Super Con

by James Swain

  “Coming right up.”

  Billy sat with Cory and Morris facing him. Neither had shaved, and they both wore yesterday’s wrinkled clothes. They knew the importance of appearances, and this was totally out of character for both of them. Billy didn’t need a crystal ball to figure out what had happened between them and Travis. It was written across both their faces.

  Three pints of Newcastle brown ale were brought to the table. Billy clinked his glass against theirs in a toast. “Which one of you took Travis out of the picture?”

  “How did you know?” Cory gasped.

  “Educated guess. Was it you?”

  “That distinction would go to me,” Morris said. “He threatened Cory, and I shot him dead. Bastard wanted to start his own crew, if you can believe that.”

  “Any witnesses?”

  Morris shook his head. He was normally the timid one. That had obviously changed. Morris was growing up, right before his eyes.

  “What about your neighbors?” Billy asked.

  “I turned the TV on full blast before I plugged him. It drowned out the shots.”

  “Is his body still in your house?”

  “We wrapped him in plastic sheeting and backed the car up into the garage, then put him in the trunk,” Cory said. “We rent an air-conditioned storage unit where we have a foot locker. We put the body in the locker along with bags of ice.”

  “So you iced him,” Billy said.

  The joke was lost on them. It was out of line to make fun of the dead, only the way Billy saw it, Travis’s departure was a blessing and could not have come a moment too soon. Everyone got what was coming to him in this life, and Travis had gotten his.

  “What did you do with his car?” Billy asked.

  “We parked it in the garage at our house,” Cory said. “We wanted to ditch it, but by the time we got back from the storage unit, it was light, and we didn’t want anyone seeing us.”

  Up until this point they’d been batting a thousand. Keeping the car was a major foul ball, and Billy reminded himself that they were both still young. “The car is new and probably has a stolen vehicle recovery system. If Karen files a missing person’s report with the cops, they’ll turn on the system and find his car in your garage. You need to get rid of it.”

  “His wife is in Reno with her kids, visiting relatives,” Morris said.

  “Who told you that?”

  Morris removed a sleek Samsung Galaxy cell phone from his pocket. “His phone did.”

  “That’s his cell phone?” Billy said incredulously. “For the love of Christ, there are apps on the Internet that let you trace a cell phone just by number. Turn the fucking thing off.”

  Morris slid the phone across the table. “You need to read some stuff first.”

  “What stuff?”

  “After I shot Travis, his phone let out a beep. Broken Tooth had texted him, wanting an update. So we texted him back.”

  “Please tell me you’re kidding.”

  “What else were we going to do?” Morris said. “If we ignored the text, Broken Tooth would know something was wrong and kill Leon. We had to act, so we did.”

  “You realize that just about anyone can trace that phone.”

  “We know that. Come on, Billy, read it.”

  Billy hit the text icon on the cell phone’s screen. A thread of messages between Broken Tooth and Travis appeared. Travis was big on the bullshit and had told Broken Tooth that Gabe, Pepper, and Misty were on board, when in fact the opposite was true. To complete the story, the final message in the thread claimed that Cory and Morris were ready to leave Billy’s crew and run with Travis. This was the message that Cory and Morris had composed.

  In disgust, Billy tossed the phone onto the table and shook his head.

  “You guys are something else,” he said. “You need to get rid of the car, the phone, and the body, and then you need to get the hell out of Vegas and lay low. And make sure you get the trunk of your car cleaned, just in case.”

  “What about the Gypsies’ super con?” Morris asked. “You need us to pull it off. Let us hang around until the job’s done, then we’ll split.”

  It was all Billy could do not to explode. He reminded himself that Cory and Morris were invincible twenty-three-year-olds, and they had no concept of how miserable their lives would become if the police linked them to Travis’s death.

  “You’ll leave once you finish cleaning up. Understood?”

  “Are you firing us?”

  “Call it a sabbatical. I don’t want either one of you getting arrested.”

  “Where should we go?”

  “Cancun’s nice this time of year. You can stay at my condo.”

  Billy threw down money, and they walked out of the pub. No one said anything until they were in the parking lot.

  “Are you going to try and save Leon?” Morris asked.

  Billy nodded. He was expecting to meet up with Broken Tooth later and get the good-faith money to give Night Train and his pals. At this meeting, Billy would ask Broken Tooth to release his driver now, instead of after the big game. Billy had kept his end of the bargain and hoped Broken Tooth would cut him some slack.

  His car was parked by the pub’s entrance. Billy hit the unlock button on his key chain, then stopped. “Before you shot him, did you ask Travis what his beef was?”

  “Yeah. Travis didn’t like you critiquing his sleight of hand,” Cory said.

  “Pissed him off, huh?”

  “In a major way.”

  Cheats who did sleight of hand were called mechanics. In Billy’s experience, mechanics had inflated egos and high opinions of themselves. Every cheating move had a bad angle that could be detected by a powerful camera lens. Yet somehow Travis had forgotten this and let Billy’s criticisms get under his skin. Talk about ruining a beautiful thing.

  “Call me after you dump the body,” he said.

  TWENTY-NINE

  Mags never knew what to expect when she came onto the set. It was always high drama, courtesy of Rand. He was obsessive about the show and always making changes. One morning, he’d handed Mags a brand-new scene, and she’d retreated to her trailer and spent an hour learning her lines. Another time, Rand ordered the director to reshoot the previous day’s scenes because the lighting was off.

  Every day it was something new.

  This morning’s surprise was a roulette wheel and table with a green felt layout. The pilot did not have any scenes with roulette, and Mags could only guess what Rand had up his sleeve. Hud stood off to the side with a cameraman. Their director was not happy with the change of scheduling, not that it mattered. Rand was the moneyman, and his word was law.

  “Why, good morning, Mags,” Rand said. “You look as stunning as usual.”

  Her reflection in the mirror this morning had looked anything but stunning. The show was eating her alive, and she put on her brave face. “Hello, Rand. I want you to meet my daughter, Amber. Amber, this is Rand Waters, our producer.”

  Rand’s eyes fell upon Amber. “You look just like your mother, which is to say you’re amazingly beautiful. Do you act? I’d love to fit you into the show.”

  “You’ve already corrupted one of us,” Mags scolded him. “Leave my baby alone.”

  “Of course,” Rand said. “We have a change in plans. The honchos at CBS are having a programming meeting tomorrow to discuss this fall’s lineup, and I wanted them to see a clip of you doing the chip move you described to me. What’s it called again?”

  “The Savannah?”

  “The Savannah. That has such a nice ring. Yes, that one.”

  “What about the scene that we’re supposed to shoot?”

  “It can wait. Now go get your makeup, and we’ll get started.”

  “Wait a minute—where are my lines?”

  “We’re going to ad-lib it. Think of this like a visual postcard. You can say whatever you want, just be yourself and it will go great.”

  “What the hell is a visual postcard?”<
br />
  “You know what I mean. Make it fun. The guys at CBS love this kind of stuff.”

  Rand went to talk to Hud. A hand dropped on Mags’s wrist. It was the makeup lady. She was anxious to get started and make Mags look presentable to the camera.

  “Are things always this chaotic?” Amber asked.

  “This is nothing,” Mags said.

  Twenty minutes later, they shot Rand’s visual postcard.

  “Hello, my friends at CBS,” Rand said to the camera. “It’s with great pleasure that I introduce you to television’s next sensation, the beautiful and talented Maggie Flynn.”

  The camera panned to show Mags behind the felt layout, flashing a smile.

  “In Night and Day, Mags plays a Nevada gaming agent who catches cheats by day, then at night robs casinos being run by ruthless owners and donates the loot to charity,” Rand said. “Think of it as Robin Hood takes on Sin City. To prepare for her role, Mags has taught herself scams being used to cheat the casinos. She’d like to share one with you now.”

  “Thank you, Rand, and hello everyone,” Mags said, turning on the charm. “The scam I’m about to show you is called the Savannah and has cost Las Vegas’s roulette tables millions of dollars. It may be the cleverest swindle ever invented.”

  She pointed at the cloth-covered betting area. “This is called the layout, and it’s here that the swindle takes place. The roulette wheel has thirty-six numbers, a zero, and a double zero. There are two types of bets a player can make: inside bets and outside bets. Inside bets are wagers a player can make on a number coming up, and they have huge payouts. Outside bets offer smaller payouts but have better odds. A player can bet red or black, odd or even, high or low. These bets pay even money. The Savannah is done with an outside bet. Here’s how it works. Rand is going to be our croupier. Ready when you are, my friend.”

  Rand edged up to the wheel. “Place your bets.”

  Mags removed three red chips from her purse. Red chips were worth five dollars apiece. She placed the three chips in an uneven stack on the red box on the layout.

  “Let it rip,” Mags said.

  Rand spun the wheel and sent the tiny white ball spinning in the opposite direction. The ball came to rest on number sixteen, which was red. Mags clapped her hands.

  “Look at that! I just won five thousand dollars!”

  Rand acted puzzled. “But you only bet fifteen dollars.”

  “No, I didn’t. See for yourself.”

  Rand spread the three chips on the red box. To his surprise, the bottom chip of the stack was a brown five-thousand-dollar chip. “How did that get there?”

  “I put it there. You just didn’t see it.” Mags picked up the three chips and put them in a stack. “By pushing the top chip forward, the bottom chip is hidden from view.”

  “So it was always there, just out of sight.”

  “That’s right. Now, I know what you’re wondering. What happens if the little ball lands on a black number, and I lose the bet? That’s where the Savannah happens. Roll the wheel again and I’ll show you.”

  Rand resumed his croupier role. “Place your bets, please.”

  Mags again placed the three chips in an uneven stack on the red box. Rand spun the wheel and sent the little white ball in motion. This time, the ball landed on number thirty-three, which was black, a loser. Mags leaned forward and craned her neck to see. As she did, her hands briefly brushed her bet. So slight was her movement that it was nearly imperceptible.

  “Damn!” she exclaimed. “I just lost fifteen dollars.”

  “No, you didn’t,” Rand said, completely in the dark. “You lost five grand.”

  “Afraid not. Have a look.”

  Rand spread the three chips in the red box. His face registered surprise. The bottom chip had magically turned red. “Where did the five-thousand-dollar chip go?”

  “It’s right here in my hot little hand.”

  Mags brought her left hand up to the camera and opened her fingers. Two red chips and one brown chip were palmed at the base of her fingers. Rand’s mouth dropped open. So did the director’s. And so did Amber’s. She’d fooled them all.

  “Every good scam has a clever angle that makes it work,” she explained. “The Savannah is such a scam. Casino employees are trained to watch winning bets in roulette. As a result, they don’t see the losing bet getting switched. It’s the perfect swindle.”

  Rand let out a laugh, hamming it up. “And there you have it. The perfect con, delivered by the incredibly talented Maggie Flynn, star of Night and Day. We look forward to delivering a finished pilot to you in the next few weeks. Thanks for your time.”

  “That’s a cut,” Hud said. “Man, did that look sweet.”

  “Show me,” Rand said.

  Rand went around the table and stood with their director. Together they stared at the tiny screen on the back of the camera and watched Mags switch the stack of chips.

  “Unreal,” Hud said. “You hardly see her hands move.”

  “The guys at CBS are going to love this,” Rand gushed.

  Mags walked away from the table feeling queasy. She’d scammed plenty of casinos with the Savannah and never had a problem. Yet performing the move in front of a camera tied her stomach up in knots, and it made her wonder if she was cut out to be an actress.

  “Mom, are you okay?” Amber asked.

  “I’m fine. What did you think?”

  “I think you’re going to pass out if you don’t sit down. You’re all pale.”

  Amber found a chair, and Mags fell into it. She’d been running ragged for days, the tension building up inside her like a pressure cooker ready to explode. The show was riding on her shoulders, and the fear of failure had become too great. She couldn’t handle it anymore.

  “Stay put. I’m going to get you some water,” Amber said.

  Her daughter left. Mags tried to get her act together. The show was her chance to set a positive example for Amber. Mom makes good had a nicer ring than Mom does time.

  Amber returned with a bottled water and a guest in tow. It was none other than Special Agent Grimes with a pair of nickel-plated handcuffs clipped to his belt.

  Oh shit, Mags thought.

  THIRTY

  They moved the party to Mags’s trailer. While Mags and Amber took chairs, Grimes positioned himself so he blocked the door. Frank wasn’t like most gaming agents. The sole purpose of his life was to wage war against the town’s cheats and hustlers, whom he despised. Mags had slept with him for eighteen months and still marveled at the darkness of his soul.

  “I’m going to destroy you,” was his opening line.

  Mags lit up a menthol cigarette and blew a blue cloud in his face. “Really.”

  “Does your daughter know about your past?”

  “What Amber does or doesn’t know is none of your concern.”

  “My mom beat the casinos, and you weren’t smart enough to catch her,” Amber said.

  Frank looked like he just might snap. Out of his pocket came the photo of the three members of the Gypsies having lunch with the claimer, which he waved in Mags’s face. “I had these people in my crosshairs. You tipped them off and they blew town, and my investigation went up in flames. You’re going to pay for this, Maggie.”

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about, Frank, and that’s the God’s honest truth.”

  “Let me refresh your failing memory. While I was giving you and Rand a tour of LINQ’s surveillance room, a tech named Blake made one of the Gypsies capping his bets at blackjack. You slipped into a restroom and either made a phone call or sent a text. A few minutes later, the Gypsy bolted and ran. We were right behind him, only his family had a getaway car, which the Gypsy hopped into. We got everything on tape, except the getaway car’s license plate.”

  “What a shame,” Mags said.

  “Admit it, you tipped him off.”

  “I did no such thing.”

  “Of course you did! Why else would the Gypsy run? F
or the love of Christ, he left his chips on the table. He knew we were going to bust him because you told him.”

  “Where’s your proof?” Amber interrupted.

  “Who the hell is she, your fucking lawyer?” Frank snapped.

  “Watch your mouth around my daughter.”

  “How touching. Maggie the doting mother. I can hear violins in the background.”

  “Up yours, Frank.”

  “Where’s your proof?” Amber repeated.

  “Right here.” Frank flipped over the photo of the lunching Gypsies to reveal a phone number written on the back. “I distributed this photo to every tech on the Strip and told them I’d pay them a reward if they busted these guys. This particular photo was on Blake’s desk at LINQ. We know that because Blake identified it for us. The phone number is a friend of his. You had a conversation with Blake, then asked him where the restroom was. When Blake wasn’t looking, you swiped the photo off his desk and later passed it to the Gypsies.”

  “I did no such thing. I’ve never met these people in my life.”

  “Look, Maggie, the Gypsies run in a pack, and it occurred to me they might be renting a house. So I made Airbnb cough up the names of houses rented in the past few weeks, and I checked them out. The last one, on the north side, was empty. But we found the photo lying on the grass by the driveway. And since we can place you in the LINQ surveillance room the last time the photo was seen, we can connect you to them.”

  “No jury will buy that. Give me a break,” Amber said.

  “I’m not talking about a jury,” Frank said. “If I convince a judge that your beloved mama is attempting to defraud the casinos, he’ll let me turn her life upside down. I’ll look at every cell phone call, every e-mail, every bank statement. No stone will be left unturned.”

  “You won’t find anything,” Amber said. “My mom doesn’t do that stuff anymore.”

  “You might be right. Maybe we’ll turn up nothing,” Frank admitted. “But she’ll still have to hire a lawyer. She won’t be able to act in her precious TV show because she’ll be too busy defending herself. We’ll still win.”

  Mags rose from her chair. “No, you won’t. I’ll take a lie detector test and say that I’ve never met the Gypsies in my life. And your stupid investigation will end.”