James Swain - Super Con

“Sorry, man, I’m just curious.”

“What I have is a fighting champion.” Broken Tooth removed a small wooden cage from the lunch box, which contained a giant green cricket. The insect made a loud hissing noise by vibrating its wings. “His name is the General. I purchased him at an auction in Shanghai for twenty thousand dollars. He is the best fighting cricket in the world.”

“Where do they hold cricket fights?”

“Everywhere people like to gamble. They are an obsession in Asia.”

Vegas had a large Asian population, and Billy guessed cricket fights were held in private homes with plenty of betting. The General was Broken Tooth’s alibi in case the police decided to pick him up and question him. The guy was no dummy; that was for sure. Broken Tooth returned the cage to the lunch box and closed it. “Did you go see Night Train?”

“We were introduced this afternoon. The concierge at Caesars got me invited to a poker game in Night Train’s villa. I won sixty grand of his money.”

“You cheated him?”

“Let’s just say we cheated each other and I came out on top. He didn’t have the money to pay me, so we’re going to hook up tomorrow so he can settle his debt. That’s when I plan to persuade him to fix the game next Sunday.”

“Why did you wait? Why not now?”

“Night Train is still a little dazed. When he wakes up tomorrow morning, he’s going to realize what happened. It will make him look at me differently and realize that he’s not dealing with some schmuck off the street.”

“He’ll figure this out in his sleep?”

Billy nodded. An important part of poker cheating was cooling out the sucker. After the sucker lost, the cheat needed to convince the sucker that he’d played smart and was simply the victim of bad luck. If this wasn’t done, the sucker would go to bed thinking about it and arise the next day realizing he’d been fleeced. He deliberately hadn’t cooled out Night Train and felt certain the famous football player would figure out a swindle had taken place.

“You’re a smart guy. Always thinking ahead,” Broken Tooth said. “So how are you going to fix coin toss at Super Bowl?”

Billy put his elbows on the table. He had no idea if the scam that Gabe had devised would really work, for the simple reason that he’d never tried it before. But he couldn’t let his doubt become apparent. He needed to sell Broken Tooth on his plan and he needed to do it in a big way. “One of my crew used to be a jeweler. He can gaff any piece of equipment you give him and make it look real. He created a special coin that matches the ceremonial coin used for the Super Bowl, only his coin is electronic and can be made to land either heads or tails using a transmitter hidden in a cell phone.”

“What about the ref? Have you got him in your back pocket?”

“The head ref for the Super Bowl has gambling debts. My guys are going to bribe him tomorrow over breakfast. All the ref has to do is use our coin for the coin toss, and we’re set. The rest will be up to Night Train and his boys.”

Broken Tooth nodded approvingly. “How much will the ref set you back?”

“Fifty grand. It’s steep, but I don’t see that we have any other choice.”

“Maybe you can kill ref later and get your money back.”

“You know, I never thought of that.”

Broken Tooth seemed to be sold on the play and picked at his spareribs. If Billy had been talking to a local hoodlum, an offer of a drink or food would have been made as a sign of respect. Broken Tooth had made no such offer to his guest. The significance wasn’t lost on Billy. This man was not his friend and never would be.

“What should Night Train’s take be? That’s the first thing he’s going to ask me tomorrow when I go to see him,” Billy said.

“Offer him a payout of half a million dollars for each prop bet,” Broken Tooth said. “He will try to negotiate you up. Settle at one million for each bet.”

“Including the coin toss?”

“Yes.”

The scam was now complete. Night Train and his teammates would get a four-million-dollar payday for throwing a handful of inconsequential plays in the Super Bowl. Night Train had larceny in his heart and so did his buddies. They would say yes in a heartbeat.

“How’s the payoff work?” Billy asked.

“I will wire the money to Night Train’s bank account a day before the game,” Broken Tooth said. “Night Train has taken bribes before, so it’s safe to assume he has an offshore account. You will need to get his banking information from him.”

“Got it. Last question. When will you let Leon go?”

“After the big game is over.”

“Is that a promise?”

“You bet.”

It was as good an arrangement as Billy could hope for. Rising from his chair, he started to walk out of the restaurant. Moments later, he was back at the table.

“I just had a thought. What if Night Train takes the money and screws us?”

“Night Train is not going to do that. Super Bowl is his last game. He’s going to retire. Same for his teammates. They’re all getting old and don’t care anymore.”

“Is that why he’s hanging out at Caesars after practice?”

“You got it.”

Smart cheats did their homework before doing a job. Broken Tooth got an A-plus for this one, and he found his opinion of the Chinese gangster changing. Broken Tooth knew the angles and understood the risks. So long as he didn’t hurt Leon, Billy could work with him, and he left the restaurant believing that he was about to be a part of the first cheating team to successfully fix the biggest sporting event in the world.

Most cheats in Vegas lived in sleepy neighborhoods with neatly trimmed front lawns. Their children attended public schools and their wives belonged to the PTA and were den mothers with the Cub Scouts. They tried to blend in, and for the most part they succeeded.

Billy was having none of that. You could either have a long, boring life or a short, exciting one, and he’d opted for life in the fast lane. His penthouse in Turnberry Towers was a perfect example. It was twenty-six hundred square feet of pure opulence, filled with the finest furnishings money could buy. His wardrobe was nothing to sneeze at, either, with enough threads and tailored jackets to stock a haberdashery. Throw in all the expensive watches, cigarette lighters, and jewelry he’d accumulated over the years, and you had a real statement.

Most cheats would never flaunt their wealth, fearful that the gaming board would one day bust them and confiscate everything they owned. Billy saw things differently. The gaming board could nip at his heels all they wanted; it wasn’t going to change the way he lived.

He pulled into Turnberry, and a uniformed valet opened his door. He made it a point to tip the staff generously and give them gifts at the holidays. As a result, they watched his back.

“Good evening, Mr. Cunningham. Will you be going out later? I can park the car nearby, if you’d like,” the valet said.

“I’m staying in tonight,” he said.

“Certainly. By the way, two gentlemen are in the lobby to see you.”

Billy had experienced enough surprises in the past few days to last a lifetime.

“Describe them,” he said.

“They’re both young with curly hair,” the valet replied. “They said they needed to speak with you. I thought it was best you know.”

It was Cory and Morris. They aspired to run their own crew one day and often met with Billy to discuss scams they were cooking up. An unannounced visit meant something was up.

“Thanks for the heads-up. Do you follow football?”

“Of course, Mr. Cunningham. Doesn’t everybody?”

“Who are you betting on for the Super Bowl?”