James Swain - Super Con

“The goon had definitely been in before,” Cory said.

“Did the goon make you? You said you were sitting by the entrance.”

“Nope. We were wearing disguises,” Cory said.

Cory and Morris had once done a job but failed to wear disguises. Billy had canned them over it, then taken them back, with the promise they’d never do it again.

“Nice to hear it,” Billy said. “Did you follow him?”

“For about a mile. Then we stopped,” Cory said.

“Why?” Billy asked.

“The goon was looking in his mirror as he drove,” Cory explained. “If he made us, he could get out at a red light and shoot us. And our short, happy lives would be over.”

Drive-by shootings were common in Vegas and rarely got solved. Cory’s reasoning was sound, and Billy said, “We need to go back to Joyful House and set up surveillance. We’ll use two cars to follow the goon and find out where Leon’s being kept.”

“I think we should go see Broken Tooth and do an exchange,” Cory said. “We’ll give him Travis, and in return he lets Leon go.”

“That’s a clever idea. Were you planning on kidnapping Travis?”

“That was the plan. It solves two problems at once. Leon would be let go, and Travis would get paid back for screwing us.”

“Do you think Broken Tooth would shoot Travis?”

“Probably.”

“Does that bother you?”

“No,” they both said.

Billy’s cell phone danced on the bar. Mags, of all people, had texted him. Their last meeting had ended in less than spectacular fashion, and he was still trying to get over it. Mags was the most screwed-up woman he’d ever known, yet he could not erase the notion that someday they were going to rob a casino together. He read her message.

Grimes going to bust one of the Gypsies

He texted her back.

Where?

LINQ. Going down now. Good luck

Billy needed to call Victor and alert him that one of his family was in trouble. Cory had resumed playing video poker with Morris looking over his shoulder.

“I’ll be right back,” he said.

The Stage Door sat in an alleyway between Bally’s and the Flamingo. He found a secluded spot beneath the monorail that ran between the hotels and made the call.

Kat answered her father’s phone. “My father’s taking a nap.”

“One of your siblings is about to get busted by the gaming board,” he said.

“What? Which one?”

“Whichever one is ripping off LINQ.”

“Hold on, I’ll go get my father.”

“Hey Billy, what’s going on?” Victor said, his voice thick with sleep.

“I just got tipped off that one of your kids is about to get busted at LINQ. Frank Grimes, the asshole who shot you in the leg, is running the operation.”

“That must be my son Tommy. He called me earlier, said he was going to check out a new joint called LINQ. I’ll call him right now and alert him.”

“I’m on the Strip with two of my crew. I’m happy to help.”

“I just might take you up on that. I’ll call you back.”

He ended the call. The sky was darkening, and the Flamingo’s flashing sign looked like a Fourth of July display. He’d come to Vegas a decade ago thinking he’d last a year before the illusion wore thin. Only the opposite had happened, and his infatuation with the town had turned into a full-blown love affair. He craved action, and there was no other city in the world that had more action than right here. Victor called him back.

“I just spoke to Tommy. He didn’t have a clue the gaming board was onto him. He’s going to make a run for it but doesn’t think he can get more than a few blocks. My kids can’t get there in time. Can you help him out?”

“You bet. Tommy’s tall, with a thick head of hair, right?”

“That’s him. I really appreciate this, Billy.”

“Don’t thank me yet. What’s Tommy’s cell number?”

Billy sent Tommy Boswell a text,

Pick you up on the Strip.

Then he went inside to find Cory and Morris still at the bar. Morris had a Taser cupped in his hand and was giving the video poker machine a shock. The scam didn’t work in casinos because of the cameras, but in a dive like this one, a Taser would produce free plays and even a false payout.

“Go get your car,” Billy said. “We need to give Tommy Boswell a hand.”

They followed Billy outside. Their black Infiniti SUV was parked in a handicap spot by the building. Cory had falsified medical documentation to obtain a handicapped placard under the belief that in a town this crowded there was nothing more valuable than free parking.

Billy started jogging toward the Strip. His plan was to head toward LINQ with his eye out for Tommy Boswell. Once he’d made visual contact, he’d wave Tommy toward the Infiniti, which would whisk him away to safety.

He suddenly stopped. A great plan, only he wasn’t wearing a disguise. A street surveillance camera was going to pick up his face and connect him to Tommy Boswell.

He turned around and went back into the Stage Door. Up at the bar, a legless vet was chatting up a blind girl. The vet wore a Vietnam veteran tiger-stripe ball cap. Billy had bought the vet enough beers to feel comfortable interrupting the conversation.

“Twenty bucks for your cap,” Billy said.

“Make it thirty, and it’s yours,” the vet said.

“Sold.”

Money changed hands. Billy put on the cap and threw on his shades. Outside, the Infiniti idled by the curb. He trotted toward the Strip with the vehicle right behind him.

Reaching the Strip, Billy headed north, the Infiniti trailing behind him in the right lane. The sun had gone to bed and the all-night party was under way, with drunken tourists walking an imaginary tightrope down the sidewalk.

As Billy walked, he tried to see above heads in the crowd. When the Strip’s hotels were booked solid, there were a quarter million people packed into the town. Right now, it felt like most of them were walking with him on the sidewalk.

This wasn’t going to work. Tommy Boswell could be ten feet away, and he wasn’t going to spot him. He decided to send Tommy a text.

Looking for you. Put your arm in the air.

Fifty feet ahead, a disembodied arm shot into the air. Not seeing who it belonged to, he climbed onto a machine that dispensed free flyers filled with ads for hookers. Tommy Boswell came into view, hustling down the sidewalk. Most cheats kept in shape by running, and Tommy had the long, effortless strides of someone who’d put in the miles.

A gang of determined gaming agents gave chase. Billy identified them by the bad haircuts they wore like badges of honor. Grimes was in front, yelling for Tommy to halt. When Tommy didn’t oblige him, Grimes reached into his sports jacket for his sidearm. Gaming agents were allowed to shoot people who robbed the casinos, even if the thieves were unarmed. This was going to end badly. Jumping down, he pulled out his wallet and began throwing handfuls of cash into the air. “Free money! Who wants some free money?”

The crowd went ape. People screamed and grasped at the bills. Two tourists claimed a fifty at once. They ripped the bill in half and started fighting.

Tommy Boswell burst out of the crowd. “Hey, stranger.”

“My friends are in the black Infiniti,” Billy said. “Jump in the back and hit the floor.”

“You coming?”

“Nope, I’m staying here. See you later.”

Tommy ran between cars into the middle of the street, bent down, and did a duck walk to the Infiniti, where he opened the back door and jumped into the backseat. The door wasn’t closed before Cory cut across two lanes of traffic, hung a left at the light, and vanished down a side street. Cory, once king of the fuckups, had pulled through like a champ.