“They’re skeleton keys to slot machines. Bronco can see a key once, and make a duplicate. At one time, he probably could open half the slot machines in Las Vegas,” Valentine explained.

“What happened?”

“The casinos changed all their machines.”

“Because of him?”

“He was one of the reasons.”

Gerry moved down the table. A hundred metal devices that looked like reading lights lay stacked in another box. “What are these?”

Valentine stared into the box. A wireless transmitter lay on top of the stack. He pressed the power button, and the lights on every device began flicking on and off. “Strobes,” he said.

“You going to fill me in, or do I have to hold my breath?”

Valentine turned the transmitter off, and the devices stopped blinking. “They’re called monkey’s paws. Every slot machine has an optical sensor to count payouts. The monkey’s paw is inserted up the payout chute, and causes the sensor to overpay. Slot machines also have anti-runaway relays to stop overpayments. My guess is, the strobe light defeats the anti-runaway relay.”

“But why so many of them?” Gerry asked.

That was a good question. Picking up one of the devices, Valentine noticed two tiny magnets, one glued to the top, the other to the bottom. Smiling, he showed them to his son. “Bronco is leaving the monkey’s paws inside the slot machines. Someone inspecting the machine won’t see it, unless they know what to look for. Bronco picks up money whenever he needs it.”

Gerry shook his head in wonder.

“Sweet,” he said.

Valentine returned to the living room. The surveillance tape in the VCR was still playing, the woman with the great smile still shooting craps. She was on a roll, and everyone at the table was reveling in her good fortune. Valentine guessed this was Marie, whose name was written on the DVD.

He watched Marie throw the dice. His gut told him she was your everyday, average player. He wondered why Bronco would watch a tape of her. Had she been a member of one of his gangs? She was wholesome looking, and didn’t seem the type. Gerry and Bill entered the living room.

“We’re going to search the bedrooms,” his son said. “I know, don’t touch anything I’m not supposed to.”

“Keeping your hands in your pockets will do the trick.”

“Thanks, Pop.”

They walked down the hall and disappeared. Picking up the remote, Valentine started to turn off the player, then saw something strange on the screen. A man was leaning over the craps table, his face exposed to the camera. It was Bronco.

As the banker at the table paid Marie off, he was momentarily distracted. The banker turned his head, and Bronco added chips palmed in his hand to Marie’s bet. It was called past-posting, and Bronco did it as well as anyone Valentine had ever seen.

Marie made a startled face. She’s not part of it,Valentine realized. The banker turned his attention back to Marie, and paid her off the higher amount. Marie hesitated, then picked up her winnings, and hurried away from the craps table.

Moments later, the tape ended.

Valentine shook his head in bewilderment. He’d seen a lot of strange things in casinos, but never anything like this. Bronco had added his chips to her bet, even though she wasn’t working with him.

He was still thinking about it when he heard Gerry emit a blood-curdling yell from the other side of the house. Moments later, his son ran into the living room followed by two man-eating pit bulls.

“I opened the wrong door,” he screamed.

Chapter 9

Karl Klinghoffer’s shift at the county jail ended at two P.M. Instead of driving home and eating lunch like he normally did, he drove straight into downtown Reno. The streets were practically deserted, and he guessed he could have driven around with his eyes closed and not hurt anybody.

He drove beneath the famous Reno Arch on Virginia Street. Neon letters bragged against the clear blue sky, “The Biggest Little City in the World.” On a fine spring day in 1928, the arch had been raised to honor the paving of a two-lane highway over Donner Summit to California. As a band played brassy ragtime, the town’s casino operators and bankers had celebrated their good fortune. So had Klinghoffer’s grandfather, a local bootlegger. It had been a glorious time.

A car’s horn snapped him out of his daydream. He was driving below the speed limit, and goosed the accelerator of his fading Tercel. He’d bought the car the same week he’d met Becky, a preacher’s daughter, at a party where he’d had too much to drink. Three months later they’d gotten married. Six months after that, Karl Jr. was born. The car was a constant reminder of how messed up his life had become since that night.

He turned into the Gold Rush’s parking lot. As he parked, his conscience spoke to him. You can still walk away. He sat at the wheel and thought about it.

There was no question in his mind that the slot machine Bronco Marchese had told him to play was rigged. How else could Bronco know that it was going to pay a jackpot? By Nevada law, Karl was supposed to report this information to the police, or risk becoming an accomplice. But was knowing this really wrong? Every casino in town ran promotions for slot machines that paid off 101%. The trick was finding out which machines they were. Why was knowing thatany different than knowing which machine would pay a jackpot?

It wasn’t,he told himself.

He entered the casino. He was still in his uniform, and saw an armed security guard nod. Karl nodded back, then let his eyes slide across the glittering landscape.

The slots were the first thing he saw. They called them one-armed bandits, but that had never stopped people from playing them. Every sound that came out of a slot machine was a variation of the musical note C. Karl knew a lot about slots, and other stuff as well. Because he talked slow, people thought he was stupid. But he wasn’t stupid. Just unlucky.

He went to the cage and bought a plastic bucket filled with quarters. Then, he sat down in front of the third slot machine from the end. It was a Quarter Mania, just like Bronco had said. He realized his hands were trembling. What if the casino’s surveillance department was watching from the eye-in-the-sky? What if they knew the machine was rigged, and were just waiting to see who played it a certain way? There was still time to back out, go home, and eat his peanut butter sandwich.

“Screw that,” he said aloud.

A woman in a tracksuit at the next machine looked at him. “Excuse me?”

“Sorry, ma’am.”

He started feeding his quarters into the machine. He’d thought it over, and decided he should lose some money before he went for the kill. Otherwise, if would look funny if someone watched the tape later on.

He lost thirty dollars in the time it took for a cocktail waitress to bring him a beer. She was dressed like a cowgirl and sneered at his fifty cent tip. The bottle was cold in his hand, and he took a long swallow of beer. It made him relax, and soon his hands stopped trembling.

Karl did not remember feeding the coins into the Quarter Mania machine in the three, two, one order, but he guess he had, because soon the machine was ringing, and he was staring at the flashing number in the payout bar. He’d won $9980.45.

He’d never won anything in his life. It made him want to run around the casino and pound his chest. After a minute, the floor manager appeared, and congratulated him on the casino’s behalf. Her name was McDowell, and she wore glasses and a sharp-looking suit. She asked him if he’d like another beverage.

“Actually, I’d like to collect my money,” Klinghoffer said. “I need to be getting home to my family.”