He saw a billboard for a shopping mall and restaurants. They both had bloodstains on their jeans. Most people might overlook it, but a keen eye would find it suspicious. If they figured out a way to fly, they couldn’t go through an airport looking like this.
Taking the off-ramp, he pulled into Yuma, five miles across the Arizona state line. First, he stopped for gas, making sure to keep his face turned away from the cameras.
Then he found the mall, which wasn’t hard. It was a sprawling, palm-tree-studded outdoor complex with plenty of stores to choose from, dining options and a theater.
He parked at a department store. “We should get fresh clothes,” he said.
“Good idea.”
Inside, Charlie headed to the women’s section and he went to the men’s.
Under normal circumstances he’d gravitate toward the sales, but efficiency was his focus. They needed to get in and out. He browsed quickly and found a replacement pair of jeans. Dark wash. Perfect size in a brand he was familiar with. Fifty bucks. His shirt was in good condition, but after smelling under his arms, he searched for something new. He grabbed a moisture-wicking crew T-shirt that had the stretch and fit he preferred, navy instead of black, and a long-sleeve button-up shirt to wear open and hide the bandage on his arm.
He changed in the cubicle, trashed his old stuff and took the tags to the checkout. Near the register, he saw a ball cap and grabbed it, too. His total was a hundred and twenty dollars.
It took them ten minutes to meet back up. Charlie wore slim-fitting jeans that looked great on her and a V-neck T-shirt in light gray that hugged her curves and flat stomach. She’d also added a cotton warm-up jacket.
“Hungry?” he asked.
“Starving.”
In-N-Out Burger was a close walk and the food would take no time. They ate inside, their backs to a wall, away from cameras and other people.
Charlie took a bite and moaned. “This is the best burger ever.”
Digging in, he had to agree. After the day they’d had and three hours hauling butt to get out of California, they were both famished, and almost anything would’ve tasted good, but the thick patty and cheese and grease hit the spot.
“You never did tell me where you learned how to hot-wire a car and pick pockets,” he said.
“In a group home. The place was like a jail, with white concrete walls and bedrooms that resembled cells. They even had rules against hugging because it violated the no-physical-contact policy. Some of the girls in there were on the road to becoming criminals. I picked up those skills from troubled kids, to pass the time, for fun. Other things I had to learn to survive. Like how to fight. To make sure that if I let the other girl get back up, I taught her a lesson first so she’d never touch me again. It wasn’t an easy place to grow up. But in there I figured out how to turn my anxiety into anger, channel it into something useful.”
He knew about her mom’s drug problem and Charlie’s time in foster care, but he’d thought it had been a brief stint. “How long were you in the system?”
“My sister and I bounced in and out from elementary to high school.”
Her most impressionable years had been spent in an institutionalized environment with child welfare monitors instead of loving parents. His heart sank. It pained him to imagine it.
“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.