by James Swain
“Pants too long,” the bird man grumbled.
“We’ll pin them up,” Pepper reassured him. “Otherwise, what do you think?”
“I guess they’re okay.”
“You look like a player,” Billy said. “Sit down so the girls can give you a makeover.”
T-Bird lowered his body into a chair. Pepper removed a makeup kit from the garment bag, and she and Misty went to work on transforming him into a menacing drug dealer. They trimmed his eyebrows, attached a diamond magnetic earring to his left earlobe, gave him a grill of fake gold teeth to stick into his mouth, and fitted a pair of rose-tinted Ray-Bans on his nose. Finished, they both took a step back and nodded approvingly.
“I’d say he’s done,” Pepper said.
“I’d buy an eight ball from him,” Misty said.
T-Bird went to the mirror hanging over the bar to appraise his new look. Ike came up from behind him, offering encouragement.
“You really think this is going to fly?” T-Bird asked.
“Yeah,” Ike said. “You having second thoughts?”
“I don’t know, man. I just don’t know.”
The girls still needed to put on their disguises. They went into one of the bedrooms with the garment bags and shut the door. Billy turned to Ike. “Call Shaz on your cell phone and tell her T-Bird’s sick. Make it convincing.”
Ike made the call. “Hey, it’s me. I’m up in the suite with T-Bird. He’s sick as a dog, can’t get out of bed. Cunningham’s here, too. Sure, I’ll put him on.”
Billy took the cell phone. “Hey.”
“You shouldn’t have run away from me like that,” Shaz said. “I didn’t like it.”
“I guess I’m just the bashful type.”
“What’s wrong with T-Bird?”
“I think he got food poisoning. It’s not pretty.”
“He’ll live. Meet me outside the wedding chapel wearing a sports jacket. We’re going to mike you up. Rock wants to be able to talk with you while you’re on the casino floor.”
Wearing a mike would be the same as having an electronic dog collar around his neck, and Billy told himself he’d just have to work around it.
“I’ll be right down,” he said.
The call ended. He entered the bedroom and shut the door behind him. Misty and Pepper stood at the dresser, turning themselves into Mexican hit women. Misty wore a leather mini, leggings, fake eyelashes, and was applying dark pancake to her face. Pepper had chosen a leather jumpsuit that hid her freckled arms and legs, a black wig that spiraled to her shoulders, and the same dark pancake, liberally applied to her pale skin. They could both pass as Hispanic, and he smiled to himself, seeing the pieces falling together.
“What do you think?” Misty asked.
“I think this is going to work.”
He grabbed the sports jacket he’d brought with him from the closet and slipped it on. “I’ve got to blow. Remember, the pigeon drop is still on.”
“What are we going to do with the extra two million we steal from these guys?”
“Split it up, same as always,” he said.
“Goody.”
He walked out of the bedroom to find Ike waiting for him.
“Let’s go downstairs and rob this joint,” Billy said.
FIFTY-SEVEN
The elevator dumped them in the lobby. Instead of going to the wedding chapel as Shaz had instructed, Billy visited the casino instead. The joint was jumping, the players yelling with each turn of a card or roll of the dice, the sound of a ringing slot machine cutting through the air.
“People acting crazy in there,” Ike said.
It was called a hot zone, and it occurred when a player got on a lucky streak. The euphoria quickly spread to other players and caused them to behave like drunken sailors on a navy payday. He could not have asked for a better distraction for making a run at the cage with the fake chips.
They headed to the wedding chapel. Shaz stood outside the chapel’s double doors, not happy at being made to wait. Billy said, “Sorry, but the elevators were slow.”
“Why do I think you’re lying every time we talk?” she said.
She approached an unmarked door across from the chapel and punched a combination into the door handle. It led to a storage room. Along with the fake flowers and wall decorations was a small army of muscle-bound, plainclothes security guards. Shaz introduced Billy by saying that he was a consultant the casino had hired to catch a gang of cheaters who were planning to rip them off this afternoon. Each guard gave Billy a cursory nod.
“Chase, mike him up,” Shaz said.
Chase was as big as a sumo wrestler and he gave Billy a funny look.
“You look familiar,” Chase said. “Ever work for the Trop? I used to run security there.”
Billy had ripped off the Tropicana many times, right under this idiot’s nose.
“Can’t say I’ve had the pleasure,” he said.
“That’s funny. I’d swear I’ve seen you before.”
Chase clipped a receiver onto Billy’s belt from which ran two transparent plastic wires. The first wire contained a receiver embedded in a flesh-colored earplug, the second a miniature black microphone with a clip. Billy stuck the earplug into his left ear and clipped the mike to his right lapel. He flipped the power button on the receiver and static filled his ear.
“You’re set,” Chase said. “What’s your name again?”
“Billy Cunningham.”
“I’ll figure out where I know you from eventually.”
Shaz pulled him out of the storage room. In the lobby outside the chapel was another couple ready to take the plunge. The bride was chewing gum while her husband didn’t appear old enough to have pubic hair. The doors to the chapel opened and they filed in with the rest of their party. Billy checked the time. Three thirty on the nose. At three forty-five, it was the Gypsies’ turn.
“Walk with me,” Shaz said.
He followed her into the hotel lobby, where she stopped at a large potted plant positioned by the wall. “This is where we want you and Ike to stand. Don’t move until Rock tells you. Remember, we can see everything you’re doing. No funny stuff.”
He thought back to the four large-screen TVs in Doucette’s office. A large potted plant had been on TV number two, at the very periphery of the surveillance camera trained on the lobby. They had framed the play without knowing it.
“Got it,” he said.
She grabbed his chin and squeezed it. “I’m heading upstairs to my husband’s office. Don’t you dare try and fuck us. I’ll kill you myself if you do.”
“I won’t fuck you,” he said.
“That’s only because we’re watching you.”
Ike laughed under his breath as she hurried away.
When Shaz was gone, Billy took a step backward. If memory served him correctly, he was now at the very edge of the surveillance camera’s range. Framing the play was a powerful weapon when taking down a casino. By knowing where a surveillance camera was pointed, a cheater could position himself at the edge of the frame and be hidden enough to go about his business and not get caught.
He checked the receiver clipped to his belt. The green light was on. He found the power switch and flipped it off. The green light faded away.
“You ready?” he asked.
“I don’t know—what am I supposed to do?” Ike said.
“You’re going to walk away, and no one’s going to see you. Rock and Marcus can see us on the surveillance camera, but only barely. If you take a giant step backward, you’ll disappear from their view. When the Gypsy wedding party comes marching down the lobby, all eyes will be on them. That’s when you split.”
“You sure they won’t see me leave?” Ike asked.
“Positive.”
“Man, I sure hope you know what you’re
doing.”
“No more talking. I’m turning the receiver back on.”
He flipped the switch and the green light came on. He shifted his attention toward the elevator bank at the end of the lobby and waited for the Gypsies to show their faces.
Cory and Morris were sweating through their underwear, and it had nothing to do with the dry desert heat. Following Billy’s instructions, they’d used a fake driver’s license to rent a red Chevy Malibu from Hertz’s airport location, then driven the vehicle back to Galaxy. They’d allocated an hour for their task, which was plenty of time on a weekday but never enough for a Saturday. Stuck in a bottleneck on the Strip, the two fledgling hustlers stared at Galaxy’s flashing neon sign a mere stone’s throw away.
“Billy’s going to kill us,” Cory swore, clutching the wheel. “He’s already pissed about the golf scam. If we don’t show on time, he’ll fire us for sure.”
“You really think he’d do that?” Morris said.
“Damn straight. He doesn’t put up with any crap.”
“Maybe we should stop smoking dope before jobs.”
“There’s a thought.”
The idea of no longer being a member of Billy’s crew terrified Morris. He’d never held down a real job, and he had no intention of starting now. He threw open his door and stuck one foot onto the pavement.
“What the hell are you doing?” Cory asked.
“The resourceful professional failing to improve the method changes the moment,” Morris said. “Billy told me that once, said it came from a famous book on cheating. Don’t ask me what it means, because I don’t know.”
Leaving the rental, Morris walked calmly into the next lane, causing the already sluggish traffic to grind to a halt. Horns blared in disapproval and drivers shook their fists. Morris waved to Cory to cut in. The rental jumped to the front of the line, and Morris got back in.
“You’re a superstar,” Cory said.
They reached Galaxy’s back entrance with minutes to spare. There were a handful of available parking spaces by the back entrance. Cory backed into one and they both got out. Except for an NV Energy company crew working on a pole, everything looked George.
Cory popped the rental’s trunk. He reached in, hoisted a Kenneth Cole leather briefcase off the spare tire, and placed it inside a flat-handle, brown-paper shopping bag so that the briefcase would be hidden when he entered the casino.
“This feels heavy. Are you sure it’s the right weight?” he asked.
“I did the math,” Morris said. “Eight hundred money orders weigh ten point six pounds. That’s how much weight I put in the briefcase.”
“It feels heavier,” Cory said.
“It’s not. Get moving, will you? Gabe and Travis will be wondering where you are.”
“You going to wish me luck?”
“Luck is for amateurs. Get moving.”
“Why are you so pissy?”
“Who the fuck knows? Go.”
Cory entered the rear of the casino carrying the shopping bag. Twenty feet from the door, he spotted Gabe tapping the screen of a Jacks or Better video poker machine. Gabe was playing geezer and wore a floppy white fishing hat and wraparound shades that covered half his face. Cory came up beside the older man and dropped the shopping bag on the floor by his chair.
“Where you been?” Gabe said under his breath.
“Traffic was a bitch. You know how it is. Where’s Travis?”
“He’s scouting the cage area. You know why you show up to jobs early? Because then you’re not late.”
“I got here, didn’t I? Stop yanking my chain.”
Gabe peeled his eyes away from the video poker machine long enough to give Cory a blistering stare. His frown turned into a snarl. “You’re not wearing your disguise.”
“Shit, I forgot to put it on,” Cory stammered.
“How can you forget something like that?”
“I don’t know, man.”
“Where is it?”
“It’s still in the car.”
“A lot of fucking good it’s going to do there. Now the casino knows what you look like. If this thing blows up in our faces, it will be because of you.”
“I didn’t do it on purpose.”
“You’re pathetic. Get out of here, before I smack you in the mouth. I mean it.”
“Stop talking to me like that.”
“Leave.”
Cory kicked the shopping bag. Hadn’t he and Morris helped this big sack of fertilizer settle his huge gambling debt? But it was the wrong time and the wrong place to be having this discussion, and he left the casino without another word.
FIFTY-EIGHT
The sky was falling, and Mags didn’t know what to do.
All of Billy’s crew were now inside Galaxy. Just a few minutes ago, the last two members had parked a red Chevy Malibu in a spot next to the casino’s back entrance. Both had curly hair and boyish faces and reminded her of Billy, long ago. One had gone inside the casino with a brown shopping bag. When he’d come out, no shopping bag.
Frank and Trixie had joined the three gaming agents inside the truck. The tape of the Chevy was replayed, and watched again. Frank’s boss shook his head.
“That car is a problem,” Trixie said. “They can use it to run over our agents. Call the guys working the back of the casino, and tell them to set up roadblocks on the street.”
“Roadblocks?” Frank said. “How long is that going to take?”
“I don’t care how long it takes,” Trixie said. “Just do it.”
Frank went outside the truck to make the call. Mags leaned back in her chair. It was now or never to alert Billy. Not having Frank in the truck emboldened her, and she rose from her chair.
The three gaming agents sat in front of a large console onto which they’d tossed their car keys and cell phones. Mags backed up to the console, looking at Trixie as she did. As their eyes met, one of the agents’ cell phones found a home in her back pocket.
“Go sit down,” Trixie said.
“I need to take a piss,” she said.
“You’ve got some mouth on you, you know that?”
“Want to wash it out?”
Trixie led her to the lavatory and jerked the door open. It was smaller than the johns on airplanes, and she had to wedge herself inside.
“Make it fast,” Trixie said, shutting the door.
The overhead light flickered on. She pulled out the stolen cell phone and sat on the toilet. She was in luck; it did not require a password, and she unlocked the screen and located the phone icon. She got an outside line and got the main number for Galaxy’s casino from information. The call went through. Through the door came the unmistakable sound of Frank’s voice.
“Where’s Mags? She didn’t slip out, did she?” Frank asked.
An operator answered her call. Mags covered the phone’s mouthpiece.
“Hi. Can you please page someone in your casino for me? It’s an emergency.”
“Let me check. What’s their name?” the operator asked.
“Billy Cunningham.”
“Please hold on.”
Recorded music filled her ear. Frank pounded his fist on the door. “You dirty little shit! Who the hell are you talking to in there? Open the fucking door, goddamn it, or I’ll break it down.”
“I’ll be right out,” Mags said, trying to buy more time.
“Right now!”
“I’m taking a leak. You can watch. I won’t charge you.”
Frank hit the door with his shoulder, causing the hinges to give way. He was going to kill her, only Mags didn’t care. Billy’s crew meant more to her than any promise she’d ever made to the gaming board. She was going to join them one day, even if it meant first going to jail.
Billy was glued to the potted plant in the lobby. The
three-thirty wedding had wrapped up, and the chapel was ready for the next couple to tie the knot.
An announcement over the PA snapped his head. He glanced at Ike.
“Did you hear that?”
“I think you’re being paged. Want me to check?” Ike asked.
“Yeah, do it.”
Ike crossed the lobby and picked up a white house phone that hung on the wall. He had a short conversation before returning to Billy’s side. “Operator said some woman urgently wanted to speak to you, only she hung up,” he said.
“Did the operator get a name?”
“Nope.”
Only a handful of people knew that Billy was here; those that did would never have him paged. Was someone trying to warn him? It sure felt that way. Crackling static filled the earpiece he was wearing, and Rock’s voice invaded his head.
“Here come the Gypsies,” the drug kingpin said.
“I’m not seeing them,” Billy said into the mike pinned to his lapel.
“They just got off the elevators. They’ll be down your way in a second.”
It was time to rip off Galaxy, and Billy put the page out of his mind. Slipping his hand into his jacket, he flipped off the power on the receiver clipped to his belt.
“Get ready to bolt,” he told Ike.
“I got butterflies in my stomach,” Ike confessed.
“Just do as I told you, and you’ll be fine.”
He flipped the receiver back on. Rock was talking to him.
“You see them now?” the drug kingpin asked.
“I sure do,” he said into the mike.
The Gypsies were booking down the lobby. At the front of the pack were the bride and groom. They were holding hands, and he realized that the groom was helping the bride keep her balance as she hustled along with the plastic dealing shoe strapped between her legs. Behind them was the bride’s mother, Cecilia Torch, wearing a subdued burgundy dress. Her husband strode beside her, fifteen years her senior, well tanned and fit. The husband had the air of being in charge, and Billy pegged him as the ringleader. Behind them was another older couple, posing as the groom’s parents. Bringing up the rear was a drop-dead-gorgeous bridesmaid, a smiling best man, and three twentyish couples posing as guests. The shared bloodline was easy to spot. Each member of the party had a full head of wavy hair and a swarthy complexion. They moved with springs in their steps and reminded him of an acrobat troupe about to enter the big top.
