Sucker bet - James Swain [43]
“Your client?”
“The chief was involved in an altercation with five other tribe members. One of them died.”
“I hope it was Harry Smooth Stone.”
“Excuse me?”
“He put an alligator in my car. Nearly bit my hand off.”
Gladys took a square of paper from her pocket. Unfolding it, she handed it to him. “This is the only evidence I have against Smooth Stone. Running Bear found it in his trailer.”
Valentine studied the equations written on the ledger paper, then handed it back to her. “The equations are the hold for five blackjack dealers at your casino.”
“What’s that?”
“The hold is the equation a casino uses to determine how much money it’s making at its games. If these numbers are accurate, these dealers are cheating.”
“How can you be certain?”
“The average hold for a blackjack table is twenty percent. Your dealers are showing a hold of forty-four percent. They’re pocketing twenty-four percent and letting the casino keep the other twenty.”
Gladys looked relieved. “Running Bear said you would know. Now I need to ask you a favor.”
“You want me to explain it to the police?”
She seemed taken aback. “Actually, to the elders of my tribe. How did you know?”
“It’s what I do for a living,” he said.
The elders of the Micanopy nation were five pewter-haired men whose median age Valentine guessed to be seventy-five. They sat behind a long table wearing equally long faces. Each wore a dungaree jacket and a denim shirt, their faces road maps of the lives they’d lived. Valentine remembered reading how Micanopy warriors had prevented the white man from settling in Florida until the early 1900s. These men’s fathers and grandfathers, he guessed.
To the elders’ right sat Running Bear and Gladys Soft Wings. To their left, Smooth Stone and his three accomplices and their attorney, a pointy-headed Indian kid in a cheap suit. Behind them stood six tribal policemen armed with Mossberg shotguns.
Both attorneys presented their clients’ version of the story. Unlike a court of law, no one was asked to swear on a Bible, and a blindfolded statue called Justice did not look down on them.
Then it was Valentine’s turn. He gave his credentials, then removed the piece of ledger paper that was Running Bear’s only evidence and laid it on the table. The elders collectively lowered their heads.
“This piece of paper was found in a ledger of Harry Smooth Stone’s.”
“Objection,” the pointy-headed lawyer said, jumping to his feet. “We don’t know if that came from a ledger of Harry’s or not.”
“It’s his handwriting,” the lead elder said. “Sit down.”
The lawyer swallowed hard. “You sure?”
“I taught him to write,” the elder barked. “Sit down.”
The lawyer returned to his seat. The lead elder shot him a look that said he wouldn’t tolerate another interruption. Valentine pointed at the equations on the paper and continued. “This is classic evidence of cheating—something I’ve seen in dozens of cases. The head of the gang keeps a ledger to assure the rest of the gang that no one’s getting shortchanged. It’s the only way everyone can get along.”
The lead elder made a face. “Are you saying all of these men were cheating?”
“That’s right.”
“Why didn’t our security people spot it?”
That was a good question. Clearing his throat, Valentine said, “Your security people probably did.”
The lead elder frowned. So did his colleagues.
“Please explain.”
“I need to ask you a few questions.”
The lead elder considered it. “All right.”
“How many people live on the reservation?”
“Twenty-five hundred.”
“How many are related?”
“Nearly everyone,” he said stiffly.
“How many people work in the casino’s security department?”
The elder looked to Running Bear, who said, “Forty-six.”
“All related?”
Running Bear had to think. “Yes.”
“Which means your security people are watching their cousins, aunts, and grandparents, which is the worst possible thing you could have in this business.”
The lead elder stuck his jaw out. “Why is that?”
“In most casinos, security people are ex-cops and detectives. They never fraternize with anyone on