Betting on Hope (40 page)

“Tanner,” Jack said.

“I also called the district attorney,” Andrews said.

“I hope you gave Brent my regards,” Tanner said. “Do you have our agreement?”

“Tanner,” Jack said. “I’m the lawyer. I get to ask all the offensive questions.”

“Oh. Right. Okay.”

“So, Mr. Andrews,” Jack said, “Do you have our agreement?”

Andrews dropped a file folder on the conference table. “Let’s go over it one more time, with everybody at the table. Just to make sure there are no misunderstandings of what happened and what
will
happen as part of this agreement.”

“As long as you make it fast,” Tanner said, glancing at his watch. “I still have a lot to do today.”

“
Tanner
,” Jack said. “Gentlemen. Let me read the agreement while you’re talking. That will save a lot of time.”

 Andrews opened the file, sliding a stapled document across the table. Jack took a pen out of his breast pocket and, holding it over the document, started to read.

The Special Agent in Charge cleared his throat.

“Mr. Wingate, you played cards last night with known Mafia don Guilio Saladino, also known as Big Julie Saladino, to meet the terms of your probation, is that correct? Our directive was that you would play with him at his regularly scheduled game—a game in his suite that meets the Nevada state legal definition of an unlicensed gambling establishment. In the course of that game, you guaranteed that Big Julie would win a sizable amount of money—even if it meant that you cheated in the game—with the expected outcome that Big Julie would not register his winnings for the IRS as is required. Is that correct?”

“You know it is,” Tanner said.

“And partway through the game, did you really leave Big Julie’s suite and threaten Special Agent Gauger?”

“Don’t answer that, Tanner,” Jack said, looking up sharply.

“I would
never
threaten
anyone,” Tanner said.

“You sure as hell did,” Gauger objected. “I still think we should throw you behind bars for that.”

Tanner shook his head. “I merely explained the relationship of cause and effect. And I suggested Special Agent Gauger contact his superior officer for advice.”

Jack grunted and turned a page.

“You did too threaten me,” Gauger said. “When you left the suite and chased after that woman—” Gauger consulted his notes, “—Hope McNaughton. One of the rotating players. We’ve got it all on tape. She went all-in on the hand that had the ranch in the pot, but she lost the hand and then she was out. Wingate here pursued her down the hallway before the game was over. He could have ruined the entire operation right there.”

“But I didn’t,” Tanner said.

Gauger scowled. “So after the McNaughton woman gets in the elevator, Wingate here speaks into his pen microphone, calls me out of surveillance, says that if the FBI doesn’t give the ranch property back to the
original
owner—”

“That being Derek McNaughton, not Big Julie Saladino,” Tanner interrupted.

Jack looked up from the document. “Since Big Julie won it from Derek under circumstances that would substantially and materially call into question the legality of the gambling transaction,” Jack added.

“Yeah, yeah,” Gauger said. “So we’re all standing out there in the hallway by Big Julie’s suite, and Wingate here threatens that if we don’t give the ranch back to Derek McNaughton instead of seizing it like is our legal right—not to mention responsibility—to do, that he, Wingate, would let Big Julie know that we was staking him out. Thus for sure blowing our entire operation.”

“Wasting thousands of taxpayer dollars,” Frelly chimed in.

Tanner sighed. “As if you care about taxpayer dollars, Frelly.”

Frelly looked injured. “Of course I care about taxpayer dollars. I’m expecting to get a bunch of them in my pension. If you don’t do nothing to screw it up.”

William Andrews broke in, staring at Tanner.

“It is almost inconceivable to me that you threatened to reveal our stakeout to Saladino. You had to have understood the consequences. You could have gone to prison for
twenty years
—your full term—for failing to cooperate with last night’s operation.” Andrews looked incredulous.

“Would never happen,” Jack Sievers said, glancing up.

“Ha,” Andrews said, not laughing. “We could ask a jury to decide.”

“A
Vegas
jury,” Sievers said, returning to the document.
 “Believe it,” Tanner said. “I was perfectly willing to accept the consequences of not cooperating with you.”

“It would have screwed up your whole life,” Andrews said in disbelief.

“So would not getting the ranch back to the rightful owner,” Tanner said.

“Still—”

“I took a calculated risk,” Tanner said. “You guys have demanded a lot more from me over the years than my probation required. Nothing in the original agreement says I have to go undercover. It doesn’t say I have to enter into arrangements that threaten my safety. Last night I did both.”

“Big Julie’s bodyguard always carries a gun,” Jack interrupted, not looking up from what he was reading. “Maybe Big Julie, too. Surely there are other weapons in the suite.” He turned a page. “Putting himself in harm’s way—possibly getting shot—
that’s
the ‘grievous bodily harm’ that’s
prohibited
in my client’s probation agreement. That’s what
you’re
supposed to prevent happening to
him
.”

“Right,” Tanner said. “Grievous bodily harm, no have to do. And in return for not suing you for violating the terms of my probation and requiring me to do things I’m not trained for and thus in doing them might die, all I asked you for—through Special Agents Gauger and Frelly here—was that you choose to enforce the law in one way rather than another. Give the ranch back to Derek McNaughton—”

“Which is entirely within your purview to do,” Jack interrupted.

“—instead of keeping it for yourself,” Tanner finished. “Besides, what do you want with a ranch?”

“It’s all crap,” Frelly said morosely. He took a little amber bottle of pills from his pocket, pried off the lid, and shook two into his hand. Popping them into his mouth, he gulped some coffee, swished it around in his mouth, and swallowed with a grimace.

“Agent Frelly,” Tanner said. “I see you’re not yet recovered from the attack of the killer beets. How are you feeling?”

“My head feels like a watermelon thrown off a ten-story building,” Frelly said. “Thanks for askin.’”

Jack looked up from the papers. “This is acceptable,” he said to Tanner. “Sign here.” He handed Tanner a pen and Tanner signed the document, promising that he would not sue the agents, and in exchange, the FBI agreed not to retain the deed of the ranch they’d seized according to federal property forfeiture laws in the arrest of Big Julie Saladino. Instead, they would revert the deed to Derek McNaughton, the original owner of the property.

“See? We do know how to type,” Andrews said, as he countersigned.

“I never doubted it,” Tanner said.

After they left the federal building, Tanner treated Jack to a cup of real coffee from a real coffee shop. “What now?” Jack asked, as he took a long swallow and sighed in satisfaction. “Or are we done with this?”

“We’re done with the feds,” Tanner said, drinking some of his own coffee. “Now, all I have to do is find Derek McNaughton and persuade him to do the right thing.”

“Sounds like fun,” Jack said with a grin. “You need me for that part, too?”

“Are you kidding? You and everybody else. Here’s my plan.” Tanner lowered his voice and started to talk.

By the time Tanner had filled Jack in, they’d had something to eat, and they’d gone to Jack’s office where he’d filed one set of papers and created another set, Tanner was starting to feel more optimistic than he’d felt since he first spotted Hope at Big Julie’s card game. He’d been calling Hope all afternoon to no avail, but with this progress, he at least had something positive to report.
Now I can explain everything
, he thought as he called her again in midafternoon and listened to her cell phone ring. She didn’t answer—
again
—so he left a message and then called the house. Faith picked up.

“Faith, it’s Tanner,” he said.

“Tanner, how
could
you?” Faith asked, her voice charged with anger and reproach. “You played against Hope, and you
cheated?
”

“There were extenuating circumstances,” he said. “Is Hope there? I’d like to explain.”

“She’s here, but she went to say goodbye to the uncles and then she sold Banjo and now she’s sleeping, so I’m not going to wake her. She’s had a long week and she’s really upset. We all are. You know, Tanner, in the old days they used to
kill
card cheats.”

Tanner exhaled on a sigh. “I’ll explain everything as soon as I can. But right now I’m in Jack Sievers’s office, and he needs to talk to your mom.”

“What about?”

“He’s going to explain that to your mom, okay?”

“We don’t need a lawyer,” Faith said.

“Faith, cut me some slack here,” Tanner said, losing patience. “I’ve been up all night and I’m tired and upset, too. Put your mother on the phone. Please.”

Faith sniffed. “All right,” she said. “I’ll get her. Just so you know that we are very disappointed in you, Tanner.
Very
disappointed.”

Disappointed, hell. That was the least of it. Tanner rubbed his gritty eyes. He was now officially heading toward thirty hours with no sleep, and he was exhausted, annoyed, and terrified. What if this didn’t work and Hope never spoke to him again? What if it
did
work and Hope refused to see him anyway? What then?

“Yes?” said Suzanne. “Tanner?”

“Suzanne,” Tanner said. “Listen. I’m with Jack Sievers. He’s a lawyer, an old friend of mine. He got Faith’s truck back when the cops took it.”

“Oh, yes,” Suzanne said. “She mentioned that.”
“Okay, good,” Tanner said. “He needs to represent you. Officially, I mean. There has to be paperwork. I’m going to put him on the phone now, and he’ll tell you what you have to do.”

“Okay,” Suzanne said. “Paperwork? Represent me for what?”

“Jack will explain everything,” Tanner said, handing the phone to his friend.

A short time later, Marty was in his room packing. The clock radio, tuned to an opera station, had Tosca on the air, with Maria Callas singing the lead. Now
that
gal had a set of pipes. Marty hummed along as he emptied drawers and hangers.

Just when Maria hit her high C in the Act Three, Presto! Su, Mario! section, his phone rang.

“Yeah,” he said when he picked up the phone.

“Marty, it’s Tanner Wingate. I need—”

Marty hung up. The aria built to a powerful crescendo as Marty jammed his socks into the pockets of his wheeled carry-on and grabbed his shirts off their hangers. The clanking hangers chimed in with the orchestral cymbals.

The phone rang again.

“Yeah,” Marty said, folding the shirts.

“Don’t hang up,” Tanner said.

Marty hung up. He took his extra pants out of the room’s dresser and folded them, putting them on top of the shirts. Callas’s voice rose above the thundering timpani as Marty jammed down the lid of the carry-on and zipped it shut.

The phone rang again. This time Marty checked the caller ID.
Him again.

“Hope’s in trouble!” Tanner yelled just before Marty yelled “Get lost!”

There was an instant of silence.

“You
caused
the trouble, you jackass,” Marty said. “I’m not talking to you.”

“I can fix it,” Tanner said fast, before Marty could hang up.

There was another instant of silence.

“You got a plan?” Marty said finally.

“Yes,” said Tanner. “But I need your help.”

“I’m listening,” Marty said.

Thirty minutes later, Marty had unpacked his suitcase and was out at the curb of the Golden Palace. A new, black SUV rolled up to the red velvet rope, the back window purred down, and Tanner stuck his head out.

“Marty, there’s room up front,” he said.

Marty opened the front door and got in. He glanced with no apparent nervousness at Kenji, a two-hundred-fifty-pound mountain behind the wheel. Then he turned around to talk to Tanner, who sat in the back with Jack Sievers.

“These aren’t your wheels,” he said. “This ride’s too nice for you. You carjack this vehicle?”

“I couldn’t fit everybody in my truck,” Tanner said. “Kenji Hasegawa is your driver. And Jack Sievers here is an attorney. Kenji, Jack, this is Marty.”

The men all nodded, sizing each other up.

“You’re the muscle?” Marty asked, looking at Kenji with interest.

“No,
you’re
the muscle,” Tanner said. “You’re the one supplying all the gravitas.”

“Gravitas?” Marty asked. “I thought that was a smoked fish.”