Take Down

FIFTY-FOUR

Mags punched the horn of her rental. A hard rain was falling that had turned the streets treacherous, and traffic wasn’t moving. She jumped out to see what the problem was. Up ahead, two vehicles had collided, the drivers standing in the road inspecting the damage.

She decided to hoof it. Leaving the keys in the ignition, she hustled down the sidewalk with the university’s majestic spires in view. No member of the Flynn dynasty had ever made it to college, her family tree filled with losers and two-bit thieves, a tradition she’d faithfully carried on. Amber was about to break the mold, and Mags was determined not to miss the seismic moment.

It was her first visit to the college, and the manicured grounds and stately buildings made her choke up. Tuition had to be expensive. Had Amber gotten a scholarship? Mags didn’t know. Some mother she was.

The gymnasium’s shimmering glass walls captured her quiet desperation as she hurried inside. For all these years she’d carried around the belief that she and Amber would one day form a bond beyond the infrequent phone call. It happened on the Hallmark Channel all the time.

The lobby was deserted. She went to the nearest set of doors and tugged at the handles. The doors opened, and a black maintenance man gave her a scornful look.

“It’s over, lady. You’re too late,” the maintenance man said.

She rushed past him onto the polished parquet floors. The gym was a sea of bleachers covered in discarded programs, while up on stage, two workers dismantled the podium.

She choked back her tears. She imagined Amber receiving her diploma to no applause. How many other grads had suffered that ignominy? She wanted to blame someone for being late, but in reality, she had no one to blame but herself.

“Wake up.”

Her head came off her pillow. Frank stood beside the bed, holding a steaming mug. He put it under her nose, the fumes snapping her awake.

“How… did you get in?” she stammered.

“When you didn’t answer your phone, I picked the lock,” Frank said.

“You said you were coming at twelve thirty.”

“It is twelve thirty. We need to get moving. I told my boss we’d be there at one.”

The coffee brought her around. She hadn’t contacted Billy to warn him, and she slipped out of bed and took her iPhone off the night table. Frank intercepted her at the bathroom door and yanked the cell phone out of her hand.

“Give me that,” she said.

“You don’t need your cell phone in there,” he said.

“I want to send my daughter a text. I haven’t been in touch with her in a while.”

“Do it later, on your own time.”

The Strip was a madhouse. Thousands of tourists oozed along the sidewalks clutching plastic cups of draft beer and yard-glass containers filled with potent rum concoctions. Every day was Mardi Gras in Las Vegas, every night a Super Bowl party.

“Where are you taking me?” Mags asked.

“See those NV Energy vehicles parked the next block over? There,” Frank said.

Parked in front of Galaxy was a convoy of Nevada Energy vehicles. This included a truck with a cherry picker, two white vans, and a camper-sized vehicle with a satellite dish on the roof. A crew of utility workers was fixing the spaghetti power lines running to the hotel. It looked legit, until Mags noticed that the man in charge was Frank’s piece-of-shit boss Trixie.

“There’s something you’re not telling me,” she said.

Frank’s hands clutched the wheel as if clinging to a life jacket.

“We have a deal,” she said. “If you’re changing the deal, I want to know.”

Frank took out his cell phone and punched in a command.

“The changes are about this,” Frank said.

She squinted at the screen. Eight people gathered inside a covered parking garage. Billy, two big black dudes, a fat guy holding a gym bag, two kids with curly mops of hair, a big man with his back to the camera, and two babes pretty enough for porno.

“That was taken inside Galaxy’s employee parking garage earlier,” Frank explained. “We think Cunningham’s planning to rip off Galaxy today, and that’s his crew.”

“You’re going to catch him in the act.”

“Damn straight. He’ll do serious time.”

“What do you mean serious time?”

“Twenty-five to life, no parole.”

“You think you can nail all of them?” she asked, swallowing hard.

“That’s the plan. We’ve doubled the number of agents for the bust.”

It wasn’t adding up. The gaming board was raiding Galaxy to bust a drug dealer and shut down a money-laundering operation. Billy was just icing on the cake, or so she’d been led to believe.

“Why all this attention on Billy?” she asked. “This other guy’s a drug dealer. He’s more important, isn’t he?”

“Rock’s goose is already cooked. The gaming board just wanted to arrest him inside the casino because it was good publicity. Busting Cunningham is a different story. That little motherfucker humiliated us. We’ve got a score to settle with him.”

“So this is personal.”

“You got it, baby.”

“You still haven’t told me how my deal’s changed.”

“You’re going to help us catch the whole crew.”

“But that wasn’t our agreement.”

“It is now.”

Harrah’s was across the street from Galaxy. Frank pulled in and gave the valet his keys. Then he came around to Mags’s side of the vehicle and told her to get out.

“I’m warning you, don’t try anything stupid,” he said.

They walked down the Strip to an elevated walkway, took the escalator up, and crossed over. The walkway was crowded and Frank pushed his way through. Another escalator took them down to the opposite side of the street, and they headed toward the convoy of NV trucks.

Mags decided it was time to end her relationship with the gaming board. She started to make a run for it, but Frank forced her up the stairs of the camper-sized vehicle. He opened the back door and brusquely shoved her inside.

The door shut behind her. Three gaming agents sat before a matrix of video monitors. Gaming agents were voyeurs; they eavesdropped on phone conversations, opened other people’s mail, and stuck their noses where they didn’t belong. A gruff female agent with steel-gray hair appeared in charge.

“You must be the snitch,” the female agent said. “What’s your name?”

“Maggie.”

“Okay, Maggie, I want you to sit over there in the corner. Don’t open your mouth unless I speak to you. Am I making myself clear?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

Whatever chance she’d had to warn Billy had been lost. She sank down in the chair under the female agent’s wilting gaze.

“And don’t get any bright ideas,” the female agent added.