John Miller - Smoke and Mirrors

Pierce was passing the craps pit when he spotted the familiar face of pig farmer Jason Parr standing near the table. He had the unfocused look of a man who had just lost his last nickel. Pierce felt a warm glow, assuming the casino had acquired a sizable chunk of Parr’s assets. He always marveled at how people never seemed to understand that gambling, aside from the occasional hit here and there, was financially suicidal.

“Mr. Parr,” Pierce said as he approached, his face a blank canvas. “How is everything?”

“Gotta say, this week I’ve been on my backside more than a two-dollar whore in a lumber camp on payday,” Parr said with a weak grin.

“And are you up or down?”

“Well, I lost my lucky charm, so I stopped to catch my breath. At present I’m up one fifty. I’m thinking about quitting, and calling it a trip. Get back to my wife and the other pigs tomorrow afternoon.”

Pierce laughed, despite the fact that chuckling at this yokel’s pathetic joke was the last thing he wanted to be doing. “One hundred and fifty dollars is hardly going to cover your gas back, Jason. We will fill your tank for you, of course.”

“I figure I’m down a half million over the past ten years. That, my old son, is a lot of bacon up the chimney. Right this minute, I’m standing here thinking my gambling days are over for a while.”

“Quitting while you are ahead is very smart, Jason. As your friend, I suggest you take your winnings and go home. You should have a check cut.”

“Well, that would be fine, but I kind of like having the green in hand when I get home. Gets me a little piece of the pie,” he said, elbowing Pierce in the arm. “My fifth wife won’t do no work to speak of, and she ain’t usually big on getting in the bed except at night to sleep. But if I cover the danged sheets an inch deep in hundreds, you can’t keep her out of it.”

Pierce looked with disgust at Parr’s expansive stomach and his pendulous breasts. It made him want to go straight to the fitness center and spend the rest of the day in the sauna.

Alexa was in the guest bathroom washing her face when her cell phone rang. She went into the bedroom, took it out of her purse, and saw on the readout that it was Assistant FBI Director Hayden Hatcher.

“Keen,” she answered.

“Hatcher here,” Hayden Hatcher said. “I went by your office yesterday afternoon and found out that you were on personal leave until next week.”

“That’s right, sir. I’m taking care of a few personal matters.”

“Might I ask where you are?”

“Tunica, Mississippi.” Alexa was certain he had known where she was before he asked, and she knew he had the means to easily discover that she’d flown to Memphis the day before.

“Is there anything about your trip that might be of interest to us?” he asked.

Alexa was not going to lie to a superior officer. “There have been two additional murders in Tunica that may be connected to a piece of land a casino wants for an expanded operation. The sheriff is presently investigating. It is possible that the family who owns the land where the first murder took place, as well as the land the casino needs, may be in continuing danger. I’m here merely to give moral support to the family. That’s all I know at the present.”

Hatcher asked, “Would that casino be the Roundtable?”

“Yes, sir, it would.”

“Do you suspect anyone associated with that casino or RRI of being involved in any of the three murders?”

“There’s no direct evidence, just circumstances that point in that direction. It appears as though the local casino manager might be involved.”

“So he is probably acting on his own volition. The owner of RRI, Kurt Klein, is an influential individual. Are you familiar with his name?”

“I am.”

“According to our information, Mr. Klein is in Tunica, staying at the Roundtable casino. This is very delicate, Alexa. Kurt Klein is a good friend of our state department. The Klein family, and their friends, are very influential and are often quite helpful to our interests around the world.”

“There is no evidence that Klein is involved, or knows anything about what has been going on here.”

“If any Federal statutes have been violated by people working for the casino, it will have to be handled very carefully. Would you be more comfortable if I sent some agents to protect the Gardner family?”

“No, sir. I don’t believe that is necessary at the present.” Alexa knew that she had not mentioned the Gardners by name. “It seems unlikely this man would dare harm them, since Winter Massey told him he suspected him of involvement.”

“I know this is not an official FBI matter at the present, but I expect you to keep me posted on this, Agent Keen. I cannot overstress the fact that you are not, under any circumstances, to take any unauthorized action against or involving Mr. Klein. Is that perfectly clear?”

“It is clear.”

“You are a valuable asset to the Bureau,” Hatcher said. “Let’s keep it that way. Does the sheriff have a case against this manager?”

“Not at the present. Jacob Gardner, the landowner’s ex-husband, had information crucial to that investigation, but unfortunately he was killed before the sheriff could convince him to cooperate.”

“I’ll alert the Memphis field office that if you need help, they will offer any necessary assistance. I want you to explain to Mr. Massey that we are watching over his shoulder. I think it would be wise if you make certain this doesn’t become an international incident.”

“I understand.”

“I know you have a good relationship with the director, and I want you to know that I have spoken with him about this. He told me that he has faith in your loyalty to the Bureau, and in your ability to handle yourself appropriately.”

Alexa hung up and reached to pick up her coat from the bed. She felt a bulge in the pocket and pulled out a thick wad of cash held together with a rubber band. Thumbing the edge, she saw that the folded currency was comprised entirely of one-hundred-dollar bills. It took her a few seconds to realize that Jason Parr must have put it there when he’d hugged her in the casino parking lot. There were several thousand dollars in the bundle, and there was no way she could keep it.

Alexa left the room to go downstairs and tell Winter about Hatcher’s call.

When Brad arrived, Winter and Alexa went out to talk to him.

“My father found an entry wound in the left side of Jacob’s head. He excised the section of scalp,” Brad said.

“Alexa spoke to her boss,” Winter told Brad.

“Well, he is and he isn’t my boss,” Alexa said. “He is a deputy FBI director, but not for my branch. He’s counterterrorism.”

She filled Brad in on her conversation with Hatcher.

“So,” Brad said, “what does that mean? Klein is important to our nation’s counterterrorism efforts?”

“Klein has serious sway,” Alexa said. “We go after him, and hell will look like heaven.”

“This is a little unsettling,” Brad said. “So if he’s in on this, I can’t arrest him?”

“You can do what you please, but they won’t hold Klein accountable,” Alexa said. “And certain people could make sure you regret arresting him, if you do.”

“It’s like that sometimes,” Winter said. “Nothing to do about it. But we don’t know that Klein’s aware of what Mulvane’s been up to. Men like Klein are accustomed to saying they want something to happen while men like Mulvane make sure it does.”

“So you’re telling me that nobody pays for killing Sherry Adams?”

“No,” Winter said, looking out at the spot where the young woman had fallen on the cold hard stones. “Somebody is definitely going to pay for that.”