James Swain - Take Down

They’d been at a crossroads when Billy met them. They still had their looks and could snap a man’s head just by walking by. They were willing to use their charms to make a buck but didn’t want to take their clothes off anymore, or go down on strangers.

Billy had come to their apartment with Chinese takeout and a DVD. While eating pork-fried rice in the cramped living room, they watched a dopey sitcom called Sweet Nothings that starred everyone’s favorite comedic actress, Lydia Fallon. Fallon was a fixture on network TV, her giggling laugh known to millions. Misty and Pepper professed to be big fans.

When the show ended, Billy told Misty and Pepper a story. Once upon a time, Lydia Fallon had lived in Las Vegas and worked with a crew of cheaters that past-posted at roulette. Placing a wager after the little white ball had fallen was no small feat, and Fallon used her persuasive charms to distract the croupier while her partners did the dirty work.

One night Fallon was scamming a fancy Strip casino when a big-shot Hollywood producer sitting at the table spotted her and was blown away. Instead of alerting security, he whisked her away to la-la land and turned her into a household name.

There was a moral to Billy’s story. Cheating wasn’t the end of the road, but the beginning of a new life. With the money Misty and Pepper would make working with his crew, they could lead the kind of lives they’d always dreamed of, just like Lydia Fallon.

Misty and Pepper signed up on the spot.

It was one of the smarter things he’d ever done. When Misty and Pepper were on the casino floor strutting their stuff, the rest of his crew could operate practically unseen.

The uniformed guard at the entrance of the Las Vegas Country Club waved him through, and he drove to the three-thousand-square-foot, three-bedroom luxury house the girls now called home. Filling the circular driveway was Gabe’s Mercedes, Cory and Morris’s black Infiniti SUV, Misty’s BMW 4 Series convertible, and Pepper’s champagne-colored Lexus 350. Whoever said that crime didn’t pay wasn’t doing it right.

He rang the bell. A melodic chime filled the interior, followed by bare feet pounding tile floors. Misty greeted him with bloodshot eyes, her sensuous mouth parted in a loopy grin. She wore a white string bikini and a glistening diamond in her navel. She sunbathed in the nude every day and did not sport a single tan line.

“What took you so long?” she chastised him.

“I drove here as fast as I could.”

“It wasn’t fast enough.”

Giggling, she dragged him down the hall to the living room. Gabe lay sprawled on the recliner and flipped Billy a stoner’s salute. Cory and Morris shared the couch, studying racing forms on their cell phones while taking hits off an acrylic bong with multiple rubber hoses. Bowls of junk food covered the coffee table, much of it on the floor.

“Yo, Billy. Those shades are awesome,” Cory said.

“What are you guys doing?” Billy asked.

“We’re working a scam with a racetrack in Santa Anita.”

Misty had not let go of his arm, her nails digging hard enough to break the flesh.

“Keep moving,” she commanded.

“I need to talk to everybody. Pepper needs to hear this, too.”

“Well, let’s go get her.”

Pepper’s bedroom was down the hallway. The redhead lay on the water bed in her birthday suit, watching a video playing on a flat-screen TV. In it, she and Misty were tag-teaming a very drunk Billy, whose prick resembled a bayonet.

“You trying to blackmail me?” he asked.

“No, we’re trying to fuck you. Lie down.” Misty tugged at his belt buckle.

“Not now. There’s some serious shit going down.”

They were either too stoned to hear him or too stoned to care. His pants started to fall, and he struggled to pull them back up. He was getting aroused, and that would lead to him hopping in bed with them and forgetting about life for a little while.

“He’s resisting,” Misty said. “Help me.”

Pepper slithered sensually across the bed. Taking a big fat joint off the night table, she fired it up, then hopped to her feet and tried to shotgun him. He pushed her away.

“Stop fucking around,” he said.

Pepper acted put out. She grabbed his shades and yanked them away. Seeing his banged-up face, she let out a startled cry.

“Oh my God. You get into a fight?”

“I ran into some trouble last night.”

Their eyes met. In Billy’s gaze she saw nothing but fear.

“Oh, fuck,” Pepper said.

His crew huddled around the breakfast table in the kitchen nook, acting scared. Talking to stoned people was a waste of time, and Billy brewed an extra-strong pot of coffee and poured them each a cup. Pepper and Misty had put on grungy workout clothes and stopped being sex kittens. Cory and Morris had put away their cell phones and were looking at him, knowing that things had just gotten hairy. Gabe simply stared into space.

Billy remained standing so he could see their faces. That was important, because he needed to see if anyone was going to crack. In a calm voice, he told them the same story he’d told Travis. He’d fucked up royally and was going to spend the next three days atoning for his sins. He promised that no matter what happened, they wouldn’t get arrested or go to prison.

“That’s the deal. Anyone want to say anything, say it now.”

At first, no one spoke. Big crocodile tears trickled down Misty’s cheeks.

“Does this mean there’s no giant payday?” Misty asked.

“There never was a giant payday,” he replied truthfully.

“That sucks!”

Gabe blew his nose into a paper napkin. He’d been planning to use a portion of his share to pay off Tony G, and now faced the grim reality of having nothing to give the bookie.

“Billy, there’s something I’m not getting,” Gabe said. “Why did these assholes running Galaxy blackmail you into doing this job? Why not call the gaming board instead?”

“They didn’t call the gaming board because they’re afraid of the law,” Billy said. “The owner of Galaxy owns a bunch of titty bars in LA. There’s only so much money you can make hustling friction dances and selling drunk businessmen bottles of pink champagne. I think the place is a front, and they’re laundering money.”

“For who? The mob?”

“The mob, the drug cartels, who knows? They’re bad dudes any way you look at it.”

“Man, you sure stepped in it.”

“Tell me about it.”

“Should we pack a suitcase and get out of town?” Pepper asked.

Billy had never been a proponent of running when things broke bad. In the eyes of the law, a person who ran was already guilty. “Just stay here, and hang out. It will all be over by Saturday.” He nearly added “One way or another” but decided he didn’t want to go there.

“Will you call us Saturday night, tell us how this works out?” Pepper asked.

“You’ll be the first to know,” he said.

Saying good-bye had never been harder. Gabe’s forlorn expression suggested that he’d dug a hole for himself that he could not climb out of. He gave Billy a bear hug and whispered, “Good luck, man,” before shuffling into the living room. Pepper and Misty both kissed him on the lips as if they might never see him again.

Cory and Morris were hanging back, and Billy motioned for them to follow him out the front door so they could talk in private. They’d gotten into the rackets as teens and understood the ramifications better than the others. Billy’s promise to keep them from getting busted was just that, a promise, and they might get arrested, no matter how hard Billy tried to prevent it.

Because Cory and Morris were the takeoff men, and actually stole the money during the scams, the law would seek them out first. Not the regular cops, but special enforcement agents of the Nevada Gaming Control Board, who had the power to confiscate their bank accounts, automobiles, and all their possessions. They’d go down first, and they’d go down hard.