James Swain - Take Down

The ceremony ended, and the Hispanic couple left the chapel and entered the lobby. As the groom patted his brow, Rock fingered the remote. Beads of sweat filled the screen.

“Look at that poor bastard,” Rock laughed. “He’s cooked, isn’t he, Marcus?”

“I’ll say,” Doucette replied.

Shaz shot her husband a murderous look.

The Hispanic couple entered the casino and celebrated by shooting craps together. The bride blew on the dice for luck before sending them down the table. Rock hit a button and the dice filled the screen. A seven, a winner.

“You’ve got that down pretty good,” Billy said.

“Yes, I have,” Rock said. “When the Gypsies are getting married this afternoon, you’re going to be down on the floor, following them, and I’m going to be watching you.”

Good , Billy thought. Watch me, but don’t watch my friends .

“What exactly do you want me to do?” he asked.

“Expose the Gypsies’ scam so we can get it on video,” Rock said. “Once you do that, security will haul them into the back and teach them a lesson.”

“You going to rough them up?”

“That’s none of your fucking business,” Rock snapped, “but since you asked, I’ll tell you. We’re going to take the leader of the gang and his wife and crush their fucking skulls in. We’ll tell the police they put up a fight and had to be subdued. I’d kill the whole fucking party, but I don’t want the publicity.” He studied Billy’s face. “You have a problem with that?”

Billy shook his head.

“Come again,” Rock said.

“No, I don’t have a problem with that.”

“I might even ask you to help us. Got a problem with that ?”

“Nope.”

“Glad to hear it. Now get outta here. I hate looking at guys prettier than me.”

Rock glanced over his shoulder at Shaz. “Show our friend out.”

Shaz came up beside Billy and locked arms. Instead of escorting him to the door, she marched the young hustler across the office to the paneled wall. With a press of her palm, a hidden door sprung open, followed by a gentle push that said he was to go first.

He entered the ultimate man cave. Full bar, the latest pinball machines, the biggest flat screen he’d ever seen, and a collection of lewd paintings of delicious black chicks. This had to be Rock’s secret hangout. Shaz went to the bar and pulled a bottle off the shelf.

“How do you like your scotch?” she asked.

“Straight up.”

“In case you haven’t realized it, Rock digs you.”

“But he doesn’t trust me.”

“Don’t sweat it. Rock doesn’t trust anybody.”

“I’m not appreciating the difference.”

“Rock likes your style. He didn’t like Crunchie at all. He thought the old hustler was looking down his nose at him because he was black.”

“I didn’t see Crunchie hanging around. Did you lose him?”

“In a manner of speaking, yes.” She came around the bar with the drinks and handed him one. They clinked glasses.

“Here’s to joining our team.”

“I’ll drink to that.”

The scotch burned going down. Shaz drank hers like it was water and rattled the ice cubes in her empty glass.

“Come here. I want to show you something.”

She led him to a private elevator in the corner of the room and hit the call button. The doors parted, and the breath caught in his throat. Crunchie was inside, tied to a chair, his mouth frozen in agony. Cause of death was two knife wounds. The first a lateral slash across the forehead. An old street-fighting trick, designed to blind an opponent with a sheet of blood. The second a stab to the heart, the knife left in to prevent excessive bleeding. The knife’s handle was carved to resemble a Mexican sugar skull.

One of Rock’s bodyguards had done this. Or maybe both had.

“It’s time you and I got to know each other a little better,” she said.

“In there?” he asked incredulously.

“Yeah, in there.”

They got in, and she hit a button. As they descended, she covered his face in kisses while undoing the front of his shirt. Billy put his arms around her waist and drew her close. She shut her eyes and moaned pleasurably. She was lost in the moment, and his hands went through Crunchie’s pockets and found a wallet. He extracted the slip of paper with the information about his crew that Crunchie had taken off his cell phone. He did all of these things while trying not to look into Crunchie’s face out of fear he might never forget.

The elevator bounced to a stop, and the doors parted.

“You ready?” she asked.

“You serious?”

“I’m always serious when it comes to sex. I can use the key and lock us in. We can fuck standing in the corner, or on top of him. Ménage à trois with a dead man is the ultimate turn-on.”

“You’ve done this before?”

“You bet. Why are you looking at me that way?”

The dead were not meant to be messed with. Had he killed the old grifter himself, it would have been with a bullet to the back of the head. He would not have made him suffer.

He stepped out of the elevator and spent a moment getting his bearings. He was in a private parking garage beneath the hotel, and he started walking toward an exit.

Shaz called his name, begging him to come back.

Even bad people had souls. They were hidden most of the time, but they were still there. His soul had been scorched, and he wondered if it would ever be the same.

He found the stairwell and hurried up it.

Mags sat in the NV Energy van, waiting for the trap to be sprung. Billy’s crew was going to get busted, and it was all her fault because she’d overslept.

It was the story of her life. She couldn’t blame fate or bad luck for the dumb mistakes she’d made. The choices had all been hers, and she’d screwed up every single time.

Thinking about it wasn’t going to do her any good, and she stared at the video monitors trained on Galaxy’s hotel and casino. The gaming agents were using a facial-recognition software program to locate Billy’s crew as they entered the casino. The agents had scanned the photo of Billy’s crew taken inside the employee parking garage into a computer, and now the computer’s software program was comparing those faces against the tourists going inside.

Poor Billy was a goner. The gaming board had the joint surrounded, determined to get their man. Their reputations, and Frank’s promotion, were riding on it.

At two forty-five, the gruff female agent said, “I’ve got two on monitor number five.”

Mags located monitor number five on the wall. The sex kittens from Billy’s crew were entering the hotel with garment bags slung over their shoulders, while one also carried a Nike gym bag. The female agent relayed the news with a walkie-talkie.

Frank charged into the van. “Show me,” he said.

The tape of the sex kittens was replayed. Frank brought his ugly face up to the screen.

“What about the other members of the crew?” he asked.

“They haven’t arrived yet,” the female agent said.

“You sure?”

“Of course I’m sure. The facial-recognition program would have made them.”

“What do you think’s in the clothing bags?”

“Disguises. They’ll change in a stall in the ladies’ room, or have a room in the hotel. They won’t look the same when they’re robbing the place.”

“Play the tape again, and do a close-up of their faces,” he said.

“What for?”

“Just do it.”

She shot him a simmering look while fingering the toggle on her keyboard. It gave Mags small comfort knowing that she wasn’t the only female that Frank treated like dirt. The tape ran again and was frozen. The sex kittens’ faces expanded and came into sharp focus on the monitor.