Sucker bet - James Swain [16]
“That’s right.”
“I could lose my job.”
“I’ll sugarcoat it.”
“Why will you do that?”
“Nobody pays me to assign the blame.”
The head of security took a deep breath. He had no choice, and he knew it.
“All right,” he said.
They walked out the back exit and across the macadam lot. The casino was a ramshackle structure, with parts tacked on as the business had grown, and in the dark it resembled a winding snake with several meals in its belly. There was a science to the architecture of casinos, a method to the madness of the moron catchers of Las Vegas and Atlantic City. There was no science to the Micanopy casino, yet it still made money.
Running Bear’s trailer looked like something you’d find on a construction site, with tacky aluminum siding and a window air conditioner. Walking up the ramp to the front door, Valentine said, “Have you talked to Jack Lightfoot recently?”
“He vanished the day before yesterday.”
“Any idea where he went?”
They stood beneath a moth-encrusted light next to the trailer door. Smooth Stone jerked the door open. “I haven’t a clue,” he said.
The interior had the unadorned clutter of a college dorm, the furniture worn and plain. Running Bear was at his desk, looking older than Valentine remembered. The chief offered his guest a chair, then something to drink.
“A soda would be great,” Valentine said.
He watched Running Bear rummage through a mini-refrigerator and wondered what he’d gotten himself into. A lot of people were losing sleep over a lousy 840 bucks. The chief placed a soda on the desk along with a plastic cup.
“Tony has some things he wants to tell us,” Smooth Stone said.
Valentine took his time pouring his drink. Being tactful had never been a strong suit. He admired the Micanopys for making good with what they had, and didn’t see any reason to hurt anyone’s feelings.
“A long time ago,” he said, “two New York doctors named Hartshorne and May conducted a study of eleven thousand school kids. The goal was to find a way to measure the kids’ honesty. They came to a lot of interesting conclusions. There are two you should be aware of. The first was that eighty percent of the kids tried to cheat at least once. That’s a high number, but they swore by it. The second was why.
“Hartshorne and May said that whether or not kids cheat depends upon the environment you put them into. If you give kids a test, then leave them alone, most will look at another kid’s answers. Which means if you let it happen, it will happen.”
Running Bear frowned. He glanced at Smooth Stone, who leaned against the wall with his arms folded. “This making any sense to you?”
The head of security nodded. “He’s saying that we’ve created a situation in which cheaters will prosper. He thinks there are more Jack Lightfoots out there. He wants us to change some procedures.”
Running Bear stared at Valentine. “More Jack Lightfoots?”
Valentine nodded.
While the chief pondered what that meant, Valentine glanced at Smooth Stone. The head of security dipped his head. Valentine guessed he was saying thanks, and dipped his head in return.
“Okay,” Running Bear said, “how do we prevent this from happening again?”
“First,” Valentine said, “make your dealers deal out of plastic shoes. Letting them handle the cards during the deal is an invitation for trouble. Second, change the way your dealers are dressed. I realize Western garb is in keeping with your casino’s theme—”
“It’s Indian garb,” Running Bear said stiffly.
“Well, it’s all wrong,” Valentine said. “Crooked dealers will create spots on their clothing to hide stolen chips. Like behind wide cuffs and down their pants. Your dealers need to start wearing cummerbunds.”
“But they look stupid,” the chief said.
“Maybe so, but they prevent theft. You ever hear of a pants sub?” Neither man had, so he explained. “The dealer takes two pairs of underwear, puts one inside the other and sews the bottoms together. Stolen chips are dropped