“They just got off the elevators. They’ll be down your way in a second.”
It was time to rip off Galaxy, and Billy put the page out of his mind. Slipping his hand into his jacket, he flipped off the power on the receiver clipped to his belt.
“Get ready to bolt,” he told Ike.
“I got butterflies in my stomach,” Ike confessed.
“Just do as I told you, and you’ll be fine.”
He flipped the receiver back on. Rock was talking to him.
“You see them now?” the drug kingpin asked.
“I sure do,” he said into the mike.
The Gypsies were booking down the lobby. At the front of the pack were the bride and groom. They were holding hands, and he realized that the groom was helping the bride keep her balance as she hustled along with the plastic dealing shoe strapped between her legs. Behind them was the bride’s mother, Cecilia Torch, wearing a subdued burgundy dress. Her husband strode beside her, fifteen years her senior, well tanned and fit. The husband had the air of being in charge, and Billy pegged him as the ringleader. Behind them was another older couple, posing as the groom’s parents. Bringing up the rear was a drop-dead-gorgeous bridesmaid, a smiling best man, and three twentyish couples posing as guests. The shared bloodline was easy to spot. Each member of the party had a full head of wavy hair and a swarthy complexion. They moved with springs in their steps and reminded him of an acrobat troupe about to enter the big top.
“I count fourteen. How about you?” Rock asked.
“Fourteen it is,” he said into the mike.
“The tan guy is running the show, isn’t he?” Rock said.
“Yeah.”
“I’m looking forward to killing that motherfucker.”
“You going to do him yourself?”
“I sure am.”
The Gypsies entered the chapel and the doors closed behind them. Billy felt certain that Rock was watching the ceremony unfold inside the chapel on the TV screens and was not paying the slightest attention to him, or Ike. It was time for Ike to make himself scarce. He gently kicked the big man in the shin with his heel. Ike stepped backward, out of the frame.
Billy waited for Rock to say something.
Rock didn’t say a thing.
Billy reached into his jacket and turned off the receiver.
“Go,” he said without moving his lips.
Ike hurried away.
Billy flipped the receiver back on. Standing as stiff as a statue, he focused on the wedding-chapel doors, waiting for the Gypsies to emerge.
Ike had touched greatness in his life before, and come up short. In college during a nationally televised bowl game, he’d allowed the opposing team’s running back to slip past him, the play repeated endlessly on ESPN during their end-of-year bloopers festival. In the Super Bowl, he’d tripped over another team member during a crucial play and also made the ESPN idiot reel. And so it had gone-remembered for the times he’d messed up, not for his achievements.
That was about to change, and a new chapter would be written. Walking to the elevators, Ike called upstairs to the suite and, when T-Bird picked up, said, “Everything’s set. Come on down.”
“See you by the elevators,” his partner said.
Ike hung up, called the cage, and spoke to the cage manager, a guy named Don Winter. Don was part of the casino’s inner circle and knew about the money laundering. Ike said, “Hey, Don, this is Ike Spears. Reverend Rock’s ready to cash out.”
Don said, “Bring him down. We’ve got the goods ready for him.”
Ike said, “See you in a few,” and ended the call.
Ike tried to stay calm as he waited by the elevators. Soon, he and T-Bird were going to be living the good life in Mexico, lounging by the pool and doing all the fine things that rich people did. He was sorry to be taking Billy’s share-the little guy had grown on him-but the way he saw it, Billy had plenty of big paydays down the road, while he and T-Bird were at the end of their playing days. The elevator doors parted, and T-Bird and the two sexy ladies from Billy’s crew waltzed out. T-Bird had the drug dealer persona down flat and walked with the swagger of fast cash. The girls wore trashy clothes and makeup so dark they looked like hot Mexican bitches. The one named Misty carried the Nike bag with the fake chips swinging by her side.
“You guys look sharp,” Ike said.
“I feel sharp,” T-Bird said. “Lead the way, my man.”
Ike led them through the packed casino. The shift change was taking place, and he saw blackjack dealers leaving their tables to be replaced by fresh dealers. It was a perfect time to be pulling off a heist, the room in a state of flux.
By the time they reached the cage, the sweat was pouring off him, the memory of those fuckers blowing past him in college and the pros still haunting him. No more blooper reels, he told himself. If anything, he might get profiled on The Ones That Got Away.
There were long lines at the cashiers’ windows. Ike looked over the people’s heads and spotted Don. The cage manager held up a finger as if to say, Give me a minute.
They stood off to the side to wait. There were surveillance cameras in the ceiling, but Ike wasn’t worried. Rock, Marcus, and Shaz were watching the Gypsy wedding and paying zero attention to the cage. Billy had suckered them good.
“What are we waiting for,” T-Bird said impatiently. “Don’t they know who I am?”
“Cool your jets,” Ike said. “Our ship’s about to come in.”
FIFTY-NINE
At four, Frank got the word that the roadblocks were in place.
“Okay, folks, we’re ready to roll,” he announced.
The three gaming agents watching the monitors rose in unison and filed out through the side door of the truck. Frank looked at Mags, who sat handcuffed in her chair.
“You, too,” he said.
Mags stood up and held out her wrists. He shook his head.
“Why are you treating me this way?” she asked, fighting back tears.
“Because you can’t be trusted. You’re a cheater and always will be,” he said.
“You sure enjoyed sleeping with me.”
He shrugged as if to say, What did you expect?
“You still haven’t said what I’m supposed to do,” she said.
“My team is responsible for busting Billy and his crew,” he said. “When you see Billy in the casino, I want you to call out his name and start walking toward him. Be real friendly.”
“You want me to bring his guard down.”
“That’s right. Billy’s no dope. He’ll see you cuffed and realize he’s done. Let’s go.”
“Can I have my cell phone back?”
“You’re funny.”
They went outside to where a small army of gaming agents dressed in NV Energy uniforms were gathered on the sidewalk. Each agent had a firearm strapped to his side and a seven-pointed gold star pinned to his uniform. Trixie was giving them their final instructions before going in. “Remember, we have the exits to the hotel and casino covered, and that includes the underground garage,” Trixie told his troops. “If either Cunningham or Reverend Rock tries to make a run for it, let them go. Our men outside will chase them down. Got it?”
There were murmurs of yes and a collective nodding of heads.
“I got a phone call from the mayor earlier. I promised the mayor that we would not discharge our weapons inside Galaxy’s hotel or the casino unless there was a life-threatening situation, and I expect you to uphold that promise,” Trixie said. “Am I making myself clear?”
More agreement. Vegas was strange when it came to firearms; the police and gaming agents regularly gunned down bad guys in the street, yet rarely fired their weapons inside the casinos, fearful of the effect it would have on the town’s tourism business.
Mags breathed a sigh of relief, knowing that Billy wasn’t going to get shot.