They went out to the back on a screened-in porch that faced the lake. Two green Adirondack chairs and a couch covered up for the winter in a canvas tarp. It was cold. Pacello sat with his elbows on his knees and a brooding expression. His wife and daughter stayed inside.
“You’ve got to protect them,” he said, more of a plea than a demand. He ran a hand over his close-cropped hair. “Linda and Cal, they can’t know.”
“I’ll do my best,” Hauck promised.
“No, that’s not good enough. You’ve got to give me assurances. What’s anyone going to think? They know where we are. They know that place is all I got.”
Hauck nodded.
Out on the water, a small boat chugged by, maybe a couple of hundred yards offshore. Some kind of small fishing boat, Hauck thought at first, this deep into winter. Maybe checking traps. An empathetic shiver rippled through him. Cold as crap out there today.
“I didn’t do anything wrong,” Pacello said. “They just told me they wanted to make this guy Sanger come out alright. Sometimes you do a turn for the high rollers, certain friends of the house. It was part of my job.”
“False shuffle.” Hauck looked at him. “You stacked the deck so he would win.” Hauck suddenly realized that was where all the money had come from in Sanger’s account. That and whatever else Sanger had won online.
“You think I even knew who the hell this guy was? They told me to keep the table open for him. Let him win. I saw him there once or twice before and acted like I recognized him. He said I was his lucky dealer. I didn’t do anything other than my job, Lieutenant. They came to me. I want that clear.”
“‘They’?” Hauck said. “Raines?”
“He wanted to point the finger at Keith.” Pacello nodded. “Make it look like it was him. I knew it was wrong. I knew there was something else behind it. You ever have to make a choice, Lieutenant?”
Hauck nodded. “Every day.”
“No.” Pacello shook his head. “A real choice. Something that defines who you are. That won’t go away. I worked thirty years across the felt and never took away shit. Maybe a hundred-dollar tip here and there when I tossed someone the right card or spun a lucky number. You sit across from all that money and you just have to look at it as if it’s fucking oranges or cabbage. So I made a choice. They knew I wanted to retire and come up here. They knew I had this house, this stupid dream we had, and that I was falling behind. You can’t let them take that from me, Lieutenant.” Pacello stared at Hauck. “I’ve earned that. It’s all I have. Thirty friggin’ years…” He motioned inside. “For them…You understand what I’m saying. They deserve it. All I had to do was deal out some cards.”
“Tell me what Raines asked you to do.”
“Not till you get me a deal. I’ll deny anything I said. You don’t know what they’ll do.”
“Raines warned you I was coming, didn’t he? He told you to get out.”
Pacello took off his glasses. He massaged his brow. “Yeah, he called me.” Pacello sat back. “He told me to get out. He said if you asked anything about Kramer…”
His eyes drifted from Hauck toward the water. Hauck noticed that the fishing boat had come in closer. It was just sitting there. Its engines appeared to have been cut.
Something didn’t seem right.
No reason for anyone to be out here this time of year…
Hauck stood up, stared out at the water. “Mr. Pacello, I want you to get down now—”
The first shot whined in, catching Pacello in the throat, a burst of crimson spraying all over the deck.
The shocked dealer coughed, his eyes stretched wide.
The second shot caught him in the chest, before Hauck could even react. He turned, confused, spewing a spittle of blood and tendril all over his chest.
Hauck screamed into the house. “Everyone get down!”
Another shot zinged in, barely missing Hauck’s head, crashing into the siding. “Stay inside!”
Then another. Hauck felt the heat from it against his shoulder as he leaped and pushed the wounded dealer to the floor. The screen door opened. Pacello’s wife rushed out. “Paul?”
“Get back in!” Hauck shouted. “Get down!”
She stared down at her husband in horror. “Oh, my God, Paul!”
Hauck pulled her down from the line of fire and took out his own gun, leaping up and running to the railing. The trawler had started up. It was moving away. He aimed and squeezed off six shots from the Sig. The boat was over a couple of hundred yards out. “God damn it!” he yelled, helpless, at the retreating hull.
He ran after it down the steps and continued squeezing off eight more rounds, emptying his clip.
Out of range.
Hauck looked back at Pacello. “Sonovafuckingbitch!”
He ran back onto the deck and found Pacello’s wife lying over him, talking to him. “Paul! Paul!” She was covered in her husband’s blood.
The dealer’s eyes were beginning to glaze.
Hauck kneeled. The man was fading. He didn’t have much time.
“Kramer wasn’t guilty, wasn’t he?” Hauck lifted Pacello’s head. “There was never any scam. They just told you to frame a case around him—isn’t that right? That they’d pay off the mortgage?”
Pacello coughed out a bubble of blood, nodded. “Keith…,” he wheezed, almost smiling. “He was a good guy…”
“What was it all about?” Hauck demanded.
Pacello’s wife screamed, “Please, God, can’t you see what’s happening? Just leave him alone!”
The man’s gaze started to dim.
“Why did they kill them?” Hauck pressed. “Kramer knew something, didn’t he? He brought in Sanger. What the hell did they know, Mr. Pacello? They tried to make it seem like it was all a gambling scam. What was it all about?”
Pacello gripped Hauck’s arm. The desperate grasp of someone’s last glimmer of strength. He raised himself up, lips quivering. “Ask Raines…” His eyes locked onto Hauck, his smile hapless. “Bad choice, huh?”
Hauck saw his pupils were no longer moving.
“Paul. Paul…” Pacello’s wife latched onto him.
Hauck leaned back against the deck and slammed his fist against the boards. He gazed out over the lake, his chest bursting with rage. Pacello’s blood was still warm and sticky on his palms.
The boat had disappeared. Only an evaporating and widening wake where it had once been.