Stephen Cannell - King Con

"Okay, look," she finally volunteered. "You mentioned that the Rinas don't have a casino because they couldn't get approved by any gaming commissions in the U.S."

"That's right," Beano mumbled.

"But it's wrong. They do have a casino." Both Beano and John looked up. "They're not on any of the ownership records, but according to my information, the Rinas are majority silent partners in a huge new casino in the Bahamas called the Sabre Bay Club. I couldn't ever prove it 'cause they're not on any of the paperwork, but I suspect they may also have a piece of the SARTOF Merchant Bank of Nassau. SARTOF is an acronym. Stands for Societe Anonyme de Refinancement Toutes Operations Financieres."

"Ooh-la-la," Beano said and looked over at Paper Collar John. "That bank could be the dead-drop."

"If it is… that's gonna make it a whole lot easier," John said, and Beano nodded.

"Then we should be able to scam that Bahamian casino for a couple'a million," Beano said, upping the amount. "We need to get ahold of 'Fit-Throwing' Duffy. He's the best tat player in the family."

"What are you talking about? What's a tat?" Victoria said. It was starting again; they were talking in a language she didn't understand.

"A tat is a dice con," Beano explained, then looked back at John. "And I'm gonna need a female mack to steer Tommy."

"The Queen of Hearts."

"No," Beano snapped.

"Just don't fool around with her this time. You want a mack, she's the best. She's also the best looking. You won't have to troll her past Tommy more than once."

"Damn it, stop talking over my head," Victoria said. "I told you about the casino. What's a mack? Who's the Queen of Hearts? I want to know what the hell we're talking about."

John turned to face her. "A mack is a sharper who runs lover cons. Cons of the heart."

"Are we talking about some sleazeball who marries poor dumb pensioners, then takes their money and disappears?" she said.

"Yeah," Beano acknowledged. "That's about it. We're also talking about my cousin-in-law, Dakota Bates. She's a widow now, used to be married to my cousin Calvin Bates. He died in prison. They call her the Queen of Hearts, but she's not going to be part of this hustle."

"Just don't hand your heart to her this time," John advised. "You give a mack your heart, Beano, and she gets confused. She don't know what to do with it, 'cept squeeze it for cash and throw it on the ground. She always loved Carol, she'd wanta do this, and she's the best. Since when did we start usin' seconds on a sting this dangerous?"

"Okay, call her up," Beano finally agreed. "I think she was in California, last I heard."

"She's right here in Adantic City. She's been bucking the tiger in clubs off the Boardwalk."

"I hesitate to ask," Victoria said.

"Faro player," Beano explained. "She hangs out on the faro tables, looking for full Toledos who pull into town flashing diamonds and driving Cadillacs. She does real good."

There was a long moment and then Beano looked over at Victoria. "Okay, what's it gonna be? You gonna hang on me, laugh at my jokes, and let me buy you a pearl? It's you, or I take a chance on a hooker. Either get in or get out. Last call," he said. Beano felt tired; his vision was beginning to split. And every time he let himself focus on the Rina brothers, he felt a panic attack. He wondered if in a direct confrontation with Joe or Tommy he could hold it together. He yanked these unsettling thoughts away, took a drink of beer, and tried to calm down.

Victoria sawed off another piece of gristly steak and tried in vain to chew it. She finally tucked it back in the corner of her mouth, like a chipmunk with an acorn. "Okay," she said around the ball of gristle, "I'll do what you want…"

"Big fucking deal," Beano muttered.

They stopped at a Western shop across from Bally's, and Beano invested another five hundred dollars in clothes. He bought an expensive Western jacket, a wide-brimmed Stetson, and a big cowboy belt with a real rodeo buckle.

John had the pickle jar in the canvas bag on his lap. He and Victoria were seated on the brass-studded leather bench when Beano came out of the fitting room, wobbling slightly on two-inch cowboy boot heels.

"Howdy, whippersnappers," he said, and bowed slightly.

"Who are you supposed to be now?" Victoria asked, without smiling. She thought he looked stupid.

"Justice R. McQueed, ma'am, an' in case you ain't guessed, I'm just about all hat an' no cattie." The accent was perfect West Texas. "Just in from Locadocious, Texas, with the cutest little piece a'fluff this side of yer mama's apron." He gave her his biggest rainmaker grin, and it brought a few drops. She let a tiny smile play momentarily on her lips.

"You can't be serious," she said. "Isn't that a little over the top?"

"Give 'em what they want. Deep down, all these Yankees think Texans are big, goofy tnillionaires who couldn't pour piss out of a boot if it had a hole in the toe. So that's what I'm gonna give 'em. A big, dumb, filthy-rich Texas idiot." He looked at Victoria critically, "Now, Sugar Plum, we gotta get you gussied up some yerself."

They found a shop near the casino that looked like it catered to strippers and B-girls. There was an awesome selection of spandex miniskirts and plastic platform heels displayed in the window.

Victoria could not believe the outfit Beano picked. She put it on in the changing room and walked out… Traffic stopped in the small strippers' boutique. The dress fit like a second skin and only barely covered her panties. She kept pulling it down. Beano smiled at her. "Honey-dove," he drawled theatrically, "you look better'n twelve acres a pregnant red hogs. Weil take it," he said to the sales clerk.

Ten minutes later, they pulled back up to the overlit entrance of Bally's in Victoria's white Nissan. Beano gave the valet the keys and all three of them walked into the casino. Paper Collar John was carrying the canvas satchel with Beano's pickle jar full of cash. They separated once they were inside. John headed to the hotel cashier. Beano and Victoria walked across the purple carpet, past the flashing entry lights and spinning granny-slots, up the stairs, under the Eye-in-the-Sky where leery casino shift supervisors watched the gaming room for crooked action. They headed straight toward the jewelry store. John was across the room depositing the fifty thousand in a casino bank account under the name of Justice R. McQueed. He waved at Beano as he finished the transaction.

"What do I do?" Victoria was saying, the first degrees of stage fright setting in.

"Have a good time. You're panning for gold and playing me like a widemouth bass. No matter what happens, if ya get tied up and can't think of anything, all you gotta do is giggle. If I ask you anything and you don't know how to answer, just say, 'Whatever you want, Daddy.'"

"I call you Daddy?"

"Yeah… only not like in 'Dad.' It's like in 'Sugar Daddy.' Make it as trampy as you can. Okay?"

"Okay." She took a deep breath. She was teetering slightly on the plastic platform shoes with their five-inch stiletto heels. What a transition, she thought. She'd gone from a no-nonsense prosecutor locked in a legal battle with Joe Rina, to a bimbo dressed in a spandex napkin, teetering on hooker heels, nervous about her one dumb bubblehead line. Two days ago, just the thought of pulling a stunt like this would have been enough to cause her massive immobilizing depression… Now her heart was slamming inside her with unbridled excitement. "I feel like I'm the stilt-walking man at the circus on these things," she said.

"Trust me here"-he grinned-"you don't even faintly resemble a man on stilts." He took her by the arm and together they moved into the jewelry store.

"Now, don't y'all say another word. I made up my mind, Sugar-dove." He belched at her loudly without warning as they moved into the shop and over to the glass merchandise case. "Got some mighty fine sparklers here, don't they?" Beano seemed slightly drunk, slurring a word here and there. It was amazing… His drunk was subtle; he never took it too far. "Mighty nice piece'a ice, ain't it?" he said, pointing to a particularly ugly diamond choker.