Stephen Cannell - King Con

Duffy, Victoria, and Roger-the-Dodger, toting the blue canvas bag, were already out of the van and running to the King Air.

Inside the plane, Leland was looking at the approaching police cars as he set the throttles and began to start the starboard engine. "It'll be tight but let's give it a go," he said as he revved the starboard engine, then immediately started the port. "If you don't mind, I'm gonna scrap the preflight," he said, as the second engine coughed to life. He throttled up. The squad cars were only three hundred yards away as Leland shouted, "Hold on…"

The King Air roared down the runway directly at the police cars, which had come to a stop across the center of the tarmac to block him. But they had left too much runway and, just before the plane hit the nearest car, Leland pulled back the yoke and the plane lifted off… They heard one of the tires leave a patch of rubber on the roof of the nearest police car as they skimmed over.

"Holy shit," Victoria said, her heart slamming in her chest as she clutched Roger-the-Dodger in her arms. Then she looked over at Beano, who was grinning.

"Even more exciting than my first night in jail," he said.

Duffy smiled. He was still out of breath and his chest hurt; he was pooped. Throwing a convincing epileptic fit was damn hard work.

Then the little plane turned west and headed out over the inland cut toward Miami.

EVERYBODY WAS TRYING TO FIND TOMMY RINA. THE Host in the High-roller casino described Dakota to the Desk Clerk, who remembered her vividly, and at eight A.M. they got a second key to her room. They opened her door to the overpowering smell of vomit. They found Tommy sprawled on the bed, facedown and naked, except for his laced-up wing-tip shoes and socks. He looked like a partied-out conventioneer. When they woke him up, he groaned and rolled to a sitting position, squinting at Arnold Buzini and two Security cops. Then Tommy looked down at his crotch and his exposed howitzer.

"Get the fuck out of here," he growled at them.

"We been hit," Buzini said by way of explanation.

"Get the fuck out of here! I gotta put on some clothes," Tommy said, pulling the bedspread up onto his lap. They backed out of the room and Tommy tried to get to his feet.

"Goddamn…" he said. His head felt like it was being opened from the side with a can opener. He stumbled into the bathroom and turned on the shower. Then he got in and stood there, still in his shoes, and let it pour over him. He felt worse than afterbirth. He thought he was going to die right there, in the shower, with his wing-tips on.

Then it all came back to him… the Goddess, the trip to the High-roller casino… the fuck on the bed, which he barely remembered. "Man, that bitch can hold her liquor," he said to his water-soaked shoes. Then he remembered what Buzini had said, and he opened the shower door and called out.

"Hey, Buz… whatta you mean we got hit?"

Twenty minutes later they were seated in Buzini's tiny office, and Tommy was on the phone with his little brother, Joe, in New Jersey. The doctored dice and the wheelchair were being examined in the next room. They had found where the dice had been drilled, and they knew they'd been hit by tat players. Joe was mad but his voice, as always, was cool.

"Tommy, you're nothing but a wandering hard-on… All you think about is pussy," his little brother said to him in cold anger. "Women and clipping guys, that's your whole routine."

"Come on, Joe, it wasn't like that."

"First, the jewelry store gets hit for a hundred grand. Okay, that's small stuff; it's stupid, but I can live with it. But now this… this is over a million dollars, Tommy. You're down there and the Shift Manager can't even find you. You got that redheaded flute player stashed in my villa and you're up on eight with another hooker, while our place gets hummed for a million bucks… Nobody can find you."

"Joe… look…"

"What good are you to me if you do all your thinking with your dick? I got problems everywhere. All you do is make 'em worse."

"I don't make things worse. In Jersey last month, wasn't for me, you'd be upstate, Joe."

"Hey, Tommy, this is an open phone line," Joe exploded. "I got people listening… taps everywhere. Use your fucking head for once, will ya?"

Joe almost never lost control, almost never swore. This was one of the few times Tommy could remember his little brother cursing. It sobered him. "Whatta you want me to do?"

"You lost the million one. You either get it back or we make it up out of your end of things."

"Jeezus, Joe, what the fuck kinda deal is that? You lose money on shit all the time, and you don't have to make it up outta your end."

"When I lose money, Tommy, it's because something unforeseen went wrong, and then I study the mistake and never, never repeat it. You're losing money 'cause you can't keep your dick in your pants or your mind on business. You make the same mistake three times a week. So now, you get the money back or pay it back. Those are your two choices."

And Joe hung up in his ear.

Buzini had turned and moved to the far side of the office early in the conversation. He didn't want to witness even one end of this tongue lashing. He hated having to hear Tommy plead, because he knew Tommy would take it out on him. But he was stuck in the room.

"What the fuck're you lookin' at?" Tommy said when Buzini looked over at him after the phone was hung up.

"Nothin'… I…"

"You want a piece of this trouble? I can deal you in, asshole. How'd you let these guys pull this on you? You took the table limit off, what kinda shit is that?" he screamed at the startled Shift Manager. "Didn't you even see him pulling the loadies outta that chair arm? Whatta you, blind?"

"I… I didn't…"

"You didn't think… didn't do shit! You stood there and watched these sharpers pick our bones," Tommy yelled. His face was red and he was thinking he'd like to take a ballpeen hammer and club this greaseball casino Manager to death. "Okay, so where's the bitch, Dakota, who drugged me? Where is she?" Tommy yelled. But he figured she had to be in on it and was probably long gone.

"I don't know, sir…"

"You don't fucking know much of anything, do ya?" He looked at Buzini, seething with anger. Tommy's head was throbbing; his stomach was sour. He wanted to pay somebody back, hurt somebody. Sometimes that was the only thing that made him feel better. "I'm gonna go t'the villa and change. Send over something to eat. My stomach feels like piranhas're feeding in there. Send over some yogurt or something to settle it." Tommy turned to leave but spun back in the doorway and caught Buzini off guard. "You fuckin' guys can't keep your mind on business," he said with disgust. "You're supposed t'run this shift, but you keep makin' the same fuckin' mistakes. You're supposed t'make decisions, not all the time comin' runnin', looking for me to tell you what to do. What the fuck else do I pay you for?"

"I'm sorry, Mr. Rina."

"You're fuckin' sorry and you're fuckin' one step back from being a dead man. You better be thinkin' how t'make this up, and how not to make the same mistake ever again," Tommy growled and walked out of the office, picturing how nice it would be to beat that fucking self-satisfied Buzini's head flat with a ballpeen hammer.

Tommy cut through the lanai on his way to the villa. He took the stone footpath that led below the pool next to the beach. He had his face turned away from the sun, because the bright sunlight needled through his eyes and into his brain like acupuncture. Then he saw something that amazed him. The fantasy Goddess from last night was climbing the ladder out of the pool. Dakota walked across the pavement to a chaise lounge. She was wearing a thong bikini bottom and no top. She arranged herself on a towel and closed her eyes, the water beading on her perfect skin and dripping off her wet hair. Tommy couldn't believe she was still there. She had come to the Sabre Bay Club with the old guy in the wheelchair and his nephew. He assumed she had gotten him drunk and fucked him to keep him out of the play. He was sure she was part of the tat, so what the hell was she still doing here, lying out by the pool? He hurried down the path, got to his brother's villa, picked up the phone, and dialed Buzini's office.