James Swain - Super Con

“All right. But I want some collateral with this IOU,” he said.

“If I give you my father’s watch, will you erase that picture?”

“Let me see the watch first.”

Night Train retreated into the villa and returned holding an old wristwatch with a cracked leather band and a faded inscription on its back.

“My daddy gave this watch to me before he died,” Night Train said. “It’s worth more to me than all the tea in China. Is that good enough for you?”

“That works.” Billy slipped the timepiece into his pocket. Holding the Droid so Night Train could see the screen, he deleted the incriminating photo. Night Train visibly relaxed.

“Happy now?” he asked.

“Yeah,” Night Train said.

Night Train and his pals were veteran cheats and had probably never lost this much before, and he wondered how long it would take before it kicked in that they’d been swindled. He wrote down his cell phone number on the notepad and left it on the table.

“That’s my number. Call me when you have the sixty grand,” he said.

Then he got the hell out of there.

Billy was flying high as he left Caesars. There was an art to swindling another cheat that required a delicate level of finesse. The fact that Night Train hadn’t threatened to throw him off the balcony told Billy that he’d handled things just right.

Traffic barely moved. A show was being filmed at the LINQ Hotel and Casino, closing a lane to accommodate the production trucks. Vegas should have been a natural location for TV shows and movies, but most production companies avoided the town. The amount of red tape required to film was a nightmare and required sign-off from the dreaded gaming board.

It gave him an idea. If the production at LINQ continued, maybe he could rip the joint off. Films and movies required plenty of people and equipment, all of it a distraction to the casino’s surveillance department. Using his cell phone, he got on the Internet and typed Las Vegas film production into Google. He got a hit and followed the link to a story in the local paper. A company called Bad Dog Productions was filming a pilot called Night and Day at the LINQ starring an actress named Maggie Flynn. How ironic was that? Mags had left Vegas for the bright lights of Hollywood and, like an escaped convict, had gotten caught and sent right back. LINQ’s entrance was a block away, and he decided to pay her a visit.

LINQ was a no-frills joint, the lobby without furniture. A receptionist smiled as Billy approached, happy to have another person to talk to. “Good afternoon and welcome to LINQ.”

“Hi. I need to use a house phone,” he said.

“House phones are across from the elevators. Are you looking for someone?”

“Maggie Flynn. She’s an old friend.”

“Ms. Flynn the actress? I spoke with her a few moments ago. Would you like me to ring her room and announce your arrival?”

Maggie had done a number on him before breaking things off, and he decided to repay the favor. “That would be great. Tell her Rand Waters is here to see her.”

“Rand Waters the TV producer? I totally love your shows. Sweet and Sassy ’s my fave.”

“Thank you. Those are words I never get tired of hearing.”

The receptionist made the call. “Ms. Flynn said to come right up. Room 2081.”

“Thanks. You’ve been very helpful.”

He rode alone to the twentieth floor and walked down a hallway littered with room-service trays. When he rapped on the door to Mags’s room, a voice from within said, “It’s open,” and he entered. The suite was on the low end of the Vegas experience and reminded him of an old Billy Joel song. “In hell there’s a big hotel where the bar just closed and the windows never opened, no phone, so you can’t call home, and the TV works but the clicker is broken.” An open script lay on the coffee table. Next to it, a bottle of Chivas and a vial of sleeping pills.

“You could have put me up some place decent, you know,” Mags called from the next room. “There’s no hot water half the fucking time, and the carpet smells like bad weed.”

He picked up the script and started reading. The plot of Night and Day revolved around a female gaming agent who solved crimes during the day and ripped off the casinos at night, hence the clever title. For a kicker, the money she stole went to charity.

“For the love of Christ, how did you get in here?”

Mags stood before him wrapped in a bath towel and wearing no makeup. Her eyes looked tired, and she’d lost weight since he’d last seen her.

“I lied to the girl downstairs,” he said. “How you been?”

“I should call security and have you tossed.”

“I just wanted to say hi and congratulate you. You’ve got your own TV show.”

“Thanks. It’s just a pilot.”

She let her towel drop to the floor, revealing heavenly skin. There was nothing like Irish hot, and the sight of her took his breath away. From the closet, she grabbed a fluffy white bathrobe supplied by the hotel and slipped it on. “Fix me a scotch, will you?”

“I thought you quit drinking.”

“What are you, my sponsor? Straight up, two ice cubes. Make it strong.”

He took the Chivas to the minibar and fixed the drinks. Through a picture window, he spied a Ferris wheel behind the hotel that did not have a single rider. Vegas was about action, and this place didn’t have any. It was beyond depressing.

Mags parked herself on a couch. He served her drink and pulled up a chair.

“You’re staying?” she asked.

“Want to throw me out? Just for old time’s sake?”

“No, Billy. You know I still care about you.”

He sat down and they clinked glasses. “So what’s with the pills? And why are you so thin? You don’t look good.”

“I take the pills because I can’t sleep. I’m on a diet because the cameras add ten pounds to my face and make me look fat. Any more questions?”

“Are you happy?”

“I’m having the time of my fucking life.”

“Did your daughter make it out to see you?”

Her face softened. She’d gotten knocked up as a teenager and hadn’t raised her kid. Now that her daughter was an adult, she was trying to make amends. “Amber’s flying out tomorrow so we can spend a few days together. I can’t wait.”

“That’s great. She’s going to see you in a whole new light.”

She stared at the floor and started to cry. It happened so fast that Billy didn’t know what to do. He pulled his chair closer and tried to console her.

“You look really ugly when you cry,” he said.

She laughed through her tears. They’d met on the mean streets of Providence another lifetime ago, and she’d introduced him to the rackets while also breaking his heart. The waterworks ended, and she emptied her glass and made him fix her another.

“Thanks for asking about Amber. So, did you ever rip this place off?”

“Once.”

“You told me that you ripped off every casino in Vegas multiple times. Liar.”

He brought the new drink and took his spot on the couch. “There was a reason.”

“Hmmm... you mix these good and strong. I’m listening.”

“We were past-posting at roulette and won thirty grand. When the guy in my crew went to cash out, the cashier didn’t have enough to pay him off. The cashier asked my guy to come back the next day to get our dough. Needless to say, we never came back.”

“Why not?”

“We ripped off the joint during the graveyard shift, so the burden fell on the manager of the day shift to pay us out,” he explained. “Believe me, that guy isn’t going to pay us without studying the surveillance tapes. If he sees anything wrong, the gaming board gets called.”