Free Writ of Execution by Perri O'Shaughnessy

worried. She’s excited. Wouldn’t you be, Mr. Munzinger?”
    Munzinger didn’t answer. His blue eyes stayed blank. Yikes, Nina thought, but she kept on smiling.
    Prize’s director of communications, Andy Miguel Doig, had a head full of auburn curls and a patient smile. He seemed to be the one appointed to keep the reporters in check.
    Gary Gray, the aging slots director for Prize’s, still wide-eyed, shook his head in amazement as he greeted them, though four hours had passed since Jessie’s win and he should be adjusted to the concept by now. He held Jessie’s hand for a long time, staring at her as if he couldn’t get enough of her. He wore a red rose in his lapel.
    Ully Miller, an electronics engineer with the Nevada Gaming Control Board, which Nina knew was the state agency regulating the gaming industry, was a quiet, close-shaven, middle-aged man. When he shook her hand she noticed he was wearing soft kid gloves. When he smiled, Nina saw that he had a gap between his front teeth, like Alfred E. Neuman or David Letterman. It gave him a slightly goofy appearance.
    “Sorry about the delay,” Nina said.
    “Oh, there would have been a delay anyway. We had to check the machine very thoroughly. It takes a couple of hours. And for this size jackpot, naturally we checked even more thoroughly.”
    “And—I assume there was no problem?”
    Miller said, “No problem at all. Bet that’s the best news the little lady ever had. She sure is skittish. A win like this, I can understand, though. She still has that stunned look. She okay?”
    “It’s the amount. She just can’t believe it.”
    “It’s one of the biggest wins in Nevada history. Incredible. What will she do with it?”
    “We haven’t even talked about that.”
    And last but definitely not least, Nina shook hands with the one she worried most about, a short, gingery man straight out of South Boston wearing green suspenders under his suit. He was P. K. Maloney, supervising agent for the fourth district of Nevada, United States Internal Revenue Service. She had heard of him. He was part of the audit process, an awe-inspiring figure. She had not wanted to meet him.
    An ornate, curved-legged desk sat under the window. While Paul chatted with the others, Nina, Jessie, Kenny Leung, and Maloney adjourned to the desk. Jessie had an inch-thick stack of forms to sign, and not one of them was easy. Nina sat down beside her and read through each form, talking to her in a low voice, trying to keep it all straight. Kenny readily produced his driver’s license when Maloney asked for Jessie’s, and the trouble roared out of the tunnel.
    “We’ll need yours, Mrs. Leung,” Maloney told her. “You’re the winnah.”
    Nina took his measure. A long Irish lip. A fleshy Irish face. He looked like her dad. Tired eyes, the eyelids drooping. A cleft in the chin. The expression of one who endures. Rough skin and a small curvy mouth. And a pair of ears at a ninety-degree angle to his jaw.
    She smiled and said, “We’ll be glad to provide that in a day or two. The Leungs are from Mountain View. Mrs. Leung forgot to bring her wallet up here. But, after all, Mr. Leung has his ID.”
    “But my dear lady. His ID is not her ID.”
    “What’s the problem, Mr. Maloney? We all want Mrs. Leung to get her check tonight, don’t we? That’s what these folks from the press are waiting for, aren’t they? And we all want to get some sleep. Mrs. Leung is exhausted.”
    “It’s a regulation, Mrs. Reilly,” Maloney said, not stiff but not bending either. “You understand.” There was no Mr. Reilly, but this was no time to get picky. Nina nodded.
    “I’m aware of that.” She had looked it up just before she left.
    “You see my problem,” Maloney said. “I don’t have the authority.”
    “But you’re the one here in the field tonight and you have to have some discretion in handling these things,” Nina said. “You must get winners who are drunk, unable to speak English,