Take Down (7 page)

TWELVE

Riding an elevator to the penthouse, Billy thought back to his meeting at the Peppermill with the old grifter. Crunchie had been throwing off bad vibes, which Billy had ignored, too swayed by the lure of a huge score to realize he was being set up.

The doors parted, and they walked down a carpeted hallway to a corner office with a gold nameplate that read, “Marcus Doucette, President & CEO / Galaxy Entertainment.” Doucette’s name had been in the papers lately. A sleazoid strip-club owner from LA, he’d broken every building code and bribed a building inspector to get his casino built. Money talked in the desert, and the joint had opened on time.

Shaz opened the doors and they entered. The office was sleek and soulless, with as much charm as a terminal at McCarran. Neon bursts from the Strip’s casinos danced in the floor-to-ceiling windows, bathing the room in lurid hues. An oversized granite desk sat in the room’s center, in front of it, a single chair. Two men stood outside on the balcony, talking.

“Have a seat,” Shaz said.

He did as told. A framed wedding photo on the desk caught his eye. In it, Shaz and a handsome devil with burnt-blond hair and soap opera blue eyes stood on a sandy beach, exchanging wedding vows. So she was married to the boss.

The men on the balcony came inside. Doucette sat on the edge of the desk and fired up a cigarette. He favored the movie-studio-executive look and wore a cream-colored Armani suit, an unbuttoned white silk shirt, and crocodile loafers sans socks.

“Crunchie tells me you’re the smartest cheater in town,” Doucette said.

Crunchie stood by the slider, cowboy hat in hand.

“You’re a piece of shit,” Billy said.

“Shut up, and listen to Marcus,” the old grifter said.

“I want you to tell me what these Gypsies are up to,” Doucette said. “Do that, and you’ll walk out of here with your skin. Fair enough?”

It was as good as Billy could have hoped for, and he decided to play his hand. “I found some information on Ricky Boswell’s cell phone that told me his family’s planning to scam your casino on Saturday afternoon during the shift change. They’re going to do a little hocus-pocus in the middle of the casino floor and rig one of your games. Your security guards will be watching, and so will the eye-in-the sky, but you still won’t see them.”

Doucette shifted his gaze to Crunchie. “Is this little prick telling the truth?”

“I think Billy’s nailed it,” the old grifter said.

“Why didn’t you catch that? You saw the cell phone.”

“Billy’s eyes are a little better than mine.”

Doucette shifted his attention back to his guest. “All right, so the play is going down Saturday afternoon. How do I nail them?”

“Do we have a deal?” Billy asked.

“Not until you tell me the rest.”

The conversation had taken a bad turn. There was nothing to stop Doucette from snuffing him once he had the information he needed. It was time for Billy to take a stand.

“Get lost,” Billy said.

“What did you say to me?”

“You heard me. Take a hike.”

Doucette exploded, and searched his desk for something sharp to stick into Billy’s chest. He’d been sweating over the Gypsies for days, and the tension inside him had reached a boiling point. Knowing you were going to get ripped off was almost as bad as the crime itself. Shaz came to her husband’s side and grabbed him by the arm.

“Calm down. He’s nothing but a little street rat,” she said.

“Nobody talks to me that way,” Doucette said.

She pulled a gold vial from her pocket and cut up three white lines of gutter glitter on the blotter. Doucette snorted them with a small metal straw. It took him to another place, and he tilted his head back and shut his eyes. His wife massaged the tension from his shoulders.

“Feel better?”

“Yeah. Thanks, baby.” To Crunchie he said, “Deal with this little asshole.”

The old grifter came away from the slider. “Sorry, Billy, but we need to know what the scam is. You’re in no position to refuse.”

“How long have you been working for these people?” Billy asked him.

“Since they opened. They pay me to keep the place from getting ripped off. I don’t have any regrets, if that’s what you’re thinking.”

“Not one?”

“Nope. Not even with you. Your time was running out, the way I see it. You can’t rip off as many casinos as you have and not get taken down.”

“Is that why you set me up in the salon? So you could film it and blackmail me?”

“You catch on quick. But you always did. Now let’s get this over with.”

Whatever notion he’d had to save his own skin had just flown out the door. He wasn’t going to roll on the Gypsies, even if the punishers hung him over the balcony by the balls and threatened to drop him on his head.

“Fuck you,” he said.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Crunchie said, startled.

“It means I’m not telling you.”

“Not even if we turn the surveillance tapes over to the police?”

“I’m not ratting the Gypsies out. Not for you, or anyone else.”

Crunchie tossed his cowboy hat on the desk and let out an exasperated breath. “We caught a flash of the mirror in the cigarette pack on the tape. The jury sees that along with the fact that you were using a false identity, they’ll send you to the federal pen. You’ll do hard time, Billy. Do you know what happens to little guys in the pen? They get turned into bitches.”

“I’ll take my chances in the pen.”

“You sure about this?”

“I’ve never been more sure in my life.”

The old grifter looked pissed off, but not defeated, as if he had another card stuck up his sleeve. He took his Stetson off the desk and held it like he was taking a collection.

“Empty your pockets,” the old grifter said.

“Fuck you.”

“Ike, T-Bird, help our guest here.”

Ike yanked Billy out of the chair and held him while T-Bird picked Billy’s pockets clean and tossed his personal belongings into the cowboy hat. Wallet, gaffed cigarette case, Droid, and a handful of loose change was the haul. Crunchie went straight for Billy’s wallet and was rewarded with a receipt inside the billfold. A smile creased his wrinkled face.

“Look at this. A drink receipt from the Four Queens with a time and date stamped on it. You were there at six thirty last night. What were you doing at the Four Queens, Billy?”

Billy cursed to himself. Normally, he tore up receipts after a job, and he guessed this one had gotten tucked in his change without him realizing it.

“I’ll tell you what you were doing there,” the old grifter said. “You and your crew were pulling your red hot dice scam. Isn’t that right?”

He stared at the floor. A fucking receipt. He’d forgotten to tear up a fucking receipt, and now he was going to pay for it.

“I’ll bet that if I called the gaming board and told them to review the surveillance tapes from the Four Queens last night, you’ll pop up, along with the rest of your crew. I could help them by pointing out which people at the craps table are involved. I’m guessing you use a couple of hot girls for distraction, a pair of clean-cut college boys as takeoff men, and a mechanic to execute the switch while you direct the action.” He paused. “Am I getting warm?”

Crunchie was messing with him. Billy had patterned his crews after the old grifter’s, right down to using women from the sex industry as shade.

“Of course, we don’t know the names of the people in your crew, or where they live, or anything about them. That’s going to make it tough to run them down. Unless we give the gaming board your cell phone.”

The old grifter removed Billy’s cell phone from the hat. “A Droid. I’ve got one of these, too. I’d be willing to bet you that your crew’s phone numbers are logged into it. Aren’t they, Billy?”

“You’re a piece of shit,” Billy said under his breath.

“The gaming board will use the phone numbers to track your crew down, and haul them in. They’ll match their faces to the faces on the Four Queens surveillance tapes, and charge them with conspiracy, and you’ll have a real mess on your hands. You know how many years you’ll face on a conspiracy rap?”

Billy knew the law. The state’s lifeblood came from casino taxes; when you stole from the casinos, you stole from the state, and they didn’t take it lightly. Travis, Gabe, Misty, Pepper, Cory, and Morris were in a world of trouble, as was he.

“I still won’t tell you,” he said.

“That’s stupid. You’ll do time, and so will your crew. Hard time.”

“We’ll take our chances.”

The office grew deathly still. Crunchie’s face turned crimson, embarrassed by his own miscalculation. Out of frustration he tossed Billy’s cell phone back into the hat. Something inside the hat caught his eye, and he removed the double-sided Slots A Fun chip.

“My, my, what do we have here?” the old grifter said. “A double-sided chip from Slots A Fun. That joint’s right down the street from the Peppermill. You went there tonight before you met with me, didn’t you Billy? You were doing one of your side scams, working with a female dealer, stealing chips out of the tray.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Billy said.

“Come on, Billy, I know you too well. I got you red-handed.”

Billy said, “Fuck me”
under his breath.

“Maybe I’ll call Slots A Fun, tell them to watch tonight’s surveillance tapes of their blackjack pit. I’m betting you and your friend are on them, ripping the joint off. They’ll have her arrested, and the cops will work her over real good. You don’t want that, do you?”

Billy imagined Ly being grilled by the cops. She wasn’t loyal to him and would roll in a heartbeat and spill her guts. The cops would arrest him, then use the information Crunchie gave them and burn his crew for the Four Queens scam. No lawyer in town could save him, or his crew, if that happened.

“No,” he blurted out.

“I didn’t think so. Now are you going to play ball, or do I call Slots A Fun?”

He was beaten. It was a crummy feeling, and he wanted to crawl in a hole and die.

“Yeah, I’ll play ball,” he said.

Crunchie glanced Doucette’s way. The casino boss nodded his approval.

THIRTEEN

Billy came clean. He didn’t know how the Gypsies were planning to rip off Galaxy’s casino Saturday afternoon. The scam might be at blackjack, or a slot machine with a monster jackpot, or maybe they were going to take a direct run at the cage. It didn’t matter; he knew enough about the operation to stop it from happening.

Crunchie didn’t say very much, but his face said a lot. He knew the difference between the truth and flat-out bullshit, and he knew that Billy was leveling with him. When Billy was finished talking, he walked around the desk and spent a minute whispering in Doucette’s ear.

“You sure about this?” the casino boss asked.

The old grifter grunted that he was entirely sure.

“I still don’t trust him,” Doucette said.

Billy’s heart was pounding. He couldn’t read Doucette and didn’t know what the casino boss was thinking. Shaz stood behind her husband’s chair and patted his shoulder while gazing at Billy with a twisted smile on her face. He hadn’t figured out her deal, either.

Doucette came around the desk and stood in front of Billy’s chair. For a long moment he simply glared. His hand came out of nowhere and slapped Billy’s face.

“Do you know why I did that?” Doucette asked.

“No,” Billy said.

“Neither do I. Now, here’s the deal. I want you to stop the Gypsies from ripping off my casino. Do that, and I won’t have Crunchie turn your friends over to the law. You in?”

Billy tasted his own blood. It seemed a perfect prelude for selling his soul and ratting out another group of cheaters to save himself and his crew. “Yeah, I’m in.”

“Good. If you try and double-cross me, I’ll kill you.”

“I get that.”

“I bet you do. Now, here’s the ground rules. Thomas Pico’s identity is established in the casino’s computer system. I want you to continue to impersonate him. That means wearing those funny-looking glasses you had on earlier and dressing like a nerd. Is that understood?”

“Your boys knocked off my glasses.”

“So get another pair. You stay in disguise.”

Billy nodded compliance. He was beginning to get the picture. Gaming agents regularly visited the casinos to check up on things. By having Billy wear a disguise, Doucette was making it harder for a gaming agent to recognize him. And if an agent did by chance make him, Doucette could claim that he hadn’t known who Billy was. The casino boss was covering all his bases.

“Tomorrow afternoon, you’ll check into the hotel using Pico’s ID, and will be comped into a high-roller suite in the main tower,” Doucette said. “Your suite has got hidden cameras and is wired for audio as well, so don’t even think about screwing with me.”

“How about the john? Are you going to film me taking a crap?”

“We just might.”

He wasn’t surprised to hear the high-roller suite was wired. Many casinos wired their high-roller suites to make sure their wealthy customers didn’t go play at a competitor’s tables.

“You’ll also be comped your food and drinks, and will be given twenty grand in chips to play with,” the casino boss said. “If you decide to cheat us, don’t even think about cashing in your chips, because you’ll be killed. Got it?”

“You think I’d cheat you now?” Billy asked incredulously.

“Damn straight I do. Cheating’s in your blood.” Doucette paused, then said, “You’re also going to have an entourage. Ike and T-Bird will act as your bodyguards, and will accompany you wherever you go. They’ll also be staying in your suite. If you stray, they’ll take you down. You’re going to be in our crosshairs every moment you’re here. You with me?”

“Yeah, I’m with you.”

“Good. If you’ve got any questions, ask them now.”

He had questions, but he’d decided it was more important to get the hell out of here before Doucette or his crazy bride had a change of mind. They impressed him as the kind of people that could flip on a dime and turn into animals, and he didn’t want to be around when that happened.

“I’m good,” he said. Then he added, “You can count on me.”

“Why is it every time you talk, I think you’re lying to me?” Doucette said.

“Beats me.”

“Get him out of here,” the casino boss said, and went onto the balcony with his bride.

“Let’s go, pardner,” Crunchie said.

Billy rose from his chair and followed the old grifter out of the office. He had no idea how this was going to turn out, but as they rode the elevator down to the main level, he promised himself that he was going to pay Crunchie back for setting him up.

The valet stand was jamming, and they waited in line for his car. The cool desert air was bringing him around, and he could not purge the idea of revenge from his mind. Perhaps he’d throw the old grifter under the wheels of the next vehicle that came up.

“Stop looking at me like that,” Crunchie said.

“Who said I was looking at you?” Billy said.

“You think I don’t know? You want to kill me.”

“Doesn’t everybody?”

Ike and T-Bird laughed contemptuously. Billy edged closer to the old grifter. Feeling threatened by the proximity, the old grifter’s watery eyes narrowed with distrust.

“You lied to me when you said you were talking to your daughter tonight,” Billy said. “You were talking to that crazy bitch, weren’t you?”

“How’d you know that?” Crunchie asked.

“You showed me three calls on your cell phone with a 310 area code, which is Southern California. Shaz told me she recently relocated from LA. Two plus two equals four.”

“You don’t miss a trick, do you?”

“Is she running things?”

“Fuck no. Doucette’s running the show. She’s just window dressing.”

A car came up that wasn’t his. There was something eating at Billy, and he decided to get it off his chest. “Why did you let her torture Ricky Boswell, and bash his head in with a baseball bat? Why couldn’t you have just shot him? The poor kid didn’t need to suffer.”

“Who told you she tortured him?”

“She made me watch a video of it. You were in it. Why didn’t you stop her?”

“I couldn’t.”

“I thought you said she wasn’t running things.”

“It’s complicated. Do yourself a favor, and steer clear of her. If you don’t, she’ll end up snuffing you like that little bastard Ricky.”

“Ricky was one of us. You don’t do that to your own. You broke the code.”

“Let it go,” the old grifter said.

The Maserati appeared with a distinctive roar, the valet a budding NASCAR driver. Billy instinctively reached for his wallet, and came away empty.

“Give me my wallet back,” he said.

“Ike’s got your wallet,” the old grifter said. “Come by tomorrow afternoon at three, and we’ll go over things. Remember, if you mess with us, we’ll destroy you and your friends.”

Crunchie limped back inside. At least the story about his arthritis acting up had been true. Ike tossed Billy his wallet. Billy flipped it open to give the valet a tip, and found the billfold empty. Ike had cleaned him out. Laughing, the punishers went inside as well.

Billy burned rubber out of the valet stand. Traffic was light, the late hour thinning out the herd, and he punched the accelerator as he headed north on the neon-infused Strip, desperate to put as much distance between himself and Galaxy’s casino as possible.

He felt ready to explode. He hadn’t screwed up this badly since college. At the intersection of Sahara Avenue he pulled a wild-ass stunt, and with tires screaming, cut across four lanes and hung a sharp left. There wasn’t a traffic cop in sight, and as he sped down Sahara, he realized it was the first lucky break he’d caught all night.

He was doing eighty when he hit the entrance ramp. With the wind blowing in his face, his fear ebbed away, and he told himself that he could beat these bastards. He didn’t know how, but he could do it. They’d tipped their mitts and revealed their hands and given him enough information to mess with them real good.

Doucette was a coked-out fool, and so was his psycho bride, and neither one of them knew a damn thing about running a casino. If they had, they’d never have asked a known hustler to help them catch a gang of cheats. Only in the dumb movies did casino people do that.

Ike and T-Bird were a pair of washed-up jocks and dumber than a box of rocks. Stupid people were easily played. He was going to have fun with those two mutts.

Last was Crunchie, who’d screwed with him in so many ways that Billy had lost count. But there was a reason for it. Age had caught up to the old grifter, and Crunchie no longer had the confidence in himself to do the job that he was asking Billy to do.

Each of them had an Achilles’ heel that he could stick a dagger into and twist around real good. They’d picked the wrong guy to fuck with, and he couldn’t wait to pay them back.