“You never limped when we ran together.”
“I hid it, didn’t want to look like a gimp. The older I get, the worse the pain.”
The story added up. But Billy still needed more convincing. “Who were you talking to?”
“My daughter. She’s a real pain in the ass.”
“Since when did you have a kid?”
“Back in ’91, I had a fling with a sexy little cocktail waitress at the Sands. She wanted to get hitched, I balked, she tied a suitcase to the roof of her car and boogied to LA. Twenty years later my phone rings, and this girl says, ‘Hi, my name’s Clarissa, and I’m your kid.’ Let me tell you, it’s been one horror show ever since.”
“She hitting you up for money?”
“Every damn time we talk. She’s got two little brats, no job, no child support. I send her a check every month, but it’s never enough. What are you grinning about? You think this is funny? Fuck you, Billy.”
“I’m just trying to imagine you getting hustled, that’s all.”
“This is different. She’s my daughter.”
“So you were talking to her, and she made you late, is that the deal?”
A wall of anger rose in the old grifter’s face. Producing his cell phone, he showed Billy the recent call memory. In the past twelve hours, he’d gotten three phone calls originating from a 310 area code, which was Southern California.
“Call her, you don’t believe me.”
Billy nearly did, just to get the old grifter’s goat. But he leaned back in his chair instead. There was still a deal on the table, and money made the world go round.
“You and I have known each other a long time,” Crunchie said. “You think I’d double-cross you? Hell, I taught you how to rob, kid.”
“You taught me a lot of things,” Billy said.
“You thought I was setting you up?”
“It crossed my mind.”
“Jesus, Billy. I’d never do that. You’re the kid I wished I had.”
Billy’s old man had cheated at cards but had never been willing to teach Billy the ropes, wanting his son to go to college and make something of himself. When Billy had arrived in Vegas, Crunchie had taken him under his wing, and it had been one long joyride ever since.
“You really mean that?” he said.
“Damn straight, I do. I’d never screw you.”
“Then I was out of line. Sorry.”
“You still want to do this?”
Billy said that he did. Flagging the cute bartender, he pointed across the table.
“Another round. Make my friend’s a double this time.”
“So let’s hear your deal,” Billy said after the bartender served them.
“I’ve been making a killing off a blackjack dealer at the Rio named Jazzy,” Crunchie said. “Jazzy has this bad habit of rocking her hands and flashing her hole card every fifth hand. The other day I found out Jazzy left the Rio and took a job dealing at the high-roller salon at Galaxy. I racked my brain thinking of who I knew could play a whale. Then it hit me. I’ll call Billy.”
“So how are you going to get me into the joint?”
“There’s a fake identity in Galaxy’s computer just waiting for you.”
“How’d you manage that?”
“I didn’t. Skip Johnson did. Remember Skip? He ran with us for a while.”
“I remember Skip.”
“Skip had a dream. He thought he could walk into a casino, sign a marker for a few hundred grand in credit, get the chips, and cash out without having to pay the casino back.”
“Nice dream.”
“Skip nearly pulled it off. He hacked into a national credit data system and stole the credit histories of six wealthy guys back east. He set up bank accounts in these guys’ names and applied to the casinos for lines of credit, which of course they gave him.
“When Skip visited a casino, he’d show one of his fake IDs to a VIP host. The host gave him twenty grand to play with, which Skip lost playing craps. Skip’s brother Ronnie was in the game, betting against him. The money Skip lost, Ronnie won. You familiar with this?”
“Offsetting betting procedures,” Billy said.
“Right. Skip did this all over town. When he got home, he paid off the markers, so the casinos jacked up his credit line. In some joints, it reached two hundred grand.”
Billy was impressed. Crunchie’s big score was sounding better by the minute.
“On New Year’s Eve, Skip and Ronnie went for the kill. They checked into hotels where Skip had high credit lines. That night, Skip visited the first casino, signed a marker, and was given two hundred grand in chips. He passed the chips to Ronnie, who cashed them in. Skip was on a roll until he hit the Wynn. A security guard recognized him, and the thing fell apart.”
“So how does that get me into the high-roller salon at Galaxy?”
“One of Skip’s false identities never got used on New Year’s and is still in the casinos’ computers,” Crunchie explained. “I bought the false identity from Skip so he could post bail. It’s for a hedge fund manager named Thomas Pico. He’s thirty years old, same as you. You get into Galaxy’s salon by pretending to be Pico.”
“How can Pico be in Galaxy’s computer? The joint just opened.”
“The VIP host at Galaxy’s salon is named Ed Butler. Butler used to work at Bellagio. When Butler switched jobs, he brought his database with him, including Pico.”
“So Butler met Skip when he was impersonating Pico.”
“That’s right.”
“How many times?”
“Skip said he met Butler once. Butler sees a hundred high rollers a month. Trust me, he won’t remember meeting Skip.”
“So all I have to do is waltz into Galaxy, show them false ID, and rob them blind.”
“That’s right. So what do you say?”
“I’m in,” Billy said.
SEVEN
They went over the terms of their deal and shook hands on it. It was how cheaters did business. No fancy lawyers or contracts, no fine print, just a man’s word and the pressing of the flesh. Outside in the parking lot Crunchie said, “You’ll need these,” and gave Billy a handful of plastic, including a black American Express card, voter registration card, Social Security card, and a Platinum Visa card, all in Thomas Pico’s name.
“Skip gave me those as part of our deal,” Crunchie said. “All you need is a phony driver’s license and you’ll be all set.”
“I’m going to check out Galaxy tonight, get a lay of the land,” Billy said. “I’ll call you tomorrow, let you know what I find.”
“You don’t waste any time, do you?”
“Not when there’s money to be made. Later, man.”
“I’m looking forward to this, Billy. It’s been too long since we’ve pulled a heist.”
“I feel the same way.”
Billy drove to Gabe’s place in Silverado Ranch with his fingers tapping the wheel. A driver’s license would be the first thing that the VIP host at Galaxy’s high-roller salon would ask to see. Unlike the good old days when driver’s licenses were printed on cheap cardboard with typewriters, today’s licenses used special Teslin paper and ID holograms and were difficult to counterfeit. The casinos were constantly seeing phony licenses from underage kids trying to sneak into their clubs, and they’d gotten good at picking out fakes.
It was past midnight when he pounded on Gabe’s front door. The porch light came on.
“It’s Billy. Lemme in. I’ve got a job for you.”
The door swung in. Gabe stood in the foyer in a bathrobe, his eyes ringed with sleep.
“What’s up?”
“I need a fake driver’s license so I can go visit the high-roller salon at Galaxy.”
“Is the deal on?”
“Yeah. But I want to check the place out first, just to be on the safe side.”
“Come on in.”
They walked through the downstairs to the spare bedroom in the back of the house that served as Gabe’s workshop. Having grown sick of her husband’s gambling addiction, Gabe’s long-suffering wife had thrown their belongings in a U-Haul and bolted with their kids, taking every stick of furniture, every wall covering, and all the photographs, as if trying to take the memories as well. Gabe’s idea of redecorating had been to put packing crates with TV sets into each room. That way, he could watch his beloved college sports anywhere in the house.