Sixteen
Most cheats in Vegas lived in sleepy neighborhoods with neatly trimmed front lawns. Their children attended public schools and their wives belonged to the PTA and were den mothers with the Cub Scouts. They tried to blend in, and for the most part they succeeded.
Billy was having none of that. You could either have a long, boring life or a short, exciting one, and he’d opted for life in the fast lane. His penthouse in Turnberry Towers was a perfect example. It was twenty-six hundred square feet of pure opulence, filled with the finest furnishings money could buy. His wardrobe was nothing to sneeze at, either, with enough threads and tailored jackets to stock a haberdashery. Throw in all the expensive watches, cigarette lighters, and jewelry he’d accumulated over the years, and you had a real statement.
Most cheats would never flaunt their wealth, fearful that the gaming board would one day bust them and confiscate everything they owned. Billy saw things differently. The gaming board could nip at his heels all they wanted; it wasn’t going to change the way he lived.
He pulled into Turnberry, and a uniformed valet opened his door. He made it a point to tip the staff generously and give them gifts at the holidays. As a result, they watched his back.
“Good evening, Mr. Cunningham. Will you be going out later? I can park the car nearby, if you’d like,” the valet said.
“I’m staying in tonight,” he said.
“Certainly. By the way, two gentlemen are in the lobby to see you.”
Billy had experienced enough surprises in the past few days to last a lifetime.
“Describe them,” he said.
“They’re both young with curly hair,” the valet replied. “They said they needed to speak with you. I thought it was best you know.”
It was Cory and Morris. They aspired to run their own crew one day and often met with Billy to discuss scams they were cooking up. An unannounced visit meant something was up.
“Thanks for the heads-up. Do you follow football?”
“Of course, Mr. Cunningham. Doesn’t everybody?”
“Who are you betting on for the Super Bowl?”
“The Rebels.”
“What’s the point spread?”
“Last time I checked, the game was even money.”
Inside the lobby, he found Cory and Morris sitting on a couch beneath a piece of wall art that doubled as a waterfall. Both were buried in their cell phones and didn’t see him enter. He took their heads and gently knocked them together. “Wake up, knuckleheads,” he said.
“Hey, Billy!” they both said in surprise.
“It’s a beautiful day. Why aren’t you outside stealing?”
“We need to talk to you about Travis,” Cory said.
“What about him?”
“Travis called us earlier,” Cory said. “He’s putting together his own crew and wants us to join him.”
Billy’s jaw tightened. “You can’t be serious.”
“It gets worse. I asked Travis what our roles would be and how much he planned to pay us. He promised to give us a bigger share than you’re giving us. Then he dropped the bomb and told me that Broken Tooth is backing him, if you can believe that.”
“Travis is in business with Broken Tooth?” Billy said.
“That’s what he said.”
“How did you leave it?”
“I told him that we needed to think about it. Travis asked me not to tell you, and I promised him that I wouldn’t. Then we drove over here.”
Billy’s head was spinning. He’d spared Travis last night, and this was how the big man repaid him. He needed to put a lid on this right now.
“Let’s take this upstairs,” he said.
Despite what people thought, there was honor among thieves, along with a list of rules that people who made their living stealing were expected to live by. It was called the Vory v. Zakone, or Thieves’ Code, and had been established in Russia centuries ago. Billy had been taught the code from his mentor, Lou Profaci, and in turn had drummed it into the heads of every person who’d run with him.
They sat at the dining room table. Billy spent a moment sketching a cartoon on a pad of paper. Done, he turned the pad around and slid it across the table so Cory and Morris could see it.
“It looks like a bag of money,” Morris said.
“That’s exactly what it is,” he said. “In Russia, thieves wear tattoos to signify their loyalty to their profession. A tattoo with a bag of money means the thief is committed to stealing and wouldn’t resort to killing to make his living or put another thief in harm’s way. If a thief broke this rule, the other thieves would kill him, no questions asked. Make sense?”
Cory and Morris had been raised in a foster home and often reacted identically when a question was posed to them. It was unnerving until you got used to it. They both swallowed hard.
“Yeah, it makes sense,” Cory said.
“I get it,” Morris said.
“Travis broke that rule,” he said. “Broken Tooth approached Travis wanting to fix the Super Bowl. Problem is, Broken Tooth needs me to do the fixing. Broken Tooth knew I’d never partner up with him, so he went through a back door with Travis’s help.”
Cory’s face turned sour. “Why would Travis do that?”
“That’s a good question. Travis said he needed the money, but that’s bullshit. I would have given him the money. He knows that, and hopefully so do the rest of you.”
“You’d be the first person I’d come to if I got in a jam,” Cory said.
“Me, too,” Morris added.
“Now you’re telling me that Travis wants to run his own crew, and he’s got Broken Tooth’s backing. That doesn’t make sense, either. If Travis wanted to leave, I wouldn’t have stopped him. There’s something else at play here. All I can guess is, I said something out of line, and Travis has been walking around holding a grudge, waiting to pay me back.”
“That’s way fucked up,” Cory said.
“Travis is a traitor,” Morris said. “Why didn’t you shoot him when you had the chance? The stupid prick got Leon kidnapped.”
Billy didn’t like to be challenged. Not that long ago, he’d cut Cory and Morris loose, then changed his mind and brought them back into the fold. “I gave Travis a second chance just like I gave you guys a second chance. I’m not apologizing for it. Understood?”
They both nodded simultaneously.
“That doesn’t mean that Travis isn’t going to get what’s coming to him,” he went on. “It just won’t happen right away. This Super Bowl fix is huge, and I want to see it through.”
“But you are going to pay him back,” Cory said.
“Damn straight I am. But not right away. Revenge is a plate best served cold.”
They both nodded and smiled.
“I need to ask you a question,” he said. “Broken Tooth is going to give us the Vegas sports books to fleece, while he takes everything else. Travis said we could make ten million bucks on the four proposition bets. Does that number sound right to you?”
“Travis is lowballing you,” Cory said. “He’s probably planning to make more and share the money with Broken Tooth, the dirty prick.”
“Give me a real number.”
“Fifteen million, easy,” Cory said.
“And not draw heat?”
“There’s so much money bet on the Super Bowl that no one will know.”
The Super Bowl fix was sounding better all the time. He fetched three bottles of beer from the fridge, and they went onto the balcony to toast their new venture. The sunlight was starting to fade, soon to be replaced by five million watts of neon burning up the desert night.
“Look, Billy, this all sounds fine and dandy, but what about Leon?” Cory asked, never one to mince words. “Is he going to come out of this with his skin?”