Bronco came to the empty table and halted. A strange look registered across his face. He knew something wasn’t right. He had a short conversation with the pit boss. Scooping up his chips, he began to slip them into his pockets. He took his time and stayed in character, a real pro. Then he headed across the floor to the cage, continuing his impersonation of a tipsy tourist. His shirt was pulled out, and Valentine guessed he had a gun tucked in his waistband.

Reaching the cage, Bronco began sliding his chips through the bars to the female cashier. She had big hair and an easy smile, and was talking a mile-a-minute. It was the best distraction they could ask for.

They moved in fast; Bill to Bronco’s right, Valentine and Gerry to his left. Bronco was leaning on the cage’s marble counter, yukking it up with the cashier. He looked surprised when they sandwiched him in.

“Freeze.” Bill had his weapon drawn, and pointed it at his suspect’s chest. “Put your hands behind your head, and keep them there.”

Bronco dutifully raised his arms into the air. Bill reached beneath Bronco’s shirt, and removed the gun from where Valentine had guessed it would be.

Bronco seemed resigned to his fate. He looked at Valentine and laughed.

“How long you been chasing me?”

“Twenty-five years,” Valentine replied.

“That’s a long time. You happy, now?”

Catching crooks had never made Valentine happy. It was about as much fun as cleaning septic tanks, which had been his first job before becoming a policeman. But, this was different. This was for Sal.

“Sure am,” he said.

“Glad somebody is,” he said, and laughed again.

Bill made Bronco drop his arms, and began to cuff him. Bronco glanced at the cashier, who was watching, her eyes aglow.

“Nice talking to you, sweetheart.”

Valentine looked at his watch. It was exactly three. His eyes shifted to the casino, ready to see how many video poker machines lit up, and showed a million dollar jackpot. He wondered how Smoltz planned to deal with this disaster. The casinos couldn’t pay off that many jackpots without bankrupting themselves. But if the casinos didn’t pay off, no one would ever gamble in Las Vegas again.

A few seconds later, he got his answer.

Chapter 59

The lights inside the MGM flickered, then went out all together, throwing the interior into darkness. The casino had no windows, and the blackness was like being inside a cave. A roar of panic came from the startled patrons.

“Son of a bitch,” Bill shouted.

“What’s going on?” Valentine said.

“Smoltz!

It took a moment for Valentine to understand what Bill was saying. Rather than allow a quarter of Vegas’s video poker machines to register jackpots and potentially bankrupt the casinos, Smoltz had killed the power throughout the city.

Bill let out a startled yell. Then a gun went off, the sound ripping across the casino. Valentine hit the floor, and covered his head with his hands. Self-preservation had been the first thing he’d learned as a cop, and he rolled across the floor until he hit the wall where the cage was, and stayed there.

“Gerry — you okay?”

“Yeah, Pop.”

“Bill — how about you?”

Bill did not reply. Valentine preyed his friend was not hurt. On the other side of the casino came the sounds of people screaming, as well as chairs and tables being broken. Were people destroying the place out of anger, or just trying to escape?

Valentine felt the toe of a man’s shoe catch him squarely in the face. He tasted his own blood and the world began to spin. The shoe kicked him again, this time in the forehead, and his head snapped back, and hit the wall. An ugly laugh accompanied the kick.

“Hey Valentine,” Bronco said. “Guess who’s gun I’ve got?”

Valentine lay perfectly still, and tried to determine where Bronco was standing. If he could just grab his leg…

“Want me to shoot you?” Bronco asked.

Valentine hesitated, then said, “Not really.”

Another laugh. “You’re a funny guy. There’s something I’ve been meaning to tell you. Your brother-in-law Sal was on the take. He tried to squeeze me, so my boys and I killed him. He was dirty.”

Valentine felt the anger rise in his throat. Sal was like most cops, and had lived close to the poverty line. He couldn’t have been taking bribes.

Gerry started to say something. Valentine kicked him before the words tumbled out of his mouth, and his son fell silent.

“Sal got what he deserved,” Bronco said, his voice moving away. “I’ll send you a postcard when I get settled. See you around.”

A second gunshot ripped through the casino. A door leading to the street opened and closed, throwing light inside the darkened interior. Valentine pulled himself to his feet and ran toward the door. Blood was pouring out of his mouth, and his head was spinning. Gerry was right beside him, their shoulders almost touching.

“You didn’t have to kick me so hard,” his son said.

“Yes, I did.”

The darkness was deceiving, and made it hard to judge distances. Valentine found the door and jerked it open. Sunlight flooded through the space. Lying on the floor was the guard assigned to make sure Bronco didn’t escape. He’d taken a slug in the shoulder and had his hand pressed against the wound.

“You okay?” Valentine asked.

“Flesh wound,” the guard said. “Get that son-of-a-bitch.”

Valentine and Gerry went outside. The exit led to an overhead pedestrian walkway that connected the MGM to the other side of Las Vegas Boulevard. Vegas was filled with pedestrian walkways, and Valentine hated every single one of them. They served no other purpose than to give escape routes for criminals.

Bronco was halfway across the walkway. He had eyes in the back of his head, and spun around, then aimed and fired. The bullet winged the building above their heads.

“Fuck you, Valentine!”

Laughing, Bronco climbed over the walkway’s restraining wall, and jumped to the street, landing on the hood of a car filled with people. Rolling off, he began to run. The loss of power had knocked out the traffic lights, and he darted through the sea of cars.

“Let’s get him,” Gerry said.

“Stay here. That’s an order.”

The door to the MGM banged open. Bill staggered out, clutching his bloody arm. It was a nasty wound, but the pain was nothing compared to what he was feeling inside.

“We lost him,” Valentine said.

“What a way to end a career,” Bill said.

“It’s not over, yet.”

“It is for me.”

“You don’t look good. We need to find a doctor.”

“Where’s your son?”

Valentine spun around. Gerry had taken off. He felt himself panic, and heard the pounding of footsteps as Gerry ran down a stairwell that led to the street.

“ Gerry!”

Valentine was never going to outrun his son. He stepped onto the walkway, and hung his head over the railing, trying to find him down below.

“There he is,” Bill said.

His eyes followed the direction of Bill’s finger. Gerry stood in the middle of Las Vegas Boulevard in the spot where Bronco had rolled off the car. His son picked up a piece of paper lying on the street. Thirty seconds later, he was standing next to his father, all out of breath.

“You trying to give me a heart attack?” Valentine asked.

“This fell out of his pocket,” Gerry explained. “It’s a photograph.”

Valentine had a look. The photo had been taken in the days before digital cameras. In it, a little boy was swimming in a plastic above-ground swimming pool. He was a cute kid, with loads of freckles and a playful smile. He flipped it over. Written on the back was the word Mikey.

“You sure this was in Bronco’s pocket?”

“Positive,” his son said.