Willie the Pimp
Mickey was a private investigator. He was not the Hollywood type of P.I., like in the movies. He was just a floor walker. His orders were to prevent stealing, report stock room irregularities, and other such misdemeanor-grade crimes. No arrests, just keep an eye out. Be courteous. No trouble.
Mickey got the job at a casino through a friend of a friend. It's the only way. He soon found out that there are two mobs; one is organized, and the other is disorganized. When you work for the casino you are on the organized side. Everybody else is on the disorganized side. Mickey's post orders were to keep a lid on the side action.
Mickey was an affable guy. This is what he told disgruntled customers:
"Look, friend, you can leave quietly, and come back tomorrow. Or, you can leave the hard way, and you'll never come back."
Mickey made nice with the yobs, and they never gave him any trouble, after that. Mutual respect. The small time hoods were not a problem for Mickey. The insiders were. Mickey's rule was simple. He said,
“Look the other way. Bite your tongue. Why? Because it all catches up to you someday.”
A new hire, Guillermo, came onboard after Mickey. He was a house dick, too, like Mickey. Being an affable guy, Mickey and Guillermo hit it off right from the start. There was one problem. It was, you might say, an inequality of firepower.
"Where's your gun?" Guillermo asked Mickey.
"I don't carry. I don't even own a gun. I can carry, but I don't want one," Mickey replied.
Mickey intimated (like admitting a shameful secret), that a gun was too expensive to buy and own. The truth was Mickey did not need a gun to feel confident. Mickey respected people and they respected him. He reasoned, "With a gun on your hip, it's not you they respect, it's the gun."
When you are hired by a casino you're on probation for 90 days. With most new hires it doesn't make sense to get friendly until the new hire passes probation. It's a formality, a rule. With armed guards, however, it's easy to assume the probationer wouldn't be carrying a gun if he had a felony conviction, the usual cause for rejection. So Mickey assumed...
Guillermo, "call me G", and "affable" Mickey hit it off from day one. G was a perfect gentleman. he was well-groomed. He swaggered more than Mickey thought was suitable, but it offended no one. Mickey attributed G's swagger to the sidearm. It was Mickey's firm conviction that guns were a handicap, a prop, a crutch. G didn't need a gun, in Mickey's opinion, to look sharp. Otherwise, G was a model employee. It came as a surprise when Guillermo didn't make probation. There was talk:
"How'd G carry a gun on the casino floor for 90 days -without a permit?"
"He has a permit. D- (the director of security) checked that himself."
That was the question that puzzled everyone (both employees and customers). And, if his permit was legal, what did he do to fail background check? What is it in G's background that only "The Feds" know about? It was all speculation. Nobody knew anything at the end of the day.
It turns out Mickey knew why. How? Guillermo told him. Not in so many words, and, it took Mickey a long time to figure it all out. That is how detective stories play-out in real life, and in the movies. The serious investigation takes place in the mind.
Mickey gathered all the information he needed to know, while having a friendly conversation with Guillermo, a week before Christmas. Everybody was feeling the approaching Holiday cheer. Mickey and Guillermo were enjoying the seasonal feeling, when Mickey asked Guillermo,
"Hey, isn't your probation up soon?"
"Yes, in three days."
"That's Saturday. Are you going to celebrate?"
"No, I'll be here."
"Right on!"
They exchanged fist bumps. Feeling at ease, G spoke with candor,
"Tell me something, Mickey; why are some white people so mean?"
"Gringos will be gringos. What happened?"
"Not you. I mean rednecks, in the country."
"I know what you mean. Even white folks are scared of the backwoods folk. Where did you go?"
"I was going to Kentucky, but I got in trouble in Tennessee."
"Hillbillies?" Mickey said, with genuine concern.
"A state trooper pulled me over. I wasn't speeding, I wasn't drinking, and my DMV is clean."
Guillermo related to Mickey that he was told by the state trooper to get out of his car and walk back to the last freeway entrance ramp. The car was impounded. And one more important detail: It turns out Guillermo had a passenger in the car. The passenger was held by the state police.
"Wait, why was your passenger arrested, but not you?"
Guillermo didn't answer that, but said he was taking the passenger to a wedding.
"Wait, do you have folks in Kentucky?"
"No, I was driving him there. He was the one getting married."
Nonplussed, Mickey had to think fast. This was getting too hot to handle;
"Well, G, I guess you're lucky 'cuz here you are, and you even got your car back, right?"
At this point Guillermo was too choked-up with emotion to answer. Mickey also had a lot to think about. They broke-off the conversation and went back to work. On Saturday, the last day of Guillermo's probation, he wasn't at work. Nobody knew anything. Mickey figured G was celebrating, as he predicted he would. A week went by, and still no sign of Guillermo.
Finally, word came down G wouldn't be coming back, at least, not back to work. G could return to property but without, however, his gun. The general manager felt sorry for Guillermo, and gave him some maintenance jobs, until he could find a new position. G was allowed to work anywhere in the casino except the gaming areas.
Mickey looked-up the latest State Gaming Board bulletin, the one with mugshots. Guillermo wasn't listed. If he'd been blacklisted, then for what reason? Mickey had a hunch, but he didn't talk to anyone about it. He didn't want to start rumors. Mickey guessed Guillermo's incident in Tennessee was about human trafficking. While human trafficking is as bad - or worse - than even drug dealing, because it's not (apparently) a crime, it isn't recorded on the police blotter.
It is, however, a serious human rights abuse. After G's post-probationary delay of 90 days, when there could be no further cause to deny his presence on property - but as a matter of personal caution - Mickey finally apprised the casino security director's right-hand man of what he knew. He was astonished, face went white, eyes wide open. Then the look passed just as quickly, before Mickey's eyes, and he resumed his usual, emotionless, stare.
A bit of advice for everyone. Anybody who talks to you too long, and tells you more than you wish to know, probably has it in mind to draw you into his schemes. At this point it was no longer an inside matter, and therefore not his job, but Mickey couldn't help noticing that Guillermo appeared to have lured a former employee into his schemes.
There was, at the time, a guard who hated his job. He could not bring himself to quit, and did everything to let the boss and other employees know how unhappy he was. He finally pulled a stunt that went too far. He carried a casino object off-property that didn't belong to him.
The security department has a complete set of spare keys. The bookkeeper requested access to the accounting office on one occasion because the locks had been changed. The security department's spare key was missing. The order went out to find the d*** key. It turns out the malcontent guard hid the key as a prank. That's the official story. The truth is probably more sinister. In any event, the guard was escorted off property.
Shortly thereafter, Mickey happened to see the (former) security guard drive-up to the casino entrance in a new, luxury model Mercedes. It was, incidentally, the same make and model as Guillermo's! Mickey's jaw dropped. Mickey had formerly given the guard rides home after work. The guard said he couldn't afford to buy a car. Mickey felt sorry for him.
Suddenly, Mickey sees the former security guard riding in style. Make that "gangster style." It was, to Mickey, a truly incongruous sight: The terminated guard and Guillermo, now partners in crime, both driving matching Mercedes, and both cars bearing out-of-state license plates. What happened to those two next, Mickey can't say. He moved on to a different position, one with less action.