Shakedown (11 page)

EIGHTEEN

It was eight in the evening by the time Novak and Haynes arrived back in Las Vegas. Starving, they stopped at a fast-food place near the MGM Grand and picked up hamburgers and coffee. At the federal courthouse, Novak steered the G-car into a parking place. They went inside.

In the Strike Force office, Novak shrugged off his suit jacket and draped it on the back of his desk chair. Haynes tore open the food bag and spread it out on his desk. He tossed a burger to Novak. Novak took a big bite of the burger, then opened the top drawer of his desk and removed a manila file folder labeled "Brown, Monica S."

A sound came from the hallway. The door opened. Frank Tyde stepped into the room. "What were you guys doing over in L.A.?" he said.

"Nothing much," Novak said, flipping through the file. Ignoring Tyde, Haynes ripped open a ketchup packet and emptied it on his burger.

"Big day here. I spent the day filling out an expense voucher," Tyde said as Haynes took a big bite. "Then I got a shoe shine, bought some pencils at the government store, made a few phone calls."

"Why are you still here?" Haynes said with his mouth full.

"A guy from the New York office told me he'd try to get back to me today on a records check." He checked his wristwatch. "I'm waiting for him to call back."

Haynes swallowed, sipped his coffee. "It's eleven P.M. in New York," he said. "The office is closed."

Tyde folded up a newspaper that was spread out on his desk. He shrugged. "I know. But the three hours overtime I picked up waiting for the call maxes me out on overtime for the month."

Novak continued to flip pages in Monica Brown's file. He stopped at a recent citizen-complaint report from the Salt Lake City FBI office. It read as follows:

On August 12, one Mabel Kincaid (F, W, 63 yrs) was interviewed at the Salt Lake City Office at her request. She stated substantially as follows: On or about July 4-7 she visited Las Vegas, Nevada, to attend a quilting convention. While there she met Subject who told her she was an investment counselor specializing in investments for persons of retirement age, and described a trust involving the assets of a gold mine which was to be secretly sold by a member of a wealthy family and which would provide dollar-for-dollar profit for investors who were able to take advantage of this inside information.

After Kincaid returned to Salt Lake City, she received a telephone call from Subject. Subject pitched her again with the investment and emphasized that if she didn't act quickly the chance for a quick profit would be lost. After repeated telephone calls from Subject Kincaid finally sent a total of $3,000 by means of a U.S. Postal Money Order to Monica Butler, Las Vegas, RO. Box 5657. After Kincaid forwarded the money she never heard from Subject again. A check with the U.S. Postal Inspection Service, Las Vegas, revealed that P.O. Box 5657 was rented under the alias Monica Taylor. The driver's license used by the woman who rented the box (same general description as Subject) was determined to be bogus.

FOLLOW-UP INVESTIGATION

Bureau records show names Monica Butler and Monica Taylor as aliases used by one Subject, whose true name is Monica Brown (FBI #591360087). Subject was investigated by the San Francisco field office for similar scam three years ago. San Francisco case was declined by the U.S. attorney due to lack of prosecutive merit in that Subject, though she had been investigated for numerous confidence games, had no prior conviction for a similar offense.

CASE DISPOSITION

Because victim has no witnesses to the alleged scam, U.S. attorney Salt Lake City has declined to prosecute Subject.

Because U.S. attorney has declined to prosecute, no further investigation will be conducted. Info provided to Las Vegas for whatever disposition you deem appropriate.

Frank Tyde shuffled to the front door. "See you tomorrow, guys.

Neither man replied. Tyde opened the door and left.

"I'm looking through Monica Brown's package again," Novak said.

"I read it," Haynes said as he continued to eat. "Sounds like Salt Lake City kissed off a good case."

"I think we should try to revive the issue."

"How so?"

"Victims of confidence games never tell the full truth the first time they are interviewed."

"Gimme the game plan."

"I think you should head for Salt Lake. Reinterview the victim. In the meantime, I'll stay here and set up on Monica Brown."

"We're going to focus in on the
girlfriend
of a guy who we see meet
once
with Parisi?" Haynes said. "Aren't we getting a little off base?"

"I don't think so," Novak said.

It was as hot as Las Vegas could get.

Heat rose from the asphalt in the parking lot of the Silver Dollar Motel, blinding sun ricocheted from the chrome and glass, and the air was hellishly dry. Monica pulled into a parking space which she knew Leo could see from his room and climbed out of her Porsche. Carrying a large, heavy straw purse, she ambled past the registration office to the pool. She sat down in a deck chair and kept an eye on Leo's room.

Leo peeked from the blinds, disappeared. The door to his room opened and he shuffled out, wearing his uniform of Hawaiian shirt and soiled white trousers. As he headed in her direction, he looked about suspiciously in an attempt, she thought, to show what a cool operator he was.

"I figured you'd be back," Leo said. He pulled up a deck chair, noted what appeared to be melted and dried ice cream stuck to its seat, shoved it away, and grabbed another. He sat down.

"I don't really give a shit what you figured," Monica said.

Leo looked at the dirty pool.
"You are
here for chips?"

"How many have you got?"

"Two hundred grand worth."

"I'll take them all at twenty points."

"That will cost you forty K."

"I'm ready."

Leo removed a package of cigarettes from his sagging shirt pocket, tapped out a cigarette. He removed a silver cigarette holder from a trouser pocket, blew into it, inserted the cigarette.

"Did you hear what I said?" Monica said.

He flamed the cigarette, sucked smoke. "Sounds like you have a backer."

"That's right."

"I don't want to meet anyone."

"You don't have to," she said.

"Your money man is going to trust you with the entire transaction?" Leo said as smoke wafted from his mouth. He waved his cigarette holder through it.

"You show me the phony chips, I show you my buy money. We make the exchange, just like that."

Leo shook his head slowly.

"Why are you shaking your head?"

"You show me your buy money.
Then I
show you the chips and we do the deal."

"Okay."

Leo seemed taken aback. "Just like that?"

"I'm ready to deal. I didn't come here to sit by this scummy Pool."

Leo looked around carefully. "I guess we should make arrangements to see your buy money."

"Once I show you the forty thousand, I don't intend to sit on my ass and wait to get ripped off."

Leo smiled. "You won't have to. Everything can be done in a matter of minutes. The chips are nearby."

"So, for instance, if I was to show you forty grand right this very minute, when could you deliver?"

Leo's expression turned serious. "Within five minutes."

Immediately, Monica lifted the flap on her purse, showed him it was full of banded bills. She closed the flap. "I have a gun. If you're thinking about ripping me off, you'll have to kill me right here in public." She looked at her wristwatch. "You have five minutes."

Leo stared at her for a moment. Slowly, he stood up, looked about carefully. There was no movement in the parking lot. Suddenly a nearby door opened. Two swim-suited young black boys rushed out of a pool-front room yelling. They ran to the pool, jumped in, and began splashing about.

Leo turned, moved deliberately toward his room. At the door, he stopped, noted that Monica was still sitting by the pool. He unlocked the door, entered the air-conditioned room. Cautiously, he moved to the window, looked out again. He told himself that Monica was too confident, moving too fast... but he had seen the money. Nervously, he checked his watch. "Fuck it," he said out loud. He hurried to a door leading to an adjoining room, unlocked it. Inside the other room, which a friend had rented for him, he flicked the air-conditioning control to the off position. He stepped up onto the bed, removed the grate from the overhead air-conditioning duct, and dropped it onto the bed. Carefully, he reached inside the ceiling space and, one by one, took out four heavy packets of counterfeit gaming chips. He set them on the bed, refixed the grate. Quickly, he gathered up the packets of chips and made his way back into his room. He dropped the packets into a plastic laundry bag. Carrying the bag, he moved to the front door and opened it.

Standing in front of the door were two men dressed in business suits. The younger man flashed a badge. "Nevada State Gaming Commission," he said. The older, crew-cutted man standing next to him slammed a fist into his chest and knocked him violently backward into the room. He dropped the gaming chips as both men lunged for him. His face was shoved against a wall and he felt fingers searching his waistband, legs, and torso. His right arm was twisted behind his back. Handcuffs were snapped on his wrists. He was shoved into a chair with such force that it hurt his tailbone. He felt flushed, nauseated.

Eddie Sands leaned down, picked up the plastic laundry bag. He opened the bag and looked inside, dumped the contents of the bag onto the bed. Using a penknife, he slit open one of the packets. Gaming chips fell out. Sands picked up one of the chips, held it up to the light of the window. He made eye contract with Leo. "What's your name?" he said.

Leo swallowed twice, and looked up at Ray Beadle. "Can I have a cigarette?"

Beadle socked him squarely on the nose, flipping him backward off the chair and onto the carpet.

"Leo Gordon. My name is Leo Gordon."

Sands moved to the bed, sat down. He looked at Leo.

"Where are the rest of the chips?" he said.

Leo didn't answer.

Beadle moved to the dresser. He picked up a Coca-Cola bottle, lobbed it directly at Leo. The bottle made a bonk as it struck him squarely on the forehead. Leo yelped and cringed.

"My partner asked you for the rest of the chips," Beadle said.

"There aren't any more!" Leo said.

"Where did you have them hidden?" Beadle demanded.

Leo's terror-filled eyes turned toward the door leading to the adjoining room. Beadle grabbed him by the hair and shoved him into the room. Leo nodded toward the air-conditioning duct. "In there," he said.

Beadle stepped onto the bed, ripped the grate away from the ceiling. The duct was empty.