“Until he gets out of jail. Don’t leave without that secret.”

“What if he doesn’t get out?”

“You wait!”

“But…”

“You heard me! No fuck-ups this time! Understand?”

His Triad boss had slammed down the phone before he could reply. His words had been filled with anger, their meaning painfully clear. If Xing didn’t get the slot secret from Bronco, there was no reason for him to return to China.

He slipped the dominoes into his pocket and got off the bed. Going to the room’s single window, he lifted the blind and gazed at the ugly six-lane highway that ran alongside the motel. Cars and heavy trucks rumbled past, the noise a cacophony of sound. Reno was like most cities in China. Everyone was in a hurry, but not going anywhere. Just home to their TV sets, or to eat, or sleep.

It was strange how things turned out. Not that long ago, he’d been living the good life, driving fast cars and sleeping with beautiful girls. Then, he’d been told to execute a Chinese gambler who had not paid his debts. The job had broken bad, and his status within the Triad organization had suffered because of it. Coming to Reno to meet Bronco was his punishment which now felt like a jail sentence.

Returning to the bed, he lay down, and resumed staring at the ceiling. Soon his eyelids grew heavy, and he drifted off to sleep.

The Golden Dragon in Macau was like no other casino in the world. Asians were passionate about gambling, and players stood five deep at the tables, with each player trying to put down a bet. Gamblers who couldn’t get near the table ventured upward on a spiral ramp, and lowered their bets down on long, bamboo poles.

It was all about gambling at the Golden Dragon. Everything else was window dressing. The spiral ramp had two sets of moving walkways. One went up, the other came down. Hookers stood on the walkways, showing off their wares. They were not allowed on the casino floor, for fear they might slow down the games.

Xing had entered the Golden Dragon at a few minutes past midnight and gone straight to the bar, which was shaped like an electric guitar. Up on a small stage, girls in skimpy costumes lip-synched to Madonna’s Like a Virginwhile doing a dance number .Xing motioned to the bartender, who served him a Ting Sao.

“Which one?” Xing asked under his breath.

“The bloated one with the cute girl on his arm,” the bartender said.

Xing found his victim in the bar’s smoky backlit mirror, an enormous Chinese gambler in a white silk suit playing 21 while snuggling with an underage girl.

“How much does he owe?” Xing asked.

“Too much.”

The bartender slipped away to serve another patron. Xing smoked a cigarette and sipped his beer. He was in no rush to carry out his assignment. Let the fat man enjoy his last minutes on earth, he thought.

It wasn’t the first time he’d had to shoot a gambler inside the Golden Dragon. The casino did not offer credit to its customers, and gamblers often borrowed money at exorbitant rates from the Triad gangs that hung around the bar and restaurants. Gamblers that did not pay off their loans in time were punished, usually with a bullet.

Xing saw movement in the mirror. The dealer was scooping up the last of the fat man’s chips. The fat man had lost all his money, and looked dejected.

Xing unbuttoned his jacket while hopping off his stool. It was every gambler’s dream to die broke, and the fat man was about to fulfill that dream. He walked directly over to the 21 table with his eyes peeled on his prey.

“Out of my way,” he said loudly.

The crowd around the table parted. They knew what was about to happen. It was part of life in the Golden Dragon. Losers died.

The fat man spun around in his chair. Seeing Xing, his eyes grew wide with fear. Xing drew his gun from its shoulder harness and blew a hole in the fat’s man chest. He was dead before he hit the floor.

Xing blew smoke off the barrel of his gun like a cowboy in the Old West. The sound of a man yelling snapped his head. The bartender was pointing excitedly at the exit. Xing shifted his gaze to see another fat man running out the door. The beer in his stomach started to rise. He had shot the wrong man.

The phone rang, snapping Xing awake. Picking up the receiver, he said hello in Chinese, realized his mistake, and said hello again in halting English. He had learned English in school, and from watching American TV shows, which were shown in China with subtitles.

“This is Kyle Garrow, Bronco Marchese’s lawyer,” an unsteady voice said, shouting to be heard over disco music in the background. “I’m ready to do the deal.”

“Is Bronco out of jail?” Xing asked.

“No,” the lawyer said.

“Then how do we do the deal?”

“Bronco put me in charge. I have the secret to the slot scam. I’ll give it to you in exchange for the Pai Gow scam, and you can go home.”

“How do I know I can trust you?”

“You don’t have a choice, pal.”

Xing tightened his grip on the receiver. He did not like this change in plans, or that Bronco’s lawyer was calling the shots.

“I’m at a strip club down the road from your motel,” Garrow went on. “Meet me in ten minutes, and we can do the exchange. And don’t be late.”

Xing’s face burned. He did not like to be ordered around. He wondered if the lawyer knew he was a Triad assassin. Somehow, he didn’t think so.

“Give me the instructions,” Xing said.

Chapter 18

Valentine’s investigation had hit a wall. Karen Farmer had told him a lot, but nothing that would lead him to tracking down the crooked gaming control agent. His case was stalled. He needed to talk to Bronco if he wanted it to move forward.

He drove into downtown Reno with his son, and checked into the Peppermill. It was an old joint, and one of his favorites. The place had started out as a restaurant, and gained fame for the giant fruit dishes it served at meals. That had led to a hotel being built, and then a casino. The rest, as they say, was history.

He and his son were given adjoining rooms. Gerry came into his room, and they went out onto the balcony and stared at the skyline. The sun had set, and the desert was starting to cool down, the sky dotted with stars and passing jets.

Gerry lit up a cigarette, handed it to his father.

“Take a puff before you have a stroke.”

Valentine took the cigarette and stuck it in his mouth.

“That girl in the psych ward really got you worked up, didn’t she?”

Valentine puffed on the cigarette. Talking to Karen Farmer had put him in a funk. She was a decent kid, yet somehow Bronco had corrupted her, her husband as well. It was the one part of this puzzle he didn’t get. Decent people didn’t become thieves at the drop of the hat. Yet, Karen had done it, and so had Lucy Price. He passed the cigarette back to his son.

“She sure did,” he said.

His cell phone vibrated. Caller ID said it was Bill.

“What’s up?” Valentine answered.

“We just tracked down Kyle Garrow,” Bill said.

“Let me guess. You put an illegal trace on his cell phone.”

“I didn’t say that.”

“Yes, you did. Where is he?”

“Garrow’s at a strip club called The Pink Pony, waiting for the Asian to show up so he can do the exchange. One of my men is watching him.”

“You need to arrest him, Bill.”

“I can’t arrest him until the exchange goes down. Garrow hasn’t broken any laws.”

“Yes, he has. He lied to the cops about his whereabouts.”

“You want to arrest a lawyer for lying? That’s a good one.”

“I’m not auditioning for a comedy club. Garrow lied to buy time for Bronco. That makes him Bronco’s accomplice. You need to drag his sorry ass in.”