Take Down

by James Swain

  “I count fourteen. How about you?” Rock asked.

  “Fourteen it is,” he said into the mike.

  “The tan guy is running the show, isn’t he?” Rock said.

  “Yeah.”

  “I’m looking forward to killing that motherfucker.”

  “You going to do him yourself?”

  “I sure am.”

  The Gypsies entered the chapel and the doors closed behind them. Billy felt certain that Rock was watching the ceremony unfold inside the chapel on the TV screens and was not paying the slightest attention to him, or Ike. It was time for Ike to make himself scarce. He gently kicked the big man in the shin with his heel. Ike stepped backward, out of the frame.

  Billy waited for Rock to say something.

  Rock didn’t say a thing.

  Billy reached into his jacket and turned off the receiver.

  “Go,” he said without moving his lips.

  Ike hurried away.

  Billy flipped the receiver back on. Standing as stiff as a statue, he focused on the wedding-chapel doors, waiting for the Gypsies to emerge.

  Ike had touched greatness in his life before, and come up short. In college during a nationally televised bowl game, he’d allowed the opposing team’s running back to slip past him, the play repeated endlessly on ESPN during their end-of-year bloopers festival. In the Super Bowl, he’d tripped over another team member during a crucial play and also made the ESPN idiot reel. And so it had gone—remembered for the times he’d messed up, not for his achievements.

  That was about to change, and a new chapter would be written. Walking to the elevators, Ike called upstairs to the suite and, when T-Bird picked up, said, “Everything’s set. Come on down.”

  “See you by the elevators,” his partner said.

  Ike hung up, called the cage, and spoke to the cage manager, a guy named Don Winter. Don was part of the casino’s inner circle and knew about the money laundering. Ike said, “Hey, Don, this is Ike Spears. Reverend Rock’s ready to cash out.”

  Don said, “Bring him down. We’ve got the goods ready for him.”

  Ike said, “See you in a few,” and ended the call.

  Ike tried to stay calm as he waited by the elevators. Soon, he and T-Bird were going to be living the good life in Mexico, lounging by the pool and doing all the fine things that rich people did. He was sorry to be taking Billy’s share—the little guy had grown on him—but the way he saw it, Billy had plenty of big paydays down the road, while he and T-Bird were at the end of their playing days. The elevator doors parted, and T-Bird and the two sexy ladies from Billy’s crew waltzed out. T-Bird had the drug dealer persona down flat and walked with the swagger of fast cash. The girls wore trashy clothes and makeup so dark they looked like hot Mexican bitches. The one named Misty carried the Nike bag with the fake chips swinging by her side.

  “You guys look sharp,” Ike said.

  “I feel sharp,” T-Bird said. “Lead the way, my man.”

  Ike led them through the packed casino. The shift change was taking place, and he saw blackjack dealers leaving their tables to be replaced by fresh dealers. It was a perfect time to be pulling off a heist, the room in a state of flux.

  By the time they reached the cage, the sweat was pouring off him, the memory of those fuckers blowing past him in college and the pros still haunting him. No more blooper reels, he told himself. If anything, he might get profiled on The Ones That Got Away.

  There were long lines at the cashiers’ windows. Ike looked over the people’s heads and spotted Don. The cage manager held up a finger as if to say, Give me a minute.

  They stood off to the side to wait. There were surveillance cameras in the ceiling, but Ike wasn’t worried. Rock, Marcus, and Shaz were watching the Gypsy wedding and paying zero attention to the cage. Billy had suckered them good.

  “What are we waiting for,” T-Bird said impatiently. “Don’t they know who I am?”

  “Cool your jets,” Ike said. “Our ship’s about to come in.”

  FIFTY-NINE

  At four, Frank got the word that the roadblocks were in place.

  “Okay, folks, we’re ready to roll,” he announced.

  The three gaming agents watching the monitors rose in unison and filed out through the side door of the truck. Frank looked at Mags, who sat handcuffed in her chair.

  “You, too,” he said.

  Mags stood up and held out her wrists. He shook his head.

  “Why are you treating me this way?” she asked, fighting back tears.

  “Because you can’t be trusted. You’re a cheater and always will be,” he said.

  “You sure enjoyed sleeping with me.”

  He shrugged as if to say, What did you expect?

  “You still haven’t said what I’m supposed to do,” she said.

  “My team is responsible for busting Billy and his crew,” he said. “When you see Billy in the casino, I want you to call out his name and start walking toward him. Be real friendly.”

  “You want me to bring his guard down.”

  “That’s right. Billy’s no dope. He’ll see you cuffed and realize he’s done. Let’s go.”

  “Can I have my cell phone back?”

  “You’re funny.”

  They went outside to where a small army of gaming agents dressed in NV Energy uniforms were gathered on the sidewalk. Each agent had a firearm strapped to his side and a seven-pointed gold star pinned to his uniform. Trixie was giving them their final instructions before going in. “Remember, we have the exits to the hotel and casino covered, and that includes the underground garage,” Trixie told his troops. “If either Cunningham or Reverend Rock tries to make a run for it, let them go. Our men outside will chase them down. Got it?”

  There were murmurs of yes and a collective nodding of heads.

  “I got a phone call from the mayor earlier. I promised the mayor that we would not discharge our weapons inside Galaxy’s hotel or the casino unless there was a life-threatening situation, and I expect you to uphold that promise,” Trixie said. “Am I making myself clear?”

  More agreement. Vegas was strange when it came to firearms; the police and gaming agents regularly gunned down bad guys in the street, yet rarely fired their weapons inside the casinos, fearful of the effect it would have on the town’s tourism business.

  Mags breathed a sigh of relief, knowing that Billy wasn’t going to get shot.

  “Any questions, ask them now,” Trixie said.

  There were none.

  “Let’s roll,” Trixie said.

  “The Gypsies are coming out,” came Rock’s voice in Billy’s earpiece.

  It was four o’clock, and Billy stood frozen by the potted plant. Ike had been gone for several minutes, and Rock hadn’t said boo. Across the lobby, the chapel’s double doors sprang open and the Gypsies spilled out, all grins and good-natured laughter. They made a beeline down the lobby toward the casino, the bride still holding the groom’s hand, the weight of the hidden dealing shoe making each step a treacherous one. The rest of the party was yucking it up and having a swell time, enough of a distraction that no one would notice the bride wasn’t walking right.

  “Ready to nail ’em?” Rock asked.

  “Ready,” Billy said.

  “Wait for Chase and his group. They’re coming out now.”

  The storage room was directly across from the wedding chapel. The door opened, and Chase and the mob of muscle-bound security guards poured into the lobby as if being released from cages. Chase came over to Billy and pointed a finger in his face.

  “I finally remembered you,” Chase said. “You and your friends ripped off the Tropicana at craps. Took us for a whole bunch of money.”

  “Live and learn,” Billy said.

  “I lost my job because of you, asshole.”

&nbs
p; “Get moving,” Rock said into his earpiece.

  Billy headed down the lobby with the posse of security guards breathing down his neck. The Gypsies had a good head start and had already passed the hotel check-in. Taking a hard right, they made their way into the casino and briefly disappeared from view.

  Billy picked up his pace. If there was anything he loved as much as cheating a casino, it was watching someone else do it, and he didn’t plan on missing one beat of the Gypsies’ scam.

  “Where’s Ike? I don’t see him,” Rock said into his earpiece.

  He feigned looking over his shoulder and shrugged.

  “You don’t know?” Rock said.

  “He was here a second ago,” he said into the lapel mike. “Want me to go find him?”

  “Fuck no. Keep doing what you’re doing.”

  He passed the check-in, turned right, and entered the casino. The Gypsy wedding party was dead ahead. They had stopped to form a line so the best man could take a photo on his cell phone. Not liking the arrangement, the best man asked several members of the party to shift places.

  Billy halted, and so did the security guards. Before his eyes, there was a swirl of bodies and a rustling of fabric as members of the party brushed past each other, the effect as dizzying as watching a square dance. Only the bride stayed still, as if glued to her spot.

  Was this the Dazzle? It sure seemed to be, only the wedding party was nowhere near the blackjack pit, and that was where they needed to be standing if they were going to pull the stacked dealing shoe out of the bride’s gown and make the switch. Something else was going on.

  Chase edged up beside him. “What are they doing?”

  “I don’t know,” Billy said.

  He edged closer for a better look. The dance now over, the wedding party formed a new line, and the best man took several shots. Billy had no idea what they were doing.

  “Hey, buddy, would you mind taking our picture?”

  The best man motioned to him. Billy hesitated. This was cutting it too close.

  “Go take their picture,” Rock said into his earpiece.

  Billy relieved the best man of his cell phone. The best man slipped into the line and slung his arm around the groom’s waist. Everyone in the party broke into a smile.

  Billy took his time. By staring at the cell phone’s screen, he counted heads without being obvious about it. Fourteen members of the wedding party had entered the casino; now there were only thirteen. One of them had disappeared right in front of his nose.

  He scanned the faces. Dear old Papa was gone.

  “Let me get a few more of the beautiful bride. What’s your name?” Billy asked.

  “Candace,” the bride replied.

  “Say cheese, Candace.”

  The bride said cheese, and Billy took several shots of her. She was standing in front of a Money Vault progressive slot machine with her gown spread wide. Progressive slot machines let players from around the state compete for a gigantic jackpot. Not long ago, a nurse from Reno had won five million bucks playing a Money Vault machine, and it had made all the papers.

  There was a paddle for everybody’s ass, and his ass had just been spanked. The Gypsies weren’t here to pull a blackjack scam. They were rigging the jackpot on a slot machine, and they were doing it right in front of his nose.

  He didn’t need X-ray vision to know where dear old Papa had gone. Hiding behind the bride’s gown, Papa had opened the Money Vault machine with a skeleton key, the machine’s internal security alarm put on standby mode by a powerful earth magnet the bride had been carrying beneath her gown. Using a small handheld computer loaded with a DEPROM software program, Papa was now overwriting the machine’s jackpot code that resided on its random-number-generator chip and replacing it with a code of his own. It was so damn beautiful that Billy nearly cried.

  Instead, he handed the best man back his cell phone.

  “Thanks a lot,” the best man said.

  “My pleasure,” he said.

  “Hey, cutie, want to make some money?”

  He spun around. A small army of gaming agents dressed in NV Energy uniforms had appeared behind Chase and the security goons. At the front of the pack was his old nemesis Frank Grimes; beside him, Mags. She flashed a sad smile and held up her shackled wrists as if to say, Look at me! He thought back to the page and realized it was Mags who’d tried to warn him. And for that little indiscretion Grimes had slapped the cuffs on her.

  He glanced over his shoulder at the Gypsies.

  “Last one out’s a rotten egg,” he said.

  The Gypsies broke ranks and bolted into the casino. The bride was moving awkwardly, the earth magnet back beneath her gown. The door on the Money Vault machine was closed, and the machine looked no different than before. They were going to get out of this with their skins.

  He shifted his attention back to the casino entrance. The gaming agents were bumping into the security goons, telling them to get out of the way. Not liking the treatment, the security goons were mouthing off to them. Testosterone was flying high and tempers were flaring. There was a real opportunity here, only he couldn’t see himself starting a ruckus. He was too damn small and would end up getting crushed.

  But Mags was not so shy. She didn’t give a flying fuck on a rolling doughnut about her own situation, and she threw herself into Grimes while sticking her leg out. The gaming agent toppled to the floor along with several security goons in a massive scrum.

  Fists started to fly. Within moments, bedlam broke out, and the goons and gaming agents began mixing it up in a good old-fashioned brawl. Seeing his chance, Billy ran forward, prepared to grab Mags and make a run for it. The girl of his dreams pulled back.

  “No,” she said.

  “No?” he said.

  “I can’t run away anymore.”

  “You sure?”

  “Positive. You go.”

  All the bad feelings he’d had toward her vanished, and it tore him apart leaving her behind. Grimes was pulling himself off the floor, and she sent a knee into his face.

  Billy started walking backward into the casino. Not too fast, not too slow, his steps measured—don’t run if you’re not being chased. Rock shouted in his ear.

  “Who are those fucking guys beating up my men?”

  Someone was going to pay for this, and Billy wished he could be there to see it happen. He ripped the receiver off his belt and threw it onto the floor along with the earpiece.

  SIXTY

  The brawl could be heard on the other side of the casino. Ike, T-Bird, and the pretty girls from Billy’s crew exchanged nervous glances, knowing something was not right.

  “What the hell’s that noise?” T-Bird asked.

  “Ignore it,” Ike said.

  Ike heard his name being called. Don the cage manager had opened up a new window, and motioned for Ike to step forward. Ike hurried over with the gym bag and began passing the gold beauties through the cage into Don’s waiting hands. Don removed a stack of real gold chips from the cashier’s drawer and compared them to the fakes, checking for both color and height. Satisfied, he held the fakes in his hand and let them cascade to the marble countertop to see if they had the same consistency as the chips he handled every day. Convinced that everything was on the square, he counted the fakes, then looked at Ike through the bars.

  “We’re good. I’ll be right out,” Don said.

  Ike tried not to grin. It was going just as Billy had said it would. A door beside the cage swung open, and the cage manager emerged carrying a leather briefcase with the money orders. Ike stuck his hand out for the briefcase, and Don scowled at him.

  “This isn’t yours,” Don scolded.

  Ike grinned foolishly and lowered his arm. “Sorry, I wasn’t thinking.”

  “Why are you sweating so much?”

  “I’m not fe
eling so hot.”

  “If you’re sick, you should stay home. Everyone knows that.”

  “You’re right, I should have stayed home.”

  Don gave him a look that said he didn’t like Ike’s behavior. The cage manager shifted his attention to T-Bird. The disguise put Don at ease, and he handed T-Bird the briefcase.

  “I hope you had an enjoyable stay,” Don said.

  “We had a great time. Didn’t we, girls?” T-Bird said.

  The girls knew better than to say anything. It was starting to get awkward, and Ike said, “We need to beat it. Rock’s got a plane to catch back to LA.”

  “I need his signature for our records.” Don reached into his suit jacket and produced a pen and a chit for T-Bird to sign for the money orders. “Just sign on the bottom and we’re done.”

  T-Bird passed the briefcase to Misty and took the pen and chit out of Don’s hands. He made a flourish out of signing his name before handing Don the pen and the chit.

  “Thanks for the good time,” T-Bird said.

  Don stared at the signature on the chit. “Who’s Terrell Bird?”

  “Me,” T-Bird said without thinking.

  “I thought your name was Rock.”

  “Well, yeah. It’s actually my nickname. You see . . .”

  Don whipped out his cell phone. “Stay where you are. I’m calling security.”

  This was bad. Real bad. Ike couldn’t see them talking their way out of it, so he sucker punched Don in the side of the face. Don’s eyes rolled up and he sank to the floor.

  “I’ve got a sick man here. Somebody call a doctor,” Ike called out.

  A big man playing video poker jumped out of his chair. Ike recognized him as having been in the garage earlier, a member of Billy’s crew. Travis was his name.