“Piece of cake,” the jeweler said.
Gabe sprung open a worn leather briefcase resting on the seat. The briefcase contained one hundred pairs of dice stamped with logos from every major casino in Las Vegas. These dice had been acquired through a variety of means, including bribing casino employees. Each die in the briefcase had been loaded with carefully disguised mercury slugs. When thrown on a craps table, winning combinations came up more times than not.
Gabe removed a gaffed pair with the Four Queens logo. Using a portable welding machine plugged into the door’s cigarette lighter, he carefully stamped duplicate serial numbers onto the gaffed pair. When the dice had cooled down, a jeweler’s engraving tool was used to re-create the tiny imperfections on the logo. Finished, he handed the gaffed dice to Billy.
Billy held the dice up to the light and compared the gaffed dice to the stolen die. The serial numbers looked exactly the same on all three, as did the tiny logo imperfections.
“You haven’t lost your touch,” Billy said.
“Thanks,” Gabe said.
“We need to address this problem of yours. It’s going to ruin you.”
“You got any ideas?”
“Ever try Gamblers Anonymous?”
“No. I can’t talk in front of groups.”
“I’ll go with you.”
“You mean that?”
“Of course I mean it.”
Using his Droid, Billy got on the Internet and did a search for a Gamblers Anonymous meeting in Gabe’s part of town. He found two daily meetings and showed Gabe the screen.
“Pick one. I’ll take you to lunch first. Make an afternoon out of it.”
“Can’t it wait? I don’t think I’m ready for this.”
“Pick one, or I’ll fire you.”
“Don’t say that. You’re all I’ve got.”
“Then do it right now. That’s an order.”
“All right. We’ll go to the meeting at the Unity Club at one o’clock.”
“How much are you into Tony G for, anyway?”
“Too much.”
“Are you ever going to learn?”
“I wish I could stop, I really do.”
“You know what they say. There’s no time like the present.”
Billy put the phone away. Back when he was learning how to hustle on the streets of Providence, he’d dreamed of running his own crew. A great idea, only there were times when he felt like he was running a flipping babysitting service.
“Unity Club, one o’clock tomorrow,” he said.
“I’m in,” Gabe said.
As Billy started to climb out of the limo, Gabe flipped the TV back on with the remote. Billy stopped to glare at the jeweler.
“Didn’t you hear a word of what I just said?”
“Come on, man. I’ve got to see how it ends,” Gabe said.
THREE
Coming out of the parking garage stairwell, Billy slipped the fake teeth into his mouth and made sure the gaffed dice were finger-palmed in his hand in a way that could not be seen. There were surveillance cameras everywhere in Vegas, and he could never be too careful.
Hurrying down Fremont Street, he spotted Cory and Morris standing outside the Four Queens and let out a shrill whistle. Tossing away their cigarettes, they followed him inside.
The Four Queens craps pit was by the front doors. It was that way in most joints. The action was loud and frenzied and drew people the way honey draws flies. Travis was still throwing the bones, swigging on a beer bottle filled with water, pretending to be loaded. Billy pressed his body to the table and secretly passed the crooked dice to the big man.
“They’re still warm,” Travis whispered.
“So blow on them,” Billy said without moving his lips.
Cory and Morris came to the table and threw down sizeable cash bets. At the same time, Travis scooped up the casino dice and switched in the gaffed ones in his hand. He wasn’t the greatest dice mechanic who’d ever lived, nor did he have to be. The boxman, dealer, and stickman were trained to watch the money. Everything else was secondary, including obnoxious drunks, screaming women, and people flopping dead from heart attacks. An elephant could have stampeded past, and they wouldn’t have looked up.
The eye-in-the-sky wasn’t watching Travis, either. If the surveillance cameras had been taping Travis, they might have caught the switch. But the cameras weren’t watching because Travis had been losing, and that made him a sucker. Surveillance never watched suckers.
“Yo, Eveline, lost her drawers in the men’s latrine!” Travis shouted.
Travis sent the crooked dice down the table. Misty and Pepper pounded the railing, urging him on. They had also placed cash bets. The game was locked up.
Eleven, a winner.
The table erupted. Suckers sometimes got lucky, and the boxman, stickman, and dealer displayed no emotion. Travis kept throwing the dice, and their winnings began to add up. Two grand, five grand, then fifteen-the boxman, dealer, and stickman shaking their heads at the sudden turn of events. Like crew hands rearranging deck chairs on the Titanic, they were clueless.
When their winnings hit thirty grand, Billy gave the signal to end the play. He’d done his homework and knew how much the Four Queens would lose before security was sent to the table. Winning too much, too often, had gotten more than one crew in hot water.
Small bets were placed on the table. Travis switched out the gaffed dice for the regular pair and threw them hard.
Two, a loser.
The table groaned. The boxman, dealer, and stickman visibly relaxed, and the losing bets were picked up. Resting his arm on the table, Travis dropped the crooked dice into Billy’s hand.
“Where we going for dinner?” Travis whispered.
“Golden Steer,” Billy whispered back.
“That’s a winner.”
Possession of a crooked gambling device inside a casino was a felony, and Billy headed down Fremont clutching the gaffed dice in his hand until he’d reached a construction site for a new casino. New casinos were always popping up in Vegas, even when the economy sucked. He heaved the gaffed dice over a tall wooden fence plastered with “NO TRESPASSING” signs.
His skin was tingling as he headed for the elevated garage. There was no greater rush than ripping a joint off, and it wouldn’t be very long before he’d want to do it again. He’d recently done a walk-through of the Luxor, and decided it was easy pickings. That was what made Vegas so great. There were so many scores and so little time.
His Droid vibrated. Only a handful of people had his number, and he yanked the phone from his pocket. Caller ID said it was an old grifter named Captain Crunch. Crunchie was about as friendly as a coiled rattlesnake, but that was how it was with most of the old-timers.
“Hey, I need to call you back,” he answered.
“This can’t wait,” the old grifter said.
“Everything can wait. I’ll call you later.”
“You’ll talk to me now.”
“I’m on a job, man.”
“Fuck your job. There’s a lady blackjack dealer in the high-roller salon at Galaxy that’s flashing every fifth hand, and the dumb shit management hasn’t caught on. This might be the single biggest score on the Strip.”
High-roller salons catered to whales capable of losing millions of dollars without breaking a sweat. The salons were awash in money, and it was every hustler’s dream to take one down. No hustler in town ever had, and Billy would have relished being the first.
“You want me to be a whale?” he asked.
“That’s right. Interested?”
“Of course I’m interested. How are you going to get me into Galaxy’s salon?”
“It’s all been taken care of. Just show up and work your magic. It will be like stealing candy from a baby.”
“What’s your take?”
“We’re straight partners, fifty-fifty.”
“Make it eighty-twenty, and you’ve got yourself a deal.”