James Swain - Super Con

“I didn’t know the gaming board was that sophisticated,” Victor said.

“Afraid so. And they’re getting better every day.”

“Can we ever come back?”

“Give it a year. Pick a busy holiday weekend and stay in a hotel off the Strip. You’ll fly under the radar. It’s all about picking your spots. It’s how I’ve lasted so long.”

He had done enough talking. He’d warned Victor that his family was in danger, and that was all he was required to do. The bourbon burned going down.

“Are you still interested in working our super con?” Victor asked.

“Afraid not. My crew’s no longer available. You’re going to have to put it on hiatus.”

“Can’t. The secret won’t be good for much longer.”

“Are you going to tell me what it is?” Billy asked.

“I’m surprised you haven’t figured it out. The cards in the game are marked with luminous paint.”

“But there’s equipment at the table that sees the marks.”

“That’s the flaw. The equipment doesn’t work.”

“Is this true at all the casinos in Vegas?”

“No, just the MGM Grand properties. MGM hired a company in the Philippines to make their blackjack tables, and the company screwed up. The people running MGM will figure it out eventually. We have to move fast.”

“What are you suggesting?”

“You must know another crew you can trust. Bring them on board and scam the MGM properties this weekend. You’ll make a killing.”

He put his glass on the table and gave it some thought. He might be able to recruit a crew on short notice, but there was always the chance that once they knew how the super con worked, they’d cut him out of the action and keep the money for themselves.

He needed a crew he could trust. A group of seasoned grifters who could waltz into a casino, start playing blackjack for big stakes, and not draw heat. Thieves with larceny in their hearts who’d do what he told them.

His eyes locked on the towering pile of greenbacks on the table. The Super Bowl fix was off, but what if he made Night Train another offer, one that could make the famous football player and his buddies lots of money? Would they do it?

He didn’t see why not. Night Train and his boys were practiced in the art of stealing and would be as effective scamming a casino as they were cheating at poker. Best of all, the casinos thought they were dumb jocks and wouldn’t mind losing money to them, believing they’d eventually win it all back.

He smiled into the phone. “Now that you mention it, maybe I can find another crew.”

“Who do you have in mind?”

“Some professional athletes. They’re built in with the casinos and are staying at Caesars.”

“How big are their credit lines?”

The bigger the credit line a sucker had, the more money the sucker could wager. And if the sucker was cheating, the casino’s losses could be staggering. Night Train and his pals were regulars in the casinos, and Billy had to think their credit lines were substantial.

“Big enough,” he said.

“All the better,” Victor said. “For the super con to work, the cards need to be painted. Are any of your new crew painters?”

Painting the backs of playing cards was an art honed from years of practice. Billy didn’t think Night Train had ever put anything on the back of a card except an accidentally spilled beer.

“No, afraid they’re not,” he replied.

“How about yourself?” Victor asked.

“I’ve done it a couple of times and didn’t get caught.”

“You feel comfortable painting all the high cards in a single-deck game? You’ll need to do this in multiple casinos for the super con to work.”

He swallowed hard. “That’s a lot of cards to paint, Victor.”

“Yes, it is. Kat and Nico do the painting for my crew, and they were going to split up the duties between them when we pulled this off. It’s a lot of work, but the payoff’s huge.”

Victor had thrown him a curveball. Victor had never mentioned that painting was involved in the scam because he planned to have Kat and Nico handle it. But with Victor’s family out of the picture, the job of painting the cards now rested on Billy’s shoulders.

A bad thought flashed through his mind. Maggie Flynn was a painter, and a damn good one at that. She had a unique technique that let her paint five cards at a time before having to return to her purse to apply the special substance to her fingertips. A single-deck game at multiple casinos would be a day in the park for Miss Maggie.

Mags was perfect for the job. But would she do it? His gut told him no. She was done with the life, but that didn’t mean he wasn’t going to ask her. There was too much money at stake for him not to ask her. The worst thing she could do was throw another glass at him.

“I know somebody,” he said. “Her name’s Maggie Flynn.”

“She any good?” Victor asked.

“They don’t come any better than Mags. Now, tell me about this flawed piece of equipment at the MGM properties. It’s killing me not knowing.”

Thursday, ten days before the Super Bowl

Early morning was Billy’s least favorite time of day. Beneath the breaking sunlight’s harsh glare, there was no magic in Sin City, the casinos’ garish facades showing every crack and paint chip. Pulling into Caesars, he grabbed the two bags of money he’d stolen from Broken Tooth off the passenger seat and got out.

“Would you like a bellman to help you with your luggage?” the valet asked.

“I can manage,” he said.

He walked unescorted to the football players’ villa. Choo-Choo greeted him at the front door. “You again. What’s in the bags?”

“Money. Lots and lots of money,” he said.

“Well, come on in.”

Choo-Choo led him into the dining room. Room service had delivered a spread of food befitting an Arab prince sneaking away for an illicit weekend. Bagels, lox, caviar, cream cheese, champagne, bacon, eggs, and sweet-smelling sausage. Night Train sat at the head of a long table with Sammy, Clete, and Assassin beside him.

“Help yourself,” Night Train said.

“I already ate.” He cleared a spot and put the bags on the table before taking a chair. He’d constructed a story that he needed to sell to Night Train and his teammates. The story had just enough truth in it for them to believe him and become partners in the super con. “I hit a snag with the Super Bowl scam. My partner got busted and is cooling his heels down at the Clark County jail. He’s going to be out of commission for a while.”

Night Train chewed on a piece of bagel. “What did he get busted for?”

“Seems he murdered a guy.”

“That’s heavy. Can he be tied to us?”

“No, you’re in the clear.”

“Then why kill the scam? We’re still willing to fix the plays. You can place the bets yourself, and we’ll split the winnings. That’s a hell of a lot better deal for you. You’ll make more money with your partner gone.”

“My partner is known for fixing sporting events. The only sporting event on the horizon is the Super Bowl. The gaming board isn’t stupid, if you know what I mean.”

“You’re saying there’s going to be extra scrutiny on the game,” Night Train said.

“That’s right. If something suspicious happens, it will draw heat.”

“Not necessarily,” Night Train said. “Every player steps on that field with butterflies in his stomach. I know, because I’ve been there. Balls get fumbled; players screw up. No one’s going to cry foul if we fix a few plays. You rig the coin toss, and we’ll do the rest.”

“You sure about this?”

“Positive. We’ll make a killing.”