James Swain - Super Con

“That’s a cool story. Can I share it with my writers? It would make a good episode.”

“Be my guest.”

“What past-posting move did you use?”

“The Savannah.”

“I’ll call you if I need any pointers. You’d like that, wouldn’t you?”

Since their relationship had ended, Mags had taken pleasure in torturing him whenever they got together. It was messed up, yet he kept coming back for more.

“I need to beat it. You take care of yourself.”

She grabbed his wrist. “You didn’t come here for a social visit. There’s something on your mind. Spit it out, lover boy.”

“I’m working a super con with a family of cheats called the Gypsies. The gaming board has fingered two of the kids, and the father’s getting nervous. We might have to bring in reinforcements. That’s where you come in. I’ll make it worth your while. What do you say?”

“In case you hadn’t noticed, I’m not in the rackets anymore. I’m an actress.”

“Hollywood’s a filthy business. Even when you win, you lose.”

“Fuck you.”

“I’m talking about one night’s work. If your pilot fails, you have a security net. Or you can give the money to your kid and make her dreams come true. It’s a sweet deal.”

“I should have called security when I first laid eyes on you.”

“But you didn’t. You knew I had something, and you were dying to hear what it was. You haven’t changed, Mags, and you never will. You’re a born thief.”

“Get out.” A phone rang in the next room. “That’s probably Rand. He always calls before he shows up, unlike some people I know. Don’t let the door hit you on the way out.”

He started to leave. He’d planted the seed and needed to make it grow. Turning around, he said, “Sleep on it. I’ll call you tomorrow. Your number hasn’t changed, has it?”

Her glass missed his head by inches.

Downstairs in the lobby, he caught his first glimpse of the man who’d promised to make Mags a star. Rand Waters was an aging lounge lizard with fluffy orange hair and a cell phone glued to his ear. His jeans were the five-hundred-dollar variety, his black T-shirt Dolce & Gabbana. He breezed past Billy as if the young hustler didn’t exist.

Billy felt the overwhelming urge to coldcock Waters and put him on the floor. Mags was being run ragged, and this prick would go right on doing it until another pretty face happened along.

Waters got on an elevator, and Billy started to follow. His cell phone vibrated, and he pulled it out. He’d gotten a text embedded with a video, which began to play on its own. Leon sat bound to a chair, his face a bloody pulp. One of the little ones entered the picture and slit his driver’s throat, creating a bloody apron. Broken Tooth appeared, puffing a cigarette.

“Call me when you get this,” the Chinese gangster said.

The elevator door closed in his face. His hands trembled as he made the call.

“Why did you do that?” he said, nearly shouting.

“Because I felt like it,” Broken Tooth said.

“That’s it? No other reason.”

“I don’t need a reason to kill people.”

“The deal’s off. I’m not working with you.”

“I know where your pretty friends live. Want them to die, too? I don’t think so. Meet me in a half hour at Big Wong. I want to hear how your meeting with the football players went.”

The line went dead. It was all Billy could do not to throw the phone to the ground.

He drove to Spring Valley and crawled down the three-mile stretch of strip centers known as Chinatown until he found Big Wong. The lunch crowd was long gone and there was plenty of parking. Easing his vehicle into a space, he got on his cell phone and called Gabe.

“Hey, Billy, how did it go with the football players?” Gabe answered.

“I’ll tell you later. I need you to explain how the rigged coin toss works,” he said.

“You don’t sound so hot. Is everything okay?”

He was still seeing red over Leon’s senseless murder and had decided to delay telling his crew the bad news. “Everything’s fine. Now lay it on me.”

“You want me to explain over the phone?”

He’d taught his crew to avoid discussing jobs over the phone whenever possible. But there was the matter of keeping Pepper and Misty alive, so he decided to do it anyway.

“Yes, over the phone.”

“Okay, here it is. The coin used for the coin toss in the Super Bowl is a ceremonial coin and is extra thick. That allowed me to fit a mercury slug in its center without it being noticeable. The mercury can be moved with a transmitter hidden in a cell phone. If I want the coin to land heads, I move the slug to the tails side; if I want the coin to land tails, I move the slug to the heads side. It works like a charm.”

“Explain the deal again with the head referee.”

“The head referee’s name’s Gordon Barnett, and he’s in Phoenix preparing for the game with the other refs. Cory found out that Barnett has gambling debts, so Cory plans to bribe him fifty grand in return for Barnett using the gimmicked coin for the coin toss.”

The whole thing sounded risky. Gimmicked coin, a crooked ref, and hoping the dirty players did their jobs right. He’d have to do a strong sell on Broken Tooth to make it fly.

“I need to run. I’ll call you later,” he said.

Broken Tooth sat at a corner table eating greasy spareribs. Seeing Billy approach, he chopped the air with his hand. His bodyguard put down his utensils and stood up.

“I thought we had a deal,” Billy said. “I help you fix the game, and you spare my driver.”

“Sit down,” Broken Tooth said.

“I asked you a question. You come into my town and start whacking my people, and you think you’re going to get away with it? Fat fucking chance, pal.”

“Your driver is still alive.”

He rocked back on his heels. “Then who’s in the video?”

“Some other guy. Go back through kitchen, say hi to your driver.”

“You’d better not be screwing with me.”

Broken Tooth licked the grease off his fingers and grinned. The little bastard was toying with him, and he walked to the back of the restaurant and entered the steamy kitchen. The kitchen’s back door was ajar, leading him outside to where Broken Tooth’s rental was parked. Leon sat in front with the other henchman, looking very much alive. An invisible weight lifted from his shoulders. “You okay?” he asked through the glass. The passenger window lowered. “Fuckers made me watch,” his driver said.

He went back inside and took a seat at Broken Tooth’s table.

“You hungry? Spareribs are real tasty,” Broken Tooth said.

“No thanks. Who’s the guy in the video?”

“Some dumb junkie. Your driver’s diabetic, so I sent my men to his apartment to get his insulin. Junkie tried to rob them in the parking lot. Bad idea. My men brought him back to our place and slit his throat.”

“And you made my driver watch.”

“Why not?”

In kidnap situations, the kidnappers were less likely to snuff their victim the longer they were around him. This wasn’t the case with Broken Tooth, who would kill Leon as easily as stepping on a bug. “You like screwing with people, don’t you?” he said.

“Just want to remind you who’s boss,” Broken Tooth said.

“You’re the boss.”

“That’s right.” Broken Tooth picked up a piece of romaine lettuce off his plate, which he kneaded between his fingertips until soft. The Batman lunch box was retrieved from the floor and a panel unsnapped. Broken Tooth fed the lettuce to the animal residing inside.

“What’s in there, a pet rat?” he asked.

“You think I carry a rat around with me? Fuck you.”