James Swain - Take Down

“Is that so. How many times have you smacked him around?”

Ike counted on his fingers. “Four.”

“Did you make him bleed?”

“Yes, suh. Every time.”

The answer seemed to satisfy Rock, and he shifted his attention back to Billy. “I’m buying your story this time. But from now on, no holding back. Next time you learn something of significance, call Doucette right away. Am I making myself clear, pretty boy?”

“He’ll be the first to know,” Billy said.

“How come every time you open your mouth, I think you’re lying to me?”

“I must remind you of someone.”

“You’re right-you do remind me of someone.”

Rock flicked his wrist as if executing a trick Ping-Pong shot. The walking stick became horizontal and sliced the air with a sharp hissing sound. An invisible hand grabbed Billy by the nuts and gave them a squeeze.

The inquisition was over. Rock’s bodyguards sprang to life and went to the door. They both instinctively touched the sleeves of their leather jackets, and Billy guessed each was packing a knife sharp enough to slit a man’s throat. They unchained the door, stepped into the hallway, and cautiously looked both ways. Rock’s enemies were everywhere, their actions seemed to imply, even in a hotel he’d built with his own money.

“We’re good,” one of the guards called into the suite.

The drug kingpin shuffled out of the suite, followed by Doucette, his bride, and Crunchie, who hung back long enough to flash Billy the evil eye. It occurred to Billy that what had just happened was the old hustler’s doing in an effort to take him out of the picture.

“Pistols at ten paces,” he said.

“I can’t wait,” the old grifter replied.

The door clicked shut. Ike was grinning from ear to ear.

“So how’d we do?” Ike asked.

Billy got three cold ones from the fridge and popped the tops. If he’d had any doubt about the punishers’ desire to rip off their boss, it had been erased, and they clinked bottles in a toast.

“I’d say you both have a real future in this business,” he said.

The afternoon was slipping away, and Billy decided to head out to the Bali Hai golf club for his three-thirty game with Tony G. But first, he needed to transform himself into a sucker and get decked out in an overpriced polo shirt and obnoxiously loud pants in the casino’s men’s shop.

“Do me a favor and call Shaz,” he said to Ike. “I need to leave the property for a few hours and want to get her permission.”

“You think she’ll let you?” Ike said.

“Sure. She’s got a thing for me.”

“What are you going to tell her?”

“I don’t know-I’ll think of something.”

Ike put his half-finished beer on the bar and made the call on his cell phone.

“What do you want now?” came Shaz’s greeting through the phone.

“Cunningham needs to speak with you,” Ike said.

“Is that so? Put him on.”

He took the cell phone and raised it to his face. “I need your permission to go play a round of golf with three members of the Torch-Allaire wedding party. Your concierge pulled some strings and got me invited to their group at the Bali Hai course at the Mandalay Bay this afternoon. I want to schmooze them, see what I can pick up. You cool with that?”

The lie was filled with enough information to make it sound right. Her tone softened.

“Little Billy plays golf. How cute. You any good?”

“Good enough to hustle.”

“Go ahead. Just be sure to pass any information to Marcus.”

“I’ll do that. I need to get some clothes from your men’s shop so I look the part. I promise not to spend too much.”

“Aren’t we being polite. Crunchie told my husband that he thinks you already know what the Boswell’s scam is, and that you’re holding out until Saturday afternoon so you can keep us to our word.” She paused. “Is that true?”

“I know part of the scam. It’s tied into the wedding.”

“Tell me, and I’ll go down on you.”

Normally, that kind of invitation got him all hot and bothered. Not this time around. Their last sexual encounter was still fresh in his mind, and he wasn’t about to take that kind of risk again. “Here’s what I figured out,” he said. “On Saturday afternoon, all of the men will be wearing tuxedos, while the bridesmaids will be wearing matching dresses. That’s important, because it’s going to let them trick your security guards while they rip you off.”

“Trick them how?”

“It’s called the Dazzle. The wedding party will converge around a designated area of the casino. The ringleader will give a signal, and everyone will start moving around and talking loudly. The movement will cause their outfits to blend together, and trick your security guards into losing count of how many people are in the party. A member of the party will duck out of sight, rig one of your games, and rejoin the group, with no one being the wiser.”

“You’re saying we won’t see a thing.”

“That’s right. Totally invisible.”

“Which game are they going to rig? You must have some idea.”

He’d given that aspect of the scam a lot of thought. The Gypsies would rig a game with the capability of a monster payout, like craps or blackjack, and would avoid games like keno, which rarely paid out. Telling her this was not in his best interest, and he stalled.

“That’s what I’m trying to find out,” he said.

“You’re bullshitting me. I can hear it in your voice.”

“No, I’m not. I’ll call you if I learn anything.”

“Liar.”

“Would I lie to you?”

“Every chance you can.”

The connection ended, and he tossed Ike the phone.

Downstairs in the casual men’s shop he grabbed a few pairs of loud slacks off the racks along with several crayon-colored polo shirts. A peppy salesgirl followed him into the back and unlocked a dressing room stall with a brass key attached to the belt of her dress. She counted the slacks and shirts before letting him enter the stall.

“Sorry, but I got burned the other day,” the salesgirl said.

“Get a lot of shoplifters?” he asked.

“It only takes one. Anything stolen gets deducted from my pay.”

“Don’t they have a security camera in the store to stop that?”

“I wish. Let me know if you need anything. I’ll be out front.”

“What about the other stores in the casino? Same deal?”

“Yup. The employees are responsible for the merchandise. It sucks, if you ask me.”

He went into the stall to try on the clothes. Every Strip casino had security cameras inside their retail stores to protect the merchandise. Galaxy didn’t, and he guessed there was a reason for that. By entering through a back way, Rock and his bodyguards could visit the casino’s different stores and not be filmed, letting the drug kingpin come and go as he pleased.

He had learned something important. He could use the retail stores inside Galaxy to move around the property and not be detected by the eye-in-the-sky.

He settled on a pair of hideous red slacks and a clashing navy polo shirt with wide green stripes. The clothes scored high on the ugly meter, and he spent a moment appraising his reflection in the full-length mirror inside the stall to make sure he hadn’t gone overboard.

A knock on the door. The salesgirl, checking up on him.

“I’m almost done,” he announced.

“Let me in,” a female voice said.

Not the salesgirl, too sultry. He unlatched the door, and a woman wearing oversized shades and a floppy straw hat meant for the pool stood outside. The face was too hidden to ring any bells, but her body’s tight curves left no doubt who it was.