James Swain
Bad Action
To Kjersti and Kevin
One
— THE KILLING —
Billy Cunningham had never wanted to kill anyone in his life. He was a lover, not a fighter, and liked to believe he could talk his way out of any jam. Only this time, he didn’t have a choice. He’d told the man in the bedroom how he felt, and the man had drawn a switchblade. Right then, Billy had known that it was not going to end until one of them was dead.
Billy retreated from the bedroom and walked backward down the hallway with the man following him. The condo’s layout was unfamiliar, and he kept bumping into walls. Upon reaching the living room, he drew the Sig Sauer P220 semiautomatic tucked in the small of his back, steadied his arm, and took aim. If he didn’t pull the trigger, the man was going to kill him — probably slowly, certainly painfully — and would have no second thoughts about it.
His enemy put on the brakes and broke into a smile.
“You think I’m kidding?” Billy said.
“Your arm’s shaking,” the man said.
No surprise there. Billy wasn’t fond of guns. He’d been scamming the casinos of Las Vegas for a decade and never felt the need to carry heat. His weapon was his wits and his ability to stay one step ahead of the law. That wasn’t true for most cheats. Most cheats carried guns and would use them if necessary. They didn’t care if they capped a victim during a job, and they certainly didn’t have a problem killing another thief who crossed them.
Billy was different that way. He didn’t possess a killer’s instinct. Never had, never would. The man with the switchblade sensed that. He had sized Billy up and decided he liked his chances pitting his blade against Billy’s gun.
“You don’t have the balls to shoot me,” the man said.
“You’re not a very good judge of character,” Billy said.
“You’ve never shot a gun in your fucking life.”
“That doesn’t mean I won’t shoot you.”
The man’s eyes were filled with contempt. He wasn’t scared of Billy at all.
“You’re bluffing,” the man said.
“Call my bluff and see what happens,” Billy said.
Eight feet, maybe less, separated them. The adrenaline coursing through Billy’s veins had caused a surreal slowdown of events, and he saw the tip of the knife flick back and forth in the man’s hand like a serpent’s tail. His enemy’s smile vanished as he lunged forward.
Billy squeezed the trigger. As he did, he had an unsettling thought. He didn’t know whether the Sig was loaded. It wasn’t his gun, and in the heat of the moment he hadn’t bothered to check the chamber. Only when the gun barked in his hand did he know. The bullet slammed into his enemy’s chest and the man melted to the floor.
“Rot in hell,” Billy said.
The life seeped out of the man’s body, his eyes shutting a few centimeters at a time. It didn’t seem real. A few short days ago, Billy had been preparing to pull the biggest heist of his life. Twelve months of planning had gone into it, along with weeks of rehearsals at a rented house in Lake Tahoe. It was such an ingenious piece of larceny that Billy hoped to someday write a book about it, just so the world would know what he’d done.
So how had he ended up in a strange house, killing a man he hardly knew?
Billy thought he knew. He’d let his feelings for a beautiful woman cloud his judgment. He’d been a thief for most of his life, and he never let his emotions interfere with a job. But this situation was different. He’d fallen in love, and love did strange things to people.
Voices carried from outside. At the living room window, he parted the curtains. A police cruiser was parked in the street, its bubble flashing. A pair of uniforms stood behind the cruiser pointing their guns at the house. One of the uniforms was on a walkie-talkie, calling for backup.
He stepped away from the window and tossed the Sig onto the couch. He’d dug a deep hole for himself. The question was, could he climb out of it, or would he spend the rest of his life in prison, hustling his cellmates at penny ante poker? Taking out his cell phone, he called Travis, the number-two man in his crew. He told Travis that he was not going to be at the casino that afternoon for the heist, and for his crew to proceed without him.
“Where are you? We’re all getting nervous,” Travis said.
“Change of plans. You’re now officially in charge,” Billy said.
“Are you coming back?”
“Not right away. I’ll explain later. Just follow the script, and we’ll all end up rich.”
“For the love of Christ, Billy, this is insane.”
“Have I ever steered you wrong before?”
“That’s not the point. You’re not here, and you’re the whale. What do I tell DeSantis if he asks me where you went?”
“I told DeSantis I had to bail a friend out of jail. Use that story.”
Travis went quiet, and Billy wondered if he’d lost him.
“I sure hope you know what you’re doing,” the big man said.
“Keep the faith,” Billy said.
His next call was to his defense attorney, a silver-haired fox named Felix Underman. Billy paid his attorney a fat monthly retainer for situations just like this, and the receptionist patched him through without asking what the call was about.
“Hello, Billy, how are we today?” his attorney asked.
“Not so good,” he replied.
“I’m sorry to hear that. What seems to be the problem?”
“I just shot a guy, and the police are going to arrest me.”
“Is he dead?”
“Yeah, that’s why I shot him.”
“I’ll meet you at the jail in an hour. Whatever you do, don’t say a word to the police.”
“I wasn’t planning on it,” the young hustler said.
Two
— WEDNESDAY, THREE DAYS EARLIER —
Lake Tahoe was for lovers of the great outdoors. Snowcapped mountains ringed the twenty-two-mile-long body of water, the scenery around the lake so breathtaking that it wouldn’t have been a surprise to find the von Trapp family sharing a picnic.
The employees who worked Tahoe’s casinos were equally attractive, with athletic dealers and pit bosses who spent their off hours hiking or burning down the slopes.
Tahoe was also a good place to plan a heist. The locals were friendly but minded their own business. There were also fewer cops and hardly any gaming agents snooping around. Billy felt comfortable here, so he’d rented a five-bedroom house on the south side and set up shop.
His crew had spent two weeks rehearsing in front of video cameras. Each member was about to take on a new identity as part of their role in the scam. It was no different than performing in a play, and at night they’d sat in the living room and watched videos of their performances while critiquing themselves the same way acting students would.
By the end of the second week, Billy decided it was time to try out their new identities. Their target was the Montbleu Casino on the southern tip of the lake. The eighties rock group Styx was performing in the casino’s theater, and the joint was packed.
The blackjack table had seven chairs. Billy sat in the chair to the dealer’s immediate left, called first base. Next to Billy sat Travis, the crew’s mechanic. Beside Travis sat a comely brunette named Misty. Misty had recently gotten a face-lift to avoid arrest and gone back to using her real name on her driver’s license and other ID, but the crew still knew her as Misty.
Beside Misty sat Pepper, a stunning redhead who’d acted in porn movies with Misty before joining Billy’s crew. Rounding out the table were two college-age hustlers named Cory and Morris, and a master forger named Gabe, who happened to be the oldest member of the crew.