“Pretty, isn’t it?” the pit boss said.
“It sure is. Unfortunately, it’s a little out of my league,” Billy said.
“It’s out of most people’s leagues. Let me know if you need anything.”
The pit boss left. Billy placed an orange thousand-dollar chip into the betting circle.
“Deal me a winner,” he said.
Jazzy dealt a handheld game. As she sailed the cards to him, her hands rocked slightly. Tilting his head, he peeked her second card’s identity before it was tucked away beneath her first card. In blackjack, the dealer’s hole card was hidden until the end, which gave the house its edge. By knowing this card’s value, the odds shifted dramatically in his favor.
He won the hand, putting him up a grand. Four rounds later, she did it again. Only Billy couldn’t keep tilting his head without the pit boss spotting him and throwing him out.
“Where can I find an ashtray?” he asked.
An ashtray was brought to the table. He removed a hard pack of Marlboros from the pocket of his blazer and fired up a cigarette, then placed the pack on the table with the flap pointing at Jazzy. The pack was another of Gabe’s creations. Hidden inside was a rectangular mirror resting at a forty-five-degree angle. By gazing down into a slit in the top of the pack, he would be able to see Jazzy’s hole card while she flashed.
Soon he was up twenty grand. Had his bets been larger, the amount could have been two hundred grand. Crunchie had been right in his assessment of Jazzy. She was the best score in town. But he wasn’t here to steal Galaxy’s money. That would come later, after he’d established himself as a sucker with management.
He lost his winnings back through sloppy play while small-talking with Jazzy and learning her upcoming schedule. A new shift worked the weekend, and she’d be back Monday night. That would give him three days to build himself in before pulling his scam.
A cocktail waitress brought him a fresh glass of champagne. He tipped her and gave her a wink. She walked away too quickly, and an alarm went off in his head.
He turned around in his chair. To his surprise, the salon had cleared out. The other dealers and pit boss were gone, and Shaz’s desk was empty as well.
The blood drained from his head. Something had been bothering him, and now he realized what it was. No steam. Some steam always accompanied a high roller betting $1,000 a hand, especially when the high roller was a complete stranger who’d just strolled in. But here in Galaxy’s salon, there was no steam at all.
He turned back to Jazzy. “Where did everybody go?”
Jazzy glanced around the salon. Its emptiness seemed to surprise her as well.
“Beats me. I guess they went on break,” she said.
“At the same time?”
“You’re right. It is pretty strange.”
It was time to get out of Dodge. He scooped up his chips and the gaffed cigarette pack from the table and rose from his chair. “It’s been nice talking to you.”
“Have a pleasant evening,” she said.
He walked briskly toward the salon’s entrance. The fear of getting caught was never far from his thoughts; it was the risk that came with the reward. As he opened the carved doors, he stole a glance over his shoulder. The pit boss had reappeared, and stood in front of Jazzy’s table. Their eyes locked. The look on the pit boss’s face said it all.
Busted!
He hurried into the main casino. If he could get out the front doors unscathed, he’d run down to the street and melt into the mass of humanity that filled the Strip’s sidewalks. Thomas Pico would disappear, never to be heard from again. His car could be dealt with later. He hadn’t given the valet his name, and he’d have Leon come by in a few days and claim it.
He sailed through the casino without a problem. His heartbeat was back to normal as he entered the hotel lobby, thinking he’d dodged a bullet. The feeling didn’t last long.
Shaz was in the lobby waiting for him. She’d ditched the evening dress for a pair of skintight leather pants and a black zippered jacket straight out of a dominatrix’s catalogue. A look of stone-cold hatred filled her eyes.
Flanking her were two of the scariest black dudes Billy had ever seen. They were as big as mountains and were studying him the way a cat sizes up a helpless canary in a cage.
Billy moved backward, having nowhere else to run.
“Get him,” Shaz said.
TEN
The scary black dudes knocked Billy’s glasses off dragging him across the lobby. He was thrown into a service elevator and taken to the basement, his final destination a claustrophobic room with a single plastic chair and a security camera bolted to the ceiling.
Billy had been back-roomed before and knew the drill. For the next hour, he’d be slapped around and threatened before the police were called, the casino wishing to impress upon him that he should never step foot on the premises again.
The black dudes took a moment to introduce themselves. Their names were Ike Spears and Terrell Bird, T-Bird for short. Both wore lots of gold jewelry and too much cologne. Ike had the larger vocabulary and appeared to be the leader of the two. T-Bird was shorter, with pretty dreadlocks that bounced on his shoulders. They’d both played defensive end for the Pittsburgh Steelers and sported glittering Super Bowl rings.
They took turns smacking Billy around. They were punishers and were paid by the casino to inflict pain upon unwanted guests, just as cocktail waitresses were paid to act nice. Being mean was their job, but they still didn’t have to hit Billy as hard as they did.
Soon Billy’s ears were ringing. Somebody answer the phone. Tasting his own blood, he spit some onto his palm and held his arm out as if directing traffic. The beating stopped.
“Keep hitting him,” Shaz ordered them.
“I don’t want his blood on me. Little fucker might have AIDS,” Ike said.
“Or ebola,” T-Bird said.
“You’re both pathetic.” Looking into the ceiling camera, Shaz raised her arms as if to say, What now? Scant seconds later, her cell phone rang.
“Follow me, girls,” she said.
She went into the hall to take the call. The punishers dutifully followed.
Billy sank into the plastic chair. He’d taken a few hits to the jaw, and he ran the tip of his finger across his teeth to see if they were still intact. To his surprise, they were all there.
So much for small favors.
Although his body hurt, he wasn’t scared. Soon the Metro LVPD would be summoned, and he’d be taken to the Clark County Detention Center and booked. There he’d be allowed to call his lawyer and post bail. He’d be a free man by morning, and he’d go home to his condo to lick his wounds and figure out how he was going to beat this rap.
Cheating cases were hard to prove. Nevada juries would not convict unless there was clear videotape evidence of the crime. Billy was always aware of the cameras when he was making a play, and hid his actions. As a result, the times he’d been busted he’d always plea-bargained out and had to pay fines to the court. It was a small price to pay for all the money he’d stolen from the casinos.
From the hallway came the sound of Shaz talking. He needed to find out how she’d made him for a cheater. His disguises had flown by the best security people in town, and it was going to bug him until he learned how she’d done it.
The unholy trio returned. A smelly towel was thrown in his face. He wiped away the blood, thinking the storm had passed.
A minute later, he learned otherwise.