James Swain - Super Con

“Even if they were talking, it doesn’t explain the open garage door.”

“Who knows how the damn thing got open? It’s irrelevant.”

“You are one sneaky son of a bitch, you know that?”

“Check his phone. That’s all I’m asking you to do.”

He was giving Grimes an out. Connect Travis to Broken Tooth and forget the rest. Grimes decided to run with it. The special agent tugged Travis’s cell phone from the dead man’s pants pocket, powered it up, and searched the phone bank.

“Well, look at that,” Grimes said.

“You found something.”

“Sure did. There’s a number in the recent calls that he called nine times in the past three days. And text messages to that number talking about a fix.”

“A sports fix?”

“Yeah.”

“The Super Bowl?”

“It sure reads that way.”

“My driver was kidnapped Sunday night. Are there any text messages or calls before then?”

“There are. So what?”

“The guy in the trunk was talking to Broken Tooth before I got involved. He and Broken Tooth had a disagreement, and this poor guy got whacked.”

“Is that the story you want me to believe?”

“Come up with a better one.”

“I still don’t know who this number belongs to.”

“Call it and find out.”

“You’re just filled with good ideas, aren’t you?”

“Just trying to help.”

Grimes called the repeated number on Travis’s cell phone. As the call went through, Grimes entered the house through the kitchen with Billy on his heels. The unmistakable sound of a ringing cell phone pierced the air, and Grimes followed it into the living room, where Broken Tooth’s sleek black cell phone lay on the couch. It was invisible, save for its flashing screen. The special agent picked it up and stared at it.

“Is it a match?” Billy asked.

In police work, there were always loose ends and unanswered questions. Except when the situation was a setup. Grimes knew this and so did Billy. But that didn’t change things. Grimes had enough evidence to put Broken Tooth away for the rest of his life.

Broken Tooth sat miserably in a chair, looking defeated. Without his henchmen to do his bidding, Broken Tooth was a shell, lacking the power to threaten or coerce. His prized cricket sat on the floor in its carrying cage, beating its wings together the way crickets did.

“You’re under arrest for the murder of Travis Simpson,” Grimes told him.

Broken Tooth stared at the special agent for what seemed like an eternity.

“Lying bastard. I didn’t kill anyone,” Broken Tooth said.

“Watch your mouth. You killed Travis Simpson and put his body in the trunk of your rental. Or your men did. Really doesn’t matter, because you’re in charge.”

“Dirty fucking cop! This is setup,” Broken Tooth said.

Grimes had a short fuse. He moved to smack Broken Tooth in the kisser, then had a change of heart and kicked the carrying cage that lay on the floor. The door popped open, and the cricket hopped out and began scurrying across the floor, moving as fast as its six legs would carry it. Grimes put his size twelve directly over the helpless insect. The cricket froze, a goner.

“Don’t,” Broken Tooth begged.

Grimes ground the insect into the carpet, grinning perversely.

The gaming agents split up. While the posse transported Broken Tooth to the jail in old downtown in the van, Grimes climbed into the back of the ambulance and took Leon to the ER at Summerlin Hospital Medical Center to get checked out with Billy accompanying them.

The staff at Summerlin wasted no time going to work on Leon. Leon’s nose was broken, and he had four cracked ribs that made breathing difficult. His heart rate was also elevated, and the doctor in charge suggested that Leon stay the night.

“I want to sleep in my own bed,” Leon said. “I haven’t seen it in a while.”

The doctor prescribed medication that would help Leon sleep and wished him a speedy recovery. Leon climbed into a wheelchair, and Billy wheeled him out of the ER. Grimes had not left Leon’s side and seemed genuinely pleased that Leon was going to be okay.

“Are you still up to giving a statement tonight?” Grimes asked. “We really need to hear your side of things while it’s still fresh in your mind.”

“I can do that,” Leon said. “Can we stop and get some food? I’m starving.”

“Not a problem. What’s your pleasure?” Grimes asked.

“Anything but Chinese.”

A cruiser picked them up and took them to the jail, stopping at a BK on the way. Leon hadn’t lost his appetite, and his order set Grimes back twenty bucks. Grimes didn’t seem to care; the gold ring was in his grasp, and he was not going to let it out of his sight.

When Las Vegas was originally built, the founding fathers had deliberately not built a jail, preferring to use the decrepit police station in old downtown to process criminals. This way, tourists visiting the Strip were not exposed to the town’s underbelly, the offenders shoved into police cruisers and whisked away from the neon playground.

The jail was a toilet. Tiny cells, bad food, über-mean cops. Leon gave his statement in a second-floor interrogation room while Billy sat on a stiff wooden bench in the hall. It felt strange to be here not wearing handcuffs.

Billy was up next. Grimes focused on Broken Tooth approaching Billy to fix the Super Bowl and how Leon ended up being kidnapped when Billy refused to play along. Grimes was building his case, and he kept his questions straightforward and simple. As they neared the end of the questioning, one of the gaming agents from the posse entered the interrogation room and whispered in Grimes’s ear. Grimes shut off the tape recorder sitting on the table.

“You and your driver need to wait downstairs,” Grimes said.

Billy hated being in the jail. He’d been brought here many times for questioning. Even though the charges had never stuck, every employee of the jail knew who he was.

“For how long?” he asked.

“Until I come and get you,” Grimes said.

“Something wrong?”

“Who said something was wrong?”

“Just a hunch. You’d make a lousy poker player.”

“Be a good boy and go downstairs and wait with your driver. I won’t be long.”

Billy decided not to push his luck. He found Leon fast asleep on the bench in the hall. He gently shook his driver awake, and they took an elevator downstairs to wait in the lobby. Leon was strong enough to walk and managed a brave smile.

The lobby was filled with the worst miscreants that Sin City had to offer. People who got arrested tended to be losers, and their families and immediate friends were bigger losers. Billy and Leon parked themselves on two plastic chairs in a corner.

“Who took out Travis?” his driver whispered.

“Morris,” Billy whispered back.

“Man, that’s a surprise. Didn’t think he had the balls.”

“Me neither.”

“I saw Grimes holding Travis’s phone. What if he finds our phone numbers on it?”

“Not going to happen.”

“You scrubbed them?”

Billy nodded. Cory had gone through Travis’s phone and erased all ties to Billy and the crew, including contact info, phone calls, and text messages. The only person who could be tied to Travis through his cell phone was Broken Tooth. It was a nice, tidy package, done up in pretty wrapping paper and tied with a bow. Billy hoped Grimes appreciated the effort.

Twenty minutes later, Grimes came downstairs and motioned for them to follow him outside. Standing on the curb, Grimes glanced in both directions before speaking. “I’ve been told to keep a lid on this. How good are you two gents at keeping your yaps shut?”