Take Down

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.