Dead Man's Hand (4 page)

Dale and Jimmy opened fire. B
ullets ricocheted off the grill
and shattered the windshield. Dale aimed low, taking out the front passenger tire
.
T
he car flipped into a tailspin, end-over-end. They hit the ground as the car continued to roll, landing
roof-to-roof
on top of their own cruiser.

Dale
clambered to his feet
and dusted off
his pants
.
With
his
gun
still aimed at the car,
he advanced
with ease
, his partner right behind him
.
“
Cover me, Jimmy.
”

He
holstered his weapon and pried open the car door, now upside down. The killer hung from the seatbelt, his face bloodied, a deep gash across the top of his head.

Dale bent down and checked for a pulse.

“
I
’
ll call the EMTs,
”
Jimmy said.

“
Forget the EMTs
. This guy
’
s gone.
”
D
ale
sprung
up and
took a deep breath in and out.
“
Now that
’
s the way to start a day.
”

For a brief moment,
he
almost forgot his whole world was crumbling around him.

Chapter 3

Doug Grant sat in his private office and rubbed his temples. He hadn
’
t expected everything to come to a head. He just wanted to be happy, free from the constraints
,
able to
live a normal life.
But what would be the consequences?

He
went through
the usual morning paperwork, feeling older and more alone than he had in years. He was proud of being thorough, a trait learned fro
m his father. At sixty-three,
Doug
was still very much a working boss
.
H
is son, Shawn, now thirty-five and Vice President of Operations, was learning the business from him.

He marveled at how far he
’
d come: t
he Greek Hotel
and Casino—the
second largest and most profitable casino in Las Vegas.
He had taken it over
when his father,
Sherman
, had passed away eight years ago
. Doug had turned the casino
into a multibillion
-
dollar business
and h
e looked forward to turning over full control to Shawn at the right time.
Recent events had moved up his planned date for semi-retirement by years.

He heard the
front door to the suite
swing open, but
he
was
sure he
’
d locked it so he wouldn
’
t be disturbed.
He wasn
’
t expecting visitors and his first appointment downtown wasn
’
t until this afternoon.
He
rose to investigate,
but
before he could, Ace Sanders
st
rode into his office.

The
rival casino owner
wore
a fake tan and cocky grin. Sanders owned and operated two casinos,
t
he
Golden Horseshoe
and
t
he Midas. Neither was as successful as Doug
’
s.

Doug frowned.
“
How did you get in here? That door was locked.
”

“
Magic
.
”

Sanders
offered his hand, but Doug ignored it.

The man
sat on the leather sofa and put his feet up.
He had a languid smile.
“
You know, I really wish you would use your home or casino offices more. It
’
s a bitch to get down
here.
”

“
That
’
s the point.
Privacy. N
o
interruptions.
Obviously it isn
’
t working.
”

Sanders said nothing.

“
What the hell are you doing here?
”
Doug asked with malevolence in his voice.

Sanders
studied
the office before answering.
“
I just stopped by for a chat.
I think you should
listen this time and consider what I have to say.
”

Doug stayed seated in his desk chair.
Not again!
“
How did you get up here without an appointment?
”

Sanders
’
chuckle was
thick with sarcasm
.
“
Same way I got through the front door. Please, Douglas
.
I
’
m Ace Sanders
. I can do whatever I want in this city. Enough small talk. I want your casino and I
’
m willing to
up my price
.
”

“
We
’
ve been over this
before—too
many times
.
I won
’
t have this discussion with you again. I
’
ll never se
ll this casino. Ever! Most of all not
to you. This place was my father
’
s, now it
’
s mine and it will be Shawn
’
s. And I hope that when he has children, one of them will want to be
a
fourth-generation owner.
”

“
$250
million!
”
Sanders
shouted the number as if it were a revelation.
“
Which is $50
million more than my last offer.
”

“
No.
”

“
You
’
re making a mistake, old man. At least think about the offer.
”
Sanders
’
voice remained even and calm.

Doug looked
at
him through tired
eyes.
Sanders
kept increasing the offer and
was wearing
him
down.

“
No!
”
Doug
’
s heart was beginning to race.
“
Listen to me
. Don
’
t ever come back here again. You hear m
e? Now
get out
.
”

“
This is a mistake
.
”
Sanders
got up.
He reached inside his coat and pulled something out.

Doug froze for an instant. But it wasn
’
t a gun.

Sanders
had
pulled out a round plastic piece and
he
flipped it onto Doug
’
s desk. The coin spun
on edge before falling. Doug picked up
the poker chip and studied it
.

“
That is a ten
-
thousand
-
dollar
Golden Horseshoe
betting chip,
”
Sanders said.
“
A
token of
my
kindness. Come
by some time and have some fun. O
n me
,
of course. What do you have to lose?
”

Sanders
headed for the door, shaking his head and grinning the whole way. Before exiting, he
turned.
“
And
Douglas, this is far from over.
”

Doug
rose a
nd pointed a crooked finger.
“
Get out. Now!
”

As
Sanders
left, Doug felt a sharp pain in his chest
. He sat
down, clutching his left pector
al
. He took a few deep breath
s
and regained his composure as the pain subsided.

Studying the casino chip,
he
thought he might just take
Sanders
up on his offer. But that would be another time.
He
slipped the chip into his desk drawer and went back to his usual routine.
He was not going
to let Sanders ruin his day
.

Chapter 4

The dream woke him again. Why was it tormentin
g him?

He opened his eyes
and
a dim light across the room
caught his attention
.
He saw Rachel seated at the little table, writing vigorously in a notebook, her face a mask of concentration. Books, pens
and
paper were scattered across the tabletop.

“
What are you doing?
”

She jum
ped
at his voice.
“
Y
ou startled me.
”

“
Sorry
.
”
He
slid off the bed and crossed the room, his eyes still adjusting to the light.

With the speed of a
high
-
school
student
hearing
the bell
, Rachel
threw a few items into her knapsack and closed it.

“
What are those?
”

“
Nothing.
”

C
alvin grabbed the bag
.
“
What are you hiding from me?
”

He opened the knapsack and removed a stack of textbooks.
“
What are these?
”
He picked up the top one
.
“
Understanding Human Behavior
. Where
’
d these come from?
”

“
They
’
re for school
.
”
Her face reddened
. She
pulled the books from his hands and shoved them
in the bag.

“
School?
”

“
Yeah, school. T
hat big brick building where you gain knowledge. Ever hear of it?
”

“
W
hy are you getting so defensive?
”

“
I didn
’
t want anyone to know about it.
”

“
About what?
”

She exhaled out loud
.
“
I
’
m tak
ing online courses at CSN. Okay?
”

“
Since when are you a student at the College of Southern Nevada?
”

“
This is my second year in a two-
year
p
sychology program.
”
She pursed her lips.
“
I want more for my life, Calvin. So far, it hasn
’
t been
like I dreamed.
”

He wrapped his arms around her.
“
I think that
’
s great. I
’
m so proud of you.
”

She
rolled her eyes and pulled him closer.
“
I want more.
”

He took her by the hand and led her
back to bed
.
“
Me too, Rachel. Me too.
”

Calvin woke up squinting at the blinding sun shining through the window. The curtains had b
een pulled back and tied
with the strings. He took
a moment to shake the cobwebs and
then
reached across the bed
.
Rachel was gone.

He swung his legs over the side of the bed
and sat
up on the edge.
He
test
ed his knee for stability and flexibility
. I
t would never get any stronger. He had severely torn the
a
nterior
c
ruciate
l
igament
in his right knee.
Reconstructive surgery had replaced the ligament
and
two arthroscopic surgeries were necessary before he could walk.
Even with the plates and rods, h
e was thankful when he made it through a day without agonizing pain.

He used
the muscles in his arms to
heave himself off the bed, rising
to his feet and stretch
ing
his long, muscular body
. He
be
gan his ritual knee workout
,
eas
ing
into each exercise, holding
at the first point of discomfort. Using light enough resistance,
he
performed three sets of twenty repetitions of the various exercises.
This was the most important time of the day for his knee and he couldn
’
t overdo it.

First, he lay on the floor, raising his leg up and down doing hamstring stretches. Placing a hand against the wall, he performed some quadriceps stretches, then moved to strengthening exercises—leg extensions, straight leg raises, buttock tucks, quarter squats (both single and double leg) and forward and lateral step-ups.

For three
straight
y
ears
at college, he
’
d
been awarded the
‘
Hard Hat
’
award
for the team
’
s hardest worker on and off the field.
The amount of time and hard work he had put into preparing for football was still paying off now.

After twenty
-five
minutes, he was
satisfied,
though perspiration ran
down the back of his neck
. H
e showered and dressed
, then
strolled across the street to Ed
’
s Breakfast Grill.
He
’
d wait until he had returned to his apartment to run the stairs, first walking and then progressin
g into a quick jog. His
weight
lifting
was done
at night before bed.

It was past the
morning breakfast rush
,
so
he sat down
at a booth in the
half
-
empty diner. A scowling, uniformed waitress
set
a fresh mug of coffee in front of him
and
slid the morning paper across the table.

“
Good morning, Calvin. What
’
ll
you
have today, honey?
”
Her pen hovered over
a notepad.

“
The usual, I guess.
”
He tossed
the menu down on the table.

She snatched
up
the menu and headed back to the counter. Calvin was no longer alarmed by how she screamed his order out through the window into the kitchen.

“
Hey, Calvin!
”
Ed,
owner and cook, nodded in Calvin
’
s direction.

He
was a big man who sweated a lot, but Calvin thought of him as a friend, not just someone who was good to his steady customers.

Calvin gave a quick salute and turned to the morning paper. A
s he always did, he
skimmed the news to the sports section
first
. He enjoyed keeping up with some of the players that he
’
d once played against
and dominated
in college.
He couldn
’
t believe the money that players made in the NFL. Players with half his talent were making millions.

Should be me.

The slamming of a plate
brought
him
back from
the
past.
The waitress pulled some silverware from her apron and handed it to him.

“
Thanks,
”
Calvin said
.
He always felt that eat
ing was wasting time, so he gobbled it
, paid his bill
and
left a modest tip.

He
checked out o
f the motel, paying cash. He
was part of the cash-only economy—no banks, no government
and
underreported income. To keep the IRS
off his back
, he did file taxes for a third of what he made and listed himself as a
“
freelance messenger.
”
Close enough.

He
headed to work.

Donald Pitt sat at the desk in his tiny office eating an egg sandwich. As he bit into it, a clump of melted cheese dripped and landed on
files that were
scattered across his desk.

“
For fuck
’
s sake! Dixie, get in here!
”
Pitt called out for his secretary.

“
Hello, Donald.
”

The voice that came from the doorway wasn
’
t Dixie
’
s and he dropped half the sandwich into his lap.

“
Ace,
”
Don
said.
“
I wasn
’
t expecting you until later.
”

“
Having trouble with the sandwich?
”

Don
used a
napkin to wipe the egg from his pants.
Never one to waste time on hygiene, he
finger
-
combed
what h
air was left on
his balding head
, parting it to the side
. He
rushed to the door, greeting his best
-
paying
and
most frequent client
, his arm extended the whole way
.

He
pulled a chair out for the casino owner.

“
You called?
”
Don
’
s young secretary came to the doorway,
one finger
twirling a piece of
gum in her mouth
.

“
Never
mind, Dixie
.
”
He
waved the secretary away, who left rolling her eyes.

He
shut the door and turned back to his visitor.
“
Please come in, Ace.
”

Sanders entered but didn
’
t sit. They had met seven years ago
and
Don
still didn
’
t
trust him
, but he
’
d already made a small fortune handling most of
Sanders
’
dirty work.
He just needed to keep Ace happy for a little while longer.

“
So…
is everything set?
”
Sanders
asked.

“
Pretty much
,
”
he
replied, sitting back behind the desk.

“
What about
Watters
?
”

“
He
won
’
t be a problem. I can handle him.
”
He
smiled, but his partner didn
’
t return it.
He
thought that
Ace probably didn
’
t like that Don
was in control of this part.

“
You just make sure that he
’
s in Grant
’
s private office by 9:30 tomorrow morning.
”
Sanders
’
tone was hard
.

Don
leaned
forward.
“
Tomorrow morning? Why so soon?
”