Mags decided it was time to end her relationship with the gaming board. She started to make a run for it, but Frank forced her up the stairs of the camper-sized vehicle. He opened the back door and brusquely shoved her inside.
The door shut behind her. Three gaming agents sat before a matrix of video monitors. Gaming agents were voyeurs; they eavesdropped on phone conversations, opened other people’s mail, and stuck their noses where they didn’t belong. A gruff female agent with steel-gray hair appeared in charge.
“You must be the snitch,” the female agent said. “What’s your name?”
“Maggie.”
“Okay, Maggie, I want you to sit over there in the corner. Don’t open your mouth unless I speak to you. Am I making myself clear?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
Whatever chance she’d had to warn Billy had been lost. She sank down in the chair under the female agent’s wilting gaze.
“And don’t get any bright ideas,” the female agent added.
FIFTY-FIVE
At two o’clock, Billy entered Doucette’s office. A makeshift home theater had been erected in the room’s center. Four seventy-inch flat-screen TVs on rolling flat-panel stands, each set turned on, showing a live surveillance feed from the casino floor. The cameras were in four-color and HD, and the images literally popped off the screens.
On the first screen was a feed from the wedding chapel. Next to it, a feed from the bustling hotel lobby. The third feed was the entrance to Galaxy’s casino, the fourth from the casino floor. Now dressed in pretty clothes, Rock sat on the couch, accompanied by his female bodyguards. Doucette and his bride stood behind the couch, sipping bottles of mineral water. His old pal Crunchie was not on the premises, and he guessed the old grifter had been relieved of his duties.
“Like it?” Rock asked.
“I’m impressed,” Billy said.
Rock picked up a walkie-talkie and spoke into it. “Show your faces.” On the second screen, hotel security came out of the woodwork and filled the lobby. They were big men wearing ill-fitting suits and ultra-mean faces, just spoiling for a fight.
“Go back to your stations,” Rock said to them.
The security goons faded away.
“I’d say you’re ready for the Gypsies,” Billy said.
“We’re more than ready, my little friend.” Rock exchanged the walkie-talkie for a remote. “I’m going to show you the meaning of Big Brother.”
Rock tapped the remote. On the first screen appeared a Hispanic couple at the chapel altar. The bride had a small tattoo on her forearm. Another tap, and the tattoo grew in size to show a brown-skinned Virgin Mary standing on a crescent-shaped moon held up by an angel.
“I want one of those,” the bodyguard to Rock’s left said.
“I’ll get you one when we get back,” Rock promised.
“You can operate the camera’s PTZ from your remote?” Billy asked.
“That’s right. Ain’t nothing down there I can’t see,” Rock said.
Pan-tilt-zoom cameras had ruined more than one cheater’s career. PTZs could read the date off a dime and, when enabled with auto tracking, would follow a cheater around the casino while recording his every movement. It was going to make his crew’s job this afternoon a lot harder, but not impossible. Nothing was impossible when eight million bucks were at stake.
The ceremony ended, and the Hispanic couple left the chapel and entered the lobby. As the groom patted his brow, Rock fingered the remote. Beads of sweat filled the screen.
“Look at that poor bastard,” Rock laughed. “He’s cooked, isn’t he, Marcus?”
“I’ll say,” Doucette replied.
Shaz shot her husband a murderous look.
The Hispanic couple entered the casino and celebrated by shooting craps together. The bride blew on the dice for luck before sending them down the table. Rock hit a button and the dice filled the screen. A seven, a winner.
“You’ve got that down pretty good,” Billy said.
“Yes, I have,” Rock said. “When the Gypsies are getting married this afternoon, you’re going to be down on the floor, following them, and I’m going to be watching you.”
Good, Billy thought. Watch me, but don’t watch my friends.
“What exactly do you want me to do?” he asked.
“Expose the Gypsies’ scam so we can get it on video,” Rock said. “Once you do that, security will haul them into the back and teach them a lesson.”
“You going to rough them up?”
“That’s none of your fucking business,” Rock snapped, “but since you asked, I’ll tell you. We’re going to take the leader of the gang and his wife and crush their fucking skulls in. We’ll tell the police they put up a fight and had to be subdued. I’d kill the whole fucking party, but I don’t want the publicity.” He studied Billy’s face. “You have a problem with that?”
Billy shook his head.
“Come again,” Rock said.
“No, I don’t have a problem with that.”
“I might even ask you to help us. Got a problem with that?”
“Nope.”
“Glad to hear it. Now get outta here. I hate looking at guys prettier than me.”
Rock glanced over his shoulder at Shaz. “Show our friend out.”
Shaz came up beside Billy and locked arms. Instead of escorting him to the door, she marched the young hustler across the office to the paneled wall. With a press of her palm, a hidden door sprung open, followed by a gentle push that said he was to go first.
He entered the ultimate man cave. Full bar, the latest pinball machines, the biggest flat screen he’d ever seen, and a collection of lewd paintings of delicious black chicks. This had to be Rock’s secret hangout. Shaz went to the bar and pulled a bottle off the shelf.
“How do you like your scotch?” she asked.
“Straight up.”
“In case you haven’t realized it, Rock digs you.”
“But he doesn’t trust me.”
“Don’t sweat it. Rock doesn’t trust anybody.”
“I’m not appreciating the difference.”
“Rock likes your style. He didn’t like Crunchie at all. He thought the old hustler was looking down his nose at him because he was black.”
“I didn’t see Crunchie hanging around. Did you lose him?”
“In a manner of speaking, yes.” She came around the bar with the drinks and handed him one. They clinked glasses.
“Here’s to joining our team.”
“I’ll drink to that.”
The scotch burned going down. Shaz drank hers like it was water and rattled the ice cubes in her empty glass.
“Come here. I want to show you something.”
She led him to a private elevator in the corner of the room and hit the call button. The doors parted, and the breath caught in his throat. Crunchie was inside, tied to a chair, his mouth frozen in agony. Cause of death was two knife wounds. The first a lateral slash across the forehead. An old street-fighting trick, designed to blind an opponent with a sheet of blood. The second a stab to the heart, the knife left in to prevent excessive bleeding. The knife’s handle was carved to resemble a Mexican sugar skull.
One of Rock’s bodyguards had done this. Or maybe both had.
“It’s time you and I got to know each other a little better,” she said.
“In there?” he asked incredulously.
“Yeah, in there.”
They got in, and she hit a button. As they descended, she covered his face in kisses while undoing the front of his shirt. Billy put his arms around her waist and drew her close. She shut her eyes and moaned pleasurably. She was lost in the moment, and his hands went through Crunchie’s pockets and found a wallet. He extracted the slip of paper with the information about his crew that Crunchie had taken off his cell phone. He did all of these things while trying not to look into Crunchie’s face out of fear he might never forget.