Chapter 1
The sun has just dropped below the horizon in Bettendorf, Iowa and Jacob “Red” Borman has just stepped out onto one of the balconies of the Palladian Palace casino for a breath of fresh air and some serious cogitation.
It is a typical late May evening for the small town of some 32,500 people. The temperature is in the low 50s and the sky is as clear as mountain spring water. The stars are doing their best to out twinkle the moving multi-colored lights embedded in the figures of people engaged in the gambling activity found inside that are mounted all over the outside walls. The stars are holding their own for now, but as the evening progresses they will lose out to the enticements offered by the colorful displays.
Red is the manager of the Palladian Palace and has been for the past five years. He is 38 years old and his six foot two inch athletic frame, dark green eyes, deep auburn wavy hair with a full beard to match cause him to stand out in any crowd. He has a Mensa IQ, a keen sense of humor, is slow to anger, but when someone repeatedly hits his “hot button”, look out!
Red pictures himself as a 24/7 host of an extravaganza with parties going on all over the place. He loves his job and seldom leaves the casino when he’s on duty unless he has to do some serious thinking and doesn’t want to be distracted by anything or anybody. This is one of those times.
Red knows what it takes for a casino to be a hit. He knows that the key ingredient, the cornerstone of every successful casino operation, is its overwhelmingly appealing uniqueness. Its aesthetics, its ambience, its entertainment, its employees’ ability to make a customer feel really special, when all of these things are temptingly different, when they are the catalyst for the creation of happy memories, when they foster dreams of becoming a big winner, that’s when a casino’s coffers are well on their way to overflowing. This is the current state of the Palladian Palace. It is really riding high, but trouble has reared its ugly head, the kind of trouble that could bring the casino to its knees.
About an hour ago, the casino’s Chief of Security, Bill Kieffer, informed him that there could be a cheater or cheaters working the gaming tables. Bill’s people have noticed that over the last three days the winnings from the Black Jack, Crap and Roulettes tables have been significantly less than what the odds should be producing.
Bill has alerted all of the dealers, pit bosses and box men on the floor and the best of his back office people are at the computers scanning the videos taken by the overhead casino cameras, looking for answers to the questions who, how and when.
Although the technological advances in surveillance and security have dramatically reduced the instances of cheating and robbery, they are still a worrisome bane of the casinos because the cheaters and robbers who have not been dissuaded by these advances have also become more creative, more adept at what they do.
The clear, pleasantly cool evening is quickly driven from Red’s mind as he begins to grope with the potential problems that might lie ahead if Bill’s suspicions are correct.
“Damn! If Bill is right and word gets out that we have a cheater or cheaters in our midst, irreparable damage could be done to the casino’s reputation and the impact on our ‘bottom line’ could be disastrous. Even though our guests know that the odds are with the house, they’re not going to want to try their luck when cheaters are making those odds even worse. The best way to avoid calamity would be to catch who’s doing it before word gets out, but if this isn’t possible, we’ve got to nail the spoilsports before any serious harm is done.”
As Red is mulling over possible courses of action, Bill comes rushing out onto the balcony. “Red, I’ve got some bad news. We’ve just discovered some counterfeit chips in the casino cage and some in the chip trays at the Black Jack tables.”
“How can that be? The security features of our chips are supposed to make them impossible to duplicate. The micro radio frequency ID gizmos imbedded in our chips coupled with the custom color combinations of the edge spots, the ultra violet markings on the logo, the manufacturer’s marks, and the high resolution artwork, all of these things are supposed to protect us from counterfeiters. Ah, nuts! What denominations and what tipped you off?”
“They are phenomenal reproductions of our $100 chips, but the black coloring is just slightly lighter. The difference isn’t noticeable under the bright table lights, but the gal in the casino cage noticed it when she was restacking her chips. These counterfeits are state-of-the-art, Red. We’re dealing with someone that has extensive knowledge of casino operations and the guts to try a stunt like this.”
“Okay, Bill. Until we catch who is behind this, make sure that everyone on the floor and behind the scenes stays on the alert for anything that seems out of place, not quite right. If anyone is suspicious about anyone or anything, make sure everyone knows that it’s alright to buzz you or me and that we won’t be annoyed with them if their suspicions turn out to be groundless. Oh, and make sure that gal in the cage gets something extra in her paycheck.”
Bill nods and hurries back into the casino, leaving Red to wrestle with his conscience over whether or not he should notify the other casino managers about the counterfeit chips.
“If I do, I increase the risk of word getting out on the street. If I don’t and the other casinos are hit by the counterfeiter, I’ve only magnified the problem. If that kind of word gets out on the street, the whole town will suffer. Instead of the casino goers being leery of trying their luck at one casino, they’ll avoid them all like the plague and go elsewhere with their money.
“Ah, nuts! Like it or not, I’ve got to let them know what’s going on. If things don’t work out, I can always go back to Chicago and drive a cab. You get to travel, see the sights and there are lots of tips, cash, stock and otherwise. Hell, it got me through college. Yeah, that and humongous school loans.”