Page 33 of Witness Security Breach

“Why didn’t you ever tell me all of this?” He opened his water bottle and took a long draw.

She shrugged. “I guess I don’t like thinking about it. All of your childhood stories are wonderful.”

“That’s not true.” He’d shared his tough lessons and disappointments. The racism and stereotypes he had to endure outside of Navajo Nation. His world wasn’t sunshine and rainbows every second of the day.

“Okay, you’re right. That’s not fair. But I don’t really have any happy stories. With the stuff I learned in the group home, being in that environment, I could’ve just as easily ended up like my sister instead of...” Charlie lowered her burger, her gaze darting around. “I have an idea. I know how to get us on the plane. I’ll be right back.”

She wiped her mouth with a napkin and went up to a male employee mopping the floor.

A young guy in his early twenties. Laughter flowed back and forth. Then he wrote something down on a piece of paper and handed it to her.

Charlie waved bye to the kid and came back to the table. “Let’s go.”

They grabbed their burgers and drinks and got into the truck.

“We need to go here.” She handed him the slip of paper.

“The Oasis. What is this?”

“The solution to our problem.” A bright smile spread across her face, lighting up his heart. “Drive.”

Chapter Nine

The atmosphere of the Windfall Casino on Fridays was an appealing balance of electric and calm. One of Big Bill’s favorite things to do was stroll around undisturbed by anyone for a few minutes and take it in as a tourist might, but he could never shut off his managerial brain.

Dressed to the nines as usual, he wore a quiet dark suit, a perfectly laundered shirt, an elegant silk tie and gleaming black oxfords. First impressions mattered. He could intimidate a person, get inside their head and establish the pecking order simply with his attire, without uttering a word.

Bill walked through the main downstairs gambling room. It was filling up. By nine tonight, it would be packed.

He cast his gaze across the slots. Two-thirds of them were taken, a mix of men and women, most over forty, a relatively shabby bunch that’d stay planted well into the wee hours. The blackjack and craps tables and roulette wheel were in good use.

Bill had got his start in Las Vegas and risen through the ranks from croupier to pit boss to manager. Hustling was in his blood. He’d seized every opportunity to advance, even if it meant getting his hands dirty. Bloody would be more accurate. Notorious mobsters were responsible for making Vegas what it was today. Bugsy, Lansky, Luciano...

Those old-school greats had shaped Sin City. They’d given Bill the vision to one day go back home to New Orleans and open a casino of his own. Plunder an untapped market. Build a legacy for his family. With no children of his own, this would one day go to Tommy. He was as good a son as any who might have been his.

There were other casinos in the state on floating boats and at the horse-racing track with slots, but the Windfall—Big Bill’s masterpiece—was the only land-based private casino with table games in the state. Louisiana law provided for fifteen riverboat licenses but only one land-based one. Plenty of others had applied, but Bill had shed a lot of blood and greased a lot of palms to make sure the Windfall won.

Now he had to fend off greedy interlopers like Vincenzo Romero, who coveted what Bill had built. They thought they could take it by putting a knee to his throat and applying pressure.

All because of Edgar.

Bitterness filled Bill’s mouth. He had turned a down-on-his-luck accountant into the Money Magician, like turning polluted water into wine. Bill had even set him up with his younger sister, Irene, thinking they’d make a nice match.

And what did that dirty dog do?

Stabbed Bill in the back...and killed Irene on the way out the door.

Pain squeezed his heart, rage setting his blood on fire. For a moment, he shut his eyes in quiet misery. Bill had never imagined that Edgar was capable of murder, but he’d never underestimate him again.

Suffering was in store for that two-faced, double-dealing liar.

A comeuppance was due, and Bill was going to make sure Edgar got it. Slowly. Painfully. He’d make a list of Edgar’s body parts to hurt and check it twice once that man was kneeling in front of him, begging for forgiveness.

Enzo strutted past the roulette wheel, wearing a two-thousand-dollar suit, shaking hands and kissing cheeks as if the 51 percent stake in the Windfall that Bill still owned was already his.

They were roughly the same age, had started making their mark about the same time, and both had ambition in spades. Enzo dyed his gray hairs and kept a trimmer physique, but the crucial difference was his deep familial connections in the syndicate supporting him.

A type of protection Bill lacked.