Super Con

by James Swain

  “Then let’s start working on this right now. Broken Tooth seems to think that if we can rig the coin toss, the rest will be a walk in the park. Gabe, is that possible?”

  “I don’t see why not,” Gabe said. “I’ve rigged slot machines to pay off jackpots. Gaffing a coin to fall a certain way shouldn’t be any harder. What about the referee who tosses the coin at the start of the game? He’ll have to be involved.”

  “That will be Cory and Morris’s job,” he said. “Find out who the ref is and see if he can be bribed into helping us. You need to get on this right now. I’m supposed to give Broken Tooth an update tomorrow. If he doesn’t think we can pull this off, Leon’s a dead man.”

  Gabe nodded. Cory and Morris did as well. Leon’s life was on the line, and they needed to come up with a plan that would sound good enough to keep things moving forward.

  “Now I need to ask all of you a question,” he said. “How did this fucking guy find us? He knew we were on Fremont Street and where the limo was parked. And he has my cell number. He didn’t find that information on the Internet. Someone gave it to him.”

  He studied his crew’s faces before speaking again. “Who did it?”

  “I didn’t tell anybody where we were tonight,” Pepper said.

  “Me neither,” Misty said.

  “Same here,” Gabe said.

  “Neither did I,” Morris said.

  All eyes fell on Cory. Cory was dating Gabe’s oldest daughter, and they were hot and heavy in love. It was a sore point, and Billy wanted the relationship to end.

  “How about you, Don Juan? Did you tell Alexis where you were going tonight?”

  “I told her Morris and I were going to see a movie,” Cory said.

  “That’s all? No mention of Fremont Street?”

  “No sir.”

  The foyer grew silent. Billy could remember every casino scam he’d ever pulled right down to the threads he’d been wearing, and he played back the night’s events that had led up to their confrontation with Broken Tooth in the covered parking garage. The Chinese gangster had known exactly where to find them, which meant they’d been set up.

  He kicked the front door with all his might. It sent a searing pain through his big toe, and white-hot flashbulbs exploded in front of his eyes. He hobbled on one foot, not knowing which hurt more, his toe or the betrayal. A stream of profanity escaped his lips.

  His crew had figured it out as well. No one spoke for fear of further angering him. He didn’t get like this very often, but when he did, his crew knew to stay out of his way.

  “Do you still have your gun?” he asked Pepper when the pain had subsided.

  “What do you want a gun for, Billy?”

  “Just answer the question.”

  “Yeah, it’s in my night table.”

  “Go get it. And make sure it’s loaded.”

  Pepper went and got her gun. It was a Springfield XD 9mm, just small enough for Billy to slip into his pants pocket. He looked at the others before going out the front door. They understood the gravity of what had happened and knew that he had no other choice.

  Except Pepper. She wasn’t catching on, or if she was, she wasn’t able to process it, and she followed him outside. The darkness made the conversation easy.

  “Where are you going?” Pepper said.

  “To have a talk with Travis.”

  “Why do you need my gun?”

  “Because Travis fucked us tonight. That’s why he left the Golden Gate early.”

  Pepper brought her hand to her mouth. “Why would he do that? We’re his friends.”

  “He made a crack to me earlier about needing money. He must be broke.”

  “That’s crazy. We would have lent it to him.”

  “What’s done is done. I’ll catch up with you later.”

  The limo was parked in the driveway. Billy got in and started the engine. The headlights found Pepper on the lawn looking like she might be sick. She’d had a fling with Travis a while back and was still soft on him. He lowered the driver’s window and stuck out his head.

  “Go inside and fix yourself a drink,” he said.

  SEVEN

  Travis, his wife, Karen, and his two stepsons lived in a gated community in the southern foothills of nearby Henderson. A thousand-plus homes meandered along the top of the McCullough mountain range that overlooked the neon city. There was a guardhouse with security cameras that weren’t for show. When Billy was a few miles away, he called Travis. It was past midnight, and the big man’s cell phone rang several times before he answered.

  “Hey Billy, what’s up?”

  “Sorry for the late call, but we need to talk. There was a problem tonight after you left.”

  “Don’t tell me—”

  “Not over the phone. Meet me at Remedy’s and I’ll give you the gory details.”

  “Let me throw on some clothes. I’ll be there in twenty.”

  “I’ll be at the bar. You still drinking that queer beer?”

  “It’s called Mich Ultra. I’m trying to shed some pounds.”

  “I’ll be sure to order you one.”

  Remedy’s Tavern was located at the base of Seven Hills on the St. Rose Parkway. A popular watering hole was a license to steal money in a town that never slept, and the place was always jumping. He parked behind the building beneath a yellow security light, took Pepper’s handgun off the passenger seat, and got out. From the bar came loud music and peals of laughter. Standing directly beneath the security light, he fired a single shot. The bulb exploded, and the area behind the tavern was thrown into darkness. He waited to see if anyone came out of the bar to check out the noise. When no one did, he got back in the limo.

  His mirror had a clean view of the street, allowing him to see cars come and go. The envelope Broken Tooth had given him lay on the passenger seat, and he dumped out the contents and had a look. There were photographs of several football players with the Las Vegas Rebels, along with a handful of newspaper articles about the team. The Rebels were a true Cinderella team: to a group of aging, established stars snagged in the league’s expansion draft, management had added several talented players from the college draft and free agents who overperformed. The chemistry had worked, and they were now headed to the Super Bowl.

  He tried to read the articles but had to stop. He was so damn angry with Travis that he couldn’t concentrate, and he slid the articles back into the envelope for another time. He had first discovered Travis switching dice at a joint called Palace Station. The big man’s technique was caveman crude, yet he still managed to get the money. Travis knew when to move, and that was more important than perfect sleight of hand. A familiar white Suburban pulled in. The parking spots in front were taken, and the Suburban drove around back and parked two spots away.

  He got out holding the gun at his side. The smell of gunpowder hung in the air, and he wondered if Travis would notice and take off running. Travis also got out and spotted him.

  “Hey, Billy, is that you? I thought we were meeting inside.”

  “Change in plans.” Billy started walking toward the Suburban. He raised his arm and took aim. At this short distance, it would be impossible to miss. Travis’s legs buckled.

  “Why are you aiming that thing at me? What did I do?”

  “You set us up tonight, you fucking piece of shit.”

  “Come on, Billy. You know me better than that.”

  “You’re denying it? Then why the crack about needing money? Like I haven’t paid you a king’s ransom? New house, new cars, and this is how you repay me.”

  “I didn’t set you up. For the love of Christ, I’d put my life on the line for you, man.”

  “Are you saying you’re not in trouble?”

  “I am in trouble, but that doesn’t mean I set you up. The two things don’t go together.”

  “Is that a fact.”

  “On my father’s grave, I’m telling you the truth.”

  Travis wasn’t backing down. Eith
er he was being straight or plotting his final stand. Until now, Travis had been loyal, and Billy decided to give him a chance to explain himself.

  “Get in the driver’s side of the limo and strap yourself in. Then put your hands on the wheel and leave them there.”

  Travis did as told. Billy went around to the passenger side and also got in. He flipped the key in the ignition, causing the dashboard to light up and cast shadows onto their faces. He rested the gun in his lap with its barrel pointed at the big man’s stomach.

  “Explain yourself,” he said.

  “My wife has a baby sister named Jackie,” Travis said, his voice trembling. “Jackie’s lowlife husband bolted and left her with three kids to raise, so Jackie started embezzling money from the credit union where she works as a bookkeeper.”

  “How much did she steal?”

  “Four hundred big ones.”

  “That’s a lot of money. You sure she isn’t snorting blow?”

  “One of her kids is special needs. It eats up a lot of cash. The credit union was getting audited, and Jackie called my wife screaming she was going to jail, so in a moment of weakness, I wired her the money. It cleaned me out.”

  “Is that why you sold us out tonight?” Billy asked.

  Travis jerked his head. “What are you talking about?”

  “A Chinese gangster named Broken Tooth paid us a visit. He knew where to find us, and he has my cell phone number. You gave him that information.”

  “It could have been one of the others.”

  “Fat chance. They were with me.”

  “So?”

  “Broken Tooth’s men threatened to shoot us if we didn’t play ball. They also kidnapped Leon and are holding him for safekeeping.” He was tired of talking and shoved the gun’s barrel into the soft part of Travis’s belly. The worst way to die was by gut shot. As endings went, it was excruciatingly painful and made the victim needlessly suffer.

  “They had guns?”

  “That’s right. You sound surprised.”

  Travis rested his forehead against the steering wheel and shut his eyes.

  “Spit it out,” he said.

  “Broken Tooth called me last week right after the Rebels won their divisional game, and he asked me to meet him. I asked him how he got my number, and he said Tommy Wang took our cell numbers off Pepper’s cell phone and gave them to him.”

  “So you didn’t give him my number.”

  Travis lifted his head and opened his eyes. “No sir.”

  “Good. Keep talking.”

  “We met and had drinks. Broken Tooth acted cool, and he was sharp. He said that members of the Rebels’ defense were dirty, and that if they went to the Super Bowl, he was sure they could be bribed into fixing the game. You told me that other hustlers approach you with scams all the time. I didn’t see this being any different.”

  “How much did he pay you to tell him where to find us?”

  “Ten grand. I needed it to cover my bills.”

  “You could have called me.”

  “Karen said the same thing—call Billy, he’ll bail you out. I was afraid you’d think I was a liability and can me.”

  “Like this was a better move?”

  “I’m sorry, Billy, I really am. Broken Tooth wants you to approach the Rebels players and fix the game. If anyone in this town could pull it off, it’s you.”

  “You think I could fix the Super Bowl and get away with it?”

  “Yeah. And make a killing in the process.”

  Travis wasn’t being straight with him. Travis might be flat broke, but the rest of the crew wasn’t, and one of the others would have lent him the money. Something else was going on here, and Billy wondered if the big man was holding a grudge and his meeting with Broken Tooth was payback. Billy didn’t know what the grudge was about and imagined he’d said something out of line and bruised Travis’s ego. Over time, it had festered and led to this act of betrayal.

  It was enough of a reason to shoot Travis and dump his body out in the desert for the vultures to pick apart. But he wasn’t going to do that. Travis was the first person he’d ever recruited for his crew, and they had a long, profitable history together. He wanted to believe that they were friends, and this was nothing more than a dumb mistake.

  As a kid, Billy had found a stray dog that he’d brought home with him. He’d loved the dog and let it sleep at the foot of his bed. One day, out of the blue, the mutt had chomped on his hand. His old man had tried to take the dog to the pound, but Billy had thrown a tantrum, and his father had caved and let the dog stay. Billy had worked with the dog, and it had never bit him again. Travis was like that dog. With training, the big man could be brought around.

  But not tonight. Business came first, and he wanted to hear more about these dirty football players. If they’d fixed games before, then there was a possibility they could be talked into fixing the Super Bowl. He withdrew the gun and opened the passenger door.

  “I’m sorry, Billy. I’ll make it up to you,” Travis said.

  “You can start by buying me a drink,” he said.

  EIGHT

  The party inside Remedy’s was going strong. The place had no real personality, just a collection of pool tables and a lounge with a phony gas-lit fireplace, but that didn’t stop people from having a good time. Billy grabbed a corner table and flagged a waitress. Soon they were drinking Captain Morgan and Coke and acting like nothing had happened between them.

  “How much did Broken Tooth tell you about these players?” Travis asked.

  “Not much,” he replied. “He gave me an envelope with photographs of guys who play for the Rebels along with newspaper articles about them. Judging by the photos, they look like a bunch of rich jocks. I can’t see them fixing the big game.”

  “But you don’t know their history.”

  “They’re already rich. What’s their motivation?”

  “These guys are hustlers. It’s what they do. Do you follow the NFL?”

  “Not since I left New England.”

  “Patriots fan?”

  “My old man was a diehard. I lost interest when I moved out here.”

  “Did you ever consider fixing a football game?” Travis asked.

  “Plenty of times. Football has more money bet on it than any other sport in the country. If a hustler can fix a game, he can pocket millions without drawing heat because there are legitimate gamblers doing it every week.”

  “Why didn’t you?”

  “Because I don’t like cops breathing down my neck. The NFL has a special division called league security that’s always watching the players. We’re talking ex-FBI and ex–Secret Service agents here. These guys are paid to stop guys like us from shitting in the punch bowl.”

  Their waitress hovered nearby. Billy raised two fingers, indicating it was time for another round. Travis stared into the fake fireplace, working on his next lines. Billy sensed that he was trying to make things right and wasn’t taking their friendship for granted.

  Their drinks came. Travis knocked his back to get up his courage. Then he spoke.

  “The Rebels played an exhibition game against the Dolphins in Shanghai last August. It was a meaningless game, but there was still a betting line. With two minutes left on the clock, the Dolphins scored two touchdowns. The Dolphins still lost, but they beat the point spread. The bookies got clobbered.”

  “The game was fixed?”

  “Yup. Broken Tooth told me that a group of gamblers persuaded members of the Rebels’ defense to massage the score, which they did by easing up on the Dolphins’ receivers and not pressuring the quarterback.”

  It was an interesting angle. NFL quarterbacks could throw a ball into a receiver’s hands with near 100 percent accuracy. He’d seen Tom Brady do this enough times to know it was true. The only thing that could stop a quarterback was the defense knocking his receivers off their routes and pressuring him into hurrying his passes.

  “And Broken Tooth wants me to approach thes
e same players on the Rebels’ defense to fix the Super Bowl,” he said.

  “That’s right. They’ve done it before, and they’ll do it again.”

  Billy leaned forward in his chair. “Fixing a game in the preseason isn’t the same as fixing the Super Bowl. The Rebels fought to get here. These guys on defense won’t do it again.”

  “Broken Tooth said that the leader of the Rebels’ defense is as crooked as a dog’s hind leg. Broken Tooth said this guy has been pulling shit since college and getting away with it.”

  “What kind of shit?”

  “Shaving points on games.”

  Conspiring with an athlete with a history of fixing games was the bread and butter of many professional gamblers. But he still wasn’t sold on the idea. The Super Bowl was played on the world’s biggest stage, and anything suspicious would be analyzed to death and eventually figured out. Everything would hinge on how well the dirty players pulled off the fix. If they made it look obvious, everyone involved would go to jail.

  “Does this player have a name?” he asked.

  “Clovis McClain. Everyone calls him Night Train.”

  “That’s the underwear guy.”

  “That’s right. Night Train has more endorsements than any player in the NFL. Cars, watches, his own clothing line, he even has a Saturday morning cartoon show. He’s a regular money machine.”

  “This isn’t adding up. If word got out that Night Train was dishonest, it would ruin his career.”

  “It hasn’t ruined him so far. This guy’s a hustler. I went online and read up on him. An article said his coaches in college warned the new players not to gamble with Night Train during team trips. A coach called him a card shark.”

  Cheaters were not born, they were made. If Night Train had been cheating in college, it meant that he’d learned the ropes growing up, possibly from his father or an older brother, and been turned out when he was old enough to fend for himself. Stealing was in his blood, and Night Train was going to keep on doing it until he got caught. The fix was sounding a lot better than a few minutes ago, and Billy’s interest was piqued.

  “What’s our take?” he asked.