by James Swain
A tired smile formed at the corners of his mouth. He’d wanted to strangle her a few days ago, but those feelings had faded away. She’d stepped up to the plate when it counted, and shown her true colors. And when she’d gotten sprung out of jail, she’d run straight to him.
His smile grew. He realized that it had all been worth it—the beatings, getting thrown in jail, the whole nine yards. He’d do it again if it meant Maggie Flynn would be waiting for him when it was all over. If that wasn’t a definition of a fool in love, he didn’t know what was.
“Hey.”
Her eyes snapped open. She stood up slowly, uncertain of where they stood.
“I never thought you’d come,” she said.
“I was tying up some loose ends. How’d you find me?”
“I asked your lawyer after he bailed me out of jail. He said a friend of yours was holed up here, that you might come by.”
“My friend split.”
“So I heard. God, do you smell rank. You need a good bath.”
It sounded like an invitation. He didn’t know what to say, and just stared.
“I rented a room. Want to see it?”
They showered together, soaping down each other’s bodies beneath the steaming spray. His body was tense and it took a while before he relaxed. He’d been in some tight spots, but nothing like what he’d just gone through. For the next few hours he was going to pretend that it had never happened and that the brutal memories banging around in his head weren’t real.
They toweled each other off. She led him into the bedroom while holding his prick. She was in control, and he was more than willing to be her slave. She told him to lose the bedspread, and he whisked it away like a nightclub magician and threw it on the floor.
She clicked her fingers and pointed at the bed. He lay down obediently, and she mounted him. He had imagined this moment so many times that he didn’t think it would live up to his expectations. Dreams rarely did.
He was wrong. Being inside her was heaven, and the room started to move as if they were having an earthquake. Shutting his eyes, he thought about the lengths they’d traveled to reach this cheap motel room. The odds of them connecting had to be a trillion-to-one. If that wasn’t fate, he didn’t know what was.
Done, he took several exhilarating breaths.
“Want to do it again?” she asked.
Early the next morning, his Droid started making rude noises. Caller ID said it was Cory, king of the fuckups. Mags was out like a light, and he slid out of bed and took the call in the john.
“What do you want?”
“Hey, Billy, me and Morris just wanted to say hi, see how things are going,” Cory said. Everything’s cool here. No gaming board at the doorstep, ha-ha.”
“Hi, Billy,” came Morris’s voice in the background.
“What do you want?”
“We’ve been working on this cool scam with a hotel concierge,” Cory said. “We need someone with experience to make the play, so we called you. We won’t let you down this time, and that’s a promise from both of us.”
Scams involving a hotel’s concierge were the bread and butter of many hustlers’ existence. The suckers were usually rich suckers with supersized egos and zero common sense. They took their beatings in stride, and their checks never bounced. He realized he wanted to hear what Cory and Morris had cooked up.
“Lay it on me.”
“You want to hear the scam? Really?”
“Yeah, and it’s the only reason. Start talking.”
“Okay. You’re going to love this. This software king from Silicon Valley flies into Vegas each month to host a private poker game at the Palms. Fifty-thousand-dollar buy-in, winner take all. The sucker brings five of his buddies with him and has the hotel concierge invite a local player to round out the field. Now, here’s the good part. The sucker’s afraid of getting cheated, so he buys the cards for the game from the hotel gift shop. Morris bribed the manager of the gift shop, and we stacked the shelves with a hundred decks of marked cards. The sucker will be bringing marked cards to his own game, and he won’t even know it.”
“What marking system did you use?”
“We juiced them. Just throw your eyes out of focus, and the marks pop out.”
“Juiced them how?”
“We used aniline dye mixed with pure grain alcohol and applied it to the borders with an airbrush. We cut glycerin into the mix to help bring back the shine after the dye was applied to the card. It was a lot of work, but the payoff will be huge.”
“Were you smoking dope when you did it?”
“No way, we’re off the dope. We learned our lesson.”
“You still haven’t explained the play.”
“Morris is buddies with the concierge at the Palms,” Cory said, his voice growing excited. “The concierge will front for you and get you into the game. You know the rest. We’ll go fifty-fifty with you, after we pay off the concierge. The sucker is flying in Tuesday night. So what do you say? Are you in?”
Marking cards was an art and a science. If the marks were too strong, they could be seen under a bright light, exposing the scam to everyone at the table. Knowing Cory and Morris, they probably hadn’t let all of the marked decks dry properly, and a couple decks in the Palms gift shop had too much dye on them. If by chance the Silicon Valley sucker purchased a bad deck and spotted the not-so-invisible marks, he and his pals would put two and two together and know that the stranger in the game was at fault and throw Billy off the balcony.
“You must be out of your fucking mind,” he said.
“Why? What did we do wrong?” Cory choked on the words.
“Figure it out for yourselves.”
He ended the call and slipped back into bed. The sheets were still warm, and he snuggled up next to Mags and heard her murmur.
“Who was that?” she asked.
“No one important,” he said.
SIXTY-SIX
They ate a late breakfast in the hotel coffee shop and decided it might be a good idea if they both left town for a while.
“Where do you have in mind?” he asked.
“LA. I’ve always wanted to visit there,” Mags said.
“You’ve never been to LA? It’s my favorite town next to this one.”
“Where should we stay?”
“Venice. The beach scene is really cool.”
They used his Droid to find a boutique hotel in Venice called the Erwin. Mags dug the decor, and he booked a partial ocean view that set him back six hundred bucks. Normally, he’d never spend that much, but Mags had given him what he wanted, and he felt whole again.
His Droid was making noises again. He checked it in the parking lot. His attorney had sent him a text. Desert Springs Medical Center, ICU, #224. He had one last unfinished piece of business to attend to, and he took Koval north until he reached East Flamingo and hung a right.
“This isn’t the way to the freeway,” Mags said.
“I need to see a sick friend of mine,” he said.
“I thought you were taking me to Venice to fuck my brains out.”
He stared at the road. She was trying to control him, show him who was boss. He guessed it was to be expected. “I’ll make it up to you. Promise.”
“You’d better,” she said.
The hospital appeared in the windshield, and he flipped on his indicator.
Desert Springs Hospital Medical Center was known for its trauma unit. Entering through the sliding glass doors, he detoured at the gift shop and bought a basket filled with purple carnations and white daisy pompons before taking the elevator to the ICU unit on the second floor.
Room 224 was at the end of a hallway and was distinguished by a large gathering of visitors outside its door. It was the Gypsy wedding party, now attired in street clothes.
Seeing Bill
y approach, one of the clan broke free and came forward. It was the best man who’d asked Billy to take the group’s picture. The best man was in his late twenties with fierce eyes and had the take-charge attitude of being next in line to inherit the throne.
“Excuse me,” he said, “but I think you have the wrong room.”
“I was there yesterday. I came by to see how he was doing,” Billy said.
The best man grew flustered. “You’re the guy who stopped to help. You saved my father’s life. The doctors said he would have bled to death if not for you.”
“I’m glad he pulled through. You mind if I say hello?”
“He’s resting right now. I’ll be sure to tell him you asked about him.”
The best man tried to take the get-well basket from Billy’s hands. Billy kept his grip on the handle. The best man’s eyes narrowed, his radar now on full alert.
“I need to speak to your father,” Billy said.
“I just told you—”
“I think he wants to talk to me. Tell him that I’m here.”
“What is this about? Who are you?”
“Just tell him I’m here. I’ll be at the nurse’s station.”
In hindsight, Billy knew he should never have asked dear old Papa where he’d stashed the earth magnet. The old guy had probably spent the night sweating through his hospital sheets, convinced Billy was going to turn his family over to the gaming board. Nothing could have been further from the truth, but how was dear old Papa to know that?
The truth be known, Billy admired the old guy for making such a gutsy play. Certain makes of slot machines had a flaw buried within their design. Many cheaters knew about this flaw but hadn’t found a way to exploit it. The old guy had found a way, and gone and done it.
Every slot machine had a memory chip called an EPROM, which generated millions of numbers per second, making each play truly random. EPROM chips of inferior design could be scammed using a DEPROM software program, which added a lengthy code to the EPROM chip that tricked the machine into paying a jackpot. The additional code contained the usual rows of ones, zeros, and letters and appeared normal when inspected.
The hard part was adding the code to the machine. While hiding behind the bride’s gown, Papa had silenced the Money Vault machine’s internal antitheft alarm with the earth magnet, then opened the machine with a skeleton key. Using a handheld computer loaded with the DEPROM program, he’d added the code to the EPROM chip and rigged the machine.
The jackpot would be stolen later by a claimer. Claimers were female, often a schoolteacher or dental hygienist with a squeaky-clean background. The claimer would play the Money Vault machine using a specific sequence of coins. This sequence would trigger the additional code to assign a line of jackpot symbols to the game, and pay a jackpot.
The claimer’s cut was 5 percent. Not a bad payday for an hour’s work.
And I was there to see it, Billy thought.
The best man approached the nurse’s station and motioned with his hand. Billy followed him down the hall. The gathering at the door parted, all eyes on the stranger. The room was a single. Papa sat upright in bed with a pillow behind his head, surfing the hospital’s measly choice of cable channels. For an old codger he was plenty vain, his face freshly shaven and his hair neatly parted. Two of his daughters were also in the room. He spoke under his breath, and they departed.
“You, too,” Papa said.
“I need to stay with you, Pop,” his son said.
“This man is our friend. I’ll be fine.”
“How do you know he’s our friend?”
“Listen to what I say to you, and no back talk. Do you understand?”
“Yes, Pop. I’ll be out in the hall if you need me.”
“I’m not going to need you. Scram.”
The best man reluctantly left the room. Papa pointed at the chairs. Billy sat, thrilled at the idea of spending time alone with him. The TV hanging over the bed went dark.
“You’re a cheater, aren’t you?” the older man said.
“Guilty as charged,” he said.
“When you made the crack about the earth magnet, I figured it was just a matter of time before the gaming board arrested me. When they didn’t come, I knew otherwise. What’s your name?”
“Billy Cunningham.”
“Mine’s Victor. Nice to meet you, Billy.”
“Same here. I’ve heard about your family for years. I didn’t think we’d meet while I was doing a job, but I guess that stuff happens sometimes.”
“You were ripping them off, too? That’s funny. So what can I do for you?”
“I wanted to warn you. The gaming board is after me, and they’re going to be scrutinizing the casino’s surveillance tapes for the next several weeks. They might get suspicious if you win that jackpot too soon, if you know what I mean.”
“You think I should wait awhile before I send in the claimer?”
“I would.”
“How long?”
“A couple of months, just to be on the safe side.”
“You’re a stand-up guy for coming here to tell me. Let’s have a drink.”
Victor produced a worn silver flask from beneath the sheets. Billy went to the bathroom and grabbed two paper cups into which Victor poured a liberal amount of whiskey. They saluted each other’s health and knocked back the drinks. Billy winced. It was like licking a nine-volt battery.
“So tell me, how’d you know we pulled a slot scam?” Victor asked. “Don’t tell me one of my kids screwed up. It’s always something with them.”
“I actually figured it out on my own,” he said.
“No kidding. You must be a smart son of a bitch.”
“Sometimes.” He paused. “Do your kids screw up a lot?”
“All the time. I train them the best I can, but they never get things right. On top of that, they’re always bickering with each other, causing me grief. Sometimes I think I’m running a babysitting service. It’s all I can do not to wring their necks.”
His problems sounded no different than those Billy had experienced with his crew, which he found surprising. Victor had been cheating casinos a lot longer than Billy had.
“Have you ever gotten rid of one of them?” he asked.
Victor blinked, not understanding.
“One of your kids.”
“Have I ever gotten rid of one of my kids?”
“For screwing up a job.”
“Of course not.”
“Why not? If they’re causing problems, isn’t that the smart thing to do?”
“Trust me, I’ve thought about replacing my kids with outsiders plenty of times. It would make dealing with day-to-day problems a hell of a lot easier. But at the end of the day, one thing always stopped me.”
“What’s that?”
“You can’t buy loyalty.”
The words cut straight to the heart. Billy took the flask out of Victor’s hand and poured himself another drink. It didn’t burn nearly as badly the second time around.
“I know it’s none of my business, but what were you doing?” the head of the Gypsies asked. “Blackjack, craps? Or was it something else?”
“We made a run at the cage.”
“Wow. That hasn’t been done in a long time. Did you pull it off?”
“Yes, sir.”
“You must have some crew. You got a cell phone?”
“Sure.”
“I’ll give you my number. Next time you’re in Sacramento, give me a call. I’d like to get together with you, hash around some ideas. I’ve got some scams that require two crews working in tandem. I haven’t tried them because I don’t trust nobody. But you’re different. I could work with you. And from the sounds of it, your crew isn’t bad, either.”
He would have crawled on his belly throug
h cracked glass to spend an hour with Victor Boswell, just to hear the stories. Taking out his Droid, he hit the icon where his contact information was stored. His hand was shaking, and he hoped Victor didn’t notice.
“Ready when you are,” he said.
SIXTY-SEVEN
The sun was doing a slow Hollywood fade when Billy and Mags arrived at Hotel Erwin. It was a funky spot, with wall-sized graffiti in the valet area and colorful surfboards in the lobby. They went to the rooftop lounge, where they enjoyed a glass of champagne while listening to a DJ.
“You sure know how to treat a girl right,” Mags said.
“I told you I’d make it up to you, didn’t I? Want more champagne?”
“Actually, I had something else in mind.”
Their suite had a spectacular ocean view and a firm king bed. When they were done, he called room service and ordered one of everything off the limited menu. She dug that and rested her head against his chest. It felt perfect, and he wondered if he was dreaming.
“So when do I start?” she asked.
The question knocked him sideways.
“With my crew?” he asked, just to be sure.
“Yeah. That was our deal, and I’m holding you to it.”
“You’d go back into the casinos, after what happened?”
“You think I’m scared of the gaming board? Screw ’em.”
It was crazy talk, and he wondered if it was the booze. The gaming board was going to make sure Mags never cheated another casino. Her face and characteristics would be sent to every gambling establishment from here to Atlantic City, and they’d spot her before she placed her first bet. Her grifting days were finished.
“You’re sure about this?” he asked.
“Damn straight.” She lifted her head and looked him in the eye. “So what’s my role?”
“I haven’t thought that far ahead.”
“So start thinking.” She hopped out of bed and went to the minibar. “Like a scotch?”
“Sure. Straight up.”