The Casino Switcheroo

by Michael P. King

  “Yes, I do.” She squeezed his hand. “So we should get back in the car and get the hell out of here. Drive like crazy for two or three days. Make sure he can’t find us. Spend a couple of days in a honeymoon suite.”

  “That would be the smart play.”

  “But that’s not what you want to do. Are you insane? You just told me that you’re vulnerable to being played by this guy, and you’ve told me he’s the devil.”

  “Not the devil.”

  “The fucking snake in the fucking Garden of Eden. Satan. The devil.” She sprang up and started pacing back and forth between the door and the bed. “Jesus. You’re going to be the death of us yet.”

  “I’ve always dreamed of beating him at his own game.”

  “Let me rewind the tape so that you can listen to yourself. This is exactly how we end up screwed. He saw you coming. That’s why he wants you in. He knows he can play you—that your history together is going to fuck with your mind.”

  “Yep. But I’m not by myself. I’m with you. He doesn’t know anything about you. He doesn’t think you’re my partner; he thinks you’re my tasty bit. My honey trap. That’s where he’s going to make his mistake.”

  “So we’re going to get inside his game and steal his score—his retirement plan, his score of a lifetime?”

  “That’s our plan.”

  “He’s going to be expecting it.”

  “That’s what makes it so sweet. Our timing has to be perfect. And we aren’t the only ones who are going to be trying to screw him. Everybody working this score will be planning to take the money as soon as it’s in hand.”

  She sat back down beside him. “We bail when I say bail. Doesn’t matter how close we are to having it all. Staying alive and staying free are more important than any score.”

  “Absolutely.”

  “Take my hand and look me in the eye. Say it.”

  He gripped her hand. He didn’t blink. “We bail when you say bail.”

  The next morning, Koenig and Raymond were already seated in a booth at the Perkins when Paul and Jessie pushed through the glass doors. The restaurant was still busy with the tail end of the morning rush, waitresses carrying trays loaded with pancakes and omelets, customers slurping coffee and chattering in that highly caffeinated morning way. They slid into the booth, Paul next to Koenig, Jessie next to Raymond.

  Koenig smiled. “So you’re in?”

  “We’re in.”

  “Have you eaten?”

  Paul shook his head. Koenig pushed a menu toward him and motioned to a waitress. They all ordered food and coffee. After she left the booth, Paul gave Koenig a significant look. “Fill in the details.”

  “Have you heard of Solomon Island?” Koenig asked.

  “The casino off the coast of Bathsheba City? You won’t be able to break into the vault.”

  “Won’t need to. The casino robbery is our diversion.”

  “I’m listening.”

  “The casino is the money laundry for the Smithson crew. Every month money arrives to be cleaned—over one million dollars. It comes in by boat at the VIP marina. That’s the score.”

  “You’re crazy. There’ll be goons all over that cash. It’d be a bloodbath.”

  “Usually I’d agree. But next month is old man Smithson’s birthday. He’s having his party on the island. The big seven zero. All his family and top lieutenants will be there. So during the party, we pull the fake casino robbery. While that’s ongoing, we rob all their room safes. Jewelry and cash. That should be one hundred grand easy. And during all the hullabaloo, we take the cash at the marina. By the time they figure out what we’re really up to—what with protecting the family and dealing with the robbery—we’ll be long gone.”

  “I can see it,” Paul said. “And if robbing the room safes doesn’t work out; no harm, no foul.”

  Koenig nodded. “We’ve got two players on the inside already. You and your girl will work with them. There’re no guns allowed on the island. Everyone comes through metal detectors in a kill box when they come off the ferry from the mainland. You all will time off the security teams, scout the best place to land the heavy gear, gain control of a room key master pass card and the room safe master password, find out the exact time of the festivities and the money delivery.”

  “Why don’t you just bribe an employee?”

  “How do you think I found out what I already know? But no one with precise information of the details can be trusted to not sell us out to Smithson.”

  “So we set up the whole scam for you, provide all the intel, for one hundred thousand?”

  “You’ve got help.”

  “It’s not enough money.”

  “I don’t want to argue about it. You can keep everything in the safes over eighty grand.”

  “Sixty.”

  Koenig shrugged. “Okay.”

  The waitress brought their food. “Anything else?” she asked.

  “It’s all good,” Raymond replied.

  Koenig continued. “Time is of the essence.”

  “We can be in Bathsheba City tomorrow. Fill us in on our covers, and we’ll be on our way.”

  “You’re replacement employees, married, front desk and maintenance department.” He set a smartphone down next to Paul’s plate. “Everything you need to know is on here.”

  “What’re our names?”

  “Max and Kelly Jo Barlow.”

  “We’ll have to get IDs.”

  Koenig pushed an envelope across the table. “Drivers’ licenses and Social.”

  “You were mighty sure of yourself.”

  He shrugged. “It was worth taking the chance.”

  Paul reached for the maple syrup. “We better fuel up for the road.”

  A half hour later, Max and Kelly Jo were crossing the Perkins parking lot. “You want to drive first?” he asked.

  “Sure.”

  He handed her the car fob.

  She pressed the button to unlock the doors on the Cadillac. “That guy creeps me out.”

  “Who? Koenig or Raymond?” Max asked.

  “Koenig. Raymond is just muscle.”

  “He acts like muscle, but he’s got to be Koenig’s protégé, or he wouldn’t have been at the table.”

  “I still don’t think he’s got much going on.”

  Kelly Jo put the Cadillac in gear and backed out of the parking spot. Max turned on the smartphone Koenig had given him and started looking through the screens. They were four blocks from the interstate and twenty hours—more or less—from Bathsheba City. “Do you believe the numbers?” Kelly Jo asked.

  “A million dollars? It’s bullshit. I don’t even believe the job. We’ll have to figure it out on the fly. How much of Koenig’s story holds up? We know the job’s on the island. And we know it’s not the casino vault. So what is it? Is it a money delivery? Or is the job something else? If it is the dirty money, does the cash come in by boat? Maybe it comes in via a supply truck. We have to know what the job is so we can be at the right place at the right time. And you can forget about our payment. No matter what we’re really stealing, at some point in this job he’s going to try to screw us out of our end. That’s the way he works.”

  “And you still don’t think that maybe we’re in over our heads?”

  “Like I said before, everyone involved in this job is going to try to screw everyone else. That’s what gives us our edge. We just have to figure out what’s really going on in time to set our own play. We’ve got most of a month. We can use Lansing’s money to set ourselves up.”

  “We’re going to need a partner.”

  “A partner who can deal with weapons and transport.”

  Kelly Jo took a right turn onto the freeway entrance ramp. A semitruck blew past just before she merged. “What do you think of my new name?”

  “Kelly Jo? I wouldn’t have picked it, but it rolls off the tongue well enough.”

  “I don’t like the name Max.”

  “Well, it’s my n
ame now, so you better get used to saying it. Besides, we can save the new IDs we were planning to use after the Lansing job.”

  “Put them in a Mail-N-More PO box when we get to Bathsheba City?”

  “You’re reading my mind.”

  Meanwhile, Koenig and Raymond sat at the booth in the Perkins surrounded by dirty breakfast dishes. Koenig has a satisfied smile on his face.

  Raymond shook his head. “Do you think he believes you?”

  “Doesn’t matter if he believes me, so long as he does his part.”

  “I still don’t know why we need them. I know he’s an expert and all that, but I could run the inside.”

  “Because they’re going to be part of our patsy team. They’ll be the only ones with their fingerprints on this job. And we’re going to leave them behind.”

  “You must really hate this guy.”

  “If I wanted him dead, I’d kill him. I’ve chosen him because I think he’ll wriggle out of the trap. Smithson will waste valuable time looking for him when he should be looking for us. By the time he figures out what really happened, if he ever does, we’ll be long gone. That’s the kind of failsafe that’s priceless.”

  Later that day in Bathsheba City, in the offices of Galaxy Yacht Sales at the city marina, Jeffery Smithson sat behind his mahogany partners desk in his private office. His skin was like crinkled tissue paper, and his thin, gray hair was slathered across his scalp. His two lieutenants sat in chairs facing him. Harold O’Brian, who ran the Solomon Island Casino Resort and oversaw illegal gambling and the money laundry, was a small, soft man with a tiny mustache who wore a banker’s pinstripe suit. David Ninovich, who ran the drug operation and a car theft ring from a series of car and truck repair garages, was a beefy, bald man with thick forearms who wouldn’t have looked out of place in a mechanic’s shop. Smithson started coughing. The aide standing behind him, a bodybuilder in an ill-fitting suit, shook a rescue inhaler and handed it to him. Smithson used the inhaler, tossed it onto the desk, and gave O’Brian a questioning glance.

  “Offices were swept this morning, sir.”

  “Good. Let me get right to it. I’m going to step down after my birthday.”

  “What?” Ninovich asked. “That’s next month. How long have you been thinking about this?”

  “Doctors say I don’t have any choice.”

  “What does Tim think?” O’Brian asked.

  “He thinks I should have stepped down back when his mother was still alive. Maybe he’s right. But enough about that. This is how we’re going to move forward. Each of you will keep the businesses you run. And David, you’ll keep moving all your money through the casino. Harold will get ten percent for cleaning the cash.”

  “Okay,” Ninovich said.

  “And both of you will kick back two percent into my bank safe deposit box. That’s your tax.”

  O’Brian and Ninovich nodded.

  “Okay then. Right after my birthday we switch to the new system.” Smithson waved them away.

  Ninovich followed O’Brian as they left Smithson’s office. Twelve percent. That’s what Smithson’s retirement was going to cost him. Eighty-eight percent was better than his current cut, but still. He had the largest crew and made the most money. That was just the nature of the drug game and the car theft game. Why should he have to pay O’Brian? Why shouldn’t he just be the boss? As long as Smithson still got his two percent, why should he care?

  Ninovich pushed his way through the front door. The problem was that he didn’t know anything about the money laundry and the gambling, and he wasn’t networked with all the bureaucrats who had to be paid off. So he couldn’t rush things. The first step would be to convince O’Brian that his life would be unchanged if he let him be the boss. Then he could take his time learning the gambling and the money laundry.

  Out in the parking lot, O’Brian was waiting for him. “I certainly wasn’t expecting that.”

  “Me, neither,” Ninovich replied. “But is was bound to happen sometime.”

  “So it’s congratulations all around.”

  “Yeah, we’re bosses next month.”

  “And it’s a fair deal.”

  “I’m not bitching about the ten percent, if that’s what you’re worried about.”

  “I’m glad to hear it. We don’t need trouble. Trouble is expensive.”

  “That’s for sure. And processing the cash is a headache, so I’m happy you’ve got to do it.”

  O’Brian smiled. “See you around.”

  Ninovich watched O’Brian walk away. It really wouldn’t take that long. He’d sideline O’Brian, take over his businesses, and push him out. It would be a mistake to break up Smithson’s organization.

  2

  Solomon Island

  A week later, Kelly Jo stood behind the hotel reception counter of the Solomon Island Casino Resort. She wore a blue receptionist’s skirt suit with the top button of her blouse unbuttoned to expose a hint of her lacy bra. No one was in line to check in, so she’d been passing the time by flirting with a potbellied gambler who’d just arrived for the weekend. Lulu, the female half of the other team Koenig had in place, was also working as a receptionist. She was a busty redhead with a bubbly personality. “You’ve got your game on, girl,” she said.

  “Thanks,” Kelly Jo replied.

  Lulu dropped her voice. “Didn’t work on Brinkley, though, did it?”

  Kelly Jo shook her head. She’d been flirting with the hotel general manager for the last few days, testing the waters to see if they could use him as cover to get the room safe master passcode.

  “I told you. That man just doesn’t cheat. I’ve done everything except put my hand down his pants.”

  “Which of the assistant managers do you think is most likely?”

  “With access to the passcode? Cassady would be our guy. He’s the one the boss paid off to get us our jobs.”

  “Which one is he?”

  “The slick dresser who thinks he’s a player.”

  “The dark-haired guy who’s always ogling the waitresses?”

  “That’s him.”

  “Couldn’t we just pay him for the info?”

  “No can do. We have to get the info without him knowing.”

  “So we need access to his office computer.”

  “Exactly.”

  Two couples rolled their bags up to the counter. Lulu and Kelly Jo checked them in and directed them to the elevator.

  “How long have you been at this?” Kelly Jo asked.

  “A few years. Koenig found me at an escort service. It’s the same job, just pays a lot better. What about you?”

  “Max and me have been tag-teaming a long time. You and JB together?”

  She giggled. “Just between you and me, the boss asked me to take care of him. Didn’t want him to get bored and stray. I get something extra in my pay envelope for my trouble.”

  “Does JB know?”

  “He knows what he needs to know. What about your man? He’s a handsome devil. Is he available, or are you keeping him for yourself?”

  A mom and dad with three children approached the counter. The mom unfolded a paper. “We have a reservation. Peterson.”

  Kelly Jo input the name into her computer. “James Peterson?”

  The woman glanced at her husband, who was trying not to look in Kelly Jo’s cleavage. “Uh-huh,” he said.

  “We have you booked for four days. We’ve put you poolside, if that’s okay?”

  Max, wearing his maintenance uniform and tool belt, got on the service elevator on the twelfth floor. He pressed the basement button. The elevator opened on the eighth. A small Latina in a maid’s uniform was navigating a cart piled high with sheets.

  “Let me help you with that.” He stepped to the side and reached for the cart.

  “I’m okay.”

  “It’s no trouble.” He pulled the cart onto the elevator. “You going all the way down?”

  “Si.” She studied his face. “You’re new
.”

  He nodded.

  “Don’t let a supervisor catch you where you’re not supposed to be. They’ll fire you just like that.” She snapped her fingers.

  “As long as I’m wearing this toolbelt, I think I’ll be all right.”

  The elevator opened. He helped her navigate the cart into the hallway. “Be seeing you.”

  She pushed the cart toward the laundry. He strolled off in the other direction to the maintenance shop. JB was standing at a workbench, scrolling down the screen of a computer tablet. He wore a fat man’s beard, and his glasses were always sliding down his nose. “Hey.”

  “Hey,” JB said. “It was just like I told you, wasn’t it?”

  “Yeah. Nobody’s coming or going from the roof. Spectacular view, though.”

  “Whatever. I don’t know why the boss brought you two in. There’s not that much to do.”

  “Like I said, we’re old hands at this kind of work. Looks like you need a little help with the manager anyway.”

  “Lulu can handle it.”

  “On the big day, two people can’t get through that many rooms, even with the room keycard and room safe passcode.”

  Just then, Kevin Crier, the maintenance manager, came barreling into the shop, his bald head glistening with sweat. “What are you two doing hanging around here? There’s a blocked toilet in room 1026. Grab the plumbing cart and get up there.”

  Max found the plumbing cart among the various tool carts parked against the back wall of the shop, pulled it out, and followed JB back down the hall to the service elevator. When the door opened, he pushed the cart all the way to the back wall. JB pressed the tenth-floor button.

  “So, Lulu,” Max said. “How long have you known her?”

  “I met her here.”

  “She’s got some dangerous curves, amigo. You hitting that?”

  JB gave him a dirty look. “Shut your mouth.”

  “I’m just saying—”

  “She’s my girl. You stick to your own.”

  “No offense meant.”