“Sixty-forty, and that’s my final offer. Take it or leave it.”
Billy hated to cave but didn’t see that he had any other choice. If he said no, Crunchie would call another hustler, and cut him out of the action.
“I’m in,” Billy said.
“Meet me at the Peppermill at ten o’clock, and I’ll fill you in.”
“See you there.”
He ended the call and headed up the stairwell. Salons had the highest betting limits around and were known to let whales wager $100,000 a hand. If this lady dealer was flashing every fifth hand, he could steal a hundred grand every five rounds, or roughly seventeen hands per hour, which translated into one point seven million bucks for an hour’s work. It got him excited just thinking about it.
But what if he played longer? If he stayed on the tables for several hours, he could cheat Galaxy out of four or five million easy. Normally, casinos cut off a player when he won too much, but the rules were different for whales. The casinos expected whales to occasionally get lucky and take them for a major score, knowing they’d win the money back later on. As a result, whales rarely got cut off.
Whales also got special privileges and were often allowed to play in private rooms, away from the other players, and with employees whom they liked. If a whale was fond of a particular dealer, the whale could request for that dealer to deal his game, and the request would be honored.
Crunchie wasn’t kidding when he said it was the best score on the Strip. It was the best score of the last ten years. And all Billy needed to do was pretend he was some superrich asshole, and the money would be his.
FOUR
Billy’s head was spinning as he climbed into the backseat of the limo. Every hustler’s dream was to scam a Vegas casino for a monster score, and he was about to realize that dream.
He wedged himself between Pepper and Misty. Leon pulled out of the space and drove the limo down the garage’s spiral exit with the speed of a carnival ride.
Travis was looking at him funny. Billy chose to ignore it.
“Let’s chop up the money before we eat,” he suggested.
His crew pulled out their winnings and dropped the money in his lap. He sorted through the bills and separated the denominations into neat piles, then counted the money aloud, starting with the smaller denominations and working his way up, just the way Lou Profaci had taught him during his apprenticeship in Providence. The take came to thirty grand on the nose. He paid his crew a straight percentage off the top. Misty and Pepper got two grand apiece, the same for Cory and Morris, while Gabe and Travis got three grand because they did more of the heavy lifting, while the rest went into his pocket.
The hot dice scam was the sweetest operation he’d ever run. On average, they were taking down three casinos a week. Because the casinos ran three shifts-day, swing, and midnight-they’d robbed several casinos multiple times and had never gotten caught.
Travis cleared his throat. He was drinking two-fisted, a Bud Light in one hand, a Johnnie Walker on the rocks in the other. The funny look on his face that Billy had thought was the booze he now recognized as something troubling.
“You got something you want to tell us, Billy?” the big man asked.
“Not particularly,” Billy said.
“You were late.”
“So?”
“You’re never late. It just bothered us.”
“Think I ran out with the money?”
“Did I say that?”
Billy started to steam.
“We were just worried that something happened to you,” Travis said. “When you didn’t show up, we got nervous. We care about you, man.”
Billy didn’t hear a word of what Travis had just said. They worked for him-he didn’t work for them-and he had half a mind to tell Leon to pull over so he could throw Travis out of the limo and let him go find another crew to work with.
But he didn’t do it. He had a temper and he knew that it sometimes got the better of him. Instead, he pulled a Heineken out of the minibar and took a long swig. It calmed him down, and he looked across the seat at Travis and saw the big man cringe. Later in the restaurant he’d corner Travis and straighten him out. If Travis challenged him again, he was history.
No one was smiling anymore, just a bunch of sour faces wondering what to say next. Leon pulled into the Golden Steer parking lot and circled the building. The place was packed, and parking spaces were at a minimum. Misty’s hot breath tickled Billy’s face.
“Don’t be pissed,” she said.
“Who said I was pissed?” he said, hearing the anger in his voice.
“We care about you, Billy.”
“You’re the magic man,” Pepper chimed in, snuggling up next to him. “Did something bad happen? You can tell us.”
Billy looked down at his sweaty beer bottle. He never should have taken Crunchie’s call while he was doing a job. It was the first rule of hustling: no interruptions. Only he’d broken it, and his crew wanted to know why. Trust ran both ways, so he decided to tell them.
“I got a call from an old friend. That’s why I was late. Everybody cool with that?”
“She must be a great fuck for you to take her call,” Pepper said.
He looked at her. “You think I’m pussy-whipped?”
“All men are pussy-whipped.”
“Not me.”
“Bullshit. What’s her name?”
Pepper’s pale green eyes were laughing at him. Pepper had made porno flicks for several years, doing straight fuck films before switching to blow job movies because the pay was better, and she knew everything there was to know about the crazy little brain in a man’s dick.
“Crunchie,” Billy said.
“Her name’s Crunchie?”
“Him. He’s an old grifter I used to run with. They used to call him Captain Crunch because he was always good in a tight spot.”
“Why were you talking to him?”
“Does it matter?” he said, feeling his anger start to rise.
“You told us no interruptions during a job.”
She had him dead to rights. He faced the group.
“Crunchie knows a Strip casino that’s primed to get ripped off. He needs someone to play a whale, so he called me. I’m hooking up with him later tonight to go over the details. I would have told you sooner, but I didn’t want to jinx it. Is everybody cool with that?”
Their heads bobbed in unison.
“Can you tell us which casino?” Gabe asked.
“Galaxy.”
“Have we ever ripped that one off?”
“No. It’s only been open a few months.”
“How’s security?”
He quizzed Cory and Morris with a glance. He’d turned them onto the art of wheel tracking, and they’d visited many of the town’s casinos to analyze their roulette games. Roulette wheels sometimes became biased through faulty construction and could produce amazing winnings to a player willing to track a few hundred spins of the wheel with a hidden computer.
“Have you checked out Galaxy yet?” he asked them.
“We got acquainted with Galaxy last week,” Cory replied.
“And?”
“Staff is pretty green. I got chummy with a cocktail waitress, and she said that they were having trouble with their systems. It’s a candy store.”
Billy nodded. The scam was getting sweeter by the minute.
“Can you tell us what the scam is?” Gabe asked.
“We’re going to take down the high-roller salon at blackjack,” he said.
Misty stiffened, and so did Pepper. The others got real quiet, too.
“Has anyone ever ripped off a high-roller salon?” Gabe asked.
“No. We’re going to make history.”
Travis leaned forward in his seat, wanting to get back on good footing with the boss. “Billy, this sounds really great. How much do you think we can take them for?”
“Don’t ask.”
“Why not?”
“Because I’ll jinx it if I tell you.”
Travis swallowed hard. He’d just bought a four-bedroom, three-bath money pit and needed every spare dime he could get his hands on. “Can you give us a range?”