King Con (22 page)

Beano counted the forty-five hundred dollars he had just gotten from prison-bound Texaco Phillips. He put it into an envelope, licked it closed, wrote
John Bates
on the outside, and called a flight attendant. “Could you
page this gentleman and ask him to pick this up at the ticket counter?” he said, handing it to her. “Tell him I couldn’t get the whole ten, so he’ll have to make do with forty-five.”

“Of course, sir,” she said and left. When she came back, she said that Mr. Bates had been waiting out front and had been given the envelope and the message.

“What was all that commotion out there?” Beano said pleasantly. “That man the police were chasing, what did he do?”

“He tried to break through Security. That’s a Federal crime. Apparently he had a gun; that carries a mandatory sentence of ten years. I don’t think we’ll be seeing him for a long time,” she said.

“Really?” Beano said with mock surprise.

“The Feds take that very seriously,” she answered, and moved off.

Victoria smiled. “I am very impressed, two birds with one dog,” she grinned.

Roger-the-Dodger was wagging his tail inside the case; it banged happily against the side of the carry-kennel, giving the effect of well-deserved applause.

The plane rolled down the runway ten minutes later.

They were off to Miami and then to the Bahamas. They had eliminated Texaco Phillips.

It was time to put Tommy Rina in play.

B
AHAMIAN LAW INSISTED THEY GET ROGER-THE-
Dodger a rabies shot and a veterinary certificate at the Freeport International Airport. Now, as they pulled out of the palm-lined airport drive, he sat on the front seat of their rented, air-conditioned English Ford, very unhappy about the shot he had just received. Roger had a new green plastic tag on his collar that said he had been inspected by the Grand Bahamian Ministry of Agriculture and Trade.

Once out of the airport, they turned right and took the Grand Bahama Highway east toward the Sabre Bay Club, which was located on the easternmost tip of the island. The road led them past Pelican Point and through a dusty village named McLean’s Town, which was dotted with remnants of fifteenth-century architecture from the time of Columbus. Brightly painted wood-frame buildings from the intervening years were shaded by huge cypress trees. There were narrow tin shacks with wood-supported awnings that seemed to lean like old men on canes in the withering tropical sunlight.

Whoever had designed the Sabre Bay Club knew a lot about tropical luxury. It was situated on the tip of the island so it could take advantage of the Atlantic
winds, as well as the Channel Trades that blew down the inland Providence Cut.

Beano turned into the resort under a huge European arch guarded by statues of both Columbus and Magellan. The white ground-shell road wound past a magnificent Arnold Palmer- designed golf course and finally brought the club building into view. It was a mixture of architectural styles that somehow miraculously blended together. The brochure Victoria had bought at the airport said that the entrance and porte cochere were constructed from the remnants of a fourteenth-century Gothic monastery. The pamphlet said William Randolph Hearst had discovered the already dismantled structure at a warehouse in Lourdes, France. Still stored in crates, it had been sold to Huntington Hartford, who then shipped the remnants to Grand Bahama Island. The artifacts had somehow found their way to the drive-up entry of the Sabre Bay Club. The effect was startling. A piece of old-world feudal grandeur mixed with the windy indifference of the Bahamas. Completing the display of colorful ambiance were a flock of pink flamingos that wandered freely on the grounds. Moving in graceful awkwardness, they thrust their long necks forward as they walked on stilted legs.

The porte cochere was open, and from the drive-up, they could see all the way through the lobby to the emerald-green Atlantic beyond.

“They sure didn’t spare any expense, did they?” Victoria said, breaking the silence.

“Drug money. This whole thing came out of the end of a needle,” he said.

She looked over at him. There was a bubbling anger in his voice she’d never heard before.

There was a sign near the entrance that said that the Hemingway Bar was at the east end of the hotel and that the Billfishing Club was down by the dock. The golf
clubhouse was standing elegantly under a crop of wind-bent palm trees that swayed constantly in the sea breeze. From somewhere nearby they could hear the
whomp
of tennis balls.

“Let’s get outta here before I decide to drive this little Ford through the lobby and park it in the pool,” he said.

Victoria looked over and, without asking, she knew he was thinking of Carol.

Beano drove out past the flamingos, past the two famous stone explorers, and back out onto the highway.

They had booked rooms in the Xanadu Beach Hotel and Marina in Freeport. It was on a wide ocean strand of beach that was backed up by a small inland harbor. One side of the hotel faced the white sandy beach and rolling Atlantic; the other looked back at the quaint marina. Once they had registered, Beano helped get their bags in their rooms, then said he would hunt up Dakota and Duffy and they’d all meet in the Wicker bar in an hour. He took Roger with him as he headed off to look for his “cousins.”

Victoria went to her room and unpacked. Then she stepped out on her narrow balcony and took in the beautiful aqua-green sea. The brisk ocean wind snapped her short hair. She closed her eyes and felt a little dizzy. … She knew she was desperately out of her depth in a game that had at worst no rules, or at best ones she didn’t understand. She wondered how it would end, or if she would even survive to witness its conclusion. She found it both troubling and exhilarating that she was embarking on an adventure with people that, just two weeks ago, she would have had an urge to indict and prosecute. She changed her clothes and an hour later went downstairs to the appropriately named Wicker Room.

The bar was small but faced the ocean. A cooling, tropical wind blew across the rattan furniture and slow-turning
ceiling fans. When Victoria entered, she looked toward the window and saw Beano and Dakota sitting at a table with an old man who looked like he had recently died, then had abruptly decided to get out of his coffin and come back for one last drink. His wiry white hair hung off his head in Einstein unruliness, and his blue veins shone through white, papery skin, like winding highways on a road map. Like Beano, he had that charming Bates smile, and the old man flashed it as she sat down.

“Hi,” she said, looking over at Dakota, who had gotten some sun since Victoria last saw her. It only served to make her more radiantly beautiful.

Dakota had on a white shirt, tied at the midriff, and pink shorts. Her black hair hung in glossy luxury around her shoulders. She was sipping some sort of island drink through a long straw. She didn’t nod or acknowledge the greeting. It was obvious from her manner that Dakota thought Victoria was a loose wheel threatening to come off and spill the load.

“Victoria, I’d like you to meet my uncle, Duffy Bates,” Beano said, somewhat formally.

“Fit-Throwing Duffy?” she said, remembering what Beano had called him.

“A moniker I can do without,” Duffy said, exposing his beautiful smile again.

“They checked the casino out last night,” Beano went on. “Duffy stole a pair of table dice and sent them to Miami to his brother. The Sabre Bay Club is using expensive ‘true cubes’ called ‘casino perfects.’ They roll true because they’re milled to a tolerance of one five-thousandth of an inch. Duffy’s brother is going to get two dozen sets of counterfeits made that are close enough to fool the Pit Boss at first glance. They won’t check too close because, to begin with, we’ll be losing and they never check the dice on a loser. We’ve got to
get at least twelve sets of real casino dice off the table to drill and load. Besides various letter ‘imperfections,’ the Sabre Bay casino perfects probably also have black-light marks or some other identifying device.”

“Black light?” Victoria asked.

“There’s a dye you can put in the plastic that shows up when you put the dice under an ultraviolet light. According to what Duffy can tell, they change dice once a day, starting at nine
P.M.
Each new set probably has different identifying markers. We’ve gotta get the dice off the table, drill and load ‘em, then go back and hit the place during the same twenty-four-hour period, before they change dice and put in ones with different identifiers. Duffy estimates the
A.M.
shift will have over two million in the Cage Room. As soon as we get in the casino, Dakota has to split off and pick up Tommy. She’s gotta rope and steer him. He’s at the Sabre Bay Club now, staying in his brother’s private villa on the beach. The tickets we sent Calliope worked. If everything goes right, Duffy and I are gonna run the tat tonight at around three
A.M.
We score the two mil and then we run like hell, ‘cause this is planned for Tommy to come off hot. Dakota has to remain behind after we run so she can tell the tale to Tommy and control the ‘come-through.’”

“The come-through is when the mark gets wise and comes after you once you’ve fleeced him,” Duffy explained.

“We got a cousin from Miami scheduled to fly down and pick us up at six
A.M.
tomorrow at the private air field near Deep Water, just ten miles west of Sabre Bay,” Beano said.

“What do I do?” Victoria asked.

“Didn’t you bring your knitting, dear?” Dakota said in her husky, sensual voice, with just the hint of a smile on her lips.

“Am I somehow pissing you off, Miss Bates?” Victoria asked, doing what she always did with a problem … turn directly into it.

“You’re not pissing me off, it’s just that you’ve got no function. All you are is a potential problem. If Tommy trips to this, I’m gonna be the one he’s closest to. … I’m the one who’s gonna get grabbed and beat senseless.”

“I found this place. If it weren’t for me, we wouldn’t even be here. I’m the one who told Beano about the SARTOF Merchant Bank of Nassau where they store all their drug assets.”

“So, whatta you want, a parade?”

“I’d like you to lose the attitude,” Victoria snarled.

Beano and Duffy had been watching this without comment. Finally, Dakota nodded and sucked the last of her drink into her straw with a huge slurping sound that made them all stare. Then she pushed the tall glass away and smiled.

“Sucking is my best event,” she said dryly. “What’s yours, Vicky?”

“Putting up with bullshit.” The exchange was cold enough to freeze mercury.

“Got to go get ready to speargun Tommy. Somebody named Calliope Love is my competition.” Dakota walked out of the bar, turning everybody’s head in the place as she went.

“What does she do to loosen up?” Victoria said coldly.

“Don’t start a cat fight with Dakota,” Beano warned. “She has the most dangerous part of this scam. She’s gotta rope that psychopath and steer him till this is over.”

“Does she have to sleep with him?” Victoria asked, the distaste heavy in her voice. Tommy was slimy as
boiled garbage. She couldn’t imagine climbing into bed with him.

Beano didn’t answer. He looked out at the sailboards in the cresting surfline.

“She does what she has to do to get him to believe what we want him to believe,” Duffy said. “If that means she’s gotta do some plumbing, then that’s what she’ll do.”

“Yuck,” Victoria said.

Beano’s blue eyes were fixed on the sea, and his mind seemed far away.

“Maybe Victoria could do the bank-clearing scam,” Duffy said, causing Beano to look back at them.

“I’ll do it, whatever it is,” Victoria said.

“We sent the casino credit department a new set of
McGuire Financial Listings
yesterday,” Duffy explained. ’ “The listings include every financial or banking institution in America. Casinos all use them to check the credit on players. We reprinted a page and added a bank in Fresno called the Central California Cattlemen’s Bank. When they call the number in Fresno, a rollover line will call forward it to the pay phone outside the Sabre Bay Club. How’d you like to take the call and do some singing for us?”

“I’d like that,” Victoria said.

The dice arrived back from Miami by special courier at three in the afternoon. Beano and Duffy loaded them into the arms of Duffy’s wheelchair and snapped the Porta-Toilet into place. Then they got into Duffy’s rented, mid-sized blue Chevy van. Beano loaded the wheelchair into the back. Roger hopped up into the front seat beside Victoria, who was behind the wheel.

Victoria had also been assigned the task of getaway driver and “lay chickie,” which she found out, to her relief, was a lookout. Her job was to wait in the van
with Roger near the Sabre Bay Golf Shop pay phone and watch the front entrance. They told her she had to be ready in case they needed a fast “out.” She resented her minor role in the tat, but was looking forward to being the singer. In her purse she had all the information that she would give to the Credit Manager of the casino when he called. She couldn’t defeat their logic. Tommy would spot her immediately. He knew her from his brother’s trial. If she got close enough to be seen, his guard would come up and it would probably end the whole thing. But Victoria knew she couldn’t stand on the sidelines. She’d been thinking about the problem and had been trying to come up with a possible solution.