Take Down

NINE

The salon’s five carved mahogany blackjack tables could have resided in the main palace at Versailles. Each had a well-groomed dealer standing at stiff attention. At the center table stood an attractive African American lady with long bony fingers. This had to be Jazzy, the flashing dealer that was about to make Billy and his crew very rich.

“This lady could use some company. I’ll sit here,” Billy said.

“Jazzy, make sure you take good care of Mr. Pico. He’s a very special customer.” To Billy, Shaz said, “Let me know if there’s anything else I can do, Mr. Pico.”

“I will. Thanks again for the tickets.”

“My pleasure.”

Shaz returned to her desk to wait for the next well-oiled sucker to step through the salon’s doors. Taking a chair, Billy removed two stacks from his blazer and dropped them on the felt. A stern-faced pit boss appeared. Under his watchful eye, Jazzy tore off the wrappers and counted the bills.

“Ten thousand,” Jazzy said.

“Go ahead,” the pit boss declared.

Jazzy shoved the money down the bill slot in her table. Taking ten thousand in chips from her tray, she slid the stacks toward her only customer.

“Good luck, sir,” she said.

Billy’s eyes had become fixated on a stack of gold chips in Jazzy’s tray. He’d never seen gold chips before, and suspected this was a special promotion for Galaxy’s wealthiest customers.

“Are those gold chips something new?” he inquired.

“They are,” the pit boss said proudly. “We’re the only casino in town that lets its customers play with gold chips. They’re worth a hundred thousand dollars apiece.”

“Wow. Can I see one?”

“Jazzy, show Mr. Pico a gold chip.”

Jazzy took a gold chip from her tray and placed it on the felt for Billy to look at. He’d tried to counterfeit casino chips many times and come up short. Even with the latest and most comprehensive Pantone color chart, it was impossible to find a chip’s exact color. Then there was the problem of the microchip under the label that allowed the casino to track the chip’s whereabouts. Those two things made counterfeiting chips something you only saw in movies.

“Pretty, isn’t it?” the pit boss said.

“It sure is. Unfortunately, it’s a little out of my league,” Billy said.

“It’s out of most people’s leagues. Let me know if you need anything.”

The pit boss left. Billy placed an orange thousand-dollar chip into the betting circle.

“Deal me a winner,” he said.

Jazzy dealt a handheld game. As she sailed the cards to him, her hands rocked slightly. Tilting his head, he peeked her second card’s identity before it was tucked away beneath her first card. In blackjack, the dealer’s hole card was hidden until the end, which gave the house its edge. By knowing this card’s value, the odds shifted dramatically in his favor.

He won the hand, putting him up a grand. Four rounds later, she did it again. Only Billy couldn’t keep tilting his head without the pit boss spotting him and throwing him out.

“Where can I find an ashtray?” he asked.

An ashtray was brought to the table. He removed a hard pack of Marlboros from the pocket of his blazer and fired up a cigarette, then placed the pack on the table with the flap pointing at Jazzy. The pack was another of Gabe’s creations. Hidden inside was a rectangular mirror resting at a forty-five-degree angle. By gazing down into a slit in the top of the pack, he would be able to see Jazzy’s hole card while she flashed.

Soon he was up twenty grand. Had his bets been larger, the amount could have been two hundred grand. Crunchie had been right in his assessment of Jazzy. She was the best score in town. But he wasn’t here to steal Galaxy’s money. That would come later, after he’d established himself as a sucker with management.

He lost his winnings back through sloppy play while small-talking with Jazzy and learning her upcoming schedule. A new shift worked the weekend, and she’d be back Monday night. That would give him three days to build himself in before pulling his scam.

A cocktail waitress brought him a fresh glass of champagne. He tipped her and gave her a wink. She walked away too quickly, and an alarm went off in his head.

He turned around in his chair. To his surprise, the salon had cleared out. The other dealers and pit boss were gone, and Shaz’s desk was empty as well.

The blood drained from his head. Something had been bothering him, and now he realized what it was. No steam. Some steam always accompanied a high roller betting $1,000 a hand, especially when the high roller was a complete stranger who’d just strolled in. But here in Galaxy’s salon, there was no steam at all.

He turned back to Jazzy. “Where did everybody go?”

Jazzy glanced around the salon. Its emptiness seemed to surprise her as well.

“Beats me. I guess they went on break,” she said.

“At the same time?”

“You’re right. It is pretty strange.”

It was time to get out of Dodge. He scooped up his chips and the gaffed cigarette pack from the table and rose from his chair. “It’s been nice talking to you.”

“Have a pleasant evening,” she said.

He walked briskly toward the salon’s entrance. The fear of getting caught was never far from his thoughts; it was the risk that came with the reward. As he opened the carved doors, he stole a glance over his shoulder. The pit boss had reappeared, and stood in front of Jazzy’s table. Their eyes locked. The look on the pit boss’s face said it all.

Busted!

He hurried into the main casino. If he could get out the front doors unscathed, he’d run down to the street and melt into the mass of humanity that filled the Strip’s sidewalks. Thomas Pico would disappear, never to be heard from again. His car could be dealt with later. He hadn’t given the valet his name, and he’d have Leon come by in a few days and claim it.

He sailed through the casino without a problem. His heartbeat was back to normal as he entered the hotel lobby, thinking he’d dodged a bullet. The feeling didn’t last long.

Shaz was in the lobby waiting for him. She’d ditched the evening dress for a pair of skintight leather pants and a black zippered jacket straight out of a dominatrix’s catalogue. A look of stone-cold hatred filled her eyes.

Flanking her were two of the scariest black dudes Billy had ever seen. They were as big as mountains and were studying him the way a cat sizes up a helpless canary in a cage.

Billy moved backward, having nowhere else to run.

“Get him,” Shaz said.