James Swain - Take Down

“Leave him alone,” she declared.

“And if I don’t?” Rock said.

“I’ll shoot you, and those dumb Mexican bitches as well.”

“Is that a fact?”

“I’m not kidding, Rock.”

“Why you doing this? I thought Marcus was just a meal ticket.”

“Maybe so, but he’s the only one I’ve got. Stay away from him.”

Rock had already decided how he was going to handle the situation. He dipped his chin, and his bodyguards drew knives from their sleeves, the polished blades sparkling in the bright daylight. Before joining his organization, they’d murdered scores of rival members of the drug cartel they’d worked for. Killing was in their blood, and their faces took on feral expressions.

“Take her out.”

With feline quickness they crossed the office and attacked from opposite sides. Shaz fired at them amateurishly, the bullets spraying the walls. One of the bodyguards caught a ricochet and brought her hand up to her chest in surprise.

The second bodyguard let out a cry for her wounded comrade. She knocked the gun away and began poking Shaz in the abdomen with the point of her knife, determined to make her suffer. Shaz was a dead woman; she just didn’t know it yet.

Rock shifted his attention to Doucette, who was crawling on his knees toward the door in a sorry attempt to escape. Rock despised weakness and realized what a terrible mistake he’d made trusting Doucette to run his casino. He got on top of the casino boss and raised his walking stick.

“Say your prayers.”

Cory and Morris watched the rental peel out of the casino parking lot. Ike and T-Bird were going to be in for a rude surprise when they discovered the briefcase was filled with rocks.

Their job done, they began the long walk around the property to the Strip. The escape plan called for them to grab a cab and head back to Gabe’s. Vegas cabs were not allowed to pick up rides in the street, and they had already scoped out a taxi stand a block from Galaxy.

Cory was sick with worry. He’d forgotten to wear his disguise inside the casino, which was the worst mistake a cheater could make. He decided to confess to Billy before Gabe told Billy what he’d done. That way, he’d have a chance to apologize and beg for mercy. But before he did that, he needed to tell Morris. It was only fair that Morris knew first.

“Listen, man, I’ve got a confession to make,” Cory said.

“This sounds bad,” Morris said.

“It is.”

“Worse than the time we were sharing a bed and you had the runs?”

“Much worse.”

“Lay it on me.”

A sickening barrage of gunfire ripped a hole in the afternoon air, the sound coming from the street where the two ex-gridiron stars had just gone. Across the parking lot, a door to an NV Energy truck banged open, and gaming agents wearing NV uniforms piled out, brandishing guns.

“It’s a raid. Get inside,” Cory said.

Inside they found another bad scene. Cory grabbed a cocktail waitress and learned that a brawl in the lobby had spread and people were panicking.

They decided to try the front entrance and hustled across the casino floor. Mobs of players huddled around the felt-covered tables, while dealers and pit bosses stood statue-like at their posts, guarding the trays of precious chips in their possession.

The hotel lobby was no better. A crowd had gathered and was trying to leave. Blocking their way was a line of stern-faced gaming agents checking ID.

“Maybe there’s another exit we can use,” Cory said.

They retreated into the casino. The gaming agents disguised as NV workers were now blocking the rear exit, setting the trap, and Cory knew what that meant: arrest, bail, lawyers, and if the crew got lucky, a plea deal that would let them get out of the slammer before they were wrinkled and gray. Or maybe there was a solution right in front of his face that he wasn’t seeing. He walked over to a Wheel of Fortune slot machine and fed a crisp twenty into the bill feeder.

“Are you crazy? What are you doing?” Morris asked.

“Thinking,” Cory said.

“Hurry up, man.”

The slots in the Strip casinos were tight, and his money was gone in the blink of an eye. As he donated another twenty to the machine, Travis and Gabe took a pair of seats beside him.

“What happened to the assholes?” Travis asked.

“I think the cops took them out,” Cory said.

Pepper and Misty took the chairs next to Gabe and Travis, still wearing their Mexican hit-women disguises. Misty dropped the briefcase with the money orders to the floor.

“That sucker’s heavy. Anyone seen Billy?” Misty asked.

“Billy just texted me,” Travis said. “He wants to meet up in the men’s room.”

“Why there?” Misty asked.

“No surveillance cameras in the john,” Travis explained.

Billy sat on the elevated chair in the shoe-shine stand and studied his crew as they came in. No one was freaking out or crying. That was good, because they needed to stay calm if the plan he’d hatched to get them out of the casino was going to work.

A plastic bag lay at his feet. He picked it up and passed out the ball caps, T-shirts, and cheap pairs of sunglasses he’d lifted from one of the casino’s clothing stores.

“Put these on. We got made earlier in the parking lot,” he explained.

As his crew donned their new disguises, he continued to study them. “I think I can get you out of here without anyone getting busted. But you need to listen closely.”

That got their attention. They huddled up, and he explained how he wanted them to go to the lobby and split up. He was going to create a diversion that would allow them to get outside, and their chances of escaping increased dramatically if they ran away individually. It was an old trick dating back to the Wild West, when cheaters would escape from town by riding in opposite directions on their horses, making it harder for the sheriff to chase them down.

“What about you? How are you getting out?” Travis asked.

“Don’t worry about me,” Billy said.

His crew filed out of the john. He touched Misty’s sleeve and told her to stay.

“How do you like carrying eight million bucks around?” he asked.

“It’s scary. I keep thinking I’m going to get busted,” she said.

“I’ve got a plan for that, too.”

“You’ve got a plan for everything.”

He’d taught every member of his crew how to count cards at blackjack. He used the basic Hi-Low system, in which point values were assigned to each card dealt that allowed the player to keep a running count of the deck’s composition. He did this so his crew would have an alternate means of income, and also to test their memories. Misty had easily picked up the skill and proven to have a memory as good as his own. He explained what he wanted done with the money orders, then gave her the code to the service elevator that he’d seen Ike use the day before to reach the unfinished fourteenth floor of the hotel. She repeated the instructions and code back to him.

“Text me when you’re done,” he said.

“How are you getting out?” she asked, repeating Travis’s concern.

“I’ll think of something. One more thing.” He placed the suitcase on the sink and transferred the money orders into the plastic shopping bag the gifts had come in.

“You think of everything,” she said.

Misty left, and he doused his face with cold water in the sink. He’d forgotten to steal a disguise for himself, which was going to make it harder for him to get out of the casino, but not impossible.

The minutes slipped by. One by one, his crew texted they were ready. Misty’s text came last. He’d given her a tricky job, and he wondered how she was dealing with the responsibility of hiding the score. Would she rise to the challenge, or fall flat on her face?