Night Train stared at the formula before meeting Billy’s gaze.
“You’re good.”
“Glad you think so.”
“How long you been in the rackets?”
“Since I was fifteen. You?”
“Twelve. My father ran crooked card games in our basement and taught me the ropes. So how the hell did you cheat us, anyway?”
“I bought a few decks from the hotel gift shop and doctored the edges with a nail file. Then I convinced the girl working the counter to take the doctored decks back.”
“So when I had the concierge bring up a couple of decks, he brought decks from the gift shop. That’s sweet. I didn’t suspect a thing.”
“No, you didn’t.”
Night Train took the news in stride; he’d been beaten at his own game and wasn’t afraid to admit it. Billy pushed the paper bag across the table to his host, who acted surprised.
“I don’t want your money,” he said. “But I do want to talk to you and your teammates. I have a business proposition for you.”
Night Train scratched his chin. “And what would that be?”
“I want you to fix the Super Bowl.”
“You’re crazy. The league constantly watches for fixes. We’d all go down.”
“No, we won’t. I want to fix some prop bets. The game’s outcome won’t be affected.”
“Hey man, don’t think the players haven’t discussed fixing prop bets. Problem is, you don’t know who’s going to get the ball first.”
“I have that covered. The coin toss will be rigged.”
“Meaning you’ve got the head referee in your back pocket. Well, that’s an interesting angle. Our kicker always boots the opening kickoff out of the end zone, which takes special teams out of the picture. The defense could then commit the game’s first penalty from scrimmage and suffer the first injury, and no one would be the wiser. I like it. For the sake of argument, let’s say I get my boys to agree to your fix. What’s our take?”
The deal that Billy had struck with Broken Tooth was that Night Train and his pals would receive four million to fix the game. But Billy had decided he didn’t like those terms. Broken Tooth couldn’t be trusted to hold up his end of the bargain, leaving Billy with little choice but to cut Broken Tooth out and offer Night Train a more lucrative arrangement.
“Half,” the young hustler said.
“Half of what?”
“Of every bet we place with the Vegas sports books. Since I don’t know what the line on the prop bets is, I can only guess.”
“Try me.”
“Seven and a half million.”
“You’re going to give us half of seven and a half million bucks?”
“No, your take will be seven and a half million, give or take a few hundred grand. You’ll get a full accounting of every bet and every payoff. After the money is collected, your share will be wired to an offshore bank account, which I assume you have. Sound good to you?”
“I’d like to see some good faith money first. It will help me sell this to my boys.”
“How much do you need?”
“A hundred grand apiece up front.”
“Five hundred thousand bucks. I can do that.”
Night Train flashed a smile. Billy had said all the right things. The famous football player rose from the table and escorted his guest through the villa to the front door.
“Do we have a deal?” Billy asked.
“I’m sold, but my boys will need convincing,” Night Train said. “They usually do what I say, but I still need to say it. Clete and Assassin are playing golf and won’t be back until later. Let me huddle up and discuss. When do you need an answer?”
“Tonight. Sooner if possible.”
“I’ll call you once I have things nailed down.”
They shook hands. It was how business deals were done between hustlers — no contracts or fancy lawyers in pinstripes, just a pumping of the flesh.
“One more thing,” Night Train said. “I want you to teach me how you doctored the cards. I’d like to use that.”
“You got it,” Billy said.
He took the Strip home. It was late, and the sun had started to descend. As it did, partiers appeared on the Strip’s wide sidewalks like predators beginning their daily hunt. Rain or shine, the ritual was always the same; with daylight’s passing, the real adventure began.
Traffic crawled. Casino billboards ran continuous loops of the acts playing in their showrooms. Singers came and went, but it was the magic acts and impersonators who hung around the longest, their illusions more in keeping with the false dreams of wealth that the casinos pushed upon their customers. “Caller Unknown” lit up his cell phone’s screen. It was a fifty-buck fine to talk while driving. He decided to risk it.
“Hello?”
“This is Broken Tooth. Did you get this thing nailed down?”
“I just left Night Train’s villa. Night Train is on board but needs to talk to his teammates and convince them. We’re going to talk later and finalize the deal.”
“Night Train the boss. The others will go along, don’t you think?”
“They should. There’s been one change in plans. Night Train wants five hundred thousand in good faith money. I told him yes.”
Broken Tooth cursed up a storm at this unexpected change in plans. Billy smiled into the cell phone. The fact that Broken Tooth was going to get cut out of the deal didn’t mean that the Chinese gangster shouldn’t pay for Night Train and his pals’ signing bonuses. To Billy’s way of thinking, this was only fair, considering the crap Broken Tooth was putting him through.
“You think I’ve got that kind of money lying around?” Broken Tooth yelled.
“You want me to call him, tell him the deal’s off?” Billy said.
“I’ll get money, but if you pull a stunt like this again, I’ll put a bullet in your driver’s head. You want that?”
“No.”
“Then stop pulling shit with me.”
Leon’s life was on the line, and Billy needed to be careful. “Speaking of my driver, how’s he holding up?”
“Your driver’s got a big mouth. Real asshole.”
“You didn’t kill him, did you?”
“My bodyguards stuck his head in toilet and he nearly drowned. Guess he didn’t know how to hold his breath. You want to talk to him? He sitting right here.”
“Hey Billy, how’s it going?” a weakened Leon said moments later.
“You don’t sound good,” Billy said, regretting the exchange with Broken Tooth.
“I’ve been better. You really think you can pull this thing off?”
“I’m sure going to try.”
“Give me some odds.”
“I’d say I’ve got a sixty-forty shot at making it happen.”
“I can live with that.”
Broken Tooth came back on the line. “I’ll call you later to hear how things are going. Don’t let me down, Cunningham.”
“I’m going to make this happen. Just don’t kill my driver,” he said.
A bicycle cop appeared in his side mirror, pedaling fast. The sheriff’s department maintained hundreds of hidden surveillance cameras on the Strip, the cops doing their best to keep order. He pulled his registration and proof of insurance out of the glove compartment.
“I’m about to get a ticket for talking on my cell phone. Talk to you later.”
Twenty
“Cut!”
Mags stopped in midsentence to stare at her director, a spoiled Hollywood brat named Hudson, Hud for short. Hud had a neatly trimmed goatee and an effeminate silver earring that she would have enjoyed ripping off his pink earlobe. They were on the twelfth take of a scene that a high school senior could have shot on a cell phone.
“What’s wrong?” she asked.