Take Down

NINETEEN

His face repaired, he went downstairs to the main lobby and entered a coffee shop called Brando’s, the walls decorated with movie stills of the famous actor before he’d gone to seed. It was the only restaurant in the hotel that served breakfast all day, and he was craving scrambled eggs. He flipped through the spiral-bound menu until he found the selections.

Ike and T-Bird sat across from him without touching their menus. They’d been quiet as mice in the elevator, and he sensed that there was something on their minds. All the thieves he’d ever known had wanted to elevate their status and make more money. House burglars longed to be bank robbers, while bank robbers imagined themselves jewelry thieves. Each rung on the criminal ladder brought new challenges and greater wealth. It was no different than any other profession, except for the penalty of getting caught.

A waitress took his order. When she left, Ike spoke in a hushed tone. “We want to talk to you later, when we can be alone.”

“Do it here. There aren’t any cameras spying on us,” he said.

“Sure there are. They got cameras everywhere in this joint.”

“Surveillance equipment is expensive, so the casinos don’t put cameras in the restaurants or bars except over the cash registers. Look up at the ceiling if you don’t believe me.”

They lifted their heads to stare at the ceiling and both grinned. The conversation was starting out on the right note.

“How’d you get so fucking smart?” Ike asked.

“I had a good teacher.”

“We want to learn the stuff you know. We’re getting tired of this gig.”

“You guys want to learn how to scam casinos?”

“Yeah,” they said in unison.

Billy nearly busted out laughing. One of the keys to cheating was blending in. A cheater had to be just another face in the crowd, which Ike and T-Bird were incapable of, their massive size impossible to miss. If they were going to cheat, they were going to get caught.

But he wasn’t going to tell them that. He did not have a problem if they got nailed. In fact, he liked the idea. They deserved a nice long jail sentence for what they’d done to him last night. But before he led them down the road to ruin, he was going to get something in return.

“I’ll help you, but I want you to explain some stuff,” he said.

“Name it,” Ike said.

“I want to know what Shaz’s deal is. And Crunchie’s.”

“We’re not allowed to talk about Doucette’s old lady,” Ike said. “The topic, as they say, is off limits. But I can talk about old smelly. Doucette hired him to finger cheaters and then turn them over to us. Our job is to hurt them and send a message to other cheaters to stay away.”

“Not kill them?”

“Naw. We ain’t killers. Are we, T?”

“Never killed nobody in my life,” T-Bird said.

“What about Ricky Boswell?”

“We didn’t kill him-you saw the film,” Ike said.

“But you watched.”

“It was messed up. Shaz spotted Ricky casing the casino and took him upstairs and did all that sick stuff to him. She goes off the deep end sometimes.”

“How did she make Ricky?”

“The hotel operators are told to listen to voice messages on guests’ phones and report anything suspicious. An operator picked up a message on the phone in Ricky’s room from a member of his family, and the message got relayed to Shaz. She started following Ricky around the casino, figured out his deal, and had us grab him. When Ricky refused to rat out his family, she snuffed him. It was a bad scene.”

“She’s a sick puppy,” T-Bird added.

“Shaz got sore at Crunchie for not making Ricky,” Ike went on. “She ordered Crunchie to bring another cheater in to figure out the scam. That’s how you got invited to the party.”

Billy played with the salt dispenser while absorbing what Ike had just said. Crunchie was skating on thin ice with his employer, so he’d blackmailed Billy to make things right.

“Is Shaz still pissed at him?” he asked.

“You bet,” Ike said. “Crunchie’s trying to make good by her and find the Gypsies.”

“I thought that was my job.”

“Not if old smelly finds them first.”

Billy had planned to drag his job out until Saturday night; now, it sounded like he’d have to move quicker, or risk having the old grifter upstage him. If that happened, all bets were off.

It was T-Bird’s turn to work on his vocabulary. The brooding hulk with the shoulder-length dreadlocks glanced furtively over his shoulder before locking eyes with Billy. “Me and Ike want to learn the chip scam. Can you teach us?”

“Sure. You got chips with you?” Billy asked.

T-Bird fished two chips from Galaxy’s casino from his shirt pocket and slid them across the table. One was a red five-dollar chip, the other a green twenty-five-dollar chip. Billy stuck them together with a dab of saliva and launched into his explanation.

“You need a dealer working with you. You bet with the green chip showing. When you lose, the dealer turns the chip over in her rack, and you buy it back for five bucks. You can make six hundred bucks a night without drawing heat.”

“That’s all?” T-Bird said.

“Any more, and security will start watching you,” he added.

“We ain’t interested in no nickel-and-dime shit. Teach us the good stuff.”

“Yeah, the good stuff,” Ike chimed in.

Teaching Ike and T-Bird the good stuff would have been about as smart as giving power tools to cavemen. They were only going to hurt themselves.

“Tell us how the mirror in the cigarette pack works,” T-Bird said.

“Yeah, that’s a good one,” Ike said.

“You’re not going to get rich off that scam, either,” he said. “Look, you guys can’t just waltz into a casino and rip them off for a monster score without the alarms going off. It doesn’t work that way. You have to build yourself in. It takes time.”

“You nearly did last night,” T-Bird said.

“I have experience, and I know the angles. You guys are rookies. You have to start in the farm system, and work your way up to the big leagues.”

T-Bird glanced at his partner. “Pretty boy thinks we’re amateurs.”

“Pretty boy is going to get his face rearranged so it ain’t pretty no more,” Ike said.

“I want first licks.”

“I’ll flip you for it. Heads or tails?”

They looked ready to hurt him. The waitress served him his meal. Wanting to make peace, he slid the toasted bagel into the center of the table, speared a sausage patty with his fork, and dropped it on the bagel. “Have some grub,” he said.

Reaching across the table, Ike picked up the glass of orange juice and poured it over Billy’s food, the bagel as well. He slid out of the booth, as did his partner.

“Get your ass up,” Ike said.

Grabbing the soggy bagel, Billy followed the punishers out of the restaurant.