Дэвид Балдаччи - A Gambling Man

“And you didn’t tell me this before because...?”

“I don’t have a good answer.”

“If you had pulled this from the get-go, Archer, you’d be looking for another job. But I know now you got the chops and the instincts. And I was clearly holding back from you, so there we go. I just got some of my own applesauce thrown in my face. Now, let’s look at this again. Armstrong went to the island. Kemper’s on the documents of the company that bought the property. Fifteen-minute ride out is pretty convenient for carrying folks back and forth who might just want to stay for a few hours and not overnight.”

“But what sort of place would that be?”

“We’ll wait until later, then go find out.”

“A gumshoe’s stock in trade, Archer,” Dash said quietly, as he pulled the small leather case from his pocket and opened it, revealing a neatly arranged set of small tools. They were at the back door of the offices of Lancet Surveyors and Architectural Group, two blocks off Sawyer Avenue. It was a two-story nondescript brick building. If this was the height of the firm’s design powers, thought Archer, he might look elsewhere if he was ever in the market for inspired architectural work.

Dash inserted two different lock picks in the upper lock and worked away. After twenty seconds, Archer heard a click. Dash next inserted one of the tools in the lower lock and did the same. Then he put his kit away, turned the knob, and opened the door to the darkened building.

Inside Dash whispered to Archer, “There’s an old cop that makes the rounds of these buildings at night. He’s pretty much deaf and blind, but he carries a gun. He’ll never hit anything on purpose but will by accident. So we can’t turn on any lights.”

Archer nodded. They felt along the walls until they reached a door. They went through it and eyed the space they were in. There was enough moonlight along with a streetlight’s glare coming in through the broad windows to give them reasonable illumination. They searched the rooms on the lower level, found nothing, and took the stairs to the upper level. The door of every room up here was unlocked except for one.

That naturally garnered their interest, and out came Dash’s lockpick kit once more. The door was soon defeated, and they walked into the windowless office.

Dash slipped a small flashlight from his pocket and turned it on. It was more than enough light to see what they needed to see.

On a large table in the center of the room was an architectural mockup of a series of enormous buildings without roofs.

“The Golden Rock,” said Dash, reading off a sign on one of the buildings. Then he cast his gaze lower to look at some drawings that had been set next to the building mockup.

“What does that mean?” asked Archer.

“Well, for starters, the Rock is what they call Alcatraz, but it’s sure as hell not golden and this sure as hell isn’t a prison.” Dash looked over the buildings more closely. “Damn, Archer, these are casinos .” He pointed to the interiors of the buildings, where miniature pieces of furnishings and equipment were set. “See there, craps tables, roulette wheels, poker and blackjack tables. Over there is the cashier, in that corner the mother of all bars. Over there are slot machines.”

“They’re building gambling casinos on that island?” said Archer.

“Looks like it. And I’ve been to Vegas, and if this place is to scale it’s way bigger than anything they got there. Now, you remember me telling you that they outlawed gambling boats off the coast?” said Dash.

“Yeah, which means this building makes no sense unless they’re going to overturn the law.”

“That would be incredibly difficult because gambling is actually outlawed in the California State Constitution . And I told you our now governor Warren led the drive against gambling boats when he was attorney general. The big lawsuit was about Santa Monica Bay. Point being, where did you measure from the shore out three miles? Did you start at Santa Monica itself, or the two farthest points out of the bay? See, the latter would put you in really heavy water, where folks aren’t going to gamble and puke at the same time.”

“When I was out there I saw there’s a big breakwater west of the island, so I imagine it’s pretty calm waters around the island for the most part.”

“Another reason to buy and develop it.”

“So it’s serious money, then?”

“Serious enough. Before Warren pulled the plug, a guy named Tony Cornero, with his ship the Rex , was making two hundred grand a month in profits. Just one ship.”

“But gambling is still illegal. Like you said, it’s in the state constitution.”

“Not so fast, Archer. In 1948 Truman signed the Knowland Bill. It outlawed gambling in all territorial waters as well as the transport of folks to those gambling vessels .”

“Okay, but—” Archer caught himself. “Wait a minute. The law only applies to ships ?”

“That’s right. If you’re on land off the coast that is not under the jurisdiction of California, there’s apparently no applicable law against gambling and no law against ferrying folks out there to gamble.”

“But hold on. If the governor was so against gambling on boats, why would he allow it on land?”

“The Navy built that island. And even if they hadn’t, it’s just over three miles out, and there’s no dispute about the measurement from the shore here the way the coastline is configured in Bay Town. So California has no say in the matter. It’s in federal waters.”

“But Catalina Island and the other Channel Islands are even farther off the coast. Why hasn’t anyone tried to get gambling on them?”

“Because even though the military is all over them they’re officially part of California, so the governor has control over what happens there. There was some question about whether the treaty signed with Mexico way back that ceded northern Mexico to the U.S. included them, but a few years ago Mexico confirmed they have no rights to them. But even if they could be used for gambling they’re a lot farther out, Archer, and in heavy water. You want to spend an hour or two or three in heavy seas to play blackjack or craps? And drink your fill and come back in heavy seas and stand at the gunwale and contemplate killing yourself because you’re so seasick?”

“No, I wouldn’t.”

“Yeah, sometimes it really is the little things. That island is in the perfect location to be a gambling joint. A fast ferry ride out and back in relatively calm waters. That’s why the ships were so popular. But this island setup is even better. The floor’s not moving while you’re rolling the dice.”

“But they could outlaw anybody getting ferried out there.”

“Guess who controls that in each locality, Archer?”

“The mayor?”

“Bingo. And the town council. Which explains what happened to Ben Smalls and why this election is so important to some folks. And Kemper’s country club is right on the water and has a marina with a big dock. They could have the ferries leave from there.”

“But if President Truman signed a bill about boats, what’s to stop him signing a bill about an island?”

“If Kemper was a real smart guy, and I’m thinking he is, he’s paid off some powerful folks in D.C. to make sure there’s no Knowland Bill number two and that the state of California is not going to make this a priority. Hell, America is just now digging out of a war. They want some fun. Now, gambling is fun. Sure, most lose their shirts, but they’re smiling while they get stripped naked. And if one ship can make two hundred thou a month, what do you guess a bunch of mammoth casinos out there could do? Folks will do a lot for that much dough.”