James Swain - Take Down

“For the love of Christ, what are you doing here?”

“Oh my God, what are you doing in those clothes?” Mags asked.

“I’m going to hustle a guy on a golf course.”

“It figures you’d be up to something. I came here because I wanted to see you. I couldn’t stop thinking about you, or your offer to join your crew. I want in, Billy.”

He’d told Mags he’d call in a few days, and that should have been enough to keep her happy. Before he could voice his displeasure, she tore away the shades and pulled off the hat, letting her dark locks fall on her shoulders and frame her gorgeous Irish face. That day in Providence came back in a thrilling rush, and his unhappiness melted away.

“God, you look beautiful,” he said.

She smiled and just stood there, torturing him.

“How’d you track me down?”

“I came to the casino earlier and was playing the slots. You came out of the elevator and entered the store, and I followed you.”

“I told you not to come back here. These people are animals.”

“I wore a disguise. I had to see you.”

Mags had been hustling nearly twenty years. She hadn’t lasted this long as a grifter by intentionally walking into bad situations. Her story wasn’t ringing true. He wanted to ignore it, but that was a mistake. He needed to find out why she was here.

“Let me pay for these clothes. Then we can talk,” he said.

He paid with his own money. It was quicker than charging the clothes to Doucette and having the salesgirl make a phone call to the casino boss to verify the charge. The salesgirl put his old clothes into a plastic bag and passed them over the counter.

“Have a nice afternoon,” the salesgirl said.

When he turned around, Mags was gone. A quick search of the store found her on a couch by the pants section. Knowing the store had no surveillance cameras made him feel comfortable enough to sit down beside her.

“I can’t believe we hooked up after all these years,” he said.

“Or that we’re going to be working together. When can I start?” she asked.

“I need to get this job finished up. Then I’ll introduce you to my crew.”

“When will you be done here?”

“Saturday afternoon. Let’s hook up on Sunday, grab some lunch.”

The answer seemed to satisfy her. She wasn’t prodding him for information or asking bad questions, and his earlier suspicions that she was up to something faded away, replaced by the delicious idea of them ripping off Vegas casinos together. What a wild ride that would be.

“I just remembered something. You dropped a photograph of your daughter on the floor in the cocktail lounge the other night.” He took out his wallet and rifled through the billfold. “Damn. It’s not here. I must have lost it.”

“Don’t worry, I’ve got plenty more. How’d you know Amber was my kid?”

“Come on-she could be your clone.”

“Acts like me, too, got a mouth on her you wouldn’t believe. She’s in community college, going to graduate in the spring. I’ve already got my ticket booked.”

“You must be real proud of her. What’s she majoring in?”

“I’m embarrassed to tell you.”

“Why?”

“She’s studying CSI. My baby wants to be a cop.”

They shared a laugh. Mags had a deep, throaty laugh, and he imagined hearing it in bed and how pleasing it would be. Hooking up hadn’t been right fifteen years ago, but now it felt okay. The age difference between them no longer mattered. He had caught up to her, and the long-awaited prize was about to be his. He decided to test the waters and dropped his hand on her knee and gave it a gentle squeeze. She didn’t seem to mind.

“How did you manage to go to MIT? I hear the tuition’s crazy,” she said.

“I got a full ride,” he said.

“You must be some kind of brainiac.”

“School always came easy to me. During my first semester, they gave me the Bucsela Prize for outstanding achievement in mathematics. The funny part was, I hardly ever studied.”

“Your old man must have been proud.”

“Not for very long.”

“What do you mean?”

“I only lasted two semesters.”

“Why’d you quit?”

The words hit him hard. Mags hadn’t asked him if he’d flunked out or been thrown out. She’d asked him why he’d quit, as if it was a statement of fact. Every time he’d been busted by the gaming board, a nosy gaming agent had dug into his past, seen he’d gone to MIT, and wanted to know why he’d only lasted a year. Rather than tell the truth, he’d made up a lie, and now Mags had repeated that lie. It could only mean one thing: she was an informant working for the enforcement division of the gaming board.

He jumped off the couch, startling her.

“I’m going to be late. I’ll call you Sunday,” he blurted out.

She rose as well. “What’s wrong? Your face is all red.”

“Talking about college isn’t my favorite subject.”

“Did something bad happen? Come on, you can tell me.”

What had happened was that a woman he’d been carrying a torch for had stuck a dagger straight into his heart, and it hurt so bad that he needed to get away from her as fast as he could.

“It’s a long story. I’ll tell you another time,” he said.

“I’m going to hold you to that.”

She pressed her body against him. Their lips touched. It was all he could do not to put his hands around her throat and choke the life out of her.

The Bali Hai golf course was part of the shimmering-gold Mandalay Bay Resort. Billy parked his Maserati in the gravel lot and sat very still. It didn’t seem real. Mags had gone over to the dark side. And to think that he’d asked her to work with him ripping off casinos.

A tap on his window got him out of the car. Cory had a bag of golf clubs slung over his shoulder, Morris a racing form. Cory passed Billy the golf bag.

“Tony G’s waiting for you by the first tee in his cart,” Cory said. “He’s got his enforcers with him, Guido and Snap. Guido won the Las Vegas bodybuilder championship last year; Snap fights mixed martial arts. Guys who don’t pay get their arms snapped.”

Morris handed him the racing form. It was for today’s races at Santa Anita. It was in the twelfth race that Sal the fixer would switch in the Brazilian ringer. Sal was purposely not letting his web of bettors know which horse was the ringer until right before post time. That way, his web couldn’t share the information and bring down the ringer’s odds.

“How are we going to work this?” Billy asked.

“Sal will text me a few minutes before the race starts with the ringer’s name,” Cory said. “I’ll text the information to you, and you’ll scam Tony G.”

“If Tony G sees me reading a text and then betting on a long shot, he’ll feel a breeze. Try again,” Billy said.

“We can send the information to you by code on your Droid,” Morris suggested. “You’ll put your cell phone on vibrate and stick it in your pocket.”

“Vibrating cell phones make noise. If Tony G hears the vibration, he’ll get suspicious. Try again.”

“Here’s an idea,” Cory said. “The club has a drink service. Cute girl drives out in a cart, brings you an ice-cold beer. I’ll bribe her into passing you the information on a cocktail napkin.”

“What if she gives the napkin to Tony G by mistake? Is that when Snap breaks my arm?”

Beaten, Cory and Morris gazed shamefully at the ground. They were the little brothers that he’d never had, yet there were times when he wanted to throw them both down a flight of stairs. Still holding the racing form, he slapped it against Cory’s chest.

“Find a pencil, and draw circles around the horses that should win the other races, but don’t draw anything on the twelfth,” he said.