“I can fix that,” he said.
They went inside to the living room to talk things out. Except for an old-fashioned La-Z-Boy recliner that populated the room’s center, the space was bare. Folding chairs and stools were brought from the kitchen so that everyone could get comfortable.
Gabe dropped his pummeled body into the La-Z-Boy and gazed at the ceiling, horrified that it had come to this. Billy was late to the party and started by asking Gabe a question that the rest of them already knew the answer to.
“How much are you into Tony G for?” he asked.
“Does it matter?” Gabe said, the shame bunching up his face.
“I can fix this, but you’ve got to be straight with me.”
“You can’t fix this, Billy. I fucked up, and now I’ve got to blow out of here. I’ll go to another state, and get a job in a mall fixing watches. I’ll get by.”
“No, you won’t. Tony G has got a flag in every state,” Billy said.
“A what?”
“Tony G’s got mob enforcers he can call in every state. They’ll hunt you down, and pump a bullet into your head, and send Tony G photos of your corpse. You can run, but you can’t hide. Now, how much do you owe this guy?”
“Three hundred big ones.”
“You’ve got to be kidding me.”
“It’s the truth. That’s why I’ve got to run. I don’t have another choice.”
“You’re not going anywhere.”
“I’m not?”
“No, I need you for a job. Now shut up, and let me think about this.”
The living room went quiet. Billy kept a stash of cash buried in the desert for emergencies, but it wasn’t enough to cover Gabe’s debt to Tony G. Had the amount been smaller, Tony G might have been willing to take a down payment, with the rest coming later. But the amount was huge, and Tony G’s reputation was at stake. If the bookie didn’t collect, every gambler in town who owed him money would renege on their obligations.
The seconds dragged on. Misty got behind Billy’s chair and began to massage the knotted muscles in his shoulders.
“You’re all tense. Relax,” she said.
He tried. The tightrope he was walking was getting harder by the step. The safety net was gone, and the pole he used for balance had fallen out of his hands. If Gabe left town, Billy couldn’t scam Galaxy, and the biggest payday of his career would go down the toilet.
Cory and Morris were checking e-mails on their cell phones. It had to be the worst habit in the world next to picking your nose. Billy remembered they had a scam going at a racetrack in Santa Anita, and he guessed this was how the agent at the track was communicating with them.
“Is that horse-racing scam still alive?” he asked.
“We were about to shut it down, like you told us,” Cory said.
“What would you say if we used it to clean the slate with Tony G?”
Cory glanced at Morris. The horse race scam was their baby, and Billy did not own the rights to it. Cory and Morris could say no, except they were in this for the long haul, and Billy was their ticket to the big time.
“I’m okay with that,” Cory said.
“Me, too,” Morris said.
“Cool. Lay it on me,” he said.
“A horse trainer named Sal Lopez is fixing races at Santa Anita,” Cory said. “Sal’s a smart operator. He only fixes one race a day, and sends us the name of the horse a few minutes before post time. That way, we can get our bets down right before the race starts, and the other gamblers following the race can’t react when they see the odds change.”
“What’s Sal’s cut?”
“Half.”
“What kind of odds are you getting?”
“It varies. Yesterday, the ringer ran at twenty-to-one.”
“How does it work?”
“Sal’s got a stable of Brazilian horses he keeps nearby that are ringers. He dyes the ringers so they’re identical to the horses at the track’s stables, and switches them at night. The only problem is if it rains. Then the dye runs off, and the ringer changes color during the race.”
“I’d like to see that,” Misty said, still massaging Billy’s back.
“It must be the dry season in Southern California,” he said.
“Sal just sent us an e-mail saying the scam was on for today. It’s going to happen during the twelfth race at four twenty-five,” Cory said. “It’s yours if you want it, Billy.”
Billy played with it. He’d once scammed a bookie in Providence with a fixed boxing match, but that was Providence. Vegas bookies were smarter than that. They knew the angles and took precautions to protect themselves. That didn’t mean Tony G couldn’t be fleeced; it just meant that it was going to take a certain level of sophistication to make it work. But before Billy set the wheels in motion, he wanted to be sure that Cory and Morris would not harbor any hard feelings.
“Are you guys sure about this?” he asked. “I’m planning to take Tony G for the full amount Gabe owes him. Tony G might realize the race was fixed, and make some phone calls. Sal could get some heat down the road.”
“That’s Sal’s problem,” Cory said. “We work for you, Billy.”
“Yeah, we work for you,” Morris said.
Billy turned his attention to Gabe. “How do I get in front of this guy?”
“Tony G plays golf every day on the Bali Hai course. That’s where he does most of his business,” Gabe said. “I know the pro at Bali Hai. I’ll call him, and set it up.”
“You’re saying Tony G take bets while he plays.”
“His cell phone never stops ringing. It’s annoying as hell.”
“Do it.” Billy rose from his folding chair. He needed to get back to Galaxy and put in some face time. Gabe was looking at him, as were the others, all put out.
“Something the matter?” he asked.
“You said you needed me for a job,” Gabe said. “You going to tell me what it is?”
In all the excitement, Billy had forgotten why he’d come to Gabe’s home in the first place.
“Hold that thought,” he said.
Going outside, he retrieved the Nike bag from the Camaro, came back in, and dropped it on Gabe’s lap. Gabe unzippered the bag and had a look.
“You want me to counterfeit these, is that the deal?” the jeweler asked.
“No, I want you to counterfeit this.” He took the souvenir key chain from his pocket and showed Gabe the rubber gold chip. “Use the chips in the bag to get the weight and texture, and this for the color. I need eighty of them. They’re worth a hundred grand apiece.”
“How am I going to match the color? There are a thousand different shades of gold.”
From his wallet Billy extracted the AAA Novelty & Gift business card he’d gotten from the cashier in the hotel gift shop. “The company that makes them is local. Go see them, and tell them you need a paint match for a job you’re doing for the hotel.”
Gabe stared at the card. “Shit, I know these guys. Getting the paint won’t be a problem. When did you say you need these by?”
“Tomorrow afternoon.”
“Well, that’s a problem. This isn’t something you can rush.”
“I know that. But if anyone can make it happen, it’s you.”
Gabe was a perfectionist; every job he tackled was handled with the utmost thoughtfulness and care. From the open Nike bag he removed a stack of colored chips and let them fall into his other hand, nice and flat and downward. They fell with a uniform correctness, landing on top of each other with a cushion of air that broke their fall due to their perfect construction. Under his breath Gabe said, “Eleven grams, blended plastic, silver inserts.” He climbed out of the recliner still hurting from the beating he’d taken, and stood next to Billy.
“Eighty gold chips it is,” the jeweler said.
“You’re the man. Later, everyone.”
Billy headed for the front door. Travis was right behind him, and in a breathless voice said, “Are we stealing eight million bucks from Galaxy tomorrow?”