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“Really? Sounds right up your alley.”

“I don’t like sports betting. Too many things can go wrong. Broken Tooth got pissed when I said no, so he kidnapped my limo driver, Leon, and is holding him ransom.”

“You have a driver?”

“Part-time. Broken Tooth had his goons kidnap Leon and is holding him until I get this done.”

“Is Leon a member of your crew?”

“I’ve told you, I don’t have a crew.”

“Right. Does Leon drive the getaway car when you do your jobs?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Grimes finished the calamari. So far everything Cunningham had said rang true, but he wasn’t going to make a decision just yet. Wiping his mouth with a paper napkin, he said, “Which Rebel players did you talk to?”

“I met with Night Train McClain and his buddies on defense. Night Train wasn’t interested and told me to take a hike. That’s why I called you. If I tell Broken Tooth the bad news, he’ll have one of his henchmen put a bullet in Leon’s skull.”

“You haven’t told Broken Tooth.”

“Nope.”

Grimes sipped his beer in thought. He’d been trying to run down Cunningham for ten years and had come up short. Like a grand master at chess, Cunningham was always several moves ahead of his opponents, a master at anticipating what his adversaries were about to try.

“What’s your plan?”

“Broken Tooth wants to give Night Train and his pals upfront money as a show of good faith. I was going to tell Broken Tooth that the fix was in and pick up the money.”

“How much we talking about?”

“Five hundred grand.”

This was sounding better all the time. “And that’s where the gaming board comes in.”

“Correct. I’ll wear a wire when I go see Broken Tooth. I’ll get him to talk about the fix, and you can record it. Then I’ll get the five hundred grand from him and hand it over to you. That should be enough to arrest his sorry ass, don’t you think?”

It was more than enough. Broken Tooth would go down hard, and Grimes would get the credit. If that didn’t get him kicked upstairs, nothing would.

“When is this meeting with Broken Tooth taking place?”

“I’m waiting for him to call me. Hopefully this afternoon.”

Grimes winced. He needed time to set this up properly. “Can you stall him?”

“I can try.”

They finished their drinks. Cunningham’s cell phone on the bar began to vibrate. The young hustler raised the cell phone to his face and answered the call.

“Hello?”

Grimes’s hearing was better than a dog’s. The caller was Chinese and had a voice as pleasing as fingernails scraping a chalkboard. Grimes heard the words Super Bowl come out of the caller’s mouth and knew that everything Cunningham had said was true. Flashbulbs exploded, and for a moment he could hardly think straight. This was the moment he’d been waiting for, and he didn’t care if a little scumbag hustler was responsible for it.

“Tell him yes,” Grimes whispered.

“What time?” Cunningham said into the phone. “Six o’clock tonight?”

Grimes looked at his watch. It was three thirty. Two and a half hours was hardly enough time to set up a proper sting, but it would have to do.

“Tell him you’ll be there,” Grimes whispered.

“That works for me,” Cunningham said into the phone. “Where?”

Cunningham motioned for something to write with. Grimes pulled a pen from the pocket of his sports coat, and Cunningham wrote down an address on a cocktail napkin.

“I’ll be there.” Cunningham hung up.

Grimes paid for the drinks and food. It was his way of telling Cunningham that the past was behind them. Cunningham seemed to appreciate the gesture and stuck out his hand.

“This feels like the beginning of a beautiful friendship,” the young hustler said.

It was all Grimes could do not to wring Cunningham’s neck. He hated Cunningham with all his heart and soul, but that was meaningless right now. Grimes needed help. And when you were drowning, you couldn’t be too choosy about who threw you a life preserver.

Grimes briskly shook the young hustler’s hand.

Thirty-Five

Wearing a wire just wasn’t what it used to be.

Back in the good old days, a plant would go to a meeting wired up, get a crook to make an incriminating statement, and record it so the DA could use it against the crook in court.

This was easier said than done. Wearing a wire was cumbersome and consisted of a miniature tape recorder attached to the informant’s waist, with wires secured to a microphone that was taped to the informant’s chest. It was a bulky setup that required the informant to wear a long-sleeve shirt and a sports jacket to hide the apparatus. If a wire slipped free and made itself visible, or if the crook patted the informant down and discovered the deception, the plant was forced to jump through a window to avoid retaliation.

Not anymore. Today, wires were digital. An informant no longer needed to have a tape recorder attached to his body. Instead, he wore miniaturized recording equipment hidden in the button of his jacket, the point of a pen, a cuff link, or the edge of a tie clip. He could be patted down by a crook and not get caught. Thanks to the technological revolution, snitching had gotten a whole lot easier.

Billy sat in a room of the Nevada Gaming Control Board’s headquarters getting outfitted with a wire. Never in his life had he expected to be doing this. The gaming board was the cat and he was the mouse, and the mouse never willingly entered the cat’s lair. But he was desperate to save Leon and help Maggie, and sometimes desperation was the mother of invention.

“Hold still,” Grimes said.

Grimes had decided to put the wire in a button on Billy’s silk shirt. Grimes had chosen the top button because it would be closest to Broken Tooth’s mouth when the Chinese gangster started talking and incriminated himself in the fixing of the Super Bowl. Because English was a second language to Broken Tooth, it would be important for Billy to stand close and get Broken Tooth to speak clearly so the recording equipment in the gaming board van would be able to record what Broken Tooth was saying. Otherwise, they were wasting their time.

Billy looked down at the button Grimes was attaching to his shirt. The shirt was made by Versace and had a busy blue-and-gold Baroque print with front-button closure and a hidden placket. He’d paid $600 for the shirt, and it was one of his favorites. The button hiding the wire was a different shade of beige than the shirt’s other buttons but was hidden by the placket.

“The button’s the wrong color,” Billy said.

“It’s close enough. Besides, he’s not going to see it,” Grimes said.

“He’ll see the button if my shirt parts open.”

“What are the chances of that happening?”

“Fifty-fifty. Either the shirt opens up, or it doesn’t. Can you get another button? Just to be on the safe side?”

“This is the only one I’ve got. Look, he’s not going to see it. Just go in there, get him talking, and once he implicates himself, we’ll break down the door and bust him and his goons. Your driver will walk away unharmed.”

“My driver’s name is Leon,” Billy said.

“So?”

“I care about Leon. That’s why I came to you. I want to save him from getting shot. Are we clear about this?”

“Sure. No reason to lose your cool.”

“I just wanted to make sure we were on the same page.”

The special agent nodded like they were on the same page. Only that was a lie. Grimes didn’t give a rat’s ass if Leon walked away with his skin; Grimes’s only concern was having his ugly puss splashed across the front page of the newspaper and getting his long-overdue promotion.