Take Down

THIRTY-SIX

Billy parked the Camaro in the employee garage. It was easy to tell it was the employee garage; half the cars were falling apart. He knew a cheat named Ace who frequented bars where casino employees hung out. Ace would scour the lot to see whose car was in the worst shape, find the owner, and begin the recruitment process.

The elevator was on the blink so he took the stairwell. He had a lot on his plate, all of which needed to get done in the next thirty-six hours. He had to make the Gypsies, get Tony G off Gabe’s back, and prepare his crew for an eight-million-dollar takedown. A few hours ago, he might have said forget it, but not now. Being around his crew did that to him. By himself, there was only so much stealing he could do. With his crew, the possibilities were endless.

A blast of cold air greeted him upon entering the casino. Urban legend had it that the casinos pumped oxygen to get customers to gamble more, but it wasn’t true. They just kept the joints bone-chilling cold, and the lure of easy money did the rest.

He found Ike and T-Bird inside the sports book, an area reserved for gamblers wanting to bet on sporting events. Both wore new designer threads that signaled a step up in the world. As the scores faded away on the digital screen, their betting stubs were tossed to the floor.

“Know how to make a small fortune inside a casino? Start with a large one.”

“Shit, man, we got to gamble,” Ike said. “What else is there to do in this town?”

“No gambling while you’re doing a job with me. People will get suspicious if you start losing money they don’t think you have. Got it?”

They reluctantly nodded agreement.

“Good. Now what’s going on?”

“We got everything under control,” Ike said, his tone indicating a willingness to impress. “Crunchie had to go see the doctor because his ulcer’s bleeding. He called me from the doctor’s office, and I told him we were watching you like a hawk. Then we got a call from psycho bitch. She was at the airport picking up a rich oilman flying in from Houston. She says, ‘Put that sneaky little bastard on, I want an update,’ and I messed with her real good.”

“What did you tell her?”

“I said, ‘Billy thinks the Gypsies are part of a wedding party. He’s inside the chapel, checking out a rehearsal. You want him to call you?’ and psycho bitch says, ‘Just keep an eye on him,’ and hangs up.”

“She wasn’t suspicious?”

“Nope. Everything’s good.”

“What time did she call?”

“About a half hour ago.”

“I want to know the exact time.”

“I told you-about a half hour ago.”

“Take out your cell phone and check.”

“You think I can’t keep track of the fucking time?”

“I’m sure you can keep track of the time. I just think you’re wrong.”

Ike took out his cell phone and found the incoming call in the memory bank. Casinos were designed to make people lose track of the time-no clocks, no windows, the outside world shut out-and Billy would have bet Ike was wrong, only he didn’t want to make an enemy.

“Holy shit, she called an hour ago,” Ike said.

An hour was a lot different than a half hour. In an hour, Shaz could meet the oilman at the airport, bring him back to the hotel, and check up on Billy. And if she didn’t find Billy at the chapel, she’d know that Ike had lied to her and that his allegiances had shifted.

“Let’s get over to the wedding chapel before this thing blows up in our faces,” Billy said.

Just off the hotel lobby, the wedding chapel was far enough away from the casino to make it feel real, a pretty room painted in champagne hues and delicate shades of brown, with cut-glass chandeliers and amethyst glass windows traced in gold leaf. Billy sat down in a pew with the punishers. Up at the altar, a white-haired minister was conducting a rehearsal with two nervous kids who kept peeking at the door, as if expecting an irate parent to appear and call the whole thing off. He guessed that the bride-to-be was underage and that she and her boyfriend had eloped. It was easy to get hitched in Vegas. No waiting period, no blood test, just buy a fifty-dollar certificate, and find a man with a turned collar to read from the black book.

The rehearsal dragged on, with the kids comically stepping on each other’s vows. The groom tried slipping a wedding ring on his bride’s finger and dropped it on the floor, where it rolled beneath a pew and disappeared. The girl looked ready to brain him.

The rehearsal ended, and the kids walked down the aisle squeezing hands. The minister wiped his brow with a hanky. A door beside the chapel opened, and a new couple appeared for their rehearsal. It was an assembly line. Billy rose from the pew.

“I need to take a look at something. I’ll be right back.”

He walked around the chapel to the door the couples were coming through and twisted the knob. Crammed into the adjacent room were ten more couples, waiting their turn. Returning to the pew, he asked Ike to call Shaz. As the call went through, he left the chapel with Ike’s cell phone pressed to his ear and parked himself on an overstuffed couch in the lobby.

“What do you want?” Shaz said by way of greeting.

“It’s me, Billy. I hear you’ve been looking for me.”

“That’s right. Did you make the Gypsies yet?”

“I’ve hit a little snag. According to the welcome board in the lobby, there are nine weddings taking place on Saturday. I’m at the chapel, and I’ve already seen twelve couples rehearsing. What’s the deal?”

“Price points. You have to pay to get your name put on the welcome board.”

“So how busy is Saturday?”

“We start at ten a.m. and run them until five. Three weddings an hour, no overlap.”

“I believe you just said twenty-one.”

“Don’t be a wiseass. It isn’t healthy.”

If he knew one thing for certain, it was that Ike and T-Bird weren’t going to lay another hand on him, and he could not help but smile into the phone. “One more question. Do small wedding parties stay in the hotel, or can they just rent the chapel?”

“Anyone who gets married has to stay in the hotel. That’s the deal.”

He ran his free hand through his hair. The joint was a wedding mill. No doubt the Gypsies had taken this into account when they’d decided to scam the casino. It made it that much easier for them to blend in. The mountain he was climbing had just gotten steeper.

“Who deals with all of these couples?” he asked.

“We have a full-time wedding director, Lucille Gonzalez.”

“Can I talk to her?”

“Be my guest. Lucille’s office is in the bridal shop; she deals with all of the parties. I’ll call her and let her know you’re coming. But be careful. Lucille will take one look at you and start spinning her web. You know the kind I’m talking about.”

“I’ll let you know what I turn up.”

“Don’t hang up. Why do I think you’re fucking with me every time I have a conversation with you? You’re scheming away, I just know it.”

Billy’s cheeks burned. “I’m not fucking with you. Ask Ike if you don’t believe me.”

“Like that moron would know? I used to strip, remember? I can hear it in a man’s voice when he lies. You’re lying. If I find out what you’re planning, I’m going to take you down. That’s a promise, Billy, so help me fucking God.”

She was onto him. But would she pull the trigger when the time came? If the snuff film of Ricky Boswell was any indication, she would, and he’d become another notch on her belt.

“Why don’t you trust me? I haven’t hurt you,” he said.

“Give it time,” she said.