Stephen Cannell - King Con

When he finally fell silent, she didn't know what to say. They were so different, and yet exactly the same. "Carol lied to me to save your life…"

He turned and looked at her.

"… She never witnessed that beating. She was trying to get Joe Rina convicted. She loved you, Beano… so much she risked and gave her life to save you. She used me, but you know something, that's all right because it's brought me to this place. You know what I think…?"

"No."

"Carol has brought us here. She put us together and she expects something from us. Maybe not revenge for her death… maybe it's not that at all. Maybe she's trying to teach us something. But I know this much, she's watching.

"I've spent five years in courtrooms prosecuting scum like Joe and Tommy Rina. For them, people have no value except as criminal end users. They can kill us, but Joe and Tommy Rina can't control us anymore, because they have nothing we want except them. Their usual tools of money, bribery, and intimidation won't work against us, and that's what gives us power. Carol wanted to protect you. She gave up her life trying. It's a legacy, Beano. You can't spend it or trade it, but it might nourish you with its memory."

There was a moment of silence, and then he reached out and took her hand and held it for a moment, before he got up and walked inside. It was far from her best closing argument, but she hoped she had reached him.

Tommy had taken a shower and had changed into a silk shirt that his brother Joe had brought back for him from China. Joe said the silk worms were specially cultivated and that the shirt had cost a fortune. He'd spent another thousand in "ditch Calliope" money, telling her he had business in the casino office. He had left her standing at the roulette table with a handful of hundreds, chewing on a nail, wondering whether to bet red or black… a decision that promised to consume all of her thoughts for hours.

When Dakota walked into the Flamingo Bar again, Tommy couldn't believe his good fortune. She moved right to him and smiled. "You changed," she said, looking at his green silk shirt and taking his hand.

"No, I haven't," he said, missing the point badly. "I'm the same guy I was this afternoon."

"I can hardly wait to see what a High-roller floor looks like," she said, still holding his hand.

Tommy led her to the elevator and put in his key. They went up to the tenth floor, exited the elevator, and went past Suite 10-B, where Duffy was at that moment doctoring the dice, then moved on to the end of the hall to a very small but beautiful gambling area. The Stickmen and Croupiers were all in tuxedos; the crap tables were hand carved and imported from European casinos. There were only half-a-dozen players, mostly Arabs and Asians. Crystal chandeliers hung low over the tables. The effect was startling.

"You really own this place?" she said, still holding his hand.

"Ask anybody. Ask him," Tommy said, pointing to the Host of the room, and Tommy led Dakota to the tuxedoed man. "Go on, ask him."

"He says he owns this hotel," she said.

"If Mr. Rina says it, then you better believe it," the Host replied.

"That makes me the luckiest girl on the island." She sat on the bar chair, letting the slit on her dress fall open. Her long legs flashed in the incandescent chandelier light.

"Buy ya a drink?" Tommy said, hoping to get her blitzed.

"Only if you'll join me. Scotch straight," she said, smiling.

The challenge was drawn, and Tommy ordered two double Scotch shooters, falling into her trap. One thing Dakota Bates could do was drink. In fact, she could out-drink every man she'd ever met. It came in very handy in her profession. She would drink them under the table, romp them, roll them, and be gone with their money and credit cards before sun-up.

When the double Scotch shooters arrived, she teased… "I hope you wouldn't take advantage of a poor girl?" She smiled as they clicked glasses.

Tommy grinned back. He intended to take advantage, all right. First, he was going to get this luscious creature to smoke his pink cigar. Then he was gonna screw her blind.

Trouble was, she matched him drink for drink, and by one-thirty he could barely stand. "Enough drinking," Tommy slurred, "let's fuck." He spewed a spit-spray of Scotch mist and bad breath into her ear, then pulled back and leered at her through alcohol-dimmed eyes.

"My place or yours?" she cooed.

"Wishever closer."

"I've got oils and lotions in my room. I'll rub them all over you. I'll massage you and lick you clean," she promised.

"Fuckin' A…" Tommy said.

She helped him up and led the teetering mobster out of the High-roller casino. She guided him to the elevator and down to her room on eight. She got the door open and he stumbled in, falling and dragging her down to the floor with him.

"Jeezus, I'm loaded," he said, shaking his head.

"Let's get on the bed," she said. "This is gonna be a great party." She led him to the double bed. He turned and flopped down on it, lying back. He closed his eyes dreamily and she thought for a moment she was home free. But then he opened them again and focused on her. He wasn't going to give up yet. She hoped she wouldn't have to fuck him. Then he stood and stumbled into the bathroom and poured cold water onto a wash cloth and mopped his face with it. Water ran down his neck and ruined the two-thousand-dollar Chinese silk shirt. He dropped the cloth in the sink, turned, and leered at her. "Let's go, baby, get fuckin' naked. Gotta see the wet spot."

Dakota silently cursed her luck, but dropped the straps of her silk gown and let it fall down her perfectly tapered body. She was now standing naked in front of him, still wearing her high heels. Tommy gulped several times, like a trout in the bottom of a boat, then moved awkwardly toward her. He grabbed between her legs and groped her roughly.

"Easy, baby, take it easy… we've got all night," she cooed, pulling away so he wouldn't claw her down there. She decided it was better to just get the job done and be over with it. He'd fall asleep right after he scored. They all did. It was her one universal observation about men. She unbuttoned his ruined green silk shirt and took it off him. He was surprisingly strong. Ridges of power were stacked in useful slabs of hard muscle on his shoulders and short arms. He stumbled out of his pants, sitting awkwardly on the bed. He ripped off his underwear and stood up to face her. He was huge and, for a moment, it startled her. Then she took him into her arms and pressed her body against his. Tommy moaned with pleasure. She led him to the bed and lowered him down. He grabbed for her and she let him pull her down on top of him. Then, with no preamble, she mounted him. Tommy thrust his hips at her savagely. It was a carnal, desperate act of possession. Within minutes he was finished. She rolled off of him and looked down at the despicable little slime who had killed her cousin Carol.

"You're a wonderful lover," she said softly. "You have such stamina, such magnificent equipment."

"Ahhh," Tommy said as he closed his eyes. "Fuckin' room is spinning. Fuckin', goddamn room is fuckin' spinning all over the fuckin'…" And then he rolled over and vomited almost a quart of blended Scotch onto the plush carpet next to the bed. He lay facedown on the bedspread, gasping for air, spit draining out of his open mouth. He is truly a ghastly creature, she thought. It would be so easy to go over to the desk, get the scissors, and end his life right there, but Beano had told her it was his brother, Joe Rina, who had ordered the hit on Carol… Tommy was just the instrument of the act. They needed Tommy to get to Joe. Besides, she mused as he began to snore facedown before her, she wasn't a killer. She was a Bates. A high-stakes player and the best mack on the planet. She always won in the bedroom. The bedroom was her field of combat. She looked down in victory on the snoring killer, then moved to the phone and dialed Beano's room.