whatever was in her way. She was angry, at herself, maybe. She felt guilty about Paul, frightened about the emotional explosion. But law practice does not accommodate personal emotion. She put the feelings aside because she had to.

“Someone to see you,” Sandy greeted her. “He’s waiting in the conference room.” Sandy examined her puffy eyes but said nothing. The door to the conference room was closed.

“Who is it?”

“Thomas Munzinger, Global Gaming.”

“Really.”

“I got him coffee.”

“Thanks. Did he say what he wanted?”

“Just marched in and said he needed to see you.”

“Nice little office,” said Munzinger.

Nina hadn’t seen him since jackpot night at the casino. His look today confirmed her earlier guess that he was an outdoorsman. He wore a plaid shirt and old blue jeans over dusty leather boots, and looked younger and less impressive than she remembered.

Even so, she noted in the primitive female part of her mind that Thomas Munzinger was an attractive man. He had lowering eyebrows and an intent way of looking at her that would stir up a woman.

“Don’t mind my clothes,” he said, noticing her attention, “but I came right over here this morning as soon as I could. I have a few acres in the foothills on the Nevada side, and had some things to take care of this morning. Haven’t had time to change.”

She took one of the chairs. The blinds on the window facing the boulevard were still down against the stark morning sun and the room seemed shadowy. “What can I do for you, Mr. Munzinger?”

“Well, I’d like to talk to you. And I’m going to need to talk to Mrs. Leung. I’d like to get her address from you today.”

Nina folded her hands. “What did you want to talk about?”

“Global Gaming is the largest manufacturer of gaming devices in the world, Mrs. Reilly. Our reputation has always been of the highest. We’re happy to pay out jackpots when they legitimately occur—it’s great P.R. But there’s also a constant struggle to prevent fraud.”

“Fraud,” Nina said carefully.

“You ever heard of Dennis Nikrasch?”

“I don’t think so.” Was this someone Kenny had mentioned?

“Las Vegas man. Went down in 1986 for cheating the slots, and was accused again in 1998. Ten million dollars in the first case, and six in the next one. I helped figure things out in that case. It’s a gift, like being able to heal a horse by whispering to it.”

“Can you do that?”

“No. Movie stars do that. I confine my talent to riding a fast horse and keeping the wins clean.” He laughed, but the eyes still smoldered with something held back.

“How in the world did someone manage to steal that much from slot machines before anyone noticed?”

“Oh, he was smart. I consider myself smarter, of course. But the way it worked was, he tampered with the machines, set ’em up to hit, then got several confederates, friends and family, to collect the wins. Took a while for us and the Gaming Control Board to catch on.”

“How did he tamper with the machines?”

“He wasn’t the only one involved. There were several people doing these things. They used keys, wires, magnets, even some computer rig to jog bogus jackpots. Ever heard of a monkey’s paw?”

“What’s that?”

“People put a tiny flashlight on the tip of a piece of wire about eight inches long. When you slip it up the chute, it’s supposed to confuse the machine’s sensor. That prevents the machine from counting the coins on a win. Can increase jackpots by a factor of ten. That was just one of the things they tried.”

Nina decided to get right to it. “I understand it’s in your company’s interest to ensure that Jessie Potter’s jackpot is legitimate. I mean, nobody wants to pay on a bad win, right?”

“Including Prize’s. You know Steve Rossmoor?”

She knew Steve Rossmoor pretty darned well. He was the CEO at Prize’s. His current wife had been her first murder client. “Yes.”

“Guy’s got one big fault.”

“What’s that, Mr. Munzinger?”

“He listens to me. And I told him, there’s something wrong. I called a meeting. You know the group. Andy Doig, Gary Gray, John Jovanic from Prize’s. Ully Miller from the Gaming Control Board. Yesterday. We agreed that I ought to talk to your client, unofficially.”

Nina said, still watching her words, “What makes you think there’s something wrong with the jackpot? Have you found some evidence of tampering?”

“No. The chip checks out. That particular Greed Machine has been taken out of service while we think about things, though.”

“So?”

“There was a man on the stool just before your client sat down. Made a stink when he got back and saw she had won. One of Prize’s security people talked to him while they were in the process of kicking him off the casino floor right after the win. Got the name. Charlie Kemp. Kemp claimed the jackpot belonged to him.”

“Anybody would. It was bad luck.”

“Have you talked to Kemp?”

“Uh, well, yes, I did have a brief conversation with him a few days ago. He said essentially the same thing to me.”

“He told the Prize’s guard that it was all set up for him. And I quote.”

Nina stopped breathing. “What? Are you sure?”

“That’s how the guard remembers it. And now he’s dead.”

Nina said, “But my information is that Kemp was a hard liver. He left a trail of broken promises wherever he went. He was a transient, a boozer, a user, and a gambler. He had just been fired from a job in LA for smoking marijuana on the job. Obviously, he had enemies. Why blame the machine?”

“The time factor. It suggests a scenario to me I have surely seen before. A killing by a confederate. I’ll be honest with you. Ully and John think Kemp was just blowing hot air. But I don’t agree. Don’t know why. Just got the old gut to go by.” He patted his lean stomach.

“Mr. Munzinger, I promise you, if you try to obstruct my client’s legitimate win, we will give you the fight of your life.” She stood up and opened the door. He stood up in response. “You said yourself there’s no evidence of tampering on that machine.”

“It would help if I could talk to your client. Satisfy myself that she didn’t know Kemp. All I want is her address. A few minutes of her time.”

“That’s not convenient. She’s going into a stressful court hearing in a few days, as you know. She’s resting.”

“You’re leaving me with a bad feeling,” Munzinger said. “We might even intervene in that court proceeding, hold that money up from both parties.”

“Not without the support of the Gaming Control Board and Prize’s,” Nina said. “You’d never go to court. And if you did, you’d lose, because you don’t have any evidence. So don’t try to bluff me.”

Munzinger looked down and gave the floor a rueful smile. “You won’t let me talk to her?”

“Sorry.”

“You’re making a mistake. I’ll have to draw my own conclusions.”

“Not so fast,” Donna said. “You know I don’t like going too fast.”

Red, who already felt like they were crawling, slowed the boat down to a slither. He moved in closer to the beach so that he could get a better view of the sunbathers near Zephyr Cove at the state beach. The glitter of sun on miles of smooth yellow sand made his eyes hurt. He fumbled around for his sunglasses and put them on. “Did you bring food?”

“Sandwiches and cake. I picked them up at the Raley’s.”

“Nothing fresh?”

“The potato salad looked real good.”

“Probably a month old.” He looked at it with distaste.

“Why do you care?” she asked curiously. “You never eat anymore, Red. You’re getting so skinny.”

“It’s your cooking.”

She sighed. “Maybe it was a mistake, coming out here. I don’t think you’re enjoying yourself at all.”

“Aren’t you?”

“C’mon. Let’s have some cake. Maybe a full stomach will keep you from jumping out of your skin every time I say a word. Pull in over there.” She pointed to a deserted stretch of beach.

He flung the wheel to the right and pulled the boat up to the beach as close as he could without scraping the bottom off, turned off the motor, and threw down the anchor. Donna held the food bags high as she waded into shore. He brought the cooler. Whiskey to soften the edges. Every knob of bone on his body hurt. Possibly he’d been overdoing the pills. He vowed to slow down just as soon as all this was over. As soon as he had the jackpot in hand, as soon as he had removed—another obstruction.

The Leungs had disappeared. He had only seen them in court, surrounded by people. He couldn’t find them in the Indian colony or anywhere else. They were obviously hiding, since Kemp had scared them. And if he couldn’t find them, he couldn’t get the husband.

The kidnapping idea was dead. Jessie was tied up in court for a couple of weeks and couldn’t pay him off anyway. Good thing Kemp had blown it. He’d learned from Potter’s lawyer that Leung hardly knew the girl. The marriage was a sham. He didn’t care what that scam might be. He would have plenty of time to brace young Jessie later, after the court decision.

The problem of Kenny Leung remained. Red had to go to the hearings and he was scared shitless that the husband would come up to him and point a finger in his face and say, You were there, you said something to Kemp. That would be the end of the dream. He really needed to get rid of him, and he would first chance he had.

But now there was the other problem.

His clueless wife spread a blanket on the sand and laid out food. He sat beside her, but couldn’t stay still. She had no idea what was going on, no idea what he was going through. He was getting thin? Fuck that shit. He was getting more alive by the minute. He was fighting for his dream against any and all adversaries.

Donna handed him a turkey sandwich. “Eat,” she said.

He took a bite of dry dust and coughed. He twisted open the pint bottle and swallowed.

Tasted like alcohol, plain alcohol, no flavor. Something was happening to his taste buds.

“Don’t forget me,” Donna said, taking the bottle. She took a sip. “You know, I’ve been meaning to thank you for how good you’ve been to Amanda. I’m going to see her for lunch tomorrow, catch up on things.”

He drank, staring out at the wide blue lake, thinking, Oh, I doubt that very much. Amanda was his problem of the day.

She had been quite a gal when they’d first met, five years before, a real life of the party. He’d even thought he was in love with her. They’d had a safe fling. Amanda was a very clean girl who understood about showering before and after and keeping her bathroom disinfected. He never felt like he had to worry that Amanda would tell Donna. Not her style. She was a good girl.

Then, the accident. A one-car accident, on Kingsbury Grade up by the lake on a snowy night. He had been driving. Just one passenger, spinal injury.

Donna stuck by him, believed the story he told her. Donna loved him.

Amanda forgave him. He told himself he felt sorry for her, but the truth was, he didn’t want to lose her. He needed a friend, and besides Donna, he had nobody else. So he took care of her, gave her money, helped her out. She was Red’s friend and she knew about his outfit. She’d gamble with him.

She’d been window-dressing on the night Kemp blew the jackpot. All fine, until she heard about Kemp. She had surprised him there. He’d never even thought about her figuring it out. The problem was, she knew him too well. He’d even offered her a share of the winnings, but she had drawn her own line at Kemp’s murder. She didn’t understand. She had thrown him out.

She would betray him, later if not sooner. He didn’t want to do it, but her suspicious attitude had come along and taken the decision out of his hands. After all the secrets he had told her—she really knew him.

After all he had done for her, which was considerable! She had no right! She was going to take that wheelchair that he had bought, go down the ramp he had built from the rented house he helped pay for, get into that van which he had helped her lease, and go to the cops. Traitor!

Well, she had brought this on herself. He should have finished it that night, not left this issue lingering around, keeping him up at night. Another ghost to follow him while he paced the floor trying to figure out how to get his hands on his money.

He would try to make it clean and quick. She shouldn’t suffer. He liked her. Maybe he even loved her. He would miss her a lot.

He still had the gun he had stolen from that investigator of Nina Reilly’s. Not traceable to him, if it came to that.