James Swain - Take Down

“If I do that, will you tear up my contract?”

The two gaming agents nodded solemnly, as if those gestures meant anything.

“And this shit with the checks will go away?”

They both nodded again.

“I want it in writing,” she said.

“You’ll get it.” Trixie consulted his watch and rose from the table. “I’m glad we came to this understanding, Mags. I’ll let Frank fill you in on the details.”

“There’s one thing I’m not getting,” she said. “How are you going to take Billy down? You don’t know what he’s doing in there.”

“Doesn’t matter,” Trixie said. “Billy’s scum. We’ll trump up a charge if we have to. Just make sure he’s inside the joint when the raid happens. If you do that, you’re home free.”

She drew back in her chair. “You’re going to frame him? What kind of assholes are you? Just because you can’t catch him doesn’t give you the right to trump up a charge.”

“Keep your voice down,” he cautioned her.

“You’re pathetic excuses for human beings. Both of you.”

“Watch your damn mouth.”

“Fuck you.”

“We’re out of here.” Frank threw down money for the food. “Let’s go.”

Standing, she began tossing her things into her purse, the words spilling out in a mad rush. “Billy comes into your casinos and beats your games in front of your cameras and your so-called security experts, and you’re not clever enough to figure out how to stop him. People do that at the racetrack or the stock market, and they call them geniuses and give them their own fucking TV shows. Not you guys. When someone’s smarter than you, you frame him. And you wonder why people in this town think gaming agents are shit heads.”

“Don’t play self-righteous with me, you little cunt,” Trixie said. “Cunningham is a plague, and I’m going to do whatever I have to do to put him away. Did you know that he went to MIT on a full scholarship? Kid’s a mathematical wizard, could have been the next Steve Jobs or Bill Gates, but no, he decides to quit after a year, and come out here, and start stealing. He could have made a difference in the world, but he chose not to. That makes him a world-class scumbag in my book. And so are you for thinking he’s some kind of prince.”

She tossed her purse over her shoulder. The difference between cops and criminals was that criminals knew when they were breaking the law, while cops rarely did. Trixie had stepped over to the dark side, just as Frank had stepped over, and there was nothing she could say to either one of them that was going to convince them how wrong it was.

“Whatever you say,” she said, and headed for the front door.

Billy parked the Camaro in the employee garage. It was easy to tell it was the employee garage; half the cars were falling apart. He knew a cheat named Ace who frequented bars where casino employees hung out. Ace would scour the lot to see whose car was in the worst shape, find the owner, and begin the recruitment process.

The elevator was on the blink so he took the stairwell. He had a lot on his plate, all of which needed to get done in the next thirty-six hours. He had to make the Gypsies, get Tony G off Gabe’s back, and prepare his crew for an eight-million-dollar takedown. A few hours ago, he might have said forget it, but not now. Being around his crew did that to him. By himself, there was only so much stealing he could do. With his crew, the possibilities were endless.

A blast of cold air greeted him upon entering the casino. Urban legend had it that the casinos pumped oxygen to get customers to gamble more, but it wasn’t true. They just kept the joints bone-chilling cold, and the lure of easy money did the rest.

He found Ike and T-Bird inside the sports book, an area reserved for gamblers wanting to bet on sporting events. Both wore new designer threads that signaled a step up in the world. As the scores faded away on the digital screen, their betting stubs were tossed to the floor.

“Know how to make a small fortune inside a casino? Start with a large one.”

“Shit, man, we got to gamble,” Ike said. “What else is there to do in this town?”

“No gambling while you’re doing a job with me. People will get suspicious if you start losing money they don’t think you have. Got it?”

They reluctantly nodded agreement.

“Good. Now what’s going on?”

“We got everything under control,” Ike said, his tone indicating a willingness to impress. “Crunchie had to go see the doctor because his ulcer’s bleeding. He called me from the doctor’s office, and I told him we were watching you like a hawk. Then we got a call from psycho bitch. She was at the airport picking up a rich oilman flying in from Houston. She says, ‘Put that sneaky little bastard on, I want an update,’ and I messed with her real good.”

“What did you tell her?”

“I said, ‘Billy thinks the Gypsies are part of a wedding party. He’s inside the chapel, checking out a rehearsal. You want him to call you?’ and psycho bitch says, ‘Just keep an eye on him,’ and hangs up.”

“She wasn’t suspicious?”

“Nope. Everything’s good.”

“What time did she call?”

“About a half hour ago.”

“I want to know the exact time.”

“I told you-about a half hour ago.”

“Take out your cell phone and check.”

“You think I can’t keep track of the fucking time?”

“I’m sure you can keep track of the time. I just think you’re wrong.”

Ike took out his cell phone and found the incoming call in the memory bank. Casinos were designed to make people lose track of the time-no clocks, no windows, the outside world shut out-and Billy would have bet Ike was wrong, only he didn’t want to make an enemy.

“Holy shit, she called an hour ago,” Ike said.

An hour was a lot different than a half hour. In an hour, Shaz could meet the oilman at the airport, bring him back to the hotel, and check up on Billy. And if she didn’t find Billy at the chapel, she’d know that Ike had lied to her and that his allegiances had shifted.

“Let’s get over to the wedding chapel before this thing blows up in our faces,” Billy said.

Just off the hotel lobby, the wedding chapel was far enough away from the casino to make it feel real, a pretty room painted in champagne hues and delicate shades of brown, with cut-glass chandeliers and amethyst glass windows traced in gold leaf. Billy sat down in a pew with the punishers. Up at the altar, a white-haired minister was conducting a rehearsal with two nervous kids who kept peeking at the door, as if expecting an irate parent to appear and call the whole thing off. He guessed that the bride-to-be was underage and that she and her boyfriend had eloped. It was easy to get hitched in Vegas. No waiting period, no blood test, just buy a fifty-dollar certificate, and find a man with a turned collar to read from the black book.

The rehearsal dragged on, with the kids comically stepping on each other’s vows. The groom tried slipping a wedding ring on his bride’s finger and dropped it on the floor, where it rolled beneath a pew and disappeared. The girl looked ready to brain him.

The rehearsal ended, and the kids walked down the aisle squeezing hands. The minister wiped his brow with a hanky. A door beside the chapel opened, and a new couple appeared for their rehearsal. It was an assembly line. Billy rose from the pew.

“I need to take a look at something. I’ll be right back.”

He walked around the chapel to the door the couples were coming through and twisted the knob. Crammed into the adjacent room were ten more couples, waiting their turn. Returning to the pew, he asked Ike to call Shaz. As the call went through, he left the chapel with Ike’s cell phone pressed to his ear and parked himself on an overstuffed couch in the lobby.