James Swain - Super Con

“Very smart. He in your debt now,” Broken Tooth said.

“That’s right. He owes me. That’s when I broached the subject of his fixing next Sunday’s Super Bowl. I offered to give him and his friends five hundred grand in good faith. My gut tells me he’s on board: all I have to do is deliver the money. You got the cash?”

Broken Tooth’s eyes went wide. Scooping his prize cricket off the floor, he leaped to his feet and wagged a crooked finger in his guest’s face. “Why you say ‘next Sunday’? Everyone know when Super Bowl is! Why you just say that?”

Billy froze. He’d said “next Sunday” to avoid Broken Tooth getting an acquittal based on a technicality. Broken Tooth, as clever as a shit-house rat, had picked up on it.

“It’s just an expression of speech, that’s all,” he said.

“Bullshit. You’re wearing a fucking wire!”

“No, I’m not. Your man patted me down at the restaurant parking lot.”

“That doesn’t mean shit. You could have a wire stuck up your asshole.”

“Stop being so paranoid. I’m clean.”

“You’re not clean! Take off your clothes right now!”

A man had to know his limitations. For Billy, it was letting a stranger investigate his anal cavity. The game was over; now it was time for the cavalry to make their entrance and save the day. Of course, the gaming board might not have pinpointed which house Billy was holed up in. That was easily fixed, and Billy snatched the prize cricket out of Broken Tooth’s hands and held the struggling insect between its front legs like a chicken wishbone. The cricket was stronger than he’d anticipated and nearly wiggled free.

“He’s a tough little sucker. Did you really pay twenty grand for him?” he asked.

“Give him to me, or my men will kill you,” Broken Tooth seethed.

“Only if you say please.”

“Don’t mess with me, Cunningham!”

He planned to hold the cricket hostage until the front door came down. “The address where you can find me is 4021 El Camino,” he said into the middle button of his shirt.

“What did you just say?” Broken Tooth said.

“Repeat. 4021 El Camino. Hurry up. It’s getting hairy in here.”

“He’s wearing a wire! Take him out!” Broken Tooth said.

The henchmen sat at the dining room table partaking of the takeout delicacies. Jumping up, they drew guns and moved toward their guest. They meant business, and Billy mimed pulling the cricket apart. Broken Tooth screamed like a mother seeing her infant tortured.

“Better not shoot,” Billy said.

“You are going to die,” Broken Tooth said.

“Everyone has to go sometime.”

The game was over. Broken Tooth chopped the air like he was breaking a board. Man Bun aimed at Billy’s temple. The cricket dropped from his hands to the floor.

“Do it,” Broken Tooth said.

Man Bun closed one eye and steadied his arm. Billy’s life flashed before his eyes. The past ten years had been one long joyride, and his only regret was never ripping off a joint with Mags by his side. A splintering sound shattered the air as a battering ram took down the front door. Moments later, the gaming agents rushed into the living room brandishing their shotguns.

Billy dove headfirst to the floor as the first shot was fired.

Billy hated guns for the simple reason that they were rarely accurate, even at close range. Ninety percent of the time, the wrong thing got hit.

Lying on the floor, he watched the fusillade of bullets hit everything but their intended targets. In a movie, it would have been funny, but not so in real life, where a ricochet could have taken out him or Leon. Grimes finally settled things and got close enough not to miss. The house shook as the henchmen’s bodies hit the floor. It was all Billy could do not to yell, “Timber.”

The gaming agents relieved the henchmen of their weapons before checking for pulses. Grimes came over to where Billy lay, saw he wasn’t harmed, and said, “We got lost. Thanks for giving us the address. Which one is Broken Tooth?”

There were only two bodies lying on the floor. Broken Tooth had taken a powder and made a run for it. Billy said, “He must have bolted. Check the back bedrooms.”

Grimes barked an order, and the posse charged down a hallway into the rear of the house. Broken Tooth had short legs and smoked like a chimney; he wouldn’t get very far. Billy hoped the gaming agents shot him in the back when they caught up with him.

Billy pulled himself off the floor and went to check on Leon. His driver’s eyelids were shut. Billy’s heart skipped a beat, fearing the worst. “Leon, my man. Talk to me.”

Leon cracked an eye. “They done shooting?”

“The rodeo is over.”

“Thank you, Jesus.”

Billy undid the ropes, and Leon ran his hands across his body for bullet wounds. “I’m good. Who are these guys with the shotguns?”

“Gaming board.”

His driver’s voice dropped. “I thought the gaming board was after you.”

“Not today.” Billy stole a glance over his shoulder. Grimes was kneeling beside the bodyguards checking for signs of life and paying Billy and Leon scant attention. Grimes had dropped his guard and had no clue that he was about to be played.

Billy pulled out his cell phone and texted his crew.

You’re on

“Who you talking to?” Leon whispered.

Billy silenced him with a finger to the lips. He was still wired up, and he tore the button off his shirt and tossed it away before edging up to Grimes. The special agent was closing the dead henchmen’s eyelids with his fingertips.

“My driver’s going to be okay,” Billy said.

“Glad to hear it. These assholes weren’t so lucky,” Grimes said.

“Karma’s a bitch. My driver wants something to drink. Okay if I use the kitchen?”

“Be my guest.”

“You want me to get you something?”

“No thanks.”

Billy had a look around the living room. The good-faith money for Night Train and his teammates was somewhere in the house. The trick would be to find it without Grimes noticing. Grimes took out his cell phone and called the on-call ambulance to give them the address. It was all the distraction Billy needed, and he entered the adjacent dining room. Two bulging leather satchels sat on the dining room table. He parted the mouth of each. Stacks of newly printed C-notes stared back at him.

Bingo.

He carried the bags into the kitchen. Opening the interior door to the garage, he pressed the automatic garage door opener above the light switch. The garage door lifted, and he went outside with the money. His crew’s three vehicles were parked by the curb, and the driver’s window of each vehicle came down. His crew looked at him expectantly.

“Leon says hello,” he told them.

Smiles all around. His crew had never looked happier.

Gabe got out and did the exchange with Billy at the curb. Gabe’s two leather bags didn’t look anything like Billy’s bags, but since Grimes hadn’t seen the bags, it didn’t matter.

Billy went over to Cory and Morris’s SUV. “You boys ready?”

“As ready as we’re ever going to be,” Cory said. “Can we back up into the driveway?”

“Don’t see why not.”

Next stop was Pepper’s red BMW, where he stuck his head into the driver’s window.

“You’re up. Get ready to turn some heads,” he said.

Pepper and Misty had dolled themselves up to look like high-priced call girls. Prostitution was illegal in Las Vegas, but you never would have known it scrolling through the thousands of escorts and boy toys advertising their services on the Internet.

Billy walked back into the house and put the new bags on the dining room table. The bags contained half a million dollars of counterfeit money another hustler had paid Billy off with on a shared job. The other hustler had disappeared into the wind, leaving Billy high and dry. Billy had decided to keep the phony money, believing it would one day come in handy.