“What the hell’s that noise?” T-Bird asked.
“Ignore it,” Ike said.
Ike heard his name being called. Don the cage manager had opened up a new window, and motioned for Ike to step forward. Ike hurried over with the gym bag and began passing the gold beauties through the cage into Don’s waiting hands. Don removed a stack of real gold chips from the cashier’s drawer and compared them to the fakes, checking for both color and height. Satisfied, he held the fakes in his hand and let them cascade to the marble countertop to see if they had the same consistency as the chips he handled every day. Convinced that everything was on the square, he counted the fakes, then looked at Ike through the bars.
“We’re good. I’ll be right out,” Don said.
Ike tried not to grin. It was going just as Billy had said it would. A door beside the cage swung open, and the cage manager emerged carrying a leather briefcase with the money orders. Ike stuck his hand out for the briefcase, and Don scowled at him.
“This isn’t yours,” Don scolded.
Ike grinned foolishly and lowered his arm. “Sorry, I wasn’t thinking.”
“Why are you sweating so much?”
“I’m not feeling so hot.”
“If you’re sick, you should stay home. Everyone knows that.”
“You’re right, I should have stayed home.”
Don gave him a look that said he didn’t like Ike’s behavior. The cage manager shifted his attention to T-Bird. The disguise put Don at ease, and he handed T-Bird the briefcase.
“I hope you had an enjoyable stay,” Don said.
“We had a great time. Didn’t we, girls?” T-Bird said.
The girls knew better than to say anything. It was starting to get awkward, and Ike said, “We need to beat it. Rock’s got a plane to catch back to LA.”
“I need his signature for our records.” Don reached into his suit jacket and produced a pen and a chit for T-Bird to sign for the money orders. “Just sign on the bottom and we’re done.”
T-Bird passed the briefcase to Misty and took the pen and chit out of Don’s hands. He made a flourish out of signing his name before handing Don the pen and the chit.
“Thanks for the good time,” T-Bird said.
Don stared at the signature on the chit. “Who’s Terrell Bird?”
“Me,” T-Bird said without thinking.
“I thought your name was Rock.”
“Well, yeah. It’s actually my nickname. You see…”
Don whipped out his cell phone. “Stay where you are. I’m calling security.”
This was bad. Real bad. Ike couldn’t see them talking their way out of it, so he sucker punched Don in the side of the face. Don’s eyes rolled up and he sank to the floor.
“I’ve got a sick man here. Somebody call a doctor,” Ike called out.
A big man playing video poker jumped out of his chair. Ike recognized him as having been in the garage earlier, a member of Billy’s crew. Travis was his name.
“Let’s go,” Travis said. “The getaway car’s parked in back.”
“I thought Billy said there’d be two of you,” Ike said.
“No, just me,” Travis said.
They moved in tandem toward the casino’s back entrance. Travis walked backward, never taking his eyes off Ike or T-Bird. Ike sensed motion behind him and looked over his shoulder. Misty had gone AWOL. Pepper was still there, holding the briefcase with the money orders. Ike drew a gun from his pocket and pointed it at her.
“Eeek,” Pepper said.
Ike relieved her of the money orders. “Don’t follow us, or I’ll clip you.”
“Wouldn’t dream of it,” Pepper said.
Ike and T-Bird bolted out of the casino. The baby-faced guys who were part of Billy’s crew had parked a red Chevy Malibu in a spot by the back entrance and were standing beside it, in anticipation of making their escape. Seeing Ike’s gun, they both turned pale.
“Go stand in the grass,” Ike said.
The baby-faced ones did as told. Ike got behind the wheel of the rental, while T-Bird rode shotgun. The keys were stuck in the ignition. Ike turned over the engine and hit the gas, making the engine roar. He circled the massive parking lot searching for the exit.
“We did it, man. We’re rich,” Ike said.
“Sunny Mexico, here we come,” T-Bird said.
“Did you see their faces? Wish I had a camera.”
Ike found the exit and took the turn on two wheels. He’d mapped out their escape plan that morning; they’d take the back roads to Spring Mountain Road, drive west to the freeway, and head due south to the California state line. From there it would be a leisurely drive to San Diego and across the border to the promised land, where they’d spend the rest of their days hanging out in their big hacienda, living in the lap of luxury.
T-Bird held the briefcase with the loot in his lap. “Holy shit.”
“What’s wrong?”
“It changed color.”
“What the hell are you talking about?”
“The briefcase changed color. It was black inside the casino; now it’s dark brown.”
“You’ve got to be kidding me.”
“I ain’t kidding you, man. It changed.”
It was at that moment that Ike knew they’d been double-crossed. Misty disappearing, only one guy inside the casino to help when there were supposed to be two. Billy had figured out they were going to rip him off, so the little guy had beaten them to the punch.
“Open it,” Ike said.
T-Bird popped the clasps and lifted the lid. “Fucking shit! It’s filled with rocks!”
“Surprise, surprise.”
“Turn around. Come on, do it!”
Ike wasn’t paying attention, his eyes focused on the roadblock at the end of the street. A line of men wearing bulletproof vests were pointing high-powered rifles and shotguns at the rental’s windshield, ready to mow them down. Ike’s foot touched the brake but didn’t press down. What was the point? They’d just end up rotting to death in some crummy federal pen with a thousand other losers. That was not the way he wanted to check out. Better to do it in style.
Seconds later, the first bullet penetrated the windshield. T-Bird jumped in his seat and then slumped forward with his chin resting on his chest, never knowing what hit him.
“I’m right behind you,” Ike said.
Rock stood at rigid attention in front of the flat-screen TVs, watching the mayhem unfold. Punches thrown, bodies flying, the lavish hotel lobby and its beautiful furnishings trashed by the army of determined gaming agents that had raided his casino. His security staff was putting up a decent fight but was outgunned and would ultimately lose to a superior foe. That was the law of the jungle, and it was only a matter of time before the gaming agents came upstairs to arrest him. Clutched in his hand was his walking stick, whose ornate handle he smacked viciously into his open palm. His bodyguards flanked him, unsure what to do.
The landline on the desk rang.
“Answer it,” the drug kingpin barked.
Doucette and his wife had taken up positions behind the couch, afraid of Rock’s wrath. Doucette sprinted to the desk and hit a button on the phone.
“Hello?”
“This is Don Winter, the cage manager. We’ve been robbed. The money orders are gone,” came the man’s weakened voice out of the speaker.
“What?”
“It was Ike. He and his partner stole the money orders.”
“Ask him where he is,” Rock said.
“Where are you?” Doucette asked.
“By the cage. I’m hurt,” the cage manager replied.
“Give me the remote,” Rock said.
One of the bodyguards found the remote. Rock punched in a command, and the images on the TVs changed to show Don standing outside the cage with a cell phone. Don was having trouble keeping his balance and listed from side to side.
Rock crossed the office and brought his mouth next to the speaker.