Forty-One
The evening had started innocently enough. Amber had wanted to check out the shops on the promenade tucked on a narrow strip of real estate between the Flamingo Hotel and the LINQ. Seeing a chance to do some mother/daughter bonding, Mags had agreed.
The promenade was nothing to write home about. Overpriced sunglasses, brightly colored sneakers made in China, and a shop that turned cell phone photos into priceless memories to last a lifetime. The stores were mostly empty and would be gone in a few months.
The excursion was starting to feel strained. Mags had spent so little time with Amber during her daughter’s upbringing that it was difficult to have a casual conversation about even the most mundane topics. Mags didn’t know her daughter’s likes, dislikes, dreams, or the things that made her happy. It was a big blank canvas.
When all else fails, get something to eat. Mags offered to buy dinner, and Amber said okay. The promenade featured a host of restaurants that served everything from barbecue to sushi. Mags had heard good things about a Mexican joint called Chayo, so they went there.
Chayo had a hopping bar that served fifty brands of tequila and a mechanical bull in the center of the room. Bull rides cost a few bucks and lasted a minute, if the rider could stay on. Some businessmen were betting one another who could stay on the bull the longest.
The hostess seated them next to the action, then a waitress took their order. Corn cakes stuffed with grilled chicken and two margaritas. The drinks came before the food. They banged them back and got settled in. Mags ordered another round.
“That blond guy’s got Velcro on his butt,” Amber said. “He hasn’t fallen off once.”
“He’s a ringer,” Mags said.
Their food came, sizzling hot. Mags blew on a corn cake before taking a bite. It was still too hot, and she sucked down a mouthful of her drink to put out the fire.
“How do you eat so much and manage to stay so thin?” Amber asked.
“Nerves,” Mags said.
“You’re not forcing yourself to throw up, are you?”
Mags shook her head and kept eating. She’d stepped on the scale in her suite this morning and done a double take. She was a pound below her high school weight, and it had nothing to do with her diet, which consisted primarily of room-service food. Being an actress was eating a hole in her, not that Rand or anyone else on the set seemed to care. She looked great on camera, and that was all that mattered when shooting a TV show.
“If that guy’s a ringer, what’s he doing?” Amber asked.
“He’s working a scam with the bartender,” Mags explained. “Each guy has a shot of tequila before he gets on the bull. The bartender is pouring out of a different bottle for his partner. I’m guessing it’s colored water. The blond guy acts drunk, but he isn’t. He’s also really good on the bull. Probably comes in after hours and practices. He’s a hustler.”
“Is there any game in this town that isn’t rigged?”
“Hell no. How do you think they pay for those chandeliers and fancy carpets?”
“That’s funny, Mom. Do you miss it?”
“You mean the grifting?” Mags wiped her mouth with a napkin. “It was a huge rush. After I took down a sucker, I’d be on cloud nine. And it never got old.”
“Then why did you quit?”
“Because of guys like Frank Grimes trying to throw me in jail, that’s why.”
Amber fell mute. Talk about killing a buzz. Mags waved at the waitress. A fresh round of drinks appeared as if by magic.
“You don’t like talking about this stuff, do you?” Amber asked.
“It’s the past, honey. I walked away from it.”
“Do you have any regrets?”
Mags turned in her chair so she faced the mechanical bull. The blond guy wasn’t giving the suckers a chance. Winning too much, too often, had killed many a scam. If Blondie was smart, he’d fall off and lose a few times. That was the best way to keep suckers in the game.
Amber held a pair of dice beneath her mother’s nose. They looked familiar, and Mags rolled them in her palm. One was normal, while the other only had fives and sixes printed on it.
“Where’d you find these?”
“In a drawer in your bedroom. Grandma said they were the reason you left Providence.”
“What else did she tell you?”
“Grandma said you were afraid of going to jail and my getting stuck in a foster home, so you turned my custody over to them and left. She said you did it to protect me.”
“She’s right.”
“Will you tell me the story behind the dice?”
“If I do, can we end this conversation?”
“Sure, Mom.”
“The scam’s called the Tat. I pulled it during happy hour in bars. I’d sit at the bar and wait for some suckers to come in after work. They’d always want to buy me a drink. That’s when I’d signal the bartender to start the play.”
“The bartender was involved?”
“You bet. It made the play look legit. A paper cup with a die sat by the register. The bartender would offer to roll the sucker for the drink. The bartender would shake the die inside the cup, then look at the number facing up. He did this three times and added up his total. Then it was the sucker’s turn. If the sucker’s total was higher, his drink was free. If it was lower, he paid double.”
“When the game was over, I asked to play. The suckers always said yes. At first, it was for drinks. Then we’d graduate to money. Five bucks a game, then ten, then twenty. I’d lose a few rounds and wait until the bets got big. Then I went for the kill.”
Mags rolled the dice on the table and smiled at the memory.
“You haven’t explained how the scam works,” her daughter said.
“It’s simple. The mis-spotted die was hidden in my pocket. When I wanted to rip off the sucker, I switched it for the regular die and rolled nothing but fives and sixes. The sucker didn’t notice because only the top side of the die can be seen inside the cup. I’d switch the normal die back into play to clean up. The gaffed die went into my pocket with the winnings.”
“What if the sucker also rolled fives and sixes? You might lose.”
“Not likely. The odds of rolling a five or six are two in six. Multiply that by three, and the odds grow to one in twenty-seven. I’ll take those odds all day long.”
Amber returned the dice to her purse. The mystery had been explained, and the look on her daughter’s face bothered Mags. “I want you to promise me you’ll never try this.”
“Mom, I already told you—”
“Everybody’s honest when they can afford to be. One day when you’re down on your luck, you might decide to try the Tat. Promise me that you won’t.”
“Don’t you trust me?”
“Yes, I trust you. But that doesn’t mean you can’t be tempted.”
“All right, Mom. I promise I won’t try the Tat. Ever.”
They shook pinkies on it, and things were good again. The sound of a cell phone broke the spell. Amber pulled hers out and stared at the face.
“Must be yours, Mom.”
Mags took out her iPhone. It was Billy, and she let the call go into voice mail. A minute later, he called her again. “Not now,” she answered. “I’ll call you later.”
“Your problem’s all fixed,” Billy said.
She nearly dropped the phone. “You saw Grimes?”
“You could say we spent the afternoon together.”
“He’s going to leave me alone?”
“Grimes gave me his word he’ll stop hassling you. If he ever bothers you again, give me a call, and I’ll straighten him out.”
“You blackmailed him, didn’t you?”
“Yes, I did. Are we square?”
“Yeah, Billy, we’re square.”
“Now go be a TV star.”
“I’ll do that, Billy. Thank you.”