He turned around and went back into the Stage Door. Up at the bar, a legless vet was chatting up a blind girl. The vet wore a Vietnam veteran tiger-stripe ball cap. Billy had bought the vet enough beers to feel comfortable interrupting the conversation.
“Twenty bucks for your cap,” Billy said.
“Make it thirty, and it’s yours,” the vet said.
“Sold.”
Money changed hands. Billy put on the cap and threw on his shades. Outside, the Infiniti idled by the curb. He trotted toward the Strip with the vehicle right behind him.
Twenty-Three
Reaching the Strip, Billy headed north, the Infiniti trailing behind him in the right lane. The sun had gone to bed and the all-night party was under way, with drunken tourists walking an imaginary tightrope down the sidewalk.
As Billy walked, he tried to see above heads in the crowd. When the Strip’s hotels were booked solid, there were a quarter million people packed into the town. Right now, it felt like most of them were walking with him on the sidewalk.
This wasn’t going to work. Tommy Boswell could be ten feet away, and he wasn’t going to spot him. He decided to send Tommy a text.
Looking for you. Put your arm in the air.
Fifty feet ahead, a disembodied arm shot into the air. Not seeing who it belonged to, he climbed onto a machine that dispensed free flyers filled with ads for hookers. Tommy Boswell came into view, hustling down the sidewalk. Most cheats kept in shape by running, and Tommy had the long, effortless strides of someone who’d put in the miles.
A gang of determined gaming agents gave chase. Billy identified them by the bad haircuts they wore like badges of honor. Grimes was in front, yelling for Tommy to halt. When Tommy didn’t oblige him, Grimes reached into his sports jacket for his sidearm. Gaming agents were allowed to shoot people who robbed the casinos, even if the thieves were unarmed. This was going to end badly. Jumping down, he pulled out his wallet and began throwing handfuls of cash into the air. “Free money! Who wants some free money?”
The crowd went ape. People screamed and grasped at the bills. Two tourists claimed a fifty at once. They ripped the bill in half and started fighting.
Tommy Boswell burst out of the crowd. “Hey, stranger.”
“My friends are in the black Infiniti,” Billy said. “Jump in the back and hit the floor.”
“You coming?”
“Nope, I’m staying here. See you later.”
Tommy ran between cars into the middle of the street, bent down, and did a duck walk to the Infiniti, where he opened the back door and jumped into the backseat. The door wasn’t closed before Cory cut across two lanes of traffic, hung a left at the light, and vanished down a side street. Cory, once king of the fuckups, had pulled through like a champ.
Grimes and his posse were closing in. Billy flipped open the newspaper box and grabbed a handful of flyers. The cover read BUST YOUR NUT IN A CLASSY SLUT. Only in Vegas was that shit acceptable, and he walked with the crowd.
“Free newspaper. Who wants a free newspaper?”
At the block’s end he stole a glance over his shoulder. The gaming agents were at the newspaper box, searching for their man. Grimes was on his cell phone and looked livid. Grimes was many things; stupid wasn’t one of them. Thieves did not disappear without a trace, and Grimes knew the wool had been pulled over his eyes. But would he figure out that it was Maggie Flynn who’d betrayed him?
Yes, he realized, Grimes probably would.
Mags stood at the window in her suite in LINQ and stared down at the scene on the Strip. She’d watched a man run into the busy street and jump into a black SUV and the vehicle burn out. The guy could have been anyone; only her gut told her it was the same cheat she’d seen in LINQ’s surveillance room ten minutes ago. Her text to Billy had saved the guy’s neck.
She buried her face in her hands. She should have felt elated, yet all she wanted to do was slip into bed and pull the covers over her head. She wasn’t a grifter anymore, she was an actress, and if she didn’t start behaving like one, her new career would go off the rails faster than a runaway freight train.
She mixed herself a drink. Raising the glass to her lips, she heard a knock on her door. She stuck her eye to the peephole and spied Rand in the hallway.
“What’s up?” she asked, letting him in.
“Can you believe we actually got to see a real live cheat ripping off a casino?” Rand said. “Amazing. Do you think the gaming board caught that guy?”
Mags parked herself on the couch and worked on her drink. “Who knows.”
“Grimes said they were going to put the heavy on him. What does that mean?”
“If they got the chance, they’d knock the guy to the ground and pile up on him.”
“Why would they do that?”
“Because it hurts.”
Rand got a light beer from the bar. He did his best thinking when he had a prop in his hand. “That maneuver the guy was doing with his chips. What’s it called again?”
“Capping. The cheat adds a chip to his bet if his hand’s strong. The opposite is pinching. That’s when the cheat steals a chip if the hand’s a loser. The ultimate is the Savannah, when you switch the entire bet under the dealer’s nose.”
“How does that work?”
“The Savannah employs reverse psychology. The cheat bets two five-dollar chips with a five-thousand-dollar chip hidden on the bottom. If the cheat wins the bet, the house has to pay the cheat off. If the cheat loses the bet, he switches the bet for three five-dollar chips.”
“Is that possible?”
“Yeah, with the right distraction.”
“Wouldn’t the dealer notice?”
“That’s where the reverse psychology comes in. The dealer is trained to watch winning bets, not losers. The switch flies right by. It’s a perfect move.”
“I want to work that into the pilot.”
“When?”
“First thing tomorrow.”
“My daughter’s flying in tonight. Can’t this wait a few days?”
“It won’t take thirty minutes. The Savannah. I love it. Get some sleep. You’re looking a little rough around the edges.”
“I didn’t say yes,” Mags reminded him.
Rand smiled like it was a done deal and left the suite. Mags hated when men played her. She poured herself a refill. There was another knock on her door. Through the peephole, she spied Billy in the hallway wearing a Vietnam vet cap. She pulled the door open without undoing the chain. “I don’t want to see you anymore. Go away.”
Billy’s face caved. “Then why the text?”
“I did it for old time’s sake. We’re done, Billy. You have to accept that.”
“But we could make a killing together.”
“You’re probably right. I just don’t want to be a thief anymore.”
“You sure don’t act like it.”
She tried to slam the door in Billy’s face, but his foot kept it open.
“There’s a reason I came,” he said. “Grimes is going to figure out that you stuck a knife in his back. You need to be ready for him.”
“I can handle Grimes. You need to leave, Billy. But before you do that, you need to promise me something. I want you to leave me alone. No more unexpected calls. I have enough drama in my life.”
He looked hurt. Mags hated treating him this way but didn’t see that she had any other choice.
“I’ll leave you alone, but I want something in return,” he said.
“Go ahead.”
“The Gypsies have never been busted. How did Grimes make my friend this afternoon?”
“I thought you’d never ask. Stay right there.” Mags got her purse and removed the photo of the Gypsies having breakfast with the claimer that she’d swiped off Blake’s desk, which she passed through the door to him. “The woman with the white hair is a claimer who your friends used to steal a jackpot from Galaxy. Grimes made the connection and has distributed the photo to every surveillance department in town. The Gypsies are screwed. You can keep the photo.”