by James Swain
“Karen’s fit to be tied. I’ve got to go. I’ll call you later.”
“Okay. Good luck.”
“Tell me everything’s cool, man. My heart’s racing a hundred miles an hour.”
“Everything’s under control.”
“You’re not lying to me, are you? Because it sure sounds that way.”
An invisible knife stabbed Billy in the chest. He’d discovered Travis switching dice at a sawdust joint called Palace Station, using moves he’d learned from an amateur’s book on hustling he’d picked up at the Gambler’s Book Club, yet still robbing the place blind. Travis was a natural, and Billy had recruited the big man on the spot. Now it was all going into the toilet because he hadn’t played straight with Travis. Without truth, there was nothing.
“I screwed up,” Billy said.
“Jesus Christ. You?”
“Yeah, me. Big time. I’m sorry I didn’t come clean with you.”
“Fucking A, what happened?”
“The scam at Galaxy I told you about was a trap, and I walked right into it. Another hustler set me up. He’s working for the casino, and wants me to stop a family of cheaters from robbing them. He’s got my cell phone, and knows about the Four Queens scam. He threatened to turn us over to the police if I don’t play ball with him.”
“Is that why you asked me about the tapes being erased in three days?”
“Yeah. If I can hold him off until Saturday night, the crew’s safe.”
“Jesus Christ—you’re going to help him?”
“I don’t have a choice.”
“Do I need to lawyer up? Just in case?”
“You’re not going to get arrested, and neither is anyone else in the crew. Your world is safe. Now go take care of your son.”
“What about you? Are you safe?”
That was a good question. And Billy was pretty sure he knew the answer. If he didn’t stop the Gypsies, his sorry ass would get dragged to an unfinished floor of Galaxy’s hotel, and he’d get snuffed for his failure. All he could hope for was that they’d get it over quickly and wouldn’t make him suffer.
“I’ll be fine,” he said.
“There’s Karen. I’ll call you later.”
A dial tone filled his ear. He went into the kitchen and hung up the phone. He had let Travis down, and realized that he was dreading having to break the bad news to the other members of his crew. It was going to be painful, but it had to be done.
SIXTEEN
Billy pulled into Gabe’s driveway a few minutes before one. Gabe’s Mercedes was missing, and he found himself getting pissed. They were supposed to be going to a Gamblers Anonymous meeting to help Gabe get the monkey off his back, so where the hell was he?
Soon Billy’s hand was sore from banging on Gabe’s front door. Not having his cell phone was proving to be a royal pain in the ass, and he drove out of the subdivision to a Fresh and Easy and called Gabe from a pay phone.
“Hey, Billy, what’s shaking?” Gabe answered, his voice high-pitched.
“We were supposed to meet up this afternoon, remember? Where you hiding?”
“I don’t want to go to Gamblers Anonymous. That shit bothers me. All those strangers pouring their guts out, talking about their problems. No thanks, man.”
“You don’t have to go.”
“I don’t?”
“Not today. But we do need to talk. Something bad went down last night. What’s that loud music in the background? You in a bar or something?”
“I’m at Misty and Pepper’s place. We’re having a little party to celebrate our newfound fortune. Cory and Morris are here, too. You’re welcome to join us, isn’t he, ladies?”
The girls’ voices floated merrily in the background, inviting Billy to come over and get stoned. Billy brought his hand to his face. There was no newfound fortune, no pot of gold at the end of the rainbow. Breaking the bad news had just gotten a lot tougher.
“I’ll be right over,” he said.
Misty and Pepper had been sharing an efficiency apartment with their pound mutts when Billy first hooked up with them. They’d come to Vegas to be cocktail waitresses, thinking it would lead to better things. When they got tired of having their asses pinched, they’d started making porn, and discovered it was another bum deal. The actresses got paid a flat fee, with no royalties or health benefits to cover disease or injury.
They’d been at a crossroads when Billy met them. They still had their looks and could snap a man’s head just by walking by. They were willing to use their charms to make a buck but didn’t want to take their clothes off anymore, or go down on strangers.
Billy had come to their apartment with Chinese takeout and a DVD. While eating pork-fried rice in the cramped living room, they watched a dopey sitcom called Sweet Nothings that starred everyone’s favorite comedic actress, Lydia Fallon. Fallon was a fixture on network TV, her giggling laugh known to millions. Misty and Pepper professed to be big fans.
When the show ended, Billy told Misty and Pepper a story. Once upon a time, Lydia Fallon had lived in Las Vegas and worked with a crew of cheaters that past-posted at roulette. Placing a wager after the little white ball had fallen was no small feat, and Fallon used her persuasive charms to distract the croupier while her partners did the dirty work.
One night Fallon was scamming a fancy Strip casino when a big-shot Hollywood producer sitting at the table spotted her and was blown away. Instead of alerting security, he whisked her away to la-la land and turned her into a household name.
There was a moral to Billy’s story. Cheating wasn’t the end of the road, but the beginning of a new life. With the money Misty and Pepper would make working with his crew, they could lead the kind of lives they’d always dreamed of, just like Lydia Fallon.
Misty and Pepper signed up on the spot.
It was one of the smarter things he’d ever done. When Misty and Pepper were on the casino floor strutting their stuff, the rest of his crew could operate practically unseen.
The uniformed guard at the entrance of the Las Vegas Country Club waved him through, and he drove to the three-thousand-square-foot, three-bedroom luxury house the girls now called home. Filling the circular driveway was Gabe’s Mercedes, Cory and Morris’s black Infiniti SUV, Misty’s BMW 4 Series convertible, and Pepper’s champagne-colored Lexus 350. Whoever said that crime didn’t pay wasn’t doing it right.
He rang the bell. A melodic chime filled the interior, followed by bare feet pounding tile floors. Misty greeted him with bloodshot eyes, her sensuous mouth parted in a loopy grin. She wore a white string bikini and a glistening diamond in her navel. She sunbathed in the nude every day and did not sport a single tan line.
“What took you so long?” she chastised him.
“I drove here as fast as I could.”
“It wasn’t fast enough.”
Giggling, she dragged him down the hall to the living room. Gabe lay sprawled on the recliner and flipped Billy a stoner’s salute. Cory and Morris shared the couch, studying racing forms on their cell phones while taking hits off an acrylic bong with multiple rubber hoses. Bowls of junk food covered the coffee table, much of it on the floor.
“Yo, Billy. Those shades are awesome,” Cory said.
“What are you guys doing?” Billy asked.
“We’re working a scam with a racetrack in Santa Anita.”
Misty had not let go of his arm, her nails digging hard enough to break the flesh.
“Keep moving,” she commanded.
“I need to talk to everybody. Pepper needs to hear this, too.”
“Well, let’s go get her.”
Pepper’s bedroom was down the hallway. The redhead lay on the water bed in her birthday suit, watching a video playing on a flat-screen TV. In it, she and Misty were tag-teaming a very drunk Billy, whose prick resembled a bayonet.
“No, we’re trying to fuck you. Lie down.” Misty tugged at his belt buckle.
“Not now. There’s some serious shit going down.”
They were either too stoned to hear him or too stoned to care. His pants started to fall, and he struggled to pull them back up. He was getting aroused, and that would lead to him hopping in bed with them and forgetting about life for a little while.
“He’s resisting,” Misty said. “Help me.”
Pepper slithered sensually across the bed. Taking a big fat joint off the night table, she fired it up, then hopped to her feet and tried to shotgun him. He pushed her away.
“Stop fucking around,” he said.
Pepper acted put out. She grabbed his shades and yanked them away. Seeing his banged-up face, she let out a startled cry.
“Oh my God. You get into a fight?”
“I ran into some trouble last night.”
Their eyes met. In Billy’s gaze she saw nothing but fear.
“Oh, fuck,” Pepper said.
His crew huddled around the breakfast table in the kitchen nook, acting scared. Talking to stoned people was a waste of time, and Billy brewed an extra-strong pot of coffee and poured them each a cup. Pepper and Misty had put on grungy workout clothes and stopped being sex kittens. Cory and Morris had put away their cell phones and were looking at him, knowing that things had just gotten hairy. Gabe simply stared into space.
Billy remained standing so he could see their faces. That was important, because he needed to see if anyone was going to crack. In a calm voice, he told them the same story he’d told Travis. He’d fucked up royally and was going to spend the next three days atoning for his sins. He promised that no matter what happened, they wouldn’t get arrested or go to prison.
“That’s the deal. Anyone want to say anything, say it now.”
At first, no one spoke. Big crocodile tears trickled down Misty’s cheeks.
“Does this mean there’s no giant payday?” Misty asked.
“There never was a giant payday,” he replied truthfully.
“That sucks!”
Gabe blew his nose into a paper napkin. He’d been planning to use a portion of his share to pay off Tony G, and now faced the grim reality of having nothing to give the bookie.
“Billy, there’s something I’m not getting,” Gabe said. “Why did these assholes running Galaxy blackmail you into doing this job? Why not call the gaming board instead?”
“They didn’t call the gaming board because they’re afraid of the law,” Billy said. “The owner of Galaxy owns a bunch of titty bars in LA. There’s only so much money you can make hustling friction dances and selling drunk businessmen bottles of pink champagne. I think the place is a front, and they’re laundering money.”
“For who? The mob?”
“The mob, the drug cartels, who knows? They’re bad dudes any way you look at it.”
“Man, you sure stepped in it.”
“Tell me about it.”
“Should we pack a suitcase and get out of town?” Pepper asked.
Billy had never been a proponent of running when things broke bad. In the eyes of the law, a person who ran was already guilty. “Just stay here, and hang out. It will all be over by Saturday.” He nearly added “One way or another” but decided he didn’t want to go there.
“Will you call us Saturday night, tell us how this works out?” Pepper asked.
“You’ll be the first to know,” he said.
Saying good-bye had never been harder. Gabe’s forlorn expression suggested that he’d dug a hole for himself that he could not climb out of. He gave Billy a bear hug and whispered, “Good luck, man,” before shuffling into the living room. Pepper and Misty both kissed him on the lips as if they might never see him again.
Cory and Morris were hanging back, and Billy motioned for them to follow him out the front door so they could talk in private. They’d gotten into the rackets as teens and understood the ramifications better than the others. Billy’s promise to keep them from getting busted was just that, a promise, and they might get arrested, no matter how hard Billy tried to prevent it.
Because Cory and Morris were the takeoff men, and actually stole the money during the scams, the law would seek them out first. Not the regular cops, but special enforcement agents of the Nevada Gaming Control Board, who had the power to confiscate their bank accounts, automobiles, and all their possessions. They’d go down first, and they’d go down hard.
The two young hustlers stood on the lawn, sharing a cigarette. Everything they did, they did together, from sharing a bedroom in a foster home growing up to peddling worthless coupon booklets to tourists on the Strip, which was how Billy had first met them.
“How long have you been working on this horse scam?” he asked.
“Six months. We’ve got a trainer at the track in our back pocket,” Cory said.
“Have you tried it out?”
“A couple of times. It worked like a charm.”
“You need to put it on ice. I want you to hide your computers, along with any electronic devices that might contain your communications with the guy at the track you’re working with. That includes your cell phones and iPads and any devices that carry e-mails. If the gaming board pays you a visit and finds any evidence, they’ll nail your balls to a wall, and try to make you turn state’s evidence. That’s how they operate. So don’t let them find anything.”
Cory flashed a brave smile. “We won’t let you down, Billy.”
“You can count on us,” Morris added.
Billy felt confident that they wouldn’t go sideways on him. To make your bones as a cheater, you had to get busted at least once and get your ass ground through the system. How you dealt with it defined the rest of your career.
“One more thing,” he said. “I want you to stay away from the casinos until this is over. Work on your golf games or take in some movies. It’ll be tough, but you can do it.”
“Stay away from the casinos? Are you out of your flipping mind?” Cory said indignantly.
“No fucking way, Jose,” Morris said.
They waited a beat before breaking into good-natured laughter. The conversation was ending on a high note. Billy appreciated that, and he beeped his horn as he drove away.
SEVENTEEN
Driving down Boulder Highway with the desert wind stinging his face, Billy remembered that Crunchie still had his Droid. Without a cell phone, he could not communicate with his crew, nor could any of them call him.
He needed to change that. There was a Verizon store located in practically every strip center in town, and his eyes searched for their distinct white and red sign. He soon found a store on the east side of the highway by Nellis Boulevard. He parked in the empty lot and went inside.
The store was a gallery, the merchandise displayed in glass cases as if precious works of art inside a museum. The manager, an alert young woman with dyed-red hair flecked with white frost and fingernails painted in a rainbow of colors, seemed eager to help him.
“I lost my cell phone last night, and need a new one,” he explained.
She typed his name and address into her computer, working off the driver’s license he handed her. She studied the photo on the license, then gave him a hard look.
“Something wrong?” he asked.
“Can I see you without the shades?” she asked.
He didn’t like to play the sympathy card but didn’t see that he had much choice if he wanted to get a new phone. Her mouth dropped open as the shades came off.
“Oh my God—were you mugged?” she asked.
“Yeah. They took everything.”
“I can’t fix your face, but I can get you a new phone.” She stared at her computer screen. “You purchased a Droid Maxx last year and s
igned up for Backup Assistant. That means I can transfer your contact information from your old phone to your new phone. The Maxx you purchased also has a factory data-reset option. That will let me wipe out the information on your old phone once the new phone is up and running.”
“You can really do that?”
“Sure can. What kind of phone do you want?”
“Another Droid Maxx.”
He handed her a credit card. Had he gone to a Verizon store last night and gotten a new phone, the contact info on his old phone would now be wiped out. Live and learn. Soon he had a brand new phone with all of his contact info installed. The manager was sharp and knew how to think on her feet. As he signed the credit card slip, he asked if he could call her sometime. She wrote her personal number on the back of a business card and gave it to him.
“My name’s Cassidy. I’m off on weekends,” she said.
Cassidy had passed the first interview. If he made it out of this situation unscathed, he planned to give her a call. Over dinner and drinks he’d find out if she had moral issues with robbing casinos. If not, he could see her being a valuable addition to his crew.
Back on the highway, he decided to call Travis, and got patched into voice mail. “Hey, Travis, it’s me. I had a brainstorm and bought a new cell phone. I broke the news to the others. Do me a favor, and check up on them. I’m worried about Gabe.”
He bit his lip, wanting to say something that would end the message on a high note. He heard a loud beep and realized he’d hit a dead zone and the connection had ended.
He couldn’t win for losing, and concentrated on the drive.
Pulling into the Galaxy’s valet area, he grabbed his garment bag off the passenger seat and got out. A pair of black-and-whites were parked by the entrance, their bubble lights flashing. Cops were rarely seen inside the casinos, the belief being they were bad for business. When they did show up, it was through a back entrance or underground garage.