James Swain - Take Down

“I’ve heard that one before.”

Gabe had the others check as well. They all agreed that the stacks’ heights were exactly the same. Every race had a finish line; his was now in sight.

Time for the third and last test. He asked Pepper to assist him. He arranged the chips into three stacks of five chips. Two of the stacks were real Galaxy chips, while the third contained five fake gold chips.

“Are you right-handed or left-handed?” he asked.

“I’m a rightie,” Pepper replied.

“I want you to pick up one of the stacks of real chips and let them fall to the table. Do it slowly, and let each chip brush past your fingertips.”

“What for?”

“I want you to get a feel for them. Casino chips are made from sand, chalk, and the same clay they use in kitty litter. It’s what gives them that special feel.”

“Cat litter? Come on, be serious.”

“I am being serious. Now try it.”

Pepper picked up a stack of real Galaxy chips and let them fall from her fingertips to the table. She repeated this several times.

“You’re right. They do have a special feel,” she said.

“Okay. Now close your eyes,” Gabe said.

“Ohhh, this sounds like it’s going to be fun.”

Pepper shut her eyes. Gabe moved the stacks around the table as if playing the three-shell game. Then he guided Pepper’s hand toward the stacks and had her repeat the process with each stack. All of the human senses could be tricked, except for human touch. If the stack of fake chips felt different than the others, her fingers would sense it.

“Which stack is the fakes?” Gabe asked.

“I’m not sure. Can I feel the stacks again?”

“Be my guest.”

The process was repeated. Pepper seemed intent on picking out the phonies, and Gabe felt himself getting nervous. A female bank teller in Hong Kong had broken up a major counterfeiting ring while counting a stack of fake hundreds at work. The fake hundreds had beaten all the bank’s detection devices but not the teller’s acute sense of touch.

“Time’s up. Please make your selection,” he said.

“They all feel the same. I can’t tell the difference,” Pepper said.

“Pick one anyway.”

Pepper picked up the center stack and opened her eyes. “Whoops, you got me.”

She’d chosen a stack of real chips. Gabe walked around the kitchen collecting high fives from the rest of the crew. His work was done; now it was their turn to shine.

He took a place at the kitchen table and let them serve him breakfast. As the food was being prepared, Travis pulled up a chair. Picking up one of the fake gold chips, Travis rolled it across his hairy knuckles in dexterous fashion.

“What happens if we get caught with these babies?” Travis asked.

“You don’t want to know,” Gabe said.

“Got to. I’ve got a family now.”

For the crime of dropping a slug in a slot machine, the state would put a person away for three years. For more sophisticated counterfeiting crimes, the penalties were more severe.

“You’ll do five to seven for trying to pass the fake chips, and I’ll do life for manufacturing them. I’m sure Billy’s taken all of that into consideration.”

“How so?”

“He’ll get a sucker to cash in the fake chips. That’s how major counterfeiting scams work. A sucker takes the risk, while the cheater gets the lion’s share of the reward.”

“What’s the risk to us?”

“Inside the casino? None.”

“How about outside the casino?”

“Just the equipment in my garage. If that gets found, we’re screwed.”

“Have you thought about dumping it?”

“I’ve already reserved a moving truck. On Sunday morning, I’ll load up the equipment and make a trip to the landfill in Boulder City. You’re welcome to come along.”

“Boulder City’s a haul. Why not dump it in a landfill nearby?”

“Vegas landfills use transfer stations, so the employees see what you’re dumping. Boulder City doesn’t have a transfer station. Once we dump the equipment, it’s gone.”

“You’ve thought this all out, haven’t you?”

Gabe nodded and sipped his coffee. He was a stickler for cleaning up after a job. The more you cleaned, the less chance of getting caught. It had become so ingrained in Gabe’s head that he thought about how he was going to clean up before every job he did.

“I’ve got a wife and kids, too, you know,” Gabe added.

Mags awoke in the middle of the night with her ear on fire and chugged down a pain pill along with a glass of scotch to make the burning sensation go away. It had done a number on her, and at ten o’clock the next morning, she could not get out of bed. That would have been okay, only some jackass was pounding on her front door.

“Go away,” she said.

The pounding grew frantic, the sound busting up the protective coating around her poor brain. It wasn’t going to stop until she made it stop. Still wearing last night’s clothes, she cleaned her teeth, brushed down her Bride of Frankenstein hair, and when she’d taken possession of herself, went into the living room and parted the curtains to the window that faced the street.

Frank was on the stoop, banging on the door. His SUV idled in the driveway, the black exhaust belching warning signals into the air. He was the last person she wanted to talk to, and she went into the kitchen and poured herself a glass of juice.

The pounding continued. If need be, Frank would break the door down. She got her courage up and ventured into the front of the house.

“Leave me alone,” she said through the door. “I had a bad night. Go away.”

“Open the door, Mags. You know what I want,” he said.

“What if I say no?”

“You can’t say no.”

She opened the door and sunshine flooded the foyer. Frank brushed past her on his way to the living room. His hair was neatly parted and he’d trimmed the bushes from his ears. He only groomed himself when he was going to make a bust and thought he might get his picture taken. She didn’t like it when he came to her place unannounced.

“You left your car on. Someone might steal it,” she said.

“My boss is with me,” he said.

“You mean Trixie? What a piece of shit that guy is. How do you put up with him?”

“I’m not going to be putting up with him for much longer. How about a cup of coffee?”

“Forget it.”

“Thanks a lot. What’s with the bandage on your ear?”

“It’s a long story. I don’t want you here. Say your piece, and get out.”

“You’re in some mood.”

He ducked into the kitchen and poured himself a glass of water. Glass in hand, he returned to the living room and took the couch. He pointed at the lone chair in the room. “Sit down. In case you forgot, the gaming board is planning to bust Cunningham this afternoon, and you’re going to help us. Give me any crap, and my boss will throw you in jail. Am I making myself clear?”

So much for Custer’s Last Stand. She positioned her chair so she faced him. Frank drank his water and put the glass down on the coffee table. He smiled with the sincerity of a phony TV preacher. She was tempted to throw a lamp at him, just to wipe that smile off his ugly mug.

“This afternoon, the gaming board is going to raid Galaxy,” he said. “The joint was built with drug money, and now it’s being used to launder more drug money. We plan to bust the kingpin of the operation, Reverend T. Rock.”

He took out his iPhone and keyed in a command. He turned the screen so Mags could see a live feed of a humongous black guy sitting poolside in a cabana. With him were two tattoo-covered Hispanic babes wearing leather bikinis.

“The women are named Margarita Jimenez and Damaris Olivio,” he said. “They used to work for a Mexican drug cartel before Rock lured them away. Rumor is, they’re absolutely lethal.”