James Swain - Super Con

He chose an NRA camouflage cap that he’d bought off a farm boy down on Fremont Street. The cap had “outdoors” written all over it. He got dressed and appraised himself in the mirror. He liked what he saw, except his face. His skin was too smooth to be a ranch hand, his teeth too straight. From a drawer he grabbed a bridge and stuck it into his mouth. The bridge gave him a wicked overbite and distorted his face to the point of being unrecognizable.

He again consulted the mirror. Better but not perfect. Ranch hands lived outdoors and had bronze-colored skin. His skin was a pleasant tan and might get spotted by a sharp pit boss if he wasn’t careful.

In the bathroom, he pulled a can of fake spray tan off the shelf and applied it to his neck, face, and the back of his hands. Before his eyes, his skin changed color and took on a darkish hue. He returned to the bedroom and had a look.

“Yee-haw,” he said to the mirror.

His final stop was the wall safe. He removed two five-thousand-dollar stacks, which he slipped into his pants pockets. Before he started painting cards, he needed to lose. By losing, he’d further establish himself as a sucker and draw no heat.

Time to leave. At the front door, he realized he’d forgotten the tin of luminous paint. He asked himself if he was really cut out for this job. Painting was an art, and he was a mere apprentice. He was putting himself at risk.

But the reward was worth it. Seventeen million bucks for a single day’s work. It didn’t matter that the money would be split with the football players and with Victor. It was still a huge score, and he didn’t walk away from huge scores.

The tin of luminous paint in his pocket, he took the elevator downstairs. Walking outside to the valet stand, he took out the bridge and removed his camo cap. The valet did a double take anyway, the clothes not in character for the tenant who occupied a penthouse suite.

“Sorry, Mr. Cunningham. The clothes sort of threw me,” the valet said.

“I’m slumming it today,” he explained.

“You buy a tanning bed?”

“Got a little too much sun on the golf course. You know how it is.”

“Tell me about it. I’m out in the sun all day. I’ll bring your car right up.”

The valet hustled away. Billy retreated to the shade and put his disguise back on. Then he worked on his new identity. He decided to call himself Ty Lubbick because it sounded like a cowboy name. Having just gotten paid, Ty had driven to Vegas looking for a good time.

“Name’s Ty, Ty Lubbick. Nice to meet you,” he said, working on his drawl.

A red Corolla nudged the curb. The vehicle looked familiar but not the train wreck who climbed out. A blonde wearing hideous purple fingernail polish and too much makeup chewing on a wad of bubble gum. She threw him a disapproving glance.

“You can’t be the valet.” Her accent was back east and harsh.

“No, ma’am,” he said. “If you’re in a rush, you can leave your keys with the front desk manager. His name’s Jo-Jo, and he’s an honorable fellow.”

“You don’t say. Don’t I know you?”

“I don’t believe I’ve had the pleasure.”

“What’s your name?”

“Ty Lubbick.”

“I’ve seen you before, Ty, haven’t I?”

“I wouldn’t know. I work on a ranch roping cattle.”

“You don’t say. A real live cowboy.”

Trying to smile while wearing a bridge was difficult, but he did it anyway. The blonde was still trying to place him, and he refused to wilt beneath her stare. Finally, she gave up.

“Thanks for the help,” she said.

“Yes, ma’am,” he said.

She went inside. Her dress was of simple design and hung straight to the ground. The type of dress an overweight woman might wear, only the blonde didn’t look overweight. He glanced into the Corolla and spied a pack of Kools stuck in the cup holder.

“For the love of Christ,” he swore.

He went inside to find her standing at the front desk. Jo-Jo was on the phone and hadn’t gotten to her yet. He took the dangling set of car keys from her hand.

“Didn’t expect to see you again,” he said quietly.

Her head snapped. “Billy? As I live and breathe. I had no idea.”

“What are you doing here?”

“I changed my mind. I want in. I know it sounds crazy. Please don’t blow your top.”

“Let’s take this outside, shall we?”

His car idled at the curb, the valet standing by the driver’s door. Billy tossed him the keys to Mags’s car. “Do me a favor, and park my friend’s car for me.”

“Sure, Mr. Cunningham. You guys going to a costume party?”

Billy didn’t want the valet telling the other tenants about this. The building was filled with old people who had nothing better to do than gossip and spread rumors. Pulling a hundred off the stack in his pocket, he stuffed the bill into the valet’s shirt pocket.

“Put a lid on it.”

“Of course, Mr. Cunningham. My lips are sealed.”

Leaving Turnberry, Billy took Paradise to East Sahara. Instead of heading west to the Strip, he chose the opposite direction and pushed the accelerator to the floor.

“You’re going in the wrong direction. Slow down,” Mags said.

“Don’t tell me how to drive,” he said. “I’m going to ask you some questions, and if I don’t like the answers I get, I’m going to toss you out of the car while it’s still moving.”

Mags started to argue, then thought better of it.

“Fire away,” she said.

“What the hell is going on? I made you the deal of a lifetime yesterday, and you slapped me in the face. Now you show up on my doorstep wanting in. Did something happen in the last couple of hours I should know about? And don’t you dare bullshit me.”

“My daughter talked me into it.”

His foot involuntarily came off the gas, and the car slowed. “Your kid told you to?”

“In so many words, yes.”

“Why? Is she hard up for cash and plans to hit you up?”

“It was nothing like that. Amber realized I took the TV gig to impress her. Seems she was already impressed with her old lady. My baby’s got a hard-on for the casinos. I got her on a plane, went home, put on my Molly Maid disguise, and drove over. If that doesn’t work for you, I’ll get out at the next block. No hard feelings.”

It sounded crazy enough to be true. “Does your kid cheat?”

“No. But she’s been tempted. She carries around a gaffed die that I used back in Providence to scam businessmen at the bars.”

“Are you cool with that?”

“That’s none of your fucking business.”

“Normally, I’d agree with you. It isn’t any of my fucking business. Only you want to do a job with me, and I need to know where your head is at. Now answer the question.”

“No, I’m not cool with it. I made Amber promise me that she’d never resort to thieving, and she gave me her word.”

“Are things good between the two of you?”

“Yeah. It was a good trip, even if my show did get cancelled.”

“You’re not bitter about that?”

“Sure I’m bitter. But I’ll get over it. Life marches on.”

He’d heard enough. Mags had a thick skin; it was one of the reasons she’d lasted for as long as she had. At the next intersection, he did a U-turn and reversed course, causing the Strip’s gaudy skyline to appear in the windshield. Mags managed a smile.

“Are you really going to give me half a million bucks for this job?” she asked.

“Have I ever lied to you before?”

“No, but there’s always a first time.”

Mags didn’t fully trust him. Billy couldn’t say he blamed her. Running out on her after sharing a bed had to be one of the stupidest things he’d ever done.

“You’ll get every penny. You have my word,” he said.