Michael McGarrity - The big gamble

"Did you see them leave?"

"Yeah, I stood on the porch and waved bye-bye."

"Don't be a wiseass," Clayton said. "Did you see them leave?"

"No."

"Give me names."

Staggs named the players staying at the cabins.

"What about the other two guys?"

"They both flew in for the game. Ned Halloran came in from Phoenix and Luis Rojas from El Paso. Both have private planes."

"Where are they staying?" Clayton asked.

"I didn't ask, but they probably didn't hang around town."

"You got phone numbers for them?"

"Yeah." Staggs got up, found an address book in a lamp-table drawer, read off numbers, and stuffed the address book in a back pocket.

"How well do you know the players who were here last night?" Clayton said, pointing to the chair Staggs had vacated.

Staggs sat back down. "Everybody except Ulibarri are regulars. They been coming since I opened five years ago."

"Do they always play together?"

Staggs laughed. "It don't work that way. Players are in the game for the stakes, not friendship. Only the game matters."

"Have you had any problems with any of them in the past?"

Staggs snorted. "Never. You cause trouble here, you don't come back. End of story."

"So, no problems?"

"Nope."

"Who lost big?" Clayton asked.

"Luis Rojas. He dropped forty grand."

"Was Ulibarri the big winner?"

"Nope, Ned Halloran was."

"How did you do?"

Staggs reached for a cigarette and lit it. "With my house percentage, I made a few bucks." He shot Tredwell a look.

"That's a good enough answer," Tredwell said.

"Did Ulibarri ever play here before?"

"No."

"You let strangers-people you don't know-sit in on illegal, high-stakes games?" Hewitt asked.

Staggs gave Hewitt a baleful glance. "He found his way here and had the cash. That's all it takes to get into a game."

"He didn't find his way here by himself," Clayton said. "You told me earlier a man and woman dropped him off."

"Same thing," Staggs said, tugging an earlobe.

It was the first sign of nervousness, Clayton noted.

"I also told you that I didn't recognize them," Staggs added.

"Isn't that risky business?" Clayton asked. "Ulibarri shows up with no references, dropped off by strangers. What if he had been a cop?"

Staggs snorted at the idea. "No way. The local cops have never been a problem. They got their heads up their asses."

Hewitt leaned forward and scratched his forehead. "I don't get it, Staggs. Three complete strangers show up and that's okay with you?"

Staggs rubbed his nose, which suggested a lie was coming. "It's not that hard to find out where the action is. People talk to people, especially about where the good games are. That's how a reputation gets built."

"Simple as that?" Clayton said.

Staggs crossed his arms in front of his chest. "Sometimes."

Clayton read the body language and knew Staggs was still lying. He pushed the issue. "Ulibarri just shows up, brought by strangers."

Staggs pulled at his earlobe again. "I already said that."

"An unknown man and woman?"

Staggs shifted sideways in his chair. "How many times do I have to answer that question?"

"Until you stop bullshitting us," Clayton said. He glanced at Paul Hewitt, who hit the stop button on the tape recorder.

"How much cash do you have in the house?" Hewitt asked.

"You don't have to answer that," Tredwell said, quickly facing Hewitt. "What's the relevance of the question?"

"We didn't find any money in Ulibarri's cabin," Hewitt said. "People get killed for a lot less than twenty-five thousand, so robbery may be the motive."

"We have a deal to treat my client as a cooperating witness," Tredwell said.

"That deal is about illegal gambling, not murder," Hewitt replied, smiling at Staggs. "I bet the crime scene techs have just lifted your client's fingerprints from Ulibarri's cabin."

"He owns the place," Tredwell said. "You'll find his prints everywhere."

"That's probably true, but the district attorney and a judge might be convinced those fingerprints place him at the scene of a homicide. What if the court issued a search warrant? I wonder what we'd find." Hewitt shook his head sadly at Staggs. "Maybe a lot of cash, maybe twenty-five thousand or more."

"You're way off base, Sheriff," Tredwell said.

"Staggs only gets a free ride for operating an illegal gambling parlor."

"What do you want?" Tredwell asked with tight lips.

"Real cooperation," Hewitt replied. "The names of the man and woman who brought Ulibarri to the game will do for starters."

"Give us a few minutes." Tredwell rose and took Staggs into the bedroom.

Hewitt caught the unspoken question in Clayton's eyes and grinned. "Never let a lawyer bully you without a payback," he whispered, "even when they're in the right."

The door opened and Tredwell came out first, followed by a sulky-looking Staggs.

Clayton waited for the men to sit at the table before turning on the tape recorder. "Who were the man and the woman with Ulibarri?" he asked.

"The guy's name is Johnny Jackson," Staggs replied. "He runs an escort service. High-class talent only. Very expensive. The woman was probably a hooker."

"What else do you know about him?" Clayton asked.

"That's about it," Staggs said, shifting his eyes away from Clayton.

"He's local?" Clayton asked.

"That, I don't know. I hear he's got a private plane and flies his talent all over the Southwest."

"How do you contact him?"

"I don't."

"Why did he bring Ulibarri to your game?"

"I didn't ask."

"How long have you known Jackson?"

"I just know who he is, that's all."

"You've never met him?"

"I've seen him around, but we've never talked."

"What else have you heard about him?"

"He's got some fancy place in the area where very special clients can hook up with his girls."

"Does Jackson supply women for your gambling buddies?" Hewitt asked.

Tredwell jumped in before Staggs could reply. "My client is not a party to Mr. Jackson's alleged criminal activities."

"People come here for the game, not pussy," Staggs replied.

"Is that a no?" Clayton asked.

"Yeah, that's a no."

"Describe Jackson," Clayton said.

Staggs fidgeted, but didn't answer.

Clayton rephrased. "What does he look like?"

Staggs gulped air before responding. "He's a small guy, thin. Maybe five six or seven. Curly black hair he keeps cut short. Nice dresser. Always smiling. Dark eyes. I don't remember what color. Women think he's good-looking."

"Any distinguishing features?"

Staggs thought for a minute and pointed to his right cheek. "He's got a small mole here."

"You pointed to your right cheek," Clayton said.

"Yeah, a mole on his right cheek."

"How old?"

"Forty, maybe, would be my guess. He looks younger."

"And the car he was driving?"

"It's a Lincoln, dark blue, four-door."

"Have you seen him driving anything else?" Clayton asked.

Staggs fumbled a cigarette pack out of a shirt pocket and lit another cancer stick. "He always drives a Lincoln, as far as I know." He blew a cloud of smoke straight at Clayton. "I've seen him around town in it."

Clayton pulled his head back, coughed, and waved the smoke away.

Through the front window Hewitt saw Sergeant Quinones waiting impatiently on the porch. "A few more questions and then we'll take a break," he said while Clayton kept coughing. "Where have you run into Jackson?"

"I've seen him at the casino and the racetrack."

"If you don't know him and have had no dealings with him, why were you protecting him?"

"I didn't want any trouble."

Hewitt wondered whether Staggs was talking about trouble from cops, or trouble from Johnny Jackson. "Have you ever been to this private place where Jackson's girls entertain special clients?"