Charlie Hustmyre - House of the Rising Sun

Ray nodded. Nobody has to die.

The money cage wasn’t really a cage, but a chest-high wooden counter with wire mesh running from the top of the counter to the ceiling. There were two openings in the wire, each the size of a toaster. It was through them that money passed back and forth to the players. At the end of the counter, separating it from the wall, stood a locked gate made of the same wire mesh. The gate was the only way in or out of the money cage.

In the back wall of the cage was a solid wooden door that led into the counting room. The door had a peephole and a dead bolt, but Ray knew it wasn’t locked because the girls at the counter were always in and out of the counting room carrying trays of money.

The House wasn’t fitted with the elaborate security setup found in legal casinos. The owners had their own special security arrangements. It was simple, nobody had the balls to fuck with them. Only somebody forgot to tell Mr. Skull and his friends that you didn’t try to take down a mob joint.

One girl was working the cage, cashing in chips for a player. She had cat whiskers drawn on her face and a pair of cat ears on her head. She was young and pretty. Ray couldn’t remember her name. Bobby was inside the cage next to the girl, leaning against the counter, drooling over her and ignoring everything else. Bobby was twentysomething and big. He was built like a wrestler and didn’t mind letting people know how tough he was. Ray knew there was a sawed-off pump-action shotgun with a pistol grip clamped to the wall inside the cage just under the counter. He hoped Bobby wasn’t stupid enough to reach for it.

As he neared the cage, Ray caught the tail end of a joke Bobby was telling the girl. “… so the old Jew comedian says, ‘You think you got problems. My shtick hasn’t worked in years.’”

The girl ignored him and finished cashing in the player’s chips.

The skull shoved Ray the last couple of feet. Off balance, he stumbled forward and had to grab the counter to keep from falling. The girl looked up at him. “Been celebrating?”

He shook his head. “Open up. I need to check on something.”

Turning toward the locked gate, she hesitated and gave Ray a curious look. He could read her face. It was an unusual time for him to be here. He always stayed out of the counting room until after the House closed and all the customers were out. The girl shot a look at the men with the masks. Then she glanced back at Ray. “It’s Halloween, how come you’re not dressed up?”

Ray didn’t answer.

“Party pooper,” she said as she twisted the knob.

“Wait!” Bobby said, finally roused from his stupor. But it was too late.

The skull pushed Ray through the door so hard he stumbled into the girl. She screamed, and Ray had to grab her to keep her from falling. Bobby was stunned into inaction for a moment. Then he turned and clawed for the pump scattergun. Bobby was big but slow. Skull lunged across the open space between them and clubbed Bobby on the head like a baby seal. He went down hard and didn’t move.

Skull, Bush, and Vampire rushed into the counting room. The gorilla stayed in the cage, his back to the gate, shotgun leveled at Ray and the girl. She pushed away from Ray and stared at him, challenging him with her eyes. “Aren’t you going to do something?”

Ray shrugged. “Like what?”

“Stop them.”

He nodded toward the gorilla with the sawed-off. “How?”

She looked at Ray for a second, then shook her head in disgust. Turning to the gorilla, she said, “You guys are dead. You know that?”

The gorilla didn’t say anything.

Ray heard shouting from inside the counting room, then the sound of someone getting smacked with a pistol. A player showed up at the cage and stuck a cupful of chips inside the opening. He seemed confused when no one moved to help him, but then he looked at the gorilla with the shotgun and backed away, raising his hands in surrender and leaving his cup of chips on the counter.

More shouting from inside, another smack. This time it sounded like someone fell to the floor. Then the skull’s voice yelling, “Hurry up!”

People were starting to take notice. At least a dozen players and several dealers had stopped what they were doing and stood staring at the cage. The gorilla’s head swiveled back and forth, glancing out at the casino floor, then at Ray, then at the counting room door. Even though Ray couldn’t see his face, he knew the guy was scared.

It seemed like an hour, but was probably more like sixty seconds, before Ray heard thudding footsteps and saw all three gunmen rush out of the counting room. The skull carried nothing but his big automatic while the other two carried their pistols and lugged the gym bags, bulging now with what Ray knew was cash.

Skull nodded toward the cage door and the other three went out, the gorilla with the sawed-off taking the lead. Ray didn’t move. He hoped they didn’t need him anymore. The skull dashed that hope by pointing the Smith amp; Wesson at him, the muzzle about two feet from Ray’s face. “Move,” he said, then jerked the barrel toward the cage door.

As Ray took a step, a hand grabbed his shirt and bent him backward. Again, the gun was pressed against the back of his head as the skull prodded him through the door. There was a lot of murmuring from the crowd. Glancing at the casino floor, Ray saw that all the gambling had stopped. Everyone was staring at the cage.

The other three masked goons stood just outside the cage, their backs against the counter, guns aimed at the crowd. Skull pushed Ray past the gorilla holding the shotgun and kept going, using Ray as a shield. The others fell in behind as they headed for the stairs.

Halfway down, Ray stumbled. A hard pull on the back of his shirt kept him from falling. “Slow down,” the skull breathed in his ear. Ray kept thinking, Nobody has to die. Just let these motherfuckers get out of here and everything will be okay.

At the bottom of the stairs, the end of the bar was just to Ray’s right, the front door about thirty feet ahead and to the left. Ray glanced out across the room. It looked like no one down here had a clue what was going on. All the customers were still staring at the stage, where a second girl had joined the first. The two dancers were oiled up and rubbing their breasts together.

Ray looked at the door. Thirty feet to go and these guys would be out of here. He took a couple of steps forward with the guy in the skull mask shuffling along behind him and hanging on to Ray’s shirt, his pistol still pressed against Ray’s head.

Behind the bar, the storeroom door flew open and banged against the wall. Ray spun toward it and saw Peter Messina step through the door carrying a bottle of champagne in one hand and two glasses in the other. He wore jeans and a T-shirt, a white apron hanging from his neck.

Peter nodded to Ray and took a step toward the lift gate at the end of the bar. “How you doing, Ray?” he said. Then he froze and stared at the gun behind Ray’s head.

Ray spoke calmly. “It’s okay, Pete, everything’s-”

The bottle of champagne slipped from Pete’s fingers and exploded on the floor. Ray tried to turn around but got stiff-armed. Out of the corner of his eye he saw the guy in the gorilla mask step off the stairs, saw the shotgun come up, the twin barrels pointing across the bar. He wanted to tell the guy not to worry. Pete looked like an adult. Twenty years old, but he had the mind of a child. He wasn’t a threat. Ray’s mind screamed, Nobody has to die! But when he opened his mouth, the roar of the shotgun cut him off. Most of the blast hit Pete in the face, arching him back like a gymnast doing a backward somersault. He hit the floor hard. Not even a dead-cat bounce. Not even a twitch.