by James Swain
He was soon drenched. The hole was three feet deep, so where the hell was the gun?
“Looks like we’ve got company. Stay here.”
Pinning a silver badge to his lapel, Grimes marched over to a white-haired man walking his dog who was coming toward them. They engaged in conversation, and Billy caught enough to realize that the man was part of a citizen’s watch group assigned to keep the neighborhood safe. A pesky bastard, exactly the kind of guy Grimes didn’t want snooping around.
His fingers touched the curved handle of a firearm. He cleaned away the dirt and watched the gun’s barrel take shape at the bottom of the hole. He stole a furtive glance at the man with the dog before pulling the buried weapon from its hiding place. The gun tucked safely beneath his shirt, he hustled over to his car and hopped in. The weight of the world had lifted from his shoulders. Grimes took the passenger seat, and Billy cleaned his fingerprints off the gun, then passed him the weapon.
“Beautiful,” Grimes said.
FORTY-SIX
Returning home, Billy killed the engine and waited for Grimes to speak. He knew of cheats in town who had unique relationships with the gaming board, but he’d never expected to join their ranks. He disliked people who enforced the law for the simple reason that many of them would have become criminals had they possessed the smarts and the cunning. Not able to make the mark, they’d lowered themselves to catching the very people they aspired to be.
“This is a nice place you live in,” Grimes said. “What’s the security like?”
“First-rate. Why?”
“I want you to stay here until the conspiracy charges against Broken Tooth are filed. Don’t go out unless it’s absolutely necessary.”
“You think Broken Tooth will go after me?”
“I wouldn’t put it past him. If you sense trouble, call me right away.”
They exchanged cell numbers. Billy would have to get the number changed when this was over, otherwise Grimes would use it to track him inside the casinos later on. Even though they were now joined at the hip, they were not, and never would be, friends.
“This doesn’t change things between us,” Grimes said, as if reading his thoughts. “The next time I catch you and your crew scamming a casino, I’ll bust you.”
“I wouldn’t expect anything less,” Billy said.
“Did it ever occur to you that if you went legit, how successful you’d be? Your file says you went to MIT on a scholarship. Take those brains and apply yourself to running a real business. You might surprise yourself.”
Billy couldn’t help but laugh.
“You think I’m being funny?” Grimes said, growing angry. “You’re going to end up rotting in prison. You’ll regret not listening to me.”
Grimes was steaming. But he didn’t get out of the car and storm off. It made Billy wonder if the special agent was telling Billy a hidden truth about himself. Grimes was a smart son of a bitch, and Billy wondered if Grimes secretly regretted not venturing out on his own, instead of seeking the safety of law enforcement work and the benefits that came with it.
“When I was growing up, I read a book called Little Man. You know it?”
Grimes stared at him out of the corner of his eye. “No.”
“It was about the life of the gangster Meyer Lansky. Lansky was the moneyman for the mob, had to be one of the smartest guys who ever lived. He could sit in the stands watching a baseball game and calculate the different players’ batting averages each time they came up to the plate. He was carrying all that information around in his head, along with the figures for all the rackets the mob ran. He was a genius.”
“That’s impressive. What’s your point?”
“When Lansky got older he tried to go legit. He moved to Florida and ran a restaurant and a string of dry cleaners and other businesses with his brother Jake. They all failed, and Lansky lost his shirt. Success has nothing to do with how smart you are. It’s about luck.”
“Is that why you keep stealing?” Grimes asked. “Because you’re afraid of failing in the real world? The fact is, Billy, you never tried the real world, so there’s no way you’d know.”
Billy turned to face his adversary. “You want to know why I steal? I steal because it’s a blast. Every time I rip off a casino, it feels better than having sex. I’m also damn good at it. The day it turns into a job, I’ll quit.”
“You’ve got it all figured out, haven’t you?”
“I know what makes me happy. Do you?”
Grimes snorted contemptuously. That was enough of an answer in itself. Billy said, “Let me know if there’s anything else I can do to help your investigation.”
“Fuck you.”
“Let’s part friends, shall we?”
Grimes got out, rifled the valet stand for his keys, then entered the parking garage in search of his car. He was like an active volcano, the bad stuff bubbling just below the surface. Billy hoped like hell Grimes got his promotion; it might keep the special agent out of his hair.
His cell phone vibrated. It was Casey, calling him back.
“Sorry about that. Are you up for some fun and games?” Billy said.
“I’m in my car, heading to LA,” Casey said.
“Trouble?”
“Afraid so. I’ve been running a chip cup scam at one of the Venetian’s craps tables. This afternoon, the dealer flipped the cup over and exposed it to the eye-in-the-sky. They arrested him.”
“Think he’ll turn on you?”
“My gut says he won’t. But just in case he does, I’m going to be far away from Vegas. I’ve booked a one-way ticket to Hawaii out of LAX tomorrow morning.”
No simpler cheating device had stolen more money from the casinos than the chip cup. It was a tin shell designed to look like a stack of low denomination chips, its purpose to secretly steal high-value chips inside its shell. The dealer did the stealing, then sold the chip cup stuffed with chips to his partner sitting at the table.
A great scam, except for one minor problem. The chip cup was on the table in plain view. If a suspicious pit boss picked it up, Katy bar the door. Or in Casey’s situation, the clumsy dealer fumbled and turned the cup over, exposing its false construction. Either scenario would lead to immediate arrest and a lengthy stay in the gray-bar motel.
“Sure I can’t talk you into coming back?” Billy said.
“Christ, Billy, I’d like nothing better than to run with you again. We had a blast back in the day. You were the champ when it came to thieving.”
“I’ll make it worth your while.”
“Don’t tempt me, man. I need to leave town and let the dust settle.”
“I’ll give you half a million bucks.”
“Oh man. I wish I could say yes, I really do.”
“What’s holding you back?”
“I did time a few years back. Worst experience of my life. I won’t go back.”
Nevada had an unwritten policy when it came to dealing with cheats. The courts sent them to the state’s most notorious penal institutions, where cheats lived in tiny cells without air conditioning, ate food unfit for a dog, and tried to survive among rival gangs trying to kill each other. Billy couldn’t blame Casey for not wanting to go back.
“I understand. I hope it works out for you,” he said.
“Good luck with your scam,” Casey said.
“I’m probably going to do the painting myself. Any tips you can share?”
“Sure. The person most likely to catch you painting is the dealer. Make sure you sit at a crowded table. The more distraction, the less chance you’ll get caught.”
“I’ll remember that.”
“Keep your thumb still when you paint. If your thumb starts flapping, you’re cooked.”
“Got it. Thanks, man.”
Soon Billy was in his penthouse apartment fixing himself a cup of coffee. When it came to thieving, necessity was the mother of invention. If he couldn’t hire a painter, he’d do the job himself. From the hall closet he
removed a video camera and tripod stand, which he set up at the dining room table. Then he got several decks of cards and a small round tin of luminous paint from his study.
He hit the record button on the video camera and took a chair at the table. Picking up one of the decks, he dealt himself a blackjack hand, then opened the can and covered his thumb and forefinger with the invisible substance.
He practiced painting the backs of the two cards. A light brush of the fingertips was all that was necessary. If done right, the move was barely perceptible. If done wrong, the move would wake the dead, and he’d get hauled off to jail.
He went through an entire deck, then stopped and programmed the video camera into the TV in the living room so he could critique himself. The video came on, his hands filling the screen. He watched himself and nearly choked. His technique was amateurish and would be easily spotted by a sharp dealer.
He returned to the dining room and started over. Casey had said not to flap his thumb. That was easier said than done. He went through two more decks of cards, watched the tape, and still caught himself in the act every single time.
He got more cards from his study and started over. He was determined to get the move down right, the conversation with Grimes fresh in his mind. Thieving was his life; the day he quit would be the day they put him in the ground.
FORTY-SEVEN
Friday, nine days before the Super Bowl
Mags and Amber cabbed it to McCarran the next morning. Inside the terminal, blaring commercials for musical revues and magic shows playing at the Strip casinos ran endlessly on large screens. Listening to them for too long could lead to insanity, even death.
Mags stood in the check-in line with her daughter. They’d hardly spoken during the ride, and now Amber was not making eye contact. How long would it be before they saw each other again? A year? Two? Maybe never? She tried not to cry, but it was hard. Twenty-four hours ago, her life had been filled with the stuff that dreams were made of. With the suddenness of a lightning strike, it had turned into a disaster movie. Hardship and failure had defined most of her existence, and she could deal with it. What she couldn’t deal with was having Amber experience the failure with her. That part was tearing Mags’s heart out.
It was their turn. Amber handed her driver’s license to a ticket agent with a zombie personality. The agent typed her info into a computer and said, “Sorry, your flight’s been delayed. The scheduled departure is now eleven a.m. Next, please.”
Amber’s shoulders sagged. She was ready to go home and put her mother’s mess of a life behind her. “That sucks. Where’s a good place to get some breakfast?”
“There are a variety of restaurants at your gate,” the ticket agent said.
“My mom can’t get out to the gate without a ticket. What about the main terminal?”
“Try the Starbucks in the Esplanade. Next, please.”
The Starbucks was like a visit to happy town. Five employees manned the counter, flying high on caffeine and the corporate desire to please. Mags was starving and ordered two double-smoked bacon, cheddar, and egg sandwiches and a fruit bowl to go with their coffees.
“Looks like you got your appetite back,” her daughter said.
Mags took a monster bite out of her sandwich. “It never went away.”
“You deliberately starved yourself? No wonder you look so unhealthy.”
“It was Rand’s suggestion. He said the cameras make actors look fat. I was sick a lot, come to think of it.”
“You’re borderline anorexic and you’re also a nervous wreck.”
“And your point is?”
The sandwich was soon reduced to greasy remains. It had been months since Mags had eaten a meal without counting the calories, and she went to the counter and ordered a chocolate chip muffin that had caught her eye and returned to the table munching on it.
“Mom, I want to ask you a personal question. Please don’t get mad.”
Mags groaned inside. The visit was nearly over, and Amber was going to lower the boom and ask Mags why she hadn’t been around to see her daughter grow up. There was an answer, but it wasn’t pretty. Being a thief and having a kid didn’t go together, so Mags had dumped Amber on her folks, split town, and never looked back. Sure, she’d sent money and the occasional gift, but that was only to assuage her own guilt. It was only later that she’d regretted the decision not to raise her child, but by then Amber was grown up.
“Sure, honey.”
“Did you quit being a thief and decide to become an actress for me?”
The question caught her by surprise. “Whatever gave you that idea?”
“Because you sent me an airline ticket and asked me to come out here. You sounded so damn proud over the phone when you told me your pilot had been picked up by CBS. You didn’t call Grandma or Grandpa with the news; you called me. You wanted to impress me.”
She took a deep breath. Amber had her dead to rights.
“Maybe I did. Is that wrong?”
“I think it is. It changed you, and not in a good way.”
“What are you saying? That you liked me the way I was before?”
“Your being a grifter doesn’t bother me. If you’re clever enough to take their money, go ahead. I’m cool with it. What I’m not cool with is you thinking you shamed yourself, and that you need to turn yourself into an overnight success to impress me. I don’t like that at all.”
“You think it’s okay I rob casinos?”
“It doesn’t bother me.”
Mags was more than a little surprised. Most people accepted that casino games were rigged in the house’s favor, just like carnival games were rigged. The small percentage of people who felt otherwise had been victimized by a casino and held a grudge.
Amber had grown up in Providence, which was a short drive to the Native American casinos in Connecticut—Mohegan Sun and Foxwoods. Had Amber gambled at one of these joints and gotten cleaned out? Or had she worked for them as a dealer or cocktail waitress and been screwed over? Either scenario was plausible, and Mags decided to tread cautiously.
“Why do you hate the casinos?” she asked.
“During high school I used to hang out at my friend Brie Hartman’s house. On Sundays, Brie’s grandmother Rose would come over and cook these amazing meals. I got invited over a lot. It was always a great time.
“One day, Rose got sick with pneumonia and went into the hospital. She died a few days later. I went to the funeral with Brie and her family. It was really sad.
“After the funeral, Brie told me that Rose had willed her house in Connecticut to Brie’s mom, and that her mom planned to sell it and use the money to put Brie and her sisters through college. The Hartmans didn’t have much, so Brie was really excited.
“Brie’s mom got a good offer. They went to close and discovered the Mohegan Sun Casino had a lien on the property. Rose owed them all this money. Every Sunday during her drive home, Rose would stop at the casino and play the high-stakes slot machines. The poor woman was an addict. Do you think the casino had the decency to cut her off? Hell no. When she died, she owed them three hundred and ten thousand dollars.
“The house went for two hundred and ninety thousand. The Hartmans had to sell Rose’s car and her belongings at a yard sale to pay the debt. Brie’s mom didn’t end up getting a penny from her mother’s estate. The casino got it all.”
“They snapped her,” Mags said.
“Is that what they call it? Well, it broke the family in half. The Hartmans hired a lawyer to see if it was legal, and sure enough, it was. The casinos have an agreement with every state that lets them prosecute people with debt. Even dead people. When I found out that you cheated the casinos, it made me so happy. I know that sounds weird, but it did. You’re aces in my book, Mom. And so’s your friend Billy. He’s cool, too.”
“You told me Billy was a snake,” Mags said.
“That was before he saved you from the gaming board.”
How strange was that
? Amber didn’t have a problem with Mags’s criminal past, but she did have a problem with her mother being an actress. Mags had misjudged the situation completely, but at least it had worked out in the end.
It was getting late, and she bought Amber a bag of chocolate chip cookies for the trip before they went in search of her daughter’s terminal.
FORTY-EIGHT
Billy sat on the balcony of his condo, soaking up the morning sunshine. He normally slept in, but today was different. Today he was going to paint cards at blackjack tables at five MGM casinos and, if things went according to plan, live happily ever after.
Going inside, he removed the video camera from its tripod and connected it to the TV. Soon he was watching yesterday’s practice sessions. His painting skills were nothing to write home about, and his thumb still slightly fluttered whenever it touched the back of a playing card.
You go to battle with the army that you have. He couldn’t improve his chops, but he could disguise himself so no one would notice him. Casino employees were trained to watch high rollers because they had the money. As a result, these same employees often ignored players with limited bankrolls who rolled in off the street. These players were seen as a nuisance who contributed little to the casino’s bottom line.
It was an exploitable flaw. He went to his bedroom and entered the walk-in closet. On one wall were the expensive threads he wore at the clubs. Gucci, Versace, all brand names. On the other wall, the ragged clothes for the disguises he wore robbing the joints. Levi Strauss, Gap, and the crap they sold at Kohl’s. The question was, what role would he play this time?
He decided to be a ranch hand. Nevada was home to several large cattle ranches, and it wasn’t uncommon for a ranch hand to drive his dusty pickup into town for a wild weekend. He grabbed a pair of loose-fitting jeans and a denim shirt off the rack.
On the shelf above the rack was his collection of caps. These included baseball caps, caps from conventions that had come to town, and wacky caps sold at tourist shops. Caps were important when creating a disguise. The rim hid the cheat’s face from the eye-in-the-sky, and it also allowed the cheat to establish an identity.
