“That’s bullshit,” their client said.
“Take it or leave it.”
“I’ll pay you half. That’s fair.”
“The full amount or we don’t do the job.”
Their client cursed loudly. Heads snapped at the bar, hoping for a fight. That wasn’t unusual in the Double Down. Fights happened, people got bruised and bloodied, and new friends were made at the hospital ER.
“Pay us the full amount and we’ll throw in a bonus,” Junior added.
“What kind of bonus?” their client said.
“My father found some incriminating evidence in Cunningham’s condo.”
“What are you talking about?”
“You told us Cunningham made his living cheating casinos. We figured you ran security at a casino and that Cunningham is giving you problems. That’s why you want him dead.”
Their client fell silent, his eyes never leaving Junior’s face.
“You’re smarter than you look, you know that?” their client said.
Junior took this as a compliment. People assumed that his father was the brains of the operation and Junior the executioner. Nothing could have been further from the truth. It was Junior who did the thinking, his father the killing.
“My father found stuff in Cunningham’s place that we think is his next big scam,” Junior said. “Who knows? Maybe he’s planning to rip off your casino with it.”
“What do you know about scams?”
“Just what we’ve learned from the cheaters we’ve whacked.”
“You’ve killed cheaters before?”
“Plenty of times. Casinos get sick of guys stealing their money, they call us. Last month we took out a yo-yo man scamming slot machines at Palace Station.”
“A what?”
“Guy was playing a slot machine using a coin with a thread tied to it. He dropped the coin into the machine and pulled it out so he could play for free. Slot machines have a razor in the coin chute, but this guy used unbreakable nylon thread. We made him tell us what he was doing before we whacked him.”
Their client digested this piece of information before speaking again. “You’re right, I do run security at a casino, and Cunningham’s been stealing from us. That’s why I want him gone. So what did your father find in Cunningham’s place?”
“Give us the money, and we’ll show you.”
Their client fell silent. Junior leaned back in his chair to wait him out. Their client could always hire another pair of killers to do the job, but he’d never find out what Cunningham’s scam was. The hook was in the water; now the fish needed to take the bait.
“All right, I’ll pay you,” their client said.
“Right now,” Junior said.
“Don’t you trust me?”
“We’ve been fucked by better people than you.”
“I bet you have.”
The wallet came out. It was big and fat and filled with folding money. Five grand in crisp hundred-dollar bills was counted onto the table in a neat pile.
“Your turn,” their client said.
Wilmer removed a handful of tiny screws from the breast pocket of his denim jacket and placed them on top of the bills like they were precious diamonds.
“My father found a bowl of these screws on the desk in Cunningham’s study,” Junior said.
“So?” their client said.
“The computer was turned on, and my father saw an e-mail that Cunningham had gotten from a guy named Gabe Weiss. You know this guy?”
“Gabe Weiss works for Cunningham. He’s a master forger,” their client said.
“My father guessed as much by reading the e-mail. He printed it off the computer.”
“Let me see it.”
Wilmer made another trip to his pocket. A sheet of paper was produced and unfolded. It landed on the table so the writing was facing their client.
Billy, we’re set. I fitted the screws like you told me and did a thousand simulations. It ran like a charm. We win 65 percent of the time, enough to take the place down and give management heart attacks. Too bad we can only pull this once. Come over so we can celebrate.
“Can I have this?” their client asked.
“It’s yours,” Junior said.
“What about the screws?”
“Keep ’em. Do you know what the scam is?”
“They’ve rigged a machine and are going to sneak it into a casino with an employee’s help. Probably a slot machine or maybe video poker. If they ran a thousand simulations, it means they’re planning to bleed the game slowly so the loss isn’t too obvious.”
“Ehhh,” Wilmer blurted out.
“What did he say?” their client asked.
“My father said that isn’t it.”
“How the hell would your father know that?” their client said.
“Cunningham lives like a king,” Junior explained. “Penthouse condo, fancy furnishings, closet with more damn clothes than you’ve ever seen. We’ve whacked slot cheats and they were a bunch of two-time losers. Cunningham isn’t a slot cheat.”
“Then what’s the scam?” their client asked.
“We thought you’d know,” Junior said.
“Afraid not. But I’ll figure it out eventually.” Their client picked up the screws and slipped them into his jacket pocket. “You good with addresses?”
“Mind like a steel trap,” Junior said.
“14235 Carmichael Lane. That’s where Gabe Weiss lives in Silverado Lakes.”
“I know the area.”
“Good. I’m guessing Cunningham’s staying there while plotting his next scam.”
“We’ll get him this time,” Junior said.
Ten
To catch a whale, you needed a big piece of bait.
One hour after meeting Eddie DeSantis, Billy and his crew were standing atop a twelve thousand — foot peak northwest of Las Vegas called Mount Charleston, sipping hot toddies and nibbling fresh chocolate chip cookies while admiring the panoramic views.
Sometimes getting to a destination was half the fun. A sleek Sikorsky S-76 chopper had picked them up from a helipad outside the Rio and brought them to the top of the mountain in twenty minutes flat. Upon touching down, DeSantis had passed out fleece-lined jackets while explaining how temperatures on the mountain were thirty degrees cooler than the desert.
Billy had tried not to act impressed, but beneath the surface he was bubbling with excitement. Carnivale’s management had checked out his credit rating and decided to put him on the top of their leviathan ladder, which was the internal rating system for whales that the casinos subscribed to. No expense would be spared to lure Billy to Carnivale.
DeSantis stood on the edge of the cliff and described the landmarks, which included a quaint village of pitched-roof houses nestled in the valley below. DeSantis had his spiel down pat and could have charmed the skin off a rattlesnake.
“What’s that big building down there?” Pepper asked. “It looks like that scary hotel in The Shining.”
“That’s the Mount Charleston Resort,” DeSantis said. “It’s a great place for skiing. Carnivale has a special arrangement if you’re interested.”
“Oh, that sounds like fun. Billy — can we come back in a few months and go skiing?”
“It all depends on the accommodations. Do they have a spa?” Billy asked.
“A very nice one, plus a gym,” DeSantis said.
“Are the restaurants any good?”
“They’re okay, nothing great. However, I can arrange for a chef from Carnivale to be brought to the resort to prepare your meals.”
“Our own chef? This is sounding better all the time. Is there a private dining area?” Billy asked. “I don’t like public restaurants.”
“That can be arranged as well,” Eddie said.
“How about ski lessons? It’s been a long time since I hit the slopes. Don’t want to fall down and break my neck.”