Super Con

by James Swain

  “Let’s roll,” Grimes said.

  They took an elevator to the main floor and piled out. Beads of sweat did a slow death march down Billy’s face. Grimes questioned him with a lifted eyebrow. Billy didn’t want to admit his fear and said, “Why the sawed-off shotguns?”

  “They work better in close quarters,” Grimes explained.

  THIRTY-SIX

  The gaming board parking lot faced the intersection of North Las Vegas Boulevard and East Washington Avenue. Miles away from the glitz and glitter of the Strip, the most action you were going to find here was a tumbling sagebrush or a blue hair trudging back to his apartment carrying a sagging bag of groceries.

  Billy sat in his car with the AC blowing on his face. Across the lot, Grimes and his posse stood next to an unmarked white van, going over last-minute details on how they planned to bust Broken Tooth and his gun-toting goons. Despite its Wild West culture, Vegas had strict gun laws, and agents of the law did not take kindly to criminals who used firearms while committing crimes. Often, these criminals got shot and killed for their trouble.

  Billy’s cell phone lay on his leg. Using one hand, he texted different members of his crew to make sure they were ready to help bring their buddy Leon home.

  You got the counterfeit money? he texted Gabe.

  Yessir. In two suitcases, like you said, Gabe wrote back.

  Billy had to tell Gabe something only once for it to get done right. Next up were Cory and Morris, the two members of his crew he was most worried about. They were both stressed out over Travis’s shooting and didn’t need the added worry of dumping his body.

  Did you put T in your car? Billy texted.

  Yeah. Wrenched our backs dragging him, Cory replied.

  Anyone see you?

  No. Put a screen in front of the unit like u said. Worked great

  This will be over soon. You guys okay?

  Cory didn’t respond. There was no doubt in Billy’s mind that he and Morris were both hurting. A few weeks from now, after this debacle had played itself out and they were home free, the three of them would get together for a long weekend and party up a storm. It was one way to start the healing process and get Cory and Morris back on track. Bad shit happened in their line of work; how a person dealt with it defined their careers and their lives.

  His final text was to Pepper and Misty. The girls had a special role in the little charade they were about to pull, one that required them to get face-to-face with Grimes and distract him. Grimes was many things, but a rube was not one of them. If Grimes suspected that Pepper and Misty were trying to trick him, he’d haul them both in.

  You ladies ready?

  Primed and willing. When do we go on? Pepper texted back.

  Soon

  Billy looked up. Grimes was marching toward him with a snarling look on his already ugly puss. The cell phone was balanced on his leg, and he flipped it so the screen was facing down and dropped it on the passenger seat. He rested both hands on the steering wheel.

  Grimes stuck his head into the driver’s open window. “What are you doing?”

  “Enjoying the beautiful outdoors,” he said.

  “Don’t be a smart-ass. I saw you looking in your lap. Admiring your junk?”

  “It’s worth admiring, or so I’m told.”

  “Very funny. Did Broken Tooth contact you?”

  “Not yet.”

  Grimes breathed his foul breath on Billy’s face. Every cop he’d encountered, from the streets of Providence to the fancy casinos of Vegas, spouted noxious breath that could not be quelled by Tic Tacs or vigorous mouthwash. Billy had decided that it was a by-product of the job. Dealing with lowlifes and miscreants created a bile-producing creature in the stomach that simply could not be quelled.

  “Then who are you texting? Your crew?” Grimes asked.

  “I wasn’t texting and I don’t have a crew.”

  “You’d better not be messing with me.”

  Truth ran both ways. Right now, Billy wasn’t feeling any, and he exploded. “How do I know you’re not messing with me? How do I know that you won’t shoot Broken Tooth and then turn your gun on me? Or have one of your men do it?”

  “Don’t think I haven’t considered it,” Grimes said, playing tough.

  “But you won’t?”

  “No sir.”

  “Like I should trust you? Right.”

  “Nothing’s going to happen to you, Billy, and on that you have my word. I need you to stand up in front of a judge and tell him the story you told me. Otherwise, I don’t have a case.”

  “You’re not going to waste me.”

  “Wouldn’t dream of it.”

  It was just like Mags had said. Grimes was determined to get that promotion, even if it meant getting in bed with his worst enemy, which happened to be Billy.

  “But don’t think that changes things between us,” Grimes said. “If I catch you doing anything funny before this bust goes down, I’ll drag you out of that fancy sports car and kick your ass until your nose bleeds. Am I making myself clear?”

  “Loud and clear.”

  Billy’s cell phone vibrated on the passenger seat. “This is Billy,” he answered.

  “This is Broken Tooth,” the caller said. “I’ve got the five hundred grand. You ready?”

  “I’m ready.”

  “Good. You know Joyful House restaurant on Spring Mountain Road?”

  It was the same restaurant where Cory and Morris had spotted Broken Tooth’s henchman picking up take-out food. “I’ve heard of it,” he said.

  “Be in the parking lot in thirty minutes. Don’t be late.”

  “We’re going to do the exchange in the parking lot? We could get robbed.”

  “Don’t be stupid. My men will meet you, bring you here. Then we’ll do exchange.”

  “Got it. I’m leaving right now.”

  There was silence on the line. Billy went rigid in his seat. He’d screwed up. The previous two times he’d spoken with Broken Tooth, he’d demanded that Broken Tooth put Leon on the line to confirm that his driver was still alive. Billy hadn’t done that this time, and he felt certain that Broken Tooth had picked up on the discrepancy.

  “But first I want to speak with my driver,” he added.

  “Your driver is taking a nap,” Broken Tooth said.

  “Wake him up. If I don’t talk to my driver, our deal is off.”

  “Don’t argue with me!”

  “Do it, or I’ll hang up on you.”

  Broken Tooth dropped the phone on a table, the sound like an explosion in Billy’s ear. He glanced at Grimes. The special agent was not happy with this development and started to voice his displeasure. Billy silenced him with a finger to the lips. Leon came on the line.

  “Hello?” His driver’s speech was slurred.

  “Hey, Leon, it’s me, Billy. You don’t sound so hot. You okay?”

  “They beat the shit out of me.”

  “What did you do this time?”

  “They like to watch Chinese TV on their smartphones. Some stupid variety show. There was a girl singing off-key, so I asked them to turn the volume down.”

  “How bad did they beat you up?”

  “Can’t see out of my left eye, and my ribs are busted. I think my nose is broken, too.”

  “I’m going to get you out of there, man. That’s a promise.”

  “You better hurry up, because I can’t take much more of this.”

  Broken Tooth came back on the line. “You satisfied?”

  “Why did you have to hurt him?”

  “Your driver’s got a big mouth. Lucky to be alive. Joyful House on Spring Mountain Road. Be there in thirty or my men will kill your driver.”

  “Don’t do that.”

  The call ended. Billy dropped the phone into his lap and used his hands to massage his face. It hurt him to hear Leon sounding so bad. Grimes touched Billy’s sleeve.

  “If it makes you feel better, I can have an ambulance waiting nearby.�
�

  He stared into the special agent’s face. There was a tinge of compassion beneath the ugly that hadn’t been there before. Like the criminals they chased, cops’ souls were often scorched beyond repair or healing. Grimes had fallen far, but he hadn’t fallen all the way.

  “That would be great,” he said.

  Grimes made a phone call to arrange for an ambulance to be at the ready. Ending the call, he hustled over to where his posse was gathered. The gaming agents piled into the van and followed Billy out of the parking lot.

  As Billy drove to Joyful House, he used one hand to send his crew a group text telling them the rescue was on. Hitting “Send,” he realized his hand was shaking. He’d never been more scared in his life, and he tossed his phone on the passenger seat and stared at the road.

  THIRTY-SEVEN

  Joyful House was the anchor tenant of the Spring Oaks Plaza Shopping Center and advertised itself as one of the country’s top fifty Chinese restaurants. Vegas did not believe in zoning, and the center also housed a discount furniture store, a gun shop, and a massage parlor.

  Dinnertime and the parking lot was nearly full. Billy took a space away from the restaurant’s entrance, by the street, while the gaming board’s van parked in front of the gun store with Grimes at the wheel. The plaza was a hub of activity, and the van blended in nicely.

  Billy’s crew arrived in three vehicles and parked across the street in front of a store called Psychic Castles, which sold lucky charms and crystals. Cory and Morris drove their Infiniti SUV, Gabe his old diesel Mercedes, the girls a sexy red BMW that Pepper had recently bought.

  Everyone ready? he texted.

  His crew responded with a chorus of thumbs-up emojis. A minute later, Broken Tooth’s henchmen pulled into the lot in their rental, parked in a handicapped spot by the restaurant’s front door, and got out. Their knuckles sported flesh-covered Band-Aids, which Billy guessed were a result of the bashing they’d given poor Leon.

  One of the bodyguards wore a man bun. He called for Billy to stay put and entered the restaurant with his partner. Billy’s cell phone rang, and he grabbed it off the passenger seat.

  “What do you want?” he answered.

  “Are those Broken Tooth’s men?” Grimes asked.

  “No, they’re the Boy Scouts.”

  “Never hurts to double check. Say something into the button on your shirt. I need to check the transmission again.”

  “You’ve got to be kidding me.”

  “Just do it.”

  Billy dipped his chin and spoke into the button. “This is a test of the emergency idiot system. This is only a test.”

  “You’re not funny,” Grimes snapped.

  “Got to run. Remember, if you shoot me, your case goes south.”

  “Don’t tempt me, Cunningham.”

  He ended the call and took a deep breath to calm his nerves. The henchmen emerged with two shopping bags of takeout. Billy got out of his car and walked toward them.

  “Ready when you are,” he said.

  “Not yet.” Man Bun pointed at the roof of the rental. “Hands there.”

  Billy slapped his hands on the roof. Man Bun patted him down, then stuck his hand underneath Billy’s shirt and ran his hand over the young hustler’s chest, searching for a wire. Satisfied, Man Bun jerked open the rental’s passenger door.

  “Get in.”

  Billy got in, and the bodyguards sandwiched him into the front seat like a human sardine. The rental pulled out of the lot heading west on Spring Mountain Road and was soon doing eighty miles an hour. Billy wasn’t wearing a seat belt and hugged the dashboard, fearful of being hurled through the windshield if they made a sudden stop.

  “Slow down!”

  Man Bun let out a brutal laugh. A mile later they slowed to sixty miles per hour, and the rental took a left on Lindell Street on two wheels. A mile after that, the daredevil move was repeated, this time on West Flamingo, followed by a quick right on El Camino and into the driveway of a one-story house with shuttered windows and zero landscaping, the rental’s wheels screaming as the brakes were finally used. Billy spotted a mailbox hugging the sidewalk: number 4021.

  The garage door went up, and the rental entered. Billy stole a look in the mirror. The van with the gaming agents was nowhere to be seen. You’re screwed, he thought. The garage door came down, bringing darkness. The car doors were opened, and the car’s interior light came on. The henchmen got out. Billy followed, and the bags of takeout were shoved into his arms.

  “Here, mule,” Man Bun said.

  “I hope you got enough for everyone,” he said.

  Man Bun opened an interior door that led into the house. They entered single file and passed through a small kitchen into the living room. The Chinese food smelled absolutely delicious, and Billy promised himself he’d try Joyful House if he got out of this alive.

  Mismatched furniture and no wall coverings gave the living room a nightmarish feel. Blinds covered the windows, the main light coming from the flat-screen TV, on which a game show was playing. Broken Tooth sat cross-legged on the carpeted floor, watching his prize cricket do battle with a smaller, less skillful opponent. If Billy had gotten a thousand crooks together and asked how many owned a champion fighting cricket, only one hand would go up, and it would belong to this crazy loon. His gut told him to make a run for it while he still had a chance, only there was still the matter of poor Leon, who sat bound in a chair in the corner. His driver looked worse than advertised, his eyes slits, his nose caked with blackened blood.

  “Look what the cat dragged in,” Leon whispered.

  “Hold tight, my man,” Billy said.

  The contest over, Broken Tooth scooped the smaller cricket off the floor, bit its head off, and spit it away, all the while giving his guest a suspicious stare.

  “Tell me how the meeting with the football players went,” the Chinese gangster said.

  “Like a charm,” he replied, speaking clearly so the wire hidden in his shirt would pick up every word. “Like I told you over the phone, I cheated Night Train and his buddies at cards. When Night Train tried to pay me off, I gave him his money back. That got his attention.”

  “Very smart. He in your debt now,” Broken Tooth said.

  “That’s right. He owes me. That’s when I broached the subject of his fixing next Sunday’s Super Bowl. I offered to give him and his friends five hundred grand in good faith. My gut tells me he’s on board: all I have to do is deliver the money. You got the cash?”

  Broken Tooth’s eyes went wide. Scooping his prize cricket off the floor, he leaped to his feet and wagged a crooked finger in his guest’s face. “Why you say ‘next Sunday’? Everyone know when Super Bowl is! Why you just say that?”

  Billy froze. He’d said “next Sunday” to avoid Broken Tooth getting an acquittal based on a technicality. Broken Tooth, as clever as a shit-house rat, had picked up on it.

  “It’s just an expression of speech, that’s all,” he said.

  “Bullshit. You’re wearing a fucking wire!”

  “No, I’m not. Your man patted me down at the restaurant parking lot.”

  “That doesn’t mean shit. You could have a wire stuck up your asshole.”

  “Stop being so paranoid. I’m clean.”

  “You’re not clean! Take off your clothes right now!”

  A man had to know his limitations. For Billy, it was letting a stranger investigate his anal cavity. The game was over; now it was time for the cavalry to make their entrance and save the day. Of course, the gaming board might not have pinpointed which house Billy was holed up in. That was easily fixed, and Billy snatched the prize cricket out of Broken Tooth’s hands and held the struggling insect between its front legs like a chicken wishbone. The cricket was stronger than he’d anticipated and nearly wiggled free.

  “He’s a tough little sucker. Did you really pay twenty grand for him?” he asked.

  “Give him to me, or my men will kill you,” Broken Tooth seethed.


  “Only if you say please.”

  “Don’t mess with me, Cunningham!”

  He planned to hold the cricket hostage until the front door came down. “The address where you can find me is 4021 El Camino,” he said into the middle button of his shirt.

  “What did you just say?” Broken Tooth said.

  “Repeat. 4021 El Camino. Hurry up. It’s getting hairy in here.”

  “He’s wearing a wire! Take him out!” Broken Tooth said.

  The henchmen sat at the dining room table partaking of the takeout delicacies. Jumping up, they drew guns and moved toward their guest. They meant business, and Billy mimed pulling the cricket apart. Broken Tooth screamed like a mother seeing her infant tortured.

  “Better not shoot,” Billy said.

  “You are going to die,” Broken Tooth said.

  “Everyone has to go sometime.”

  The game was over. Broken Tooth chopped the air like he was breaking a board. Man Bun aimed at Billy’s temple. The cricket dropped from his hands to the floor.

  “Do it,” Broken Tooth said.

  Man Bun closed one eye and steadied his arm. Billy’s life flashed before his eyes. The past ten years had been one long joyride, and his only regret was never ripping off a joint with Mags by his side. A splintering sound shattered the air as a battering ram took down the front door. Moments later, the gaming agents rushed into the living room brandishing their shotguns.

  Billy dove headfirst to the floor as the first shot was fired.

  THIRTY-EIGHT

  Billy hated guns for the simple reason that they were rarely accurate, even at close range. Ninety percent of the time, the wrong thing got hit.

  Lying on the floor, he watched the fusillade of bullets hit everything but their intended targets. In a movie, it would have been funny, but not so in real life, where a ricochet could have taken out him or Leon. Grimes finally settled things and got close enough not to miss. The house shook as the henchmen’s bodies hit the floor. It was all Billy could do not to yell, “Timber.”

  The gaming agents relieved the henchmen of their weapons before checking for pulses. Grimes came over to where Billy lay, saw he wasn’t harmed, and said, “We got lost. Thanks for giving us the address. Which one is Broken Tooth?”