James Swain - Take Down

The two young hustlers stood on the lawn, sharing a cigarette. Everything they did, they did together, from sharing a bedroom in a foster home growing up to peddling worthless coupon booklets to tourists on the Strip, which was how Billy had first met them.

“How long have you been working on this horse scam?” he asked.

“Six months. We’ve got a trainer at the track in our back pocket,” Cory said.

“Have you tried it out?”

“A couple of times. It worked like a charm.”

“You need to put it on ice. I want you to hide your computers, along with any electronic devices that might contain your communications with the guy at the track you’re working with. That includes your cell phones and iPads and any devices that carry e-mails. If the gaming board pays you a visit and finds any evidence, they’ll nail your balls to a wall, and try to make you turn state’s evidence. That’s how they operate. So don’t let them find anything.”

Cory flashed a brave smile. “We won’t let you down, Billy.”

“You can count on us,” Morris added.

Billy felt confident that they wouldn’t go sideways on him. To make your bones as a cheater, you had to get busted at least once and get your ass ground through the system. How you dealt with it defined the rest of your career.

“One more thing,” he said. “I want you to stay away from the casinos until this is over. Work on your golf games or take in some movies. It’ll be tough, but you can do it.”

“Stay away from the casinos? Are you out of your flipping mind?” Cory said indignantly.

“No fucking way, Jose,” Morris said.

They waited a beat before breaking into good-natured laughter. The conversation was ending on a high note. Billy appreciated that, and he beeped his horn as he drove away.

Driving down Boulder Highway with the desert wind stinging his face, Billy remembered that Crunchie still had his Droid. Without a cell phone, he could not communicate with his crew, nor could any of them call him.

He needed to change that. There was a Verizon store located in practically every strip center in town, and his eyes searched for their distinct white and red sign. He soon found a store on the east side of the highway by Nellis Boulevard. He parked in the empty lot and went inside.

The store was a gallery, the merchandise displayed in glass cases as if precious works of art inside a museum. The manager, an alert young woman with dyed-red hair flecked with white frost and fingernails painted in a rainbow of colors, seemed eager to help him.

“I lost my cell phone last night, and need a new one,” he explained.

She typed his name and address into her computer, working off the driver’s license he handed her. She studied the photo on the license, then gave him a hard look.

“Something wrong?” he asked.

“Can I see you without the shades?” she asked.

He didn’t like to play the sympathy card but didn’t see that he had much choice if he wanted to get a new phone. Her mouth dropped open as the shades came off.

“Oh my God-were you mugged?” she asked.

“Yeah. They took everything.”

“I can’t fix your face, but I can get you a new phone.” She stared at her computer screen. “You purchased a Droid Maxx last year and signed up for Backup Assistant. That means I can transfer your contact information from your old phone to your new phone. The Maxx you purchased also has a factory data-reset option. That will let me wipe out the information on your old phone once the new phone is up and running.”

“You can really do that?”

“Sure can. What kind of phone do you want?”

“Another Droid Maxx.”

He handed her a credit card. Had he gone to a Verizon store last night and gotten a new phone, the contact info on his old phone would now be wiped out. Live and learn. Soon he had a brand new phone with all of his contact info installed. The manager was sharp and knew how to think on her feet. As he signed the credit card slip, he asked if he could call her sometime. She wrote her personal number on the back of a business card and gave it to him.

“My name’s Cassidy. I’m off on weekends,” she said.

Cassidy had passed the first interview. If he made it out of this situation unscathed, he planned to give her a call. Over dinner and drinks he’d find out if she had moral issues with robbing casinos. If not, he could see her being a valuable addition to his crew.

Back on the highway, he decided to call Travis, and got patched into voice mail. “Hey, Travis, it’s me. I had a brainstorm and bought a new cell phone. I broke the news to the others. Do me a favor, and check up on them. I’m worried about Gabe.”

He bit his lip, wanting to say something that would end the message on a high note. He heard a loud beep and realized he’d hit a dead zone and the connection had ended.

He couldn’t win for losing, and concentrated on the drive.

Pulling into the Galaxy’s valet area, he grabbed his garment bag off the passenger seat and got out. A pair of black-and-whites were parked by the entrance, their bubble lights flashing. Cops were rarely seen inside the casinos, the belief being they were bad for business. When they did show up, it was through a back entrance or underground garage.

“Last name?” the valet asked, writing up his stub.

“Pico. Who called the five-oh?” Billy asked.

“Sorry, I’m not allowed to talk about it.”

Something unpleasant had happened, and Billy was not going to venture inside without knowing why the cops were there. He slipped a twenty into the pocket of the valet’s vest.

“You’re not a reporter, are you?” the valet asked.

“Do reporters drive Maseratis?”

“About an hour ago a guy wearing a motorcycle helmet robbed the cage. He ran out with a bag of money, jumped on his Harley, and took off.”

“How much did he get?”

“A hundred grand. Nice work if you can get it, huh?”

“You’re telling me.”

At the front desk, he presented the fake ID in Thomas Pico’s name and learned he was staying in a luxury suite on the concierge level on the twenty-eighth floor of the first tower.

Taking the elevator up, he thought about the desperado who’d ripped the joint off. He’d known several guys who’d pulled this stunt; to a man, they were two-bit losers who’d reached the end of the line and had resorted to sticking guns in innocent people’s faces to make a lousy score. He inserted the room key to his suite and entered. It was two thousand square feet of excess, the walls decorated with iconic movie stills from the days when the world was black and white. Crunchie sat on a leather couch in his cowboy attire, wearing an ugly scowl. The cage had gotten robbed on his watch, and Doucette had no doubt given him hell for it.

“Well, look who’s here,” the old grifter said. “Didn’t I say three, asshole?”

“Traffic was a bitch,” he said.

“Traffic’s always a bitch. I’ve got something for you.” Crunchie pulled Billy’s cell phone from his breast pocket and tossed it to him. “I copied down the names of everyone in your address book, just to be safe. Right when I was done, the phone went blank.”

“Imagine that.”

“Don’t pull any more shit. Now, where have you been?”

Billy wasn’t about to tell him the truth. “I was getting laid,” he said.

“You’re a horny little fucker, aren’t you?”

“It beats being sterile.”

“This is getting off to a bad start. I think you need a little attitude adjustment.” To the punishers he said, “Kick his ass.”

Ike and T-Bird sat on the other couch, watching a mindless game show. They were sitting so close, their shoulders were touching. They rose, their hands clenched into fists.