Super Con

by James Swain

  “Free newspaper. Who wants a free newspaper?”

  At the block’s end he stole a glance over his shoulder. The gaming agents were at the newspaper box, searching for their man. Grimes was on his cell phone and looked livid. Grimes was many things; stupid wasn’t one of them. Thieves did not disappear without a trace, and Grimes knew the wool had been pulled over his eyes. But would he figure out that it was Maggie Flynn who’d betrayed him?

  Yes, he realized, Grimes probably would.

  Mags stood at the window in her suite in LINQ and stared down at the scene on the Strip. She’d watched a man run into the busy street and jump into a black SUV and the vehicle burn out. The guy could have been anyone; only her gut told her it was the same cheat she’d seen in LINQ’s surveillance room ten minutes ago. Her text to Billy had saved the guy’s neck.

  She buried her face in her hands. She should have felt elated, yet all she wanted to do was slip into bed and pull the covers over her head. She wasn’t a grifter anymore, she was an actress, and if she didn’t start behaving like one, her new career would go off the rails faster than a runaway freight train.

  She mixed herself a drink. Raising the glass to her lips, she heard a knock on her door. She stuck her eye to the peephole and spied Rand in the hallway.

  “What’s up?” she asked, letting him in.

  “Can you believe we actually got to see a real live cheat ripping off a casino?” Rand said. “Amazing. Do you think the gaming board caught that guy?”

  Mags parked herself on the couch and worked on her drink. “Who knows.”

  “Grimes said they were going to put the heavy on him. What does that mean?”

  “If they got the chance, they’d knock the guy to the ground and pile up on him.”

  “Why would they do that?”

  “Because it hurts.”

  Rand got a light beer from the bar. He did his best thinking when he had a prop in his hand. “That maneuver the guy was doing with his chips. What’s it called again?”

  “Capping. The cheat adds a chip to his bet if his hand’s strong. The opposite is pinching. That’s when the cheat steals a chip if the hand’s a loser. The ultimate is the Savannah, when you switch the entire bet under the dealer’s nose.”

  “How does that work?”

  “The Savannah employs reverse psychology. The cheat bets two five-dollar chips with a five-thousand-dollar chip hidden on the bottom. If the cheat wins the bet, the house has to pay the cheat off. If the cheat loses the bet, he switches the bet for three five-dollar chips.”

  “Is that possible?”

  “Yeah, with the right distraction.”

  “Wouldn’t the dealer notice?”

  “That’s where the reverse psychology comes in. The dealer is trained to watch winning bets, not losers. The switch flies right by. It’s a perfect move.”

  “I want to work that into the pilot.”

  “When?”

  “First thing tomorrow.”

  “My daughter’s flying in tonight. Can’t this wait a few days?”

  “It won’t take thirty minutes. The Savannah. I love it. Get some sleep. You’re looking a little rough around the edges.”

  “I didn’t say yes,” Mags reminded him.

  Rand smiled like it was a done deal and left the suite. Mags hated when men played her. She poured herself a refill. There was another knock on her door. Through the peephole, she spied Billy in the hallway wearing a Vietnam vet cap. She pulled the door open without undoing the chain. “I don’t want to see you anymore. Go away.”

  Billy’s face caved. “Then why the text?”

  “I did it for old time’s sake. We’re done, Billy. You have to accept that.”

  “But we could make a killing together.”

  “You’re probably right. I just don’t want to be a thief anymore.”

  “You sure don’t act like it.”

  She tried to slam the door in Billy’s face, but his foot kept it open.

  “There’s a reason I came,” he said. “Grimes is going to figure out that you stuck a knife in his back. You need to be ready for him.”

  “I can handle Grimes. You need to leave, Billy. But before you do that, you need to promise me something. I want you to leave me alone. No more unexpected calls. I have enough drama in my life.”

  He looked hurt. Mags hated treating him this way but didn’t see that she had any other choice.

  “I’ll leave you alone, but I want something in return,” he said.

  “Go ahead.”

  “The Gypsies have never been busted. How did Grimes make my friend this afternoon?”

  “I thought you’d never ask. Stay right there.” Mags got her purse and removed the photo of the Gypsies having breakfast with the claimer that she’d swiped off Blake’s desk, which she passed through the door to him. “The woman with the white hair is a claimer who your friends used to steal a jackpot from Galaxy. Grimes made the connection and has distributed the photo to every surveillance department in town. The Gypsies are screwed. You can keep the photo.”

  He slipped the photo into his breast pocket. “What else does Grimes know?”

  “Grimes knows that they’re the Gypsies and that they’ve been ripping off joints for a long time. Grimes is trying to get his boss’s job, and he thinks that busting them will be his ticket to the big time. He’s determined to arrest your friends and put them away.”

  “We’ll see about that.”

  “You think you can save them?”

  “I’m sure going to try.” He stepped away from the door and gave her a smile that would have melted most women’s hearts. “Thanks for the save.”

  He was making the parting easy. Mags appreciated that, and she said a tender good-bye and shut the door. A bad feeling made her pull it open and stick her head into the hallway.

  “Hey! What about our deal?”

  Now at the elevators, he turned to look at her. “What deal?”

  “You promised to leave me alone. I want to hear you say it, Billy.”

  The elevator doors parted. He got in without answering her.

  “You dirty little shit!” she yelled after him.

  TWENTY-FOUR

  Billy stuffed the vet’s cap into a wastebasket before coming out of LINQ and heading north on the Strip’s crowded sidewalk. The party was in full swing, and the smells of booze and weed were as pungent as a cheap hooker’s perfume. Weed was legal in Vegas, but it was a crime to do it inside a casino or in public, and that included having it in your bloodstream if a traffic cop pulled you over, but that didn’t stop the stoners from lighting up whenever the mood suited them. He didn’t have a problem with people getting stoned, unless they worked for him.

  He came to the Venetian and glanced over his shoulder before going inside. He didn’t think he was being followed, but he’d learned it never hurt to be careful. The Grand Canal Shoppes lined the Venetian’s famed canals and sold everything from Salvatore Ferragamo to New York pretzels. The Rockhouse was a popular joint, with cute waitresses who got paid to dance whenever the music came on. Tommy Boswell, Cory, and Morris were sharing a plate of Dirty Jersey sliders in a corner booth. Billy took the empty spot next to Tommy and got hit on by a waitress in shorts and a bikini top.

  “Hey, hey, the gang’s all here,” she said. “What’s your pleasure, handsome?”

  “You still have Big Dog on draft?” Billy asked.

  “It’s our biggest seller. Sixteen or twenty-two ounce?”

  “Sixteen. And a glass of water.”

  The waitress left, and Tommy Boswell pushed the last slider Billy’s way. The Boswells had ice cubes running through their veins, and you would never have known that Tommy had just escaped by the skin of his teeth from the law.

  “Thanks for saving my neck,” Tommy said.

  Billy bit into the slider. Tommy had been made by the gaming board, which meant that some very good photographs of his smiling puss were being circulated to every law enforcement
agent in town. Tommy was a wanted man and would remain that way for the rest of his life. For most cheats, being made was the kiss of death. The cheat could never enter a Vegas casino again without risk of arrest. This often led to the cheat getting a face-lift, or if that option wasn’t acceptable, seeking another line of work. The waitress brought his beer, which he used to wash down his last bite. Then he took out the photo Mags had given him and showed it to Tommy.

  “Recognize this?” Billy asked.

  Tommy studied the photo. No smart cheat was going to discuss a prior job, knowing anything he said might come back to haunt him. That left Billy to fill in the blanks. “The lady with the white hair is a claimer your family used to steal a rigged jackpot. The claimer’s behavior tipped off the gaming board, who secretly photographed Kat, Nico, and you having lunch with the claimer. The gaming board kept this photo in their database and waited for your family to show your faces again. Nico got made on Fremont Street, Kat got made at the Tropicana. Today it was your turn.”

  Tommy tried to slide the photo back to him. Billy stopped him.

  “Keep it.”

  Tommy quizzed him with a glance.

  “To show your father,” Billy explained.

  Tommy’s face went blank. Tommy wasn’t connecting the dots and seeing the big picture. In that regard, Victor’s children and Billy’s crew were light-years apart. Billy expected his crew to think on their feet and question him about aspects of their work. This was not the case with the Boswells, so Billy explained.

  “Your family came to Vegas to do a job with my crew,” he said. “The first night we visit a casino together, Nico gets made. Then it happens to Kat, now you. If you didn’t have that photo, you might think that I had something to do with this.”

  “I’d never think that about you,” Tommy said.

  “Maybe not, but one of your siblings might,” Billy said. “They’d think I ratted them out to the gaming board and set up your family. It happens. And then one day your family would find a way to pay me back.”

  The words were slow to sink in. When they did, Tommy’s expression changed. He slipped the incriminating photo into the inner pocket of his sports jacket.

  “You want me to have a sit-down with my father, show him the photo, and tell him the gaming board is on to us,” Tommy said.

  Billy nodded and sipped his beer. In the world of thieving, how you delivered bad news was often as important as the news itself.

  “What then?” Tommy asked.

  “Then I’ll have to explain to your father how much trouble you’re all in,” Billy said.

  Vegas had more public parking than any other city in the world, a gift from the saint that watched over motorized vehicles. Every casino had its own parking garage, and there were plenty more scattered along the Strip. Billy walked two blocks to Bally’s parking garage and picked up his car, then caught up with Cory and Morris and followed them to the Boswell’s rented house. He stayed a safe distance behind, just to make sure Cory and Morris weren’t being tailed.

  A few blocks from the rented house, he got a call from Pepper.

  “Is this the most beautiful hustler in Las Vegas I’m speaking to?” he answered.

  “That’s me,” Pepper said.

  “What does that make me, chopped liver?” Misty chimed in.

  Pepper’s cell phone was on speaker, and it was a party line.

  “You should have told me we weren’t alone,” Billy said. “What’s up?”

  “Guess who called us earlier,” Pepper said.

  “Travis?”

  “You’re psychic. That rat bastard was in his car, asked if he could come over and discuss a business deal with us. I told him we were busy and hung up. Then I called the guard at the front gate to our club and told him not to let that fucking guy in if he showed.”

  “Did Travis say what his deal was?”

  “Travis said he was going out on his own, and if we had any brains, we’d join him.”

  “Sounds like Travis is plotting a mutiny.”

  “He can walk the plank by himself,” Pepper said.

  “Travis also tried to get Gabe to defect,” Misty added. “Gabe told Travis to go fuck himself and hung up on him.”

  The Boswells’ place was up ahead. Billy needed to end the call but did not want to sound ungrateful. It would have been easier for Pepper and Misty to pretend that Travis had never contacted them. Instead, they’d reached out and leveled with him.

  “Thank you for telling me this. I plan to deal with Travis once this job is done.”

  “You have my permission to shoot the rat bastard,” Pepper said.

  “Same here,” Misty said.

  “I’ll let someone else do that. Later.”

  Cory parked in front of the house and killed his headlights. Billy drove past with one eye in his mirror, looking to see if they’d been followed. He’d taken every precaution to avoid a tail, but that didn’t mean there wasn’t one. At the next block, he did a U-turn, drove back, and parked in the driveway. He got out to find Tommy standing on the front lawn waiting for him.

  “I texted my father and told him the score,” Tommy said. “He’s waiting inside the house with the rest of my family.”

  “Tell your father I’ll be right in,” Billy said.

  “Will do.” Tommy went up the path and disappeared inside the house.

  The SUV was parked at the curb, its engine idling. Billy went to the passenger side and the window lowered. Cory and Morris looked at him from inside.

  “Travis is at it again,” he said. “He contacted Pepper, Misty, and Gabe and tried to recruit them to join his crew.”

  “Do I have your permission to shoot that asshole?” Cory said.

  Cory had never shot anyone in his life, and Billy let the remark pass. “You both did good tonight. You made me proud. I’ll call you tomorrow.”

  “Thanks, Billy,” they both said.

  Billy entered the rented house to find Tommy in the living room telling his family how the gaming board was on to them. Victor sat in a big leather chair, his children on couches or the floor. Tommy had given his father the photo taken with the claimer. Victor studied it before passing it around for his children to see. They’d been caught with their hands in the cookie jar, and the look on Victor’s face bordered on disgust. His entire life, Victor had managed to avoid getting his picture taken and so had his kids. Like all good things, it had come to an end.

  “Damn it,” Victor said. “Okay, Billy, how bad off are we?”

  He stood next to the fireplace with his arms crossed. “On a scale of one to ten, I’d call your situation a nine and a half. You need to pull up stakes and run.”

  “But the gaming board doesn’t know my kids’ names. You said the other night that we could put a disguise on Nico, and everything would be okay. Why can’t we put disguises on Kat and Tommy and go ahead with our job?”

  “The risk is too great,” Billy said.

  “Explain yourself, if you don’t mind.”

  He stepped away from the fireplace. Victor had told him that the super con was his last hurrah. Once it was over, Victor intended to climb into his Cadillac and ride off into the sunset. He hated to be the one to tell Victor that the retirement party would have to wait, but he didn’t see that he had any other choice. The gaming board had the Boswells in their crosshairs, and if they didn’t hightail it out of town, their days of freedom would be over.

  “You’re right, the gaming board doesn’t know your children’s names,” he said. “But chances are, they eventually will. Nico, Kat, and Tommy each visited a casino and were spied upon by casino surveillance. A pan-tilt-zoom camera can read the date off a dime. If Nico opened his wallet and exposed a credit card, the PTZ camera captured the name on the card. If Kat used her cell phone, the PTZ captured the number she called. The same for Tommy. If he used his cell phone or flashed the inside of his wallet, it got captured. That’s enough information for the gaming board to track all of you down.”


  “No, it’s not,” Nico said. Nico was the heir apparent, and he knew how important this job was to his father. “I have a false identity I use for jobs, a guy named Andrew Allen. That’s the name on my credit cards and my cell phone. Kat and Tommy also have false identities.”

  “Are these dead people?” Billy asked.

  “Yup. We search the papers for obituaries of people who have died without any immediate family or survivors, and we steal their names and addresses and set up credit card accounts and cell phones in their names.”

  “How often do you rotate the names?”

  “Every six months. If the gaming board does a trace, they’ll turn up a dead end.”

  “No, they won’t,” Billy said. “The gaming board recently started using a software program called NORA. It stands for Non-Obvious Relationship Awareness, and it was developed by a data mining company that the government uses to track down terrorists. Let’s say that the gaming board enters Andrew Allen into NORA. Even though it’s a false identity, NORA can spit out every single person that Andrew Allen has made a phone call to or shared an address with. NORA connects the dots and will figure out who your family is.”

  Nico swallowed hard. “They can really do that?”

  “Afraid so.”

  “Sounds like we’re royally fucked.”

  “That’s one way to put it.”

  “How soon should we leave?”

  “Right now,” Billy said.

  TWENTY-FIVE

  There were only so many ways to leave Vegas, and all of them were risky if the gaming board was hunting you.

  The quickest escape was McCarran International Airport. But using the airport meant dealing with TSA, plus a small army of full-time cops and six dedicated FBI agents, all of whom communicated regularly with the gaming board.

  The Greyhound bus terminal on South Main was another alternative, but there were plenty of cops there as well, looking for wanted thieves and criminals jumping bail.

  The last route was by car. Most fleeing criminals took I-15 south into LA. Problem was, the cops had planted high-resolution surveillance cameras on light poles every few miles on I-15, and they used software programs to compare faces in the cars to those on wanted posters. Billy had also heard there were surveillance cameras hidden in cactus trees and billboards, although he’d never seen proof of this.