Take Down

by James Swain

  “You mean Trixie? What a piece of shit that guy is. How do you put up with him?”

  “I’m not going to be putting up with him for much longer. How about a cup of coffee?”

  “Forget it.”

  “Thanks a lot. What’s with the bandage on your ear?”

  “It’s a long story. I don’t want you here. Say your piece, and get out.”

  “You’re in some mood.”

  He ducked into the kitchen and poured himself a glass of water. Glass in hand, he returned to the living room and took the couch. He pointed at the lone chair in the room. “Sit down. In case you forgot, the gaming board is planning to bust Cunningham this afternoon, and you’re going to help us. Give me any crap, and my boss will throw you in jail. Am I making myself clear?”

  So much for Custer’s Last Stand. She positioned her chair so she faced him. Frank drank his water and put the glass down on the coffee table. He smiled with the sincerity of a phony TV preacher. She was tempted to throw a lamp at him, just to wipe that smile off his ugly mug.

  “This afternoon, the gaming board is going to raid Galaxy,” he said. “The joint was built with drug money, and now it’s being used to launder more drug money. We plan to bust the kingpin of the operation, Reverend T. Rock.”

  He took out his iPhone and keyed in a command. He turned the screen so Mags could see a live feed of a humongous black guy sitting poolside in a cabana. With him were two tattoo-covered Hispanic babes wearing leather bikinis.

  “The women are named Margarita Jimenez and Damaris Olivio,” he said. “They used to work for a Mexican drug cartel before Rock lured them away. Rumor is, they’re absolutely lethal.”

  “What does this have to do with me?”

  “Shut up, and let me finish. Two days ago, Rock brought eight million dollars in drug money to Galaxy’s casino and passed it through the cage. The money was laundered through a chain of check-cashing stores in town and turned into money orders. Eight hundred of them, to be exact. Later today, Rock will go to the cage and get a leather briefcase with the money orders. We’re going to bust Rock once the transfer is made.”

  Her wounded ear throbbed. She needed to take another pain pill and climb into bed. But first, she needed to get Frank out of her house.

  “We plan to nail Cunningham as well and make it seem as if he’s working for Rock,” Frank said. “Kill two birds with one stone, if you will. To do that, we need to bust Cunningham inside the casino. That’s where you come in.”

  “You don’t say.”

  “Don’t get smart with me. You struck a deal with us, and I’m going to hold you to it.”

  Whatever promises she’d made to Frank and his boss had gotten flushed down the toilet. Billy had saved her life last night, and she was not going to double-cross him, even if it meant lying through her teeth to Frank.

  “You still haven’t told me what you want me to do.”

  “We want you to establish contact with Cunningham before the raid, to verify where he is inside Galaxy.”

  “I’m not going back inside that place.”

  “Don’t worry. There will be more gaming agents inside that joint than you can shake a stick at. You’ll be totally safe.”

  “I’m not going back inside. The people running that place are crazy.”

  “You can’t say no.”

  “Try me.”

  “Don’t do this, Mags. You’ll regret it.”

  “I’m not your slave. No.”

  “All right, have it your way. You can draw Cunningham out to the valet area. Then you don’t have to go in.”

  “Is that your idea of a compromise?”

  “Yes. I’ve got a lot riding on this. My career’s at stake.”

  Frank’s last promotion had gone up in flames because Billy had outsmarted him, and she guessed another promotion was now on the line and would be granted if Frank went where no gaming agent had gone before, and put Billy’s cute little ass in the slammer. It was the opening she’d been looking for, and she said, “I’ll do it, but I want something in return.”

  “You’re not in a position to bargain with me.”

  “Really.”

  “Don’t even think about it, Mags. You’re wasting your breath.”

  Frank had tipped his mitt and told Mags that he needed her. It was leverage, and she went to the front door and flung it open. “Get out of my fucking house.”

  “You can’t throw me out.”

  “Yes, I can. This is my place, and I didn’t ask you in. If you don’t leave, I’ll call 911.”

  “Don’t be stupid.”

  She took out her cell phone and started punching numbers. Frank jumped off the couch and rushed her. His movements suggested he might do something irrational.

  “Don’t. Please, Mags. I can’t let this one get away.”

  She stopped dialing. “This is all about your fucking job, isn’t it, Frank?”

  His eyes fell shamefully to the floor, and he did not reply.

  “Answer me,” she said tersely.

  “Yeah,” he mumbled.

  “I thought so. I want this arrangement to be over. I’ll draw Billy out this afternoon, but from that moment on, my agreement with the gaming board is over. I also never want to see you again. Do you understand?”

  Still looking at the floor, he nodded.

  “Good. Now, go talk it over with your boss. Don’t come back until he says yes.”

  Frank walked out of the town house. She watched him climb into the idling vehicle in the driveway before slamming the door.

  She gulped down a pain pill before going to her study. Got on her desktop and drew up a letter of termination between her and the gaming board, to take effect at 5:00 p.m. tonight. She cleaned up the typos before making two copies on the laser-jet printer she’d bought at Staples. From the front of the house came a pounding on the front door. Return of the caveman.

  She opened the door and Frank just stood there, scared of her now.

  “Trixie’s not happy about this,” he said.

  “Shocking. Tell him to get in here.”

  “Don’t order me around.”

  “I have something you want, Frank, remember? Go get him.”

  “You’re being really stupid, Mags.”

  She laughed in his face. She had a job waiting with Billy’s crew when this was over. That, and a brand new life. Frank could go to hell, for all she cared.

  Frank got his boss from the car and they came inside. Mags slapped the termination letter on the dining room table for them to read. When they were done, she asked them if they had any questions. None were forthcoming, so she signed each letter next to where she’d printed her name, then stuck the pen in Frank’s hand. Frank signed each document next to where his own name was printed. The pen was passed to Trixie, who initialed both signatures and dated them. Mags walked them outside to the car, feeling elated.

  “I’ll be by at twelve thirty to pick you up,” Frank said. “And don’t try to cross me. I’ll throw your ass in jail if you do.”

  “And deny you your promotion? I wouldn’t dream of it,” she said.

  Frank got into the SUV and disappeared behind the tinted glass. Trixie remained in the driveway.

  “I’d suggest you pack your belongings and get out of Vegas when this is done,” Trixie said. “The other hustlers in town won’t be very accommodating when they hear you’re a snitch.”

  “Do you plan on telling them?” she asked.

  “Word will get out. It always does.”

  “Hold that thought. I’ll be right back.”

  Mags got her cell phone from the bedroom. Coming outside, she opened the Gallery app and stuck the phone in Trixie’s face. With her thumb, she scrolled through the shots she’d secretly taken of Frank and her doing the nasty in various hotel rooms duri
ng the past year. There were over sixty. Each had a date. Frank was big on cunnilingus, and the dreamy look in his eyes as he was going down on her made his boss turn crimson.

  “That’s extortion,” Trixie said.

  “You hurt me, I hurt you,” she said.

  “Are you threatening me?”

  “Why yes, yes, I am.”

  “The gaming board will destroy you. Or did you forget that?”

  “My girlfriend has a memory stick with these photos on it. If anything ever happens to me . . . Well, you know the rest.”

  Trixie’s face was a blank, but behind his eyes a bad movie was playing where everybody died in the end. Mags touched his sleeve.

  “Call it a truce. You can’t win all the time, you know,” she said.

  “We’ll see about that.”

  They left and she went inside. She was going to call Billy and tell him about the raid. She didn’t know how to break the news without telling him she was a snitch, but she’d figure it out. But first, she was going to lie down before the side of her head exploded.

  FIFTY-ONE

  In Billy’s opinion, Vegas hotels served the best food around. Take the late-morning room-service breakfast he was eating in his suite. A mouth-watering frittata made from organic cage-free eggs, grilled chicken, roasted tomatoes, and a slice of sourdough toast on the side. Growing up, he’d never dreamed a meal could taste this good.

  His Droid beeped. Travis had sent him a text. The counterfeit gold chips were done and had passed muster. The last cheat to take down Vegas with fake chips had been another Providence native, Lou “The Coin” Colavecchio, and that was over twenty years ago. Billy sent Travis a reply and told him to bring the crew to the hotel for a meeting, then resumed eating his breakfast.

  Ike and T-Bird sat across from him, battling their hangovers with coffee.

  “What are you smiling about?” Ike asked.

  “That was my guy. The fake chips are ready,” he said.

  “You still haven’t told us how this scam’s going to work,” Ike said, holding his mug with both hands. “It would be nice to know, considering we’re a part of it.”

  “Yeah, let’s hear the details,” T-Bird chimed in.

  The time for secrecy was over. Clearing the table, he took a pair of salt and pepper shakers and placed them on the table’s edge. On the left side of the table, he placed a sugar bowl; on the right side, the purple zinnia in a small vase that had come with his meal.

  “This table represents the casino, and these salt and pepper shakers are you guys,” he said. “The sugar bowl is the blackjack pit. The flower is the cage. With me so far?”

  “Which one of us is the salt?” T-Bird wanted to know.

  “Shut the fuck up,” Ike said.

  “Here’s what’s going to happen. At three forty-five, the Gypsy wedding will take place inside the chapel. The ceremony will last fifteen minutes. When it’s over, the Gypsies will walk down the hall through the lobby and enter the casino.” He walked two fingers across the table, stopping at the sugar bowl. “Upon reaching the blackjack pit, they’ll stop to have their picture taken. This distraction will allow them to perform a little act called the Dazzle. The Dazzle is designed to fool security into not seeing that a member of the wedding party is gone.”

  “One of them’s going to disappear?” Ike asked.

  “It will seem that way. The invisible member will remove a dealing shoe hidden inside the bride’s gown and switch it for a shoe on a high-limit table. At that moment, I’ll alert security, and they’ll pounce and expose the scam. That’s when you rob the cage.”

  “How we going to do that?” T-Bird asked.

  He pushed the salt and pepper shakers toward the single flower. “At four o’clock, Ike will call the cage and tell the cage manager that Rock is ready to cash out. A few minutes later, you guys will appear. T-Bird will have two lovely ladies with him who work for me. He’ll pass the fake chips to the cage manager and get the money orders in return. You’ll leave through the hotel’s back exit with my crew. We’ll chop up the money later.”

  “But I don’t look nothing like Rock,” T-Bird protested. “The cage manager’s gonna notice and sound the alarm.”

  “No, he won’t. According to a blackjack dealer named Jazzy I spoke with, the Saturday employees are starting their workweek. Since this is Rock’s first visit to the hotel, it’s a lock the Saturday employees have never seen him. They don’t know who Rock is.”

  “So how’s the cage manager going to know?” T-Bird asked.

  “He’ll have to take Ike’s word for it,” Billy said.

  “So I gotta be convincing when I call the cage,” Ike said.

  “That’s right. You have to sell the cage manager that T-Bird is Rock.”

  “I can do that,” Ike said.

  T-Bird didn’t look comfortable with the explanation.

  “If it makes you feel better, I’ll have my girls put you in disguise,” he said. “They can shave your head and tie a pillow around your belly. By the time they’re done with you, you’ll pass as Rock’s twin brother.”

  The bird man mulled it over. “Well, all right. Sure hate losing my dreads.”

  “So grow them back. One more thing. Two members of my crew will be stationed by the cage. If an employee happens by, they’ll turn him. Any questions?”

  “I’m good,” T-Bird said.

  “What about the Gypsies?” Ike said.

  “What about them?”

  “You know how Doucette is about cheaters. You gonna let him kill them?”

  “Why do you care what happens to the Gypsies?”

  “I don’t care. I just wondered if you were gonna let him.”

  He’d been avoiding the question for days, believing that when the time came, he’d come up with a clever way to save the Gypsies from getting their brains bashed in. The time was now, and he balled up his napkin and tossed it onto his plate.

  “Let me think about it,” he said, and went outside to the balcony.

  He hung on the railing, racking his brains. How was he going to stop the Gypsies from getting hurt without getting himself hurt in the process? No good solution came to mind.

  The Strip was jumping: tourists, peddlers, hookers, and plenty of nut jobs. He was looking at one right now, standing in the crosswalk of Sahara wearing bright blue underwear and a Superman cape with a screaming gold S stitched crookedly on the back. Nutso flapped his arms, as if preparing for liftoff. Traffic ground to a halt. Horns blared.

  A swarm of uniformed cops appeared in the crosswalk. The cops pinned the would-be Man of Steel’s skinny arms behind his back, slapped on the cuffs, did a thorough frisk, and led their man to a cruiser parked by the curb, where they shoved him into the back. The cruiser sped away with ruby-sapphire lights flashing, the crown jewels of trouble.

  As busts went, it was as pretty as a ballet. Vegas had one of the largest forces of street cops in the world, over two thousand strong. The largest concentration was deployed around the convention center and the Strip, where the tourists were. Using bike patrols, motorcycle units, and cruisers, they did a good job of keeping things safe. Dozens of cops were right outside Galaxy’s front doors every day. Just a simple call to 911 and they’d appear.

  That was it. He’d call the cops and tell the operator a psycho was inside Galaxy’s casino, shooting up the place. The cops would appear and save the Gypsies from getting hurt. If the Gypsies handled themselves right, they might even be able to sue Galaxy for damages.

  It was all good, but it wasn’t good enough. By ratting out the Gypsies, he was breaking the code never to hurt another cheat. That required making things right with them. Perhaps he’d hear about a casino with a flawed security system and pass the information to them. Or, he’d let them know where Ricky was buried so they could retrieve the body and give the kid a proper
send-off. Whatever he did, it needed to be significant enough to erase the harm he’d caused. He went back inside. Ike and T-Bird were still sucking down coffee.

  “That was fast,” Ike said.

  “Compared to you, anything’s fast,” T-Bird said.

  “Shut up,” Ike said.

  The sound of the door being unlocked snapped their heads. Even to a casual observer, the unusual layout on the table would arouse suspicion and lead to questions Billy did not wish to answer. With a sweep of his arm, he sent the salt and pepper shakers, sugar bowl, and flower vase to the floor, where he swept them under the couch with his foot. Evidence gone.

  Shaz entered wearing a white pantsuit and a string of white pearls. To keep the color theme correct, her eyes were dilating, and she appeared to be riding the white pony.

  “Reverend Rock requests the presence of your company,” she said, making it sound like a death sentence. “Get moving.”

  FIFTY-TWO

  As Billy followed Shaz to the pool area, a group of bikini-clad young things strolled past. Weekends were his favorite time in Vegas. On Friday nights, cars with California plates pulled into the hotels, and throngs of girls climbed out clutching overnight bags and pillows. These girls often stayed five to a room, sleeping on floors and sharing food they brought from home. The casinos were cool with it because they drew men the way honey draws bears.

  Shaz pulled out her cell phone and stopped by the pool. It was a replica of the magnificent pool at the Beverly Hills Hotel, with pink cabanas and striped lounge chairs.

  “I’ve got Cunningham with me—where are you?” she said into her phone. “You’re having lunch? We’ll be right in.” She turned to him. “Rock has some business to discuss with you.”

  “What kind of business?” he asked.

  “Our business.”

  The café had a checkerboard tile floor and metal tables and catered to the pool crowd. A hostess escorted them to a doorway with a velvet rope stretched across it. The rope came down, and the hostess led them into a second dining room, where Rock sat at a corner table, eating lunch. The drug kingpin wore ridiculously small bathing trunks and could have passed as a chocolate Buddha. His bodyguards wore bikini bottoms and T-shirts with long sleeves to hide the knives they kept strapped to their forearms.