John Miller - Smoke and Mirrors

Aside from playing board games, Alexa had never rolled a pair of dice. Right now, she felt as clueless about the goings-on at the craps table as a dog would be about open-heart surgery.

“Here’s the deal,” Jason told her. “You have to place a bet to get a turn at throwing the dice, so I’ll make the bets. You just concentrate on rolling the dice when it’s your turn.”

“Okay,” she said.

Jason Parr put several stacks of chips in the racks before him on the table’s ledge, and with each roll, he reached over and placed them on various marked areas. When it was his turn to throw the dice, he was up thousands of dollars, which he attributed to Alexa’s presence. After he rolled eight times in a row, he kept tossing chips down and when he rolled his point, he won big. He rolled three more times, making his point each time. When he rolled boxcars-double sixes-on the fourth point roll, he placed bets for Alexa as the croupier pushed the dice to her using his L-shaped stick.

“Just throw them hard enough so they hit the back of the table,” he told her. “And don’t change hands with them once you pick them up off the table. You might arrange them on the felt and throw them thinking you can control them, but you can’t.”

“So it’s a crapshoot?” she asked, smiling.

“Sure as shootin’ is,” he said, laughing.

Alexa rolled a nine. Unbelievably, she rolled ten times after that, hitting a nine on the last one. Each roll brought about a flurry of activity from the players, and she watched without any understanding of why the chips were going down and being taken up again. Nobody seemed all that concerned when she crapped out.

“Dang,” Jason said, looking at the long lines of black and yellow chips he had stacked in rows in the racks before him. “Alexa, you’ve put me ahead for the trip. I’m in the black. We’re gonna clean the house out. I got the feeling in my bones.”

“How much are those black and yellow chips worth?” Alexa asked.

“Five,” Parr said.

“Five dollars?” Alexa asked.

“Five hundred,” he replied.

Alexa’s cell phone rang.

She flipped it open.

“We’re leaving,” Winter said into her ear.

“Yes, dear,” she replied. “Two minutes.”

“Aw, don’t tell me,” Jason said.

“I have to go in two minutes.”

“Hey, will y’all let this little gal roll one last time?” he asked the other players.

Everybody at the table clapped their agreement.

Alexa rolled a six.

She watched as Jason Parr took everything he had in the chip racks and placed it in tall stacks around the board. “What are you doing?” she asked in horror.

“Gamblin’!” he said, smiling.

“But…”

“Get it, girl!” someone yelled.

“Roll them bones!” a woman in her sixties, who was wearing a red cowgirl suit, exclaimed.

“Roll,” Jason said.

“Hit that six!” someone yelled. Alexa noticed a red-haired man who looked like an evangelist walking through the casino with Albert White. He stopped behind the croupier, and stared down at the chips on the table. His smile was crooked.

“Mr. Mulvane!” Jason hollered. “Read it and weep!”

Alexa felt sick to her stomach. After rolling a four, a five, a four, an eight, and a three, Alexa rolled a six. While everybody around the table was screaming and celebrating-except the evangelist-looking man, who was smiling insincerely-Alexa moved away unnoticed, making a beeline for the front door.

Winter and Brad exited the casino just as a limousine, its windows covered by dark film, rolled to a stop under the portico. An enthusiastic Pierce Mulvane rushed up, flanked by Albert White and the blonde secretary, who was holding an opened notebook, pen poised, awaiting dictation. A man in sunglasses with slicked-back brown hair and a deeply scarred face stood off to the side, scanning the crowd.

Two bellboys, each pushing a bag carrier, appeared and took up positions on the street side of the Lincoln. People on their way in and out of the casino stopped to gawk.

Albert White took out his cell phone, looked at the display and took the call, turning his wide back to the group.

Winter watched as the passenger door opened and two bull-necked security types got out and stood behind the limousine driver, who had opened the passenger door closest to the curb. A third security man, wearing an unbuttoned cashmere overcoat over a turtleneck sweater and gray woolen slacks, stepped out and scanned the area, his eyes hidden behind sunglasses. No doubt he was armed, the coat open to allow him immediate access to a weapon. He leaned back into the car and gave an all clear.

The main occupant, a man with short silver hair, gold-rimmed eyeglasses, and manicured nails that shone in the daylight like abalone, climbed out and the driver shut the door behind him. He smiled as Mulvane approached with his hand out. Winter was too far away to hear what was said, but close enough to read Pierce’s lips. As they shook hands, Pierce said, “Welcome to the Roundtable, Herr Klein. This is a great pleasure for us all.”

Klein? Now this is an interesting development, Winter thought. He looked from Mulvane to Albert White to the man with the deep facial scars, whom Winter caught staring in his direction. Although Winter had never seen the man before, he seemed to be familiar with Massey, probably thanks to Albert White. Big surprise. The scarred man was about Winter’s height and built like a middleweight. Winter figured he was with casino security. Unlike the men protecting the head of RRI, scar-face looked just like the sort of hard-edged muscle who might break legs when he was asked to, and would probably enjoy the work. Winter paid close attention to Klein’s and Mulvane’s security people, because he had a distinct feeling he would see them again soon. Unfortunately, he was rarely wrong about that feeling.

Alexa was headed to the far edge of the casino parking lot when she heard someone yelling her name.

“Alexa! Alexa!”

She turned to see a panting Jason Parr running toward her, waving frantically. Alexa stopped and waited for him to catch up, breathless.

“Jason.”

“You…you…left before…you got…your cut.”

“Don’t be silly. I had a blast. You don’t owe me anything.”

“Man, I ain’t had a run like that since my second wife caught me with my secretary and got her hands on my forty-four Bulldog.”

“Sorry to hear it.”

“Well, my wife got me good.”

“She shot you?”

“Be better if she had. She gave me a divorce so I could marry my secretary. Talk about revenge.” Jason took an envelope from his coat pocket and offered it to her. “This is roughly ten points. I didn’t have time to do a count because you run off on me. They’re counting it up now.”

“I have to go,” Alexa said. “And I can’t take that.”

She saw Brad’s truck heading toward her.

“Sure you can,” Jason said. “We had a deal and I always honor my word.”

Brad pulled up. Winter was in the rear passenger seat.

“Good luck,” Alexa said to Jason.

“You come back anytime I’m here and gamble with me. Same deal. I’ll be here till Sunday.”

“I think this is my last time,” she said.

Alexa didn’t know Jason Parr was going to hug her, but he lifted her off her feet and turned them both three hundred and sixty degrees before putting her down.

“Now I’ll be lucky all day. I can feel it.”

Alexa said good-bye, opened the truck door and climbed inside, closing the door behind her. Jason was already running back to the casino.

“I think your new pal really likes you,” Winter said.