James Swain - Super Con

Billy laughed under his breath. So that was why Grimes had gotten pulled out of the interrogation room. His superiors had caught wind of the bust and were afraid of the ensuing negative publicity. When it came to keeping secrets, the city of Las Vegas had no equal.

“For how long?” Billy asked.

“Until the Super Bowl’s over,” Grimes replied. “My boss spoke to the head of league security with the NFL and told him of Broken Tooth’s plans. My boss said that no players were involved, but do you think that mattered? No sir. It didn’t matter one bit.”

“The head of league security told you to put a lid on it, and you agreed?” Billy said skeptically.

“Hardly. The head of league security called the commissioner of the NFL, the commissioner called the mayor, the mayor called my boss, and my boss ordered me to put the kibosh on this until the game’s over. You know what they say. Shit flows downhill.”

“So you’re not charging Broken Tooth with fixing the big game,” Billy said.

“That will come later,” Grimes said. “Right now, Broken Tooth is charged with killing Travis Simpson. We have enough evidence to make that charge stick. When the Super Bowl’s over, we’ll add the other charge of conspiracy to fix a sporting event. Until that happens, you boys need to keep quiet as church mice. You can’t breathe a word of this to your friends or anyone else. That goes for your crew. Think you’re up to the challenge?”

“Sure,” Leon said.

“I don’t have a crew,” Billy said.

“Then why do you need a limo driver for your jobs?” Grimes snorted.

Billy didn’t have an answer for that one. Grimes gave them a parting snarl and went back inside. Billy took out his wallet and handed Leon some money. “Do me a favor and take a cab home. I need to talk to Grimes in private.”

Leon stuffed the money into his pocket. “When I first went to work for you, I thought you were a prick, didn’t care about nobody but yourself. Thanks for proving me wrong.”

Leon walked down to the corner of the street. There was usually a yellow cab trolling the area around the jail looking for an easy fare. Billy went back inside and spotted Grimes punching an access code into a door reserved for law enforcement.

“Hold on,” he said.

The special agent turned to face him. “What do you want?”

“Five minutes of your time.”

“I’m busy.”

“You changed the terms of our deal.”

“As I just explained to you, I didn’t have a choice.”

“I brought this deal to you, remember? I held up my end of the bargain and delivered Broken Tooth, and now you’re changing the terms.”

“It was out of my hands,” Grimes said, his mouth growing tight.

“You change the deal, I want something in return, or I won’t play ball with you.”

“You can’t bolt now.”

“Try me.”

Back outside they went. Leon was gone, and the air pulsed with the blare of a distant police siren. Grimes was at his best when he was calling the shots. That wasn’t the case now, and the special agent squirmed beneath the glare of the harsh streetlight.

“Spit it out, before I choke it out of you,” Grimes said.

Billy crossed his arms in front of his chest, savoring the moment. When he felt Grimes had had enough torture, he told the special agent what he wanted.

The evening had started innocently enough. Amber had wanted to check out the shops on the promenade tucked on a narrow strip of real estate between the Flamingo Hotel and the LINQ. Seeing a chance to do some mother/daughter bonding, Mags had agreed.

The promenade was nothing to write home about. Overpriced sunglasses, brightly colored sneakers made in China, and a shop that turned cell phone photos into priceless memories to last a lifetime. The stores were mostly empty and would be gone in a few months.

The excursion was starting to feel strained. Mags had spent so little time with Amber during her daughter’s upbringing that it was difficult to have a casual conversation about even the most mundane topics. Mags didn’t know her daughter’s likes, dislikes, dreams, or the things that made her happy. It was a big blank canvas.

When all else fails, get something to eat. Mags offered to buy dinner, and Amber said okay. The promenade featured a host of restaurants that served everything from barbecue to sushi. Mags had heard good things about a Mexican joint called Chayo, so they went there.

Chayo had a hopping bar that served fifty brands of tequila and a mechanical bull in the center of the room. Bull rides cost a few bucks and lasted a minute, if the rider could stay on. Some businessmen were betting one another who could stay on the bull the longest.

The hostess seated them next to the action, then a waitress took their order. Corn cakes stuffed with grilled chicken and two margaritas. The drinks came before the food. They banged them back and got settled in. Mags ordered another round.

“That blond guy’s got Velcro on his butt,” Amber said. “He hasn’t fallen off once.”

“He’s a ringer,” Mags said.

Their food came, sizzling hot. Mags blew on a corn cake before taking a bite. It was still too hot, and she sucked down a mouthful of her drink to put out the fire.

“How do you eat so much and manage to stay so thin?” Amber asked.

“Nerves,” Mags said.

“You’re not forcing yourself to throw up, are you?”

Mags shook her head and kept eating. She’d stepped on the scale in her suite this morning and done a double take. She was a pound below her high school weight, and it had nothing to do with her diet, which consisted primarily of room-service food. Being an actress was eating a hole in her, not that Rand or anyone else on the set seemed to care. She looked great on camera, and that was all that mattered when shooting a TV show.

“If that guy’s a ringer, what’s he doing?” Amber asked.

“He’s working a scam with the bartender,” Mags explained. “Each guy has a shot of tequila before he gets on the bull. The bartender is pouring out of a different bottle for his partner. I’m guessing it’s colored water. The blond guy acts drunk, but he isn’t. He’s also really good on the bull. Probably comes in after hours and practices. He’s a hustler.”

“Is there any game in this town that isn’t rigged?”

“Hell no. How do you think they pay for those chandeliers and fancy carpets?”

“That’s funny, Mom. Do you miss it?”

“You mean the grifting?” Mags wiped her mouth with a napkin. “It was a huge rush. After I took down a sucker, I’d be on cloud nine. And it never got old.”

“Then why did you quit?”

“Because of guys like Frank Grimes trying to throw me in jail, that’s why.”

Amber fell mute. Talk about killing a buzz. Mags waved at the waitress. A fresh round of drinks appeared as if by magic.

“You don’t like talking about this stuff, do you?” Amber asked.

“It’s the past, honey. I walked away from it.”

“Do you have any regrets?”

Mags turned in her chair so she faced the mechanical bull. The blond guy wasn’t giving the suckers a chance. Winning too much, too often, had killed many a scam. If Blondie was smart, he’d fall off and lose a few times. That was the best way to keep suckers in the game.

Amber held a pair of dice beneath her mother’s nose. They looked familiar, and Mags rolled them in her palm. One was normal, while the other only had fives and sixes printed on it.

“Where’d you find these?”

“In a drawer in your bedroom. Grandma said they were the reason you left Providence.”

“What else did she tell you?”

“Grandma said you were afraid of going to jail and my getting stuck in a foster home, so you turned my custody over to them and left. She said you did it to protect me.”