James Swain - Super Con

It was their turn. Amber handed her driver’s license to a ticket agent with a zombie personality. The agent typed her info into a computer and said, “Sorry, your flight’s been delayed. The scheduled departure is now eleven a.m. Next, please.”

Amber’s shoulders sagged. She was ready to go home and put her mother’s mess of a life behind her. “That sucks. Where’s a good place to get some breakfast?”

“There are a variety of restaurants at your gate,” the ticket agent said.

“My mom can’t get out to the gate without a ticket. What about the main terminal?”

“Try the Starbucks in the Esplanade. Next, please.”

The Starbucks was like a visit to happy town. Five employees manned the counter, flying high on caffeine and the corporate desire to please. Mags was starving and ordered two double-smoked bacon, cheddar, and egg sandwiches and a fruit bowl to go with their coffees.

“Looks like you got your appetite back,” her daughter said.

Mags took a monster bite out of her sandwich. “It never went away.”

“You deliberately starved yourself? No wonder you look so unhealthy.”

“It was Rand’s suggestion. He said the cameras make actors look fat. I was sick a lot, come to think of it.”

“You’re borderline anorexic and you’re also a nervous wreck.”

“And your point is?”

The sandwich was soon reduced to greasy remains. It had been months since Mags had eaten a meal without counting the calories, and she went to the counter and ordered a chocolate chip muffin that had caught her eye and returned to the table munching on it.

“Mom, I want to ask you a personal question. Please don’t get mad.”

Mags groaned inside. The visit was nearly over, and Amber was going to lower the boom and ask Mags why she hadn’t been around to see her daughter grow up. There was an answer, but it wasn’t pretty. Being a thief and having a kid didn’t go together, so Mags had dumped Amber on her folks, split town, and never looked back. Sure, she’d sent money and the occasional gift, but that was only to assuage her own guilt. It was only later that she’d regretted the decision not to raise her child, but by then Amber was grown up.

“Sure, honey.”

“Did you quit being a thief and decide to become an actress for me?”

The question caught her by surprise. “Whatever gave you that idea?”

“Because you sent me an airline ticket and asked me to come out here. You sounded so damn proud over the phone when you told me your pilot had been picked up by CBS. You didn’t call Grandma or Grandpa with the news; you called me. You wanted to impress me.”

She took a deep breath. Amber had her dead to rights.

“Maybe I did. Is that wrong?”

“I think it is. It changed you, and not in a good way.”

“What are you saying? That you liked me the way I was before?”

“Your being a grifter doesn’t bother me. If you’re clever enough to take their money, go ahead. I’m cool with it. What I’m not cool with is you thinking you shamed yourself, and that you need to turn yourself into an overnight success to impress me. I don’t like that at all.”

“You think it’s okay I rob casinos?”

“It doesn’t bother me.”

Mags was more than a little surprised. Most people accepted that casino games were rigged in the house’s favor, just like carnival games were rigged. The small percentage of people who felt otherwise had been victimized by a casino and held a grudge.

Amber had grown up in Providence, which was a short drive to the Native American casinos in Connecticut — Mohegan Sun and Foxwoods. Had Amber gambled at one of these joints and gotten cleaned out? Or had she worked for them as a dealer or cocktail waitress and been screwed over? Either scenario was plausible, and Mags decided to tread cautiously.

“Why do you hate the casinos?” she asked.

“During high school I used to hang out at my friend Brie Hartman’s house. On Sundays, Brie’s grandmother Rose would come over and cook these amazing meals. I got invited over a lot. It was always a great time.

“One day, Rose got sick with pneumonia and went into the hospital. She died a few days later. I went to the funeral with Brie and her family. It was really sad.

“After the funeral, Brie told me that Rose had willed her house in Connecticut to Brie’s mom, and that her mom planned to sell it and use the money to put Brie and her sisters through college. The Hartmans didn’t have much, so Brie was really excited.

“Brie’s mom got a good offer. They went to close and discovered the Mohegan Sun Casino had a lien on the property. Rose owed them all this money. Every Sunday during her drive home, Rose would stop at the casino and play the high-stakes slot machines. The poor woman was an addict. Do you think the casino had the decency to cut her off? Hell no. When she died, she owed them three hundred and ten thousand dollars.

“The house went for two hundred and ninety thousand. The Hartmans had to sell Rose’s car and her belongings at a yard sale to pay the debt. Brie’s mom didn’t end up getting a penny from her mother’s estate. The casino got it all.”

“They snapped her,” Mags said.

“Is that what they call it? Well, it broke the family in half. The Hartmans hired a lawyer to see if it was legal, and sure enough, it was. The casinos have an agreement with every state that lets them prosecute people with debt. Even dead people. When I found out that you cheated the casinos, it made me so happy. I know that sounds weird, but it did. You’re aces in my book, Mom. And so’s your friend Billy. He’s cool, too.”

“You told me Billy was a snake,” Mags said.

“That was before he saved you from the gaming board.”

How strange was that? Amber didn’t have a problem with Mags’s criminal past, but she did have a problem with her mother being an actress. Mags had misjudged the situation completely, but at least it had worked out in the end.

It was getting late, and she bought Amber a bag of chocolate chip cookies for the trip before they went in search of her daughter’s terminal.

Billy sat on the balcony of his condo, soaking up the morning sunshine. He normally slept in, but today was different. Today he was going to paint cards at blackjack tables at five MGM casinos and, if things went according to plan, live happily ever after.

Going inside, he removed the video camera from its tripod and connected it to the TV. Soon he was watching yesterday’s practice sessions. His painting skills were nothing to write home about, and his thumb still slightly fluttered whenever it touched the back of a playing card.

You go to battle with the army that you have. He couldn’t improve his chops, but he could disguise himself so no one would notice him. Casino employees were trained to watch high rollers because they had the money. As a result, these same employees often ignored players with limited bankrolls who rolled in off the street. These players were seen as a nuisance who contributed little to the casino’s bottom line.

It was an exploitable flaw. He went to his bedroom and entered the walk-in closet. On one wall were the expensive threads he wore at the clubs. Gucci, Versace, all brand names. On the other wall, the ragged clothes for the disguises he wore robbing the joints. Levi Strauss, Gap, and the crap they sold at Kohl’s. The question was, what role would he play this time?

He decided to be a ranch hand. Nevada was home to several large cattle ranches, and it wasn’t uncommon for a ranch hand to drive his dusty pickup into town for a wild weekend. He grabbed a pair of loose-fitting jeans and a denim shirt off the rack.

On the shelf above the rack was his collection of caps. These included baseball caps, caps from conventions that had come to town, and wacky caps sold at tourist shops. Caps were important when creating a disguise. The rim hid the cheat’s face from the eye-in-the-sky, and it also allowed the cheat to establish an identity.