into the game, but I also get foreign chips from other casinos, credit slips whenever I send any chips back to the vault, plus markers from gamblers playing on credit, and, the best part for our purposes, the fill slips that report the chips coming in from the cashier’s cage all night.”
Derek nodded. “I can see how this system begs for abuse.”
“And I answered the call. Accounting scrutinizes everything to make sure it balances out, and it damn well better, but that’s after the fact. While the table’s active there’s no way in hell of knowing how much of what is supposed to be there.”
He went on to explain the importance of the fill slips, made out in triplicate by four signatories as a control measure so the amount of the chip fill was verified. Boyd himself was required to sign them, as dealer, as was Madeline, the pit boss; and they were also signed by the cage cashier and a security runner. The system was employed to keep everyone honest, and generally it did, except when all four participating signatories conspired to tinker with the numbers: say, signing for large amounts, but delivering small ones, and clandestinely pocketing the difference.
“So you had four people in on this instead of just you and Madeline?” Derek asked.
“Wouldn’t have worked, otherwise. But the other two weren’t in on the take. They only went along with it because Madeline had made a video of these two guys going at it during some employees’ party. This was before I ever started working there. I’m not even clear on what was on the tape. Myself, I have no problem with two guys with the hots for each other. Whatever two or more people feel like doing in the privacy of a toilet stall, that’s their business. But apparently this was some pretty kinko stuff.”
“You weren’t even curious enough to watch the tape?”
“I gathered it involved a copious exchange of bodily fluids. But the kicker was, the cashier’s a Mormon. Really uptight group. Loads of Mormons in the casino industry, but the church won’t let them work at the actual games, just the management and credit end of things. I don’t understand the logic myself, but who am I to judge? So Madeline, she threatens to not only send a copy of this tape to the guy’s family, but his church, too. That first night when she called us all together to tell those two how it was going to be? They cried, Derek. They broke down and cried.”
“Ugly scene. That’s cold, man. That is cold .”
Boyd explained that when their shift was over, with the chips converted back to cash, he and Madeline would take the skim to the night depository of a bank, where they had an account in the name of a dummy company they’d set up on paper.
“Back up a minute,” Derek said. “Who was converting it back for you? Because for sure none of you four could walk up to the cash-out windows.”
“Yeah, you definitely need an outsider for that. I’m not sure who it was, though. Madeline told me I didn’t need to know, it’d be safer that way. She just let him keep a little of the take each night. Easy money for him. So I never met him, just saw him from behind in the casino a time or two. Big blond guy.”
“Uh-huh.” Derek was sounding less impressed all the time.
On most afternoons, Boyd went on, he ran by Madeline’s condo for carnal jubilee, then with his laptop computer and its built-in modem, they would access their bank’s PC services and have the money deposited the previous night or two wired offshore into an account at another bank in the Cayman Islands. He kept electronic records in the laptop, and Madeline received the bank statements in a post office box she’d rented for the dummy business.
“Why the Caymans?” Derek wanted to know.
“Hey, if it’s good enough for drug lords.”
Derek shook his head. “This is sounding like a hell of a lot of trouble. Why didn’t you two just keep the cash liquid while you had it? What’s wrong with a locker at
Derek nodded. “I can see how this system begs for abuse.”
“And I answered the call. Accounting scrutinizes everything to make sure it balances out, and it damn well better, but that’s after the fact. While the table’s active there’s no way in hell of knowing how much of what is supposed to be there.”
He went on to explain the importance of the fill slips, made out in triplicate by four signatories as a control measure so the amount of the chip fill was verified. Boyd himself was required to sign them, as dealer, as was Madeline, the pit boss; and they were also signed by the cage cashier and a security runner. The system was employed to keep everyone honest, and generally it did, except when all four participating signatories conspired to tinker with the numbers: say, signing for large amounts, but delivering small ones, and clandestinely pocketing the difference.
“So you had four people in on this instead of just you and Madeline?” Derek asked.
“Wouldn’t have worked, otherwise. But the other two weren’t in on the take. They only went along with it because Madeline had made a video of these two guys going at it during some employees’ party. This was before I ever started working there. I’m not even clear on what was on the tape. Myself, I have no problem with two guys with the hots for each other. Whatever two or more people feel like doing in the privacy of a toilet stall, that’s their business. But apparently this was some pretty kinko stuff.”
“You weren’t even curious enough to watch the tape?”
“I gathered it involved a copious exchange of bodily fluids. But the kicker was, the cashier’s a Mormon. Really uptight group. Loads of Mormons in the casino industry, but the church won’t let them work at the actual games, just the management and credit end of things. I don’t understand the logic myself, but who am I to judge? So Madeline, she threatens to not only send a copy of this tape to the guy’s family, but his church, too. That first night when she called us all together to tell those two how it was going to be? They cried, Derek. They broke down and cried.”
“Ugly scene. That’s cold, man. That is cold .”
Boyd explained that when their shift was over, with the chips converted back to cash, he and Madeline would take the skim to the night depository of a bank, where they had an account in the name of a dummy company they’d set up on paper.
“Back up a minute,” Derek said. “Who was converting it back for you? Because for sure none of you four could walk up to the cash-out windows.”
“Yeah, you definitely need an outsider for that. I’m not sure who it was, though. Madeline told me I didn’t need to know, it’d be safer that way. She just let him keep a little of the take each night. Easy money for him. So I never met him, just saw him from behind in the casino a time or two. Big blond guy.”
“Uh-huh.” Derek was sounding less impressed all the time.
On most afternoons, Boyd went on, he ran by Madeline’s condo for carnal jubilee, then with his laptop computer and its built-in modem, they would access their bank’s PC services and have the money deposited the previous night or two wired offshore into an account at another bank in the Cayman Islands. He kept electronic records in the laptop, and Madeline received the bank statements in a post office box she’d rented for the dummy business.
“Why the Caymans?” Derek wanted to know.
“Hey, if it’s good enough for drug lords.”
Derek shook his head. “This is sounding like a hell of a lot of trouble. Why didn’t you two just keep the cash liquid while you had it? What’s wrong with a locker at
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