James Swain - Super Con

“How much do we win?” Misty asked.

He told them the number. It was the same amount they would have made with Victor’s super con. Misty let out a whistle. Pepper also approved.

“What if they lose?” Pepper asked.

“Then we go on food stamps,” he said.

Leon showed up not long after the girls. Billy’s driver looked like a new man. His broken ribs had healed, and he’d gotten his busted nose straightened.

Billy fixed everyone drinks, and they clinked glasses in a toast. A few minutes later, he received a text from Cory and Morris that included a selfie taken at University of Phoenix Stadium where the big game was being held. The accompanying message said they were in their seats on the fifty-yard line, ready to try out Gabe’s latest creation.

A minute later, Gabe texted him. Gabe had gone with Cory and Morris that morning to meet with the head referee and give him his final payment for switching in the gaffed coin. Gabe had decided to see the game and had bought a scalped ticket, so he was also in the stadium.

Everything was set. The game officially started at 3:18 Pacific Standard Time. At three o’clock, they hunkered down in front of the suite’s flat-screen TV and suffered through the tail end of the pregame show and a slew of really awful commercials.

“You sure this is a sure thing?” Leon asked.

“I’ve never been more sure of anything in my life,” Billy said.

“That’s strong,” his driver said.

The teams came onto the field and were introduced to the roars of the eighty thousand rabid fans packed into the stadium. Representatives from both teams met in the middle of the field for the coin toss. The head referee explained that it was the Rebels’ turn to call heads or tails this year. Night Train did the honors for his team.

“Heads,” Night Train said.

The head ref said, “Rebels call heads,” and flipped the coin high into the air. Billy held his breath. Gabe had claimed the gaffed coin was foolproof, but that was in practice. What if the transmitter in Cory’s cell phone died and the coin came up tails? Or the TV equipment on the field interfered with Cory’s cell phone’s transmission? Stranger things had happened, and it felt like an eternity before the coin hit the ground.

“Heads it is,” the head referee announced. “The Rebels have won the coin toss. Would you like to receive or kick?”

“Kick,” Night Train said.

“The Rebels have elected to kick. Good luck, everyone.”

The air trapped in Billy’s lungs escaped. While the players exchanged handshakes and wished one another good luck, the head referee slipped the gaffed coin into his pants pocket and switched it with a regular coin, which he’d later give to a celebrity attending the game, as was a Super Bowl tradition. All their bases had been covered.

True to Night Train’s word, the opening kickoff sailed out of the Volunteers’ end zone, and the game began with the ball on the Louisville twenty-five-yard line. On the very first play, Choo-Choo grabbed the Volunteer center’s face mask and committed the game’s initial penalty. On the next play, Sammy took a spill and did not get up, bringing the Rebels’ medical team to rush onto the field so they could help him to the sidelines. The game had just started, and Night Train and his boys had fixed three prop bets — the coin toss, the game’s first penalty, and the game’s first injury. The fourth fixed prop bet would be an accumulation of penalties by the Rebels’ defense and would not be completed until the end of the game.

So far, so good. These bets paid even money and would turn a nice profit. But the real payoff would be if the Rebels won the game. Billy had wagered every cent he had on this happening. In hindsight, it had to be the craziest thing he’d ever done. If the Rebels lost, he’d be flat broke and owe money all over town.

He realized he didn’t care. It was all about the action. Without it, life was hardly worth living. The Rebels got possession and drove the ball down the field to the Volunteers’ twenty-yard line, where the defense stiffened. The field goal team came out, and the kicker put the ball through the uprights. Rebels up by three.

His crew cheered.

On the Volunteers’ next drive, Neil Godfrey threw three perfect passes and scored the game’s first touchdown. No wonder the NFL was banking on him to be their next golden boy. He was a gifted athlete with plenty of poise.

Rebels down by four.

The teams alternated scoreless possessions. With three minutes left in the half, Godfrey dropped back, surveyed the field, and cocked his arm. From out of nowhere, Night Train blew past the coverage and ran Godfrey over.

Billy leaped out of his chair. “That’s what I’m talking about!”

Night Train stood over Godfrey, gloating. A referee flagged him for unsportsmanlike conduct. The Rebels now had four penalties, the Volunteers only one. The final prop bet was looking good.

Godfrey was injured and did not get up. A motorized cart came onto the field and loaded him up. As the star quarterback was taken away, he waved weakly to the crowd.

The half ended with the Rebels still down four. Pepper knelt beside Billy’s chair.

“We’re losing,” she said.

“It gets better,” he said.

The halftime show was a bunch of country and western stars who would have been happier breaking beer bottles over one another’s heads than sharing the same stage. It mercifully ended, and a trailer promoting a new fall show came on. Maggie Flynn’s ravishing face filled the screen, her hair bouncing seductively on her shoulders. CBS’s newest hit show, Night and Day , would debut on Tuesday nights in September. Don’t miss it.

He’d been trying to reach Mags for days. There was still the matter of the half a million bucks he owed her. Texts and voice messages had produced no response. Now he knew why. Her ship had righted itself and she’d jumped on board, and he realized their paths would probably never cross again. He told himself that he’d get over her, but that was a lie. You never got over a woman like Maggie Flynn.

The second half began. The Rebels took the kickoff and scored a touchdown on a long drive. Rebels up by three.

Volunteers’ ball. Sycamore, their backup quarterback, fumbled the snap on the first play. The Rebels took over, but the Volunteers’ defense held, so they settled for a field goal.

Rebels up by six.

“Is Godfrey going to come back and play?” Pepper asked.

“He’s got a bad back. He’s probably at the hospital, getting X-rayed,” Billy said.

“You knew he was hurt, didn’t you?”

“Whatever gave you that idea?”

The Rebels scored another field goal and a touchdown, and the third quarter ended with them up by sixteen. Night Train was having a career-defining performance. Batting down passes, blowing by the defense, pressuring Sycamore, throwing running backs to the ground — it was the stuff of highlight reels. Of the twenty-two players on the field, Night Train was the one everybody was watching.

The fourth quarter was a defensive battle, with neither team scoring. With three minutes left in the game, the Volunteers finally reached the end zone and executed a successful two-point conversion, then went for an onside kick, got the ball back, and kicked a long field goal. The Rebels’ lead had been whittled to five points with a minute and a half on the clock.

The Rebels got the ball after the ensuing unsuccessful onside kick but fumbled on their first play from scrimmage. The Volunteers took over with no time-outs left. Sycamore completed a short sideline pass at midfield. Clock stopped. There were sixty seconds left in the game. If the Volunteers scored another touchdown, the Rebels would fall short, and Billy would lose every penny to his name.