King Con (1997)

by Stephen Cannell

  Chapter Eighteen.

  LOADING THE DICE

  VICTORIA WAS STILL DOWN BY THE GOLF SHOP, WAITing with Roger, when Beano finally called and told her to get Duffy's overnight case from the car and come to the fire door on the east side of the hotel. The little terrier followed her as she got the small blue canvas bag out of the van and went off in search of the door. She found Beano standing outside, looking out at the moonlit ocean.

  "How'd it go?" she asked, handing him the bag.

  "We got the casino perfects. We're comped into a High-roller suite on ten. It's a key-locked floor. How you doing, Rog?" he said, and the little dog looked at him and cocked his head as if he wasn't certain. "Come on," Beano said.

  He opened the door, which he had propped open by leaving his shoe in the threshold. He removed the loafer, slipped it on, and they climbed the stairs to the third floor. He opened the door there and checked the hall before leading Victoria and Roger-the-Dodger out to the elevator. They got in and he used his key to activate the button to the tenth floor. They rode up without speaking as calypso music from the recessed speaker washed over them.

  Victoria followed him out on the tenth floor and over to Suite 10-B. Beano knocked on the double doors and Duffy opened one a crack and peaked through before opening it wide. Victoria walked into a magnificent beige and white suite with a twelve-foot exposed-beamed ceiling, a wide balcony, and louvered windows to deflect sunlight. The furnishings were tasteful, but slightly bland, the major exception being several pieces of Bahamian metal sculptures of native spear fisherman that she thought were truly stunning. Beano and Duffy had ordered caviar and champagne which they had barely touched and, since she was starved, she took several toast squares and loaded them with the tiny black fish eggs, wolfing it down. She fixed one for Roger, who sniffed it before looking up at her with wise eyes that seemed to say, "What, are you kidding me?"

  "It's an acquired taste," she said to the dog, while Beano handed Duffy the blue canvas bag. Duffy opened it and started laying the contents out on the blond-ash dining room table. The plug-in drill and bit were very small.

  "Dentist drill," Duffy explained as Victoria wandered over, holding the last toast square with caviar. He laid the drill carefully on the table. Then he unpacked an assortment of blades, several dark glass vials that Victoria assumed contained the cellophane gas, and a jar of epoxy, plus a bottle of white paint. The last thing he removed was a small case that contained several tiny single-hair paint brushes.

  "This is gonna take a while," he said as he attached a small vise to the edge of the table. Victoria moved over and looked at the twelve pairs of casino dice that were lined up on the far end of the table.

  "These the perfects?" she said, picking one up and examining it. "Aside from being perfect cubes, I don't see any difference between these and the counterfeits your brother made," she added.

  "Look at the 5 in Sabre," Duffy said.

  She held it close and squinted at it. "The 5 is closed at the bottom, like an eight," she said.

  "Right. That's the intentional flaw. There's also some dye in the dice. Look't this ..." He picked up a small black light and plugged it in.

  "Hit the light switch, Beano," and Beano turned off the dining room lights. Duffy put the dice Victoria had in her hand into the table vise and then shined the ultraviolet light through them. There was a purple glow that ran diagonally through the cube.

  "Very cool," she said softly.

  "Okay, Beano," Duffy said and Beano switched the overhead lights back on.

  "We gotta drill this so we don't interfere with that purple stripe. What I do is, I go right through the white spot on the face of the die, create a little hollow tube with the dentist drill. We put the cellophane gas next to the open oven to warm it, which makes it heavy and thick so we can pour it in, then fill the drilled hole halfway up, leaving room so it can expand when it cools and turns to gas. Then we fill the top of the hole with epoxy, closing it, hollow it out slightly to match the others ... and paint the dot white again with these single-hair paint brushes."

  "How long is all that gonna take?" she asked.

  "'Bout four hours if I hurry." He looked at his watch. "We should be ready to run the tat by three A.M. Dakota is gonna get Tommy hammered and get him to her room around one."

  Beano turned and moved unexpectedly out of the dining room and into the living room. She could hear him slide open the balcony door and go out, then a patio chair scraped against the concrete deck as he moved it.

  "Can I help?" she asked Duffy.

  "Nope. This is an art form. Very delicate work. One little slip and the pair are ruined. We might need all twelve." He took the vials of cellophane gas and put them on a chair in the kitchen, next to the open oven. Then he turned the flame on and came back. He picked up the first of the translucent red dice and put it into the vise. "Gonna make my set of weighted sevens first. That means I drill the one and the three, which then brings up the light side, which is two and five." He then picked up the dentist drill, affixed a tiny round drill bit, and turned the instrument on. It made a light whirring sound. Then he poised over the single die in the vise and slowly began to drill out the center spot in the three. Occasionally he would shine the U.V. light to make sure he hadn't hit the purple strip. "In the old days I used ta skip roll the dice," he said, as he worked. "Perfected my Greek shot ... That's a controlled roll, where the dice hit the rail one on top of the other so the bottom cube doesn't roll over. Only an expert could do it, but it's easy for a Box-man to spot. Then I started using flat passers; they're basically shaved dice so the four, five, nine, and ten turn up more frequently. Then I invented electric dice," he grinned.

  "What're they?"

  "Drilled dice loaded on one side with tiny steel slugs. Hadda get in the casino storage room where they worked on the tables and install an electromagnet under the felt. Tough to install, but worth the risk. 'Course that was back when the Pit Bosses were called Ladder-men 'cause they sat up on ladders and watched the tables. That was before TV surveillance, before the Eye-in-the-Sky. I used ta' only work carpet joints 'cause the ritzy casinos didn't float the dice. Them metal slugs would take my loadies straight to the bottom of the glass." Victoria watched in fascination as he talked and finished the work on the first one. "I done 'em all. Worked every tat there is, from Dead Aces to beveled dice with rounded edges, but I ain't never come up with nothin' as good as this." He grinned as he placed the second cube in the table vise. "While I finish this, go out there and calm Beano down. Something's wrong, he ain't been actin' right."

  "Maybe because he's still in love with Dakota, who's about to sleep with a hood who could qualify as a hemorrhoid substitute. Some life you people lead."

  "It's a living," Duffy said, and he went back to work.

  Victoria moved out of the dining room into the living room, got a Coke out of the minibar, and slipped out onto the deck, passing Roger, who had curled up on the silk-covered sofa and was snoring. She sat next to Beano in one of the patio chairs and looked out at the moonlit ocean. A searchlight on the hotel roof was aimed out at the jagged rock outcroppings and lit the sharp foam-wet ridges. They glistened in spotlit beauty.

  "Duffy's credit is approved," she finally said. "You didn't ask, but that went off just the way we planned ... two hundred thousand."

  "The casino manager told us," he said and he fell silent again.

  "You didn't want Dakota to be the roper? Was it because you didn't want her with Tommy?" she said.

  "It's not about Dakota. I was stupid. I knew she was a mack when I took up with her. I was just so damned lonely I made a mistake. It's over."

  She wasn't sure what else to say to him. He was so unlike the Beano Bates of two days ago. The one who'd conned her in the Jersey restaurant and sold the pearl; the one she'd helped set up the moose pasture. This Beano Bates was sad and vulnerable, and she found herself drawn to him.

  "Are you afraid of Tommy?" she finally asked.

&n
bsp; There was a long moment while he sat absolutely still, not moving a muscle. Then he started to talk. His voice was very soft, almost blown away by the tropical wind.

  "I don't know why," he started, "but something happened to me the night Joe beat me with that club. I lost my edge, my mental toughness. I walk around and I think I'm the same, but I'm not. At first, I thought I was afraid of Joe and Tommy, but now I think that's not it. I'm not afraid Tommy will hurt me ... but that, somehow, I won't be able to square things for Carol." He never looked at her. His handsome profile was lit by the distant moon and the kick from the hotel lighting.

  "All she would ask is that we try," Victoria said.

  "No, she wouldn't ask that, not Carol, not the nurse. She'd say, 'Go home, Beano. Don't do this. It's not worth it.'" He hesitated, then went on, "All my life I've been alone. Even with my parents I was alone because we never talked about what we were feeling. For a sharper, that can never be part of it. You're taught to act a role and never reveal anything. You suck it up, play the game, never show weakness. Only suckers show weakness. But I am weak. I'm weak in my center and I've done it to myself. There's an old Gypsy saying: 'If you don't believe in your con, the mark won't believe it either.' I've believed in too many cons. I've passed myself off as so many people, I don't know who I am anymore. I've traded myself away, with tiny pieces of bullshit. The only one I could ever talk to about it was Carol. Carol knew. She was raised by her parents with the same values I was raised with, but she rejected them. We talked about it when we were children. Later, when I was in prison, she told me, 'What you steal won't nourish you. In order to be nourished you need to care about what you're doing.' I used to think I could take pride in running a great hustle ... but there was never anything left behind. I had no legacy, nothing to pass on to my children. No children to pass it on to, anyway. Everything was bullshit. So, she was right. Now I'm only left with revenge. Revenge is a pitiful emotion, and it's leaking out of me faster than I can pour the hate back in. So I'm here wondering whether I can even pull this off. I keep thinking, 'What the hell am I doing? How is this going to help her? Am I just trading another piece of myself away, devaluing what's left?' I think that's what's been scaring me."

  When he finally fell silent, she didn't know what to say. They were so different, and yet exactly the same. "Carol lied to me to save your life. ..."

  He turned and looked at her.

  "... She never witnessed that beating. She was trying to get Joe Rina convicted. She loved you, Beano ... so much she risked and gave her life to save you. She used me, but you know something, that's all right because it's brought me to this place. You know what I think ...?"

  "No."

  "Carol has brought us here. She put us together and she expects something from us. Maybe not revenge for her death ... maybe it's not that at all. Maybe she's trying to teach us something. But I know this much, she's watching.

  "I've spent five years in courtrooms prosecuting scum like Joe and Tommy Rina. For them, people have no value except as criminal end users. They can kill us, but Joe and Tommy Rina can't control us anymore, because they have nothing we want except them. Their usual tools of money, bribery, and intimidation won't work against us, and that's what gives us power. Carol wanted to protect you. She gave up her life trying. It's a legacy, Beano. You can't spend it or trade it, but it might nourish you with its memory."

  There was a moment of silence, and then he reached out and took her hand and held it for a moment, before he got up and walked inside. It was far from her best closing argument, but she hoped she had reached him.

  * * * *

  Tommy had taken a shower and had changed into a silk shirt that his brother Joe had brought back for him from China. Joe said the silk worms were specially cultivated and that the shirt had cost a fortune. He'd spent another thousand in "ditch Calliope" money, telling her he had business in the casino office. He had left her standing at the roulette table with a handful of hundreds, chewing on a nail, wondering whether to bet red or black ... a decision that promised to consume all of her thoughts for hours.

  When Dakota walked into the Flamingo Bar again, Tommy couldn't believe his good fortune. She moved right to him and smiled. "You changed," she said, looking at his green silk shirt and taking his hand.

  "No, I haven't," he said, missing the point badly. "I'm the same guy I was this afternoon."

  "I can hardly wait to see what a High-roller floor looks like," she said, still holding his hand.

  Tommy led her to the elevator and put in his key. They went up to the tenth floor, exited the elevator, and went past Suite 10-B, where Duffy was at that moment doctoring the dice, then moved on to the end of the hall to a very small but beautiful gambling area. The Stickmen and Croupiers were all in tuxedos; the crap tables were hand carved and imported from European casinos. There were only half-a-dozen players, mostly Arabs and Asians. Crystal chandeliers hung low over the tables. The effect was startling.

  "You really own this place?" she said, still holding his hand.

  "Ask anybody. Ask him," Tommy said, pointing to the Host of the room, and Tommy led Dakota to the tuxedoed man. "Go on, ask him."

  "He says he owns this hotel," she said.

  "If Mr. Rina says it, then you better believe it," the Host replied.

  "That makes me the luckiest girl on the island." She sat on the bar chair, letting the slit on her dress fall open. Her long legs flashed in the incandescent chandelier light.

  "Buy ya a drink?" Tommy said, hoping to get her blitzed.

  "Only if you'll join me. Scotch straight," she said, smiling.

  The challenge was drawn, and Tommy ordered two double Scotch shooters, falling into her trap. One thing Dakota Bates could do was drink. In fact, she could out-drink every man she'd ever met. It came in very handy in her profession. She would drink them under the table, romp them, roll them, and be gone with their money and credit cards before sun-up.

  When the double Scotch shooters arrived, she teased ... "I hope you wouldn't take advantage of a poor girl?" She smiled as they clicked glasses.

  Tommy grinned back. He intended to take advantage, all right. First, he was going to get this luscious creature to smoke his pink cigar. Then he was gonna screw her blind.

  Trouble was, she matched him drink for drink, and by one-thirty he could barely stand. "Enough drinking," Tommy slurred, "let's fuck." He spewed a spit-spray of Scotch mist and bad breath into her ear, then pulled back and leered at her through alcohol-dimmed eyes.

  "My place or yours?" she cooed.

  "Wishever closer."

  "I've got oils and lotions in my room. I'll rub them all over you. I'll massage you and lick you clean," she promised.

  "Fuckin' A ..." Tommy said.

  She helped him up and led the teetering mobster out of the High-roller casino. She guided him to the elevator and down to her room on eight. She got the door open and he stumbled in, falling and dragging her down to the floor with him.

  "Jeezus, I'm loaded," he said, shaking his head.

  "Let's get on the bed," she said. "This is gonna be a great party." She led him to the double bed. He turned and flopped down on it, lying back. He closed his eyes dreamily and she thought for a moment she was home free. But then he opened them again and focused on her. He wasn't going to give up yet. She hoped she wouldn't have to fuck him. Then he stood and stumbled into the bathroom and poured cold water onto a wash cloth and mopped his face with it. Water ran down his neck and ruined the two-thousand-dollar Chinese silk shirt. He dropped the cloth in the sink, turned, and leered at her. "Let's go, baby, get fuckin' naked. Gotta see the wet spot."

  Dakota silently cursed her luck, but dropped the straps of her silk gown and let it fall down her perfectly tapered body. She was now standing naked in front of him, still wearing her high heels. Tommy gulped several times, like a trout in the bottom of a boat, then moved awkwardly toward her. He grabbed between her legs and groped her roughly.

  "Easy, baby,
take it easy ... we've got all night," she cooed, pulling away so he wouldn't claw her down there. She decided it was better to just get the job done and be over with it. He'd fall asleep right after he scored. They all did. It was her one universal observation about men. She unbuttoned his ruined green silk shirt and took it off him. He was surprisingly strong. Ridges of power were stacked in useful slabs of hard muscle on his shoulders and short arms. He stumbled out of his pants, sitting awkwardly on the bed. He ripped off his underwear and stood up to face her. He was huge and, for a moment, it startled her. Then she took him into her arms and pressed her body against his. Tommy moaned with pleasure. She led him to the bed and lowered him down. He grabbed for her and she let him pull her down on top of him. Then, with no preamble, she mounted him. Tommy thrust his hips at her savagely. It was a carnal, desperate act of possession. Within minutes he was finished. She rolled off of him and looked down at the despicable little slime who had killed her cousin Carol.

  "You're a wonderful lover," she said softly. "You have such stamina, such magnificent equipment."

  "Ahhh," Tommy said as he closed his eyes. "Fuckin' room is spinning. Fuckin', goddamn room is fuckin' spinning all over the fuckin' ..." And then he rolled over and vomited almost a quart of blended Scotch onto the plush carpet next to the bed. He lay facedown on the bedspread, gasping for air, spit draining out of his open mouth. He is truly a ghastly creature, she thought. It would be so easy to go over to the desk, get the scissors, and end his life right there, but Beano had told her it was his brother, Joe Rina, who had ordered the hit on Carol. ... Tommy was just the instrument of the act. They needed Tommy to get to Joe. Besides, she mused as he began to snore facedown before her, she wasn't a killer. She was a Bates. A high-stakes player and the best mack on the planet. She always won in the bedroom. The bedroom was her field of combat. She looked down in victory on the snoring killer, then moved to the phone and dialed Beano's room.