Super Con

Three

The Beauty Bar Saloon on Fremont didn’t know what it wanted to be. A claustrophobic space with crummy lighting, it had a bar in one corner and a nail salon in another, while against the far wall sat a makeshift stage that served as a showcase for local bands.

Despite its identity crisis, the Beauty Bar was one of Billy’s favorite spots to retreat to after pulling a heist. The clientele was an eclectic mix, with lots of tattoos and piercings. If any undercover cops or gaming agents came in, they’d get made right away.

The Beauty Bar also had an outdoor seating area where name acts were often booked. It wasn’t being used tonight, and Billy bribed the manager for the privilege of sitting beneath the stars with Victor. They sat at a picnic table, far away from the surveillance cameras on the side of the building. The young hustler drank a beer, the older man a bourbon and water.

“Why did you call off the play? Nico didn’t get made,” Victor said.

“It didn’t smell right. The casino sent one security goon to check Nico out. Normally, they send two,” he explained.

“Maybe they were shorthanded. The casino was packed.”

“That could be. But my gut told me surveillance wanted to get a closer look at Nico so they could run his picture against a cheater database.”

Victor’s face turned to stone. “I talked to Nico. The goon came over because Nico looked like a guy who had given them trouble last night. When the goon realized it was a case of mistaken identity, he apologized and walked away. It was nothing.”

“You’re saying I shouldn’t have called off the play.”

“I wouldn’t have.”

Billy didn’t like to be challenged and put his beer on the table. “Nico read the situation wrong. The goon had already made him before he came over.”

“What are you talking about? Nico didn’t screw up.”

“I never said he screwed up. But the goon knew Nico wasn’t clean. A tech up in surveillance sent him to talk to Nico so the tech could take a clean shot of Nico’s face.”

“You’re sure about this?”

“I’m positive, Victor.”

Victor stared into his drink. Victor had been thieving well before Billy was a gleam in his daddy’s eye, and he deserved respect. Billy would give him that respect, but he still had to explain the situation, even if it meant bruising Victor’s feelings.

“Can I tell you how I figured it out?” Billy asked.

The older man lifted his gaze. “Go ahead.”

“The Golden Gate’s a dump. Most people playing blackjack are sweating out their Social Security checks. Nico was betting a hundred a hand and deserved preferential treatment. When the goon told Nico it was a case of mistaken identity, he should have given Nico a free meal coupon or sent over a cocktail waitress to refresh his drink. The goon didn’t do that because he’d been told Nico wasn’t clean.”

Victor thought about this. A knowing look spread across his lined face.

“I missed that. Are we screwed?”

“Hard to say. They didn’t bust your son, which in my book is a happy ending.”

“Should I pull Nico off the job, send him back home?”

“We need Nico. Let’s put him in a disguise instead. We’ll dye his hair, stick glasses on him, and paint a mole on his puss. We’ll set him up with a fake ID that matches his new look. He’ll fly under the radar, no problem.”

“I like it,” Victor said. “I’ve made it a point to move around a lot. We hit a casino on an Indian reservation, we don’t go back for a few years. There are enough joints for us to do that. You’re strictly working Vegas, aren’t you?”

He nodded. Most hustlers spent a chunk of their lives staring at the double white line in the highway while driving between jobs. That had never sounded appealing to him, so he’d planted his stakes in the neon city and seldom strayed.

“You ever rip off the same joint twice?” Victor asked.

“There are joints in town I’ve ripped off a dozen times. They just don’t know it.”

“Most guys wouldn’t have the balls.”

“It’s an acquired skill.”

Victor raised his eyebrows, wanting to hear more.

“Back in Providence, I dealt a rigged blackjack game in an illegal casino. One Saturday night, two hoods came in with their girlfriends and sat at my table. The hoods were part of a local crime family and not guys to screw with. The game had six decks. All the high cards had their backs roughed with sandpaper, which I could feel by touching them. The dealing shoe had a special lip, which let me invisibly hold back the top card. Even though the cards were shuffled, I could control the hands by holding back high-value cards from the players when I wanted.”

“And since the players can’t touch the cards in a multideck game, the scam flew by them,” Victor said.

“Correct. Lou Profaci, the owner, comes to my table and tugs on his ear, which means, ‘Let them win.’ Now, this makes no sense to me. But Lou’s the boss, so I let the hoods win.

“I go on break. Lou catches up with me in the back room. I tell him the hoods are up eight grand, isn’t he afraid of them leaving with the house’s money? Lou pulls back the curtain to the window. It’s snowing outside. Lou says, ‘Those ugly mopes ain’t going anywhere. Go back there and take their money.’ I’m getting nervous, so I say, ‘You think they won’t notice?’ And Lou says, ‘Let their girlfriends win.’

“It was pure genius. The girls are betting ten bucks a hand, the hoods two hundred a hand. I start dealing so the girls win and the boys lose. An hour later, the hoods are down twenty grand while the girls are up three. The girls are having a great time, and no one’s complaining.”

“The hoods didn’t catch on?”

“Naw. Dumb mutts even tipped me. It was a great lesson. Anything’s possible if you play it right.”

“Okay, you’ve convinced me. Nico gets a makeover and stays. I’ll let you and your team do the honors.”

They picked up their glasses and headed for the entrance into the bar. Billy got a text from Leon, telling him that he needed to come outside. Billy guessed that Leon had parked his limo illegally and was about to get towed. It wasn’t the first time it had happened.

Victor stopped a few steps from the door and faced Billy. “I’m sorry I doubted you. You know this town better than I do. I hope it won’t affect our doing business together.”

“It hasn’t so far,” Billy said.