Rachel put the hair up, applied slightly more makeup than usual and donned clear lens non-prescription hot librarian style glasses. Cisco would not only want the house he’d want her along with it. If not, then something was really bogus in Bullion. At eight-thirty a.m. Rachel stepped out of the hotel bathroom and gave Sam a twirl.
“Wow, if Cisco doesn’t try and jump you on the spot he’s either gay or the sting is mega blown. As your brother who cares deeply for you, I think I need to be there.”
“No chance, brother,” Rachel said using air quotes. She held Sam’s face in her hands and kissed him on the lips. “Let’s go, I have a feeling this guy’s gonna be early today.”
Sam opened the door and stood aside for Rachel to exit first but she didn’t move or say anything.
“Cisco. Leila. What are you two doing here?”
“We need to talk,” Cisco said, pushing past Rachel without waiting for an invitation.
“Fuck,” Illiana said, pounding the Audi steering wheel. She unscrewed the suppressor from the Glock and put it and the piece back in the small black gym bag. The set-up was perfect. The cons were alone and Philly’s guy hadn’t arrived yet. She could have capped them in the hotel room and had a day’s lead on whichever goon they sent. But then Cisco, the Miami Vice wannabe looking fool, and his skank drop by for a visit. She grabbed her phone and started to text her cousin Massimo to ask for the photo of the guy they were sending but decided against it. Her cousin should have sent it by now and that could mean only one thing: the hitter was on route and Massimo chose not to give her a heads up. Her fine young cousin made a choice between Illiana and the mob and she came up on the short end.
I get it, cugino. Money, or the possibility of death versus your distant cousin bent on homicide. But fuck you just the same Massimo…fuck you!
Sam let Leila and Cisco into the room and closed the door but didn’t shut it all the way. Cisco made himself comfortable in the room’s high-back wing chair.
“Folks, I realize I’m loud, brash and some might even say I’m obnoxious. Maybe they’re right because I really don’t care. Now, Leila there, she’s easy on the eyes and looks as though she’s for hire. Well,” he paused. “She is, but she works for me and only me.”
“What the fuck are you talking about and why are you here Cisco?” Rachel demanded. “We have an appointment at the house.”
Cisco ignored the question, “Together Leila and I make a good team. She ain’t a whore and I’m not just some dumb loudmouth. Ya see, we aren’t what we seem.” He worked his face into a sneer. “And neither are you.” He pointed a meaty finger at Rachel. “You ain’t Julia Sawkins and boy-handsome over there ain’t Steve. I’ll go even further and guess you aren’t brother and sister like you been playin’ at in this town.”
Rachel had on a different pair of boots than the day before. They didn’t ride as high but were still high enough to house the blade. She shifted feeling its comfort against the inside of her shin and ankle. Sam caught what she was doing.
“What’s the play here, Cisco?” Rachel asked.
“First you’re going to fix me a drink, then Leila’s going to take over the discussion.”
Rachel noticed Sam’s jaw and forearm muscles tense up. She gave him stand down, not yet eyes.
“We got Macallan eighteen year,” Rachel said moving to the minibar.
Cisco frowned. “Huh, I’d think a high roller like you would have twenty-five year at least. Oh yeah, that was that fake Julia Sawkins bitch I met. Eighteen year, it is, I guess.”
Sam took a slow step forward then dropped his shoulders taking it down a notch.
“Look let’s everyone relax,” Cisco said. “The gig is up, as they used to say in old movies. But all is not lost.”
Rachel handed drinks around the room and gave Sam we got this eyes. Cisco took a long pull on the scotch.
“Not bad swill for eighteen year. Okay, Leila, let ’er rip.”
Leila donned the same smug look Rachel had seen the day before. She spoke without the aid of notes or her phone.
“It was simple, really. I dug around a little and found the house you’re selling on Airbnb. After that it took one phone call to the actual owners the Clarkes. Did you know they’re having a wonderful time in Tuscany? They seem like such a lovely couple how could you do such a horrible thing to those kind folk?”
“Maybe you could make your point,” Sam said.
Leila gave him a flat smile. “You can breathe easy. I didn’t rat you guys out. I’m assuming you filed a new deed and all that? Anyway, we—”
“I got it from here, sweetheart,” Cisco said. “You two fucks are going to repeat what you almost did to me to someone else. And I’ve got just the guy who’ll bite harder and faster at that house than I would. We work out a split and then we go our separate ways.”
“How’d you find us here at the hotel?” Rachel asked.
“Check the sleeves of a couple of those sexy blazers.” Cisco grinned, clearly pleased with himself. “You might think the romantic hand kiss by the sexy investor was all romance and it was in part but…well, go ’head and check.”
Rachel played along and found a mini transmitter the size of a 3-volt battery stuck up inside the sleeve of her blazer.
“Not bad,” Rachel said, forcing a smile.
“Yup, even as I watched that sweet ass of yours walk away each day I always knew where you were.”
“Are you always this paranoid?” Rachel asked.
“Actually no. Leila’s usually the skittish one but this time it was me. You were just too good to be true. Sexy, rich, kicking around in my playground. And now,” he said, spreading his hands wide, “here we are.”
Rachel tried to think fast and make the next move. Sam must have known her mind was racing and bought her time.
“Clearly you two are impressed with yourselves. You found our hotel and figured out we aren’t the Sawkins. But as stimulating as it is watching you play Hercule Poirot, what is it you want?”
Leila took over. “Mr. Glanis has already stated what he wants. Same gig, different sucker.”
“She’s right,” Cisco said and downed his scotch. “So what’s it gonna be?”
Sam and Rachel sat side by side on the two-seater with shoulders touching. The mark and his sidekick left five minutes earlier. Cisco had asked for a second scotch but Sam turned him down. The grifters needed a conference, alone. For now, the team had grown by two and the grift would go ahead as planned but with a new mark provided by Cisco, Jim McShane. As soon as he heard the man’s description, Sam realized McShane had been at the auction Sam attended on their first day in Bullion. He was the skinny weasel Cisco took down and was a long-time petty rival of Cisco’s.
“No way are we going through with this,” Rachel said.
“Obviously, Rachel, but what are—”
“Don’t snap at me. You were just as blindsided as me on this one.”
“You’re right, you’re right—” he sighed running his hands over his face. “Too much money, too fucking close.”
“Fuck me,” Rachel said, shaking her head. “He said I was too good to be true when all the while he was too good to be true.”
She shoved to get up but Sam held her in place.
“Wait,” he said pulling her into an embrace. “What do we know? We fucked up and that’s behind us. We’re not going through with the Cisco-Leila shit show. Let’s contact our guy Gerald on the earnest money. Cisco said he put a stop payment on the cashier’s check but maybe the money’s been bounced far enough away from the initial bank. If we’ve got it, I say we blow—head north to Oregon. Or screw it, we blow through Washington state and hit Canada. I hear Vancouver’s nice. Full of money and friendly trusting Canadians—a grifter’s paradise.” Sam kissed her head. “Okay, your turn, go.”
Rachel considered. Then she said, “Option two is go all the way with Cisco. Sell the house and double cross him before t
he finish line. He’ll expect it but we’re the professionals and Cisco’s just an egomaniacal investor. We put our big brains together,” she said. “And we win.”
They sat together, shaking off the shock, rage, and frustration. Within fifteen minutes, they hatched plan B, a total revision.
“It’s crude, not really our wheelhouse, but I like it,” Rachel said. As they bumped fists both of their phones buzzed. They checked simultaneously.
“The earnest money made it through,” Sam smiled.
This time she smiled back. “Down, but not out, babe. Never out. Let’s go.”
Illiana Tolenti watched the Miami Vice wannabe and his skank leave the grifter’s hotel. They had smiles on their faces. Something went down, maybe some kind of partnership or maybe they fucked the cons over. Wouldn’t that be nice: screwed over by the marks and then murdered by a Tolenti. Talk about poetic justice. Rocco would have appreciated it.
She watched the couple climb into a Range Rover and drive away. As she was about to get out of the car, a Prevost tour bus pulled up.
‘Shit,” Illiana said as she watched fifty or so female old timers in fancy hats get off the bus and enter the hotel. She then saw a sign out front reading Welcome SoCal White Hat Seniors Society.
“Are you effing kidding me?” Illiana mumbled. That was that, too many witnesses. Back to plan A—take out the grifters at night.
An hour and a half later Sam and Rachel came out and drove toward the downtown area. They parked a block off Main Street and vaulted the steps of a posh boutique bed and breakfast called the Empress, which was sandwiched between an Italian bakery and a vintage looking men’s haberdashery. Illiana parked and watched the front.
“Thank you for agreeing to see us, Mr. McShane. I’m Julia Sawkins and this is my brother Steve.”
Both Sam and Rachel noticed the man’s bloodshot eyes, white gunk at the corners of his mouth and his constant sniffling. Making it even more obvious that Sam had pegged him right was the powder remnants and rolled up Benjamin on the desk in front of him. As Sam thought about it, the weasel ran his shirtsleeve across his nose and sniffled.
“You said you had some shit on that asshole whose name shall remain nameless.”
“We want to ruin Cisco Glanis’ day.”
“Please don’t mention that spray tanned fuck’s name in my presence.”
“No problem,” Sam said, raising his hands, placating. “How soon can you get a couple o’ grams of that snow?”
“Are you assholes cops?” McShane asked.
“We’re neither assholes nor cops,” Sam said.
“Hmm, to be honest, I just take a bump now and again,” he said. “Ya know, when the stress of these auctions ’n escrows ’n shit get me down.”
“Let me take you through what we’ve got,” Sam said. “I was at the auction the day you and Cisco had your little sparring match. You don’t like the guy and we don’t either.”
At this point Sam went on a fabricated riff. “A few years ago, Cisco did my aunt dirty on a deal. She and her family were homeless for six months until they got back on their feet. My aunt isn’t the type to go after a guy like Cisco but Julia and I are.” He paused. “With your help.”
Sam noticed McShane’s eyes grow wide. The bait was fully in his mouth.
“Our plan was to sell him a stolen home. We’d take him for the money then he’d have to battle it out with the true owners. Stay with me here ’cause I’m gonna make this long story short.” Sam said and sat on the corner of the desk. “We have the house and all the paperwork done. He thinks we’re going to take you down but we’re going to take him down.” Sam leaned forward, “With your cocaine.”
“That is, if you have more than a bump here and there,” Rachel added.
“Why didn’t you fucking say so?” McShane said and pounded his desk with a big grin on his face. “I’ve got half an ounce here with me right now.”
“We thought as much,” Rachel said.
Sam and Rachel drove to the Hibiscus, Cisco’s boutique hotel. Rachel had a script prepared should she bump into Cisco or his slick assistant Leila. But she was in luck both in that she didn’t see Cisco or Leila, and her favorite millennial bartender was on shift.
“Hello you,” Rachel said as she slid onto a barstool.
“Hi,” the bartender said, blushing as before. “Lemon drop?”
“It’s a bit early but you make them so good.”
“Great, and this one’s on me,” he said getting down to business.
“You know I feel bad I never got your name.” She extended her hand. “I’m Julia.”
“Teddy,” he said, wiping his hand on his apron before shaking her’s. Then he went back to mixing the martini.
“You know,” Rachel said, tracing the bar in front of her with a tapered fingernail, “it’s true what I said the other night.”
“What’s that?”
“About you being the cutest bartender in town.” She let a hint of a smile touch her lips. “I’ve been here three days and had a drink in just about every bar and well, it’s true.”
The shaker slipped from Teddy’s hands and onto the steel counter. It bounced once then he caught it before it went to the ground.
“Ooh, quick reflexes.”
“Sorry I’m such a—you kinda make me nervous, to be honest.”
“No need to apologize, Teddy. I was young once.”
“I’m not that young,” he said. “And you’re not old. Older than me but…not too old.”
He poured the lemon drop into the martini glass and slid it across to Rachel.
“Thank you,” she said, and lay a hundred-dollar bill on the bar.
“Cheers,” Teddy reached for the money. “Your change is coming right up.”
“Wait,” Rachel said. “I wonder if you could do me a favor?”
Illiana grew tired of waiting for nightfall. And with each tick of the clock she was becoming increasingly concerned about the arrival of the Philly hitman. As she’d given it more thought, she realized that more than likely, the guy had orders to take over the score, if possible, get the money and kill the Tolenti girl. The men up top barely rate women a half notch above cockroach on the mob’s food chain. Wives, mistresses, and whores were the only roles of any value that they saw them having. Out of desperation, she texted her cousin, Massimo an hour ago. He hadn’t responded yet, which confirmed her earlier suspicion: she was dead to her dear cousin.
Meanwhile, the Rachel bitch was still in the boutique hotel doing God knows what. She eyed the bag that had the Glock in it. Nighttime couldn’t arrive soon enough.
Sam sat in the Porsche, watching his phone for the text from Rachel. He didn’t have to wait long. It took about the length of time for a lemon drop and some dialog. He threw the black backpack with the “stuff” in it over his shoulder, got out and walked to the hotel lobby. Rachel handed him a car key fob.
“Any problems?” he asked.
“Smooth sailing so far,” Rachel, said. “They park them in the alley behind the hotel. Good luck.”
Sam walked to the end of the block and made a left turn. At the alley, he poked his head around the building. A row of Audis, Teslas, Beamers and other high-end vehicles were lined up tight against the hotel building. A valet parker ran to a Jaguar E Pace SE, climbed in and eased it off the wall, and drove toward Sam. Sam hauled his phone out and pretended to make a call. When the vehicle passed him, he jogged to Cisco’s Range Rover Velar. He tried the key fob and the cars yellow lights blinked. The left side of Sam’s face rose up in a half grin.
Rachel finished her drink. Teddy the bartender smiled as if he’d won the lottery. Rachel could tell he was tickled pink that Julia, the hot patron let him keep the change on a hundred just for smuggling her a set of keys from the valet cupboard. Her phone buzzed with a text from Sam: good to go!
Rachel thanked Teddy and laid on the flirtation with thickness. She walked to the fr
ont desk and asked to speak to the manager.
“Hello, miss, how can I help?” the Latino man with the Jorge nametag said.
“Is there someplace we can talk in private, Jorge? It’s quite urgent.”
“Si, si, my office. Right this way, Miss?—”
“Sawkins.”
“Yes, Miss Sawkins, come this way.”
The manager’s office was smaller than the broom closet at the Airbnb Rachel and Sam acquired. Rachel sat in an uncomfortable chair opposite Jorge.
“Sir, it’s about one of your guests,” Rachel said. “A man by the name Cisco Glanis.”
Sam took the long way around the back of the building and came up on the valet station.
“Can I help you, sir?” a blond-haired kid with pock marks on his face asked.
“I was out for a jog this morning and found this key fob in the back alley. I’m sure it belongs to one the guests here.” Sam handed the youngster the fob.
“Thanks, mister,” the kid said and accepted the keys with a confused look on his face.
As Rachel left the manager’s office, she bumped into Cisco and Leila at the front desk.
“What the hell are you doing here? We shouldn’t be hearing from you until after the auction,” Cisco said.
“We’re good at what we do, Cisco.”
“What the hell’s that supposed to mean?” Cisco asked.
“It means we’ve already made contact and the wheels are turning.”
Leila gave Rachel a sideways look. “That was quick.”
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