“Of course I want to take some practice throws.”
Billy found a ball to his liking and held it against his chest. Half a lifetime ago, he’d been the best bowler in his hometown, maybe the best in the state of Rhode Island, the sound of the rubber-solid ball exploding off the maple tenpins so loud and dominating that it scared other bowlers and gave him a huge edge. He had a motion like nobody else, with a high backswing that created a deep knee bend and a hook that demolished the pins and his opponents as well, the noise as loud as a cannon going off. The ball flew down the lane. Bang, a strike.
He threw two more balls with the same results.
“Aw, shit, look at you,” Travis said.
“Ready when you are,” Billy said.
Travis lost the first game by eighty pins. The big man didn’t know how to play the outside or the inside of the lane or how to work the angles.
“Why didn’t you tell me you were a ringer?” Travis asked.
“You didn’t ask. Keep your head still when you release the ball.”
“Thanks for the pointer.”
The next game, Billy took it easy and won by thirty points. It hadn’t been that long ago when he’d been making a grand a week playing illegal action games in Providence, his action backed by local wise guys. He would have gone right on bowling for dollars only he didn’t want to spend his life associated with guys named Tony the Ant or Three Fingers Louie, so he’d hung up his bowling shoes and sold his ball at the local pawn shop.
Beaten, Travis slapped the cash into Billy’s palm. “I should have known.”
“Live and learn. Hey, by the time this weekend is over, you’ll have enough money to build your own bowling alley.”
“Man, that would be a blast.”
“I need your help with something.”
“Sure, Billy, name it.”
Pepper and Misty had gotten bored and left, as had Cory and Morris. Except for Gabe off in the corner of the room, it was just the two of them. Billy lowered his voice anyway.
“The ladies are getting antsy. Keep an eye on them for me.”
“The Chinese guy has them spooked, huh?”
“He’s harmless, only they don’t know that. They think he’s a stalker.”
“That’s not good.”
“No, it’s not. Tommy Wang’s our ticket to the big time. If Misty and Pepper run away from him, our lives of luxury will have to be put on hold.”
“I won’t let them out of my sight.”
“Thanks, man.”
Travis said good night and left, leaving Billy alone with Gabe. The jeweler sat on a stiff wooden bench absorbed with his cell phone. He made a distressed sound and ran his hand through his thinning hair. Billy took the spot beside him on the bench.
“I can’t get a hold of my house sitter,” Gabe explained. “I called his cell phone and he didn’t pick up. He didn’t pick up when I called the landline at my house, either.”
“This is the ex-military guy across the street with the heart problem.”
“Good memory. Nate’s always been Mister Reliable. My gut tells me something’s happened to him, you know, with his heart. I want to go check on him.”
“We don’t have a car, remember?”
“I could cab it.”
“I’ve got a better idea. Call one of your other neighbors, ask him to go over and bang on your front door, see what the deal is. If I remember correctly, Nate has a hearing problem. He’s probably got the TV jacked up so loud he can’t hear the phone.”
“That’s a good idea. I’ll call my neighbor Elsie. She’s an insomniac.”
“I’m going to hit the sack. Ciao.”
“I heard what you said to Travis. Are the girls going to bail on us?”
“Not if I can help it.”
Billy went to the living room to fix a nightcap. Bowling with Travis had brought back a lot of memories, and he made the drink extra strong and took it onto the balcony. Growing up in Providence had been the pits, more so when he’d become a thief. It was a poor, half-ugly city without enough good scores to go around. Local gangsters took it personally when another thief crossed into their turf, and guys were always getting whacked over chump change.
The slider opened. Gabe appeared by his side, breathing hard.
“I just got off the phone with Elsie. My place was broken into tonight,” Gabe said. “My front door’s open and the foyer’s trashed. Nate’s car is still in the driveway.”
“Any sign of him?”
“None. Elsie wants to call the cops. I told her not to do that. I need to get over there.”
“Yes, you do. I’ll go with you.”
Billy went to his bedroom and got his leather jacket from the closet. Gabe’s house was chock-full of sophisticated forgery equipment that he used to manufacture the gaffs they used for their scams. Possession of crooked gambling equipment in Nevada was a felony, and the last people Gabe wanted poking around his house were the Metro LVPD. Gabe awaited him in the living room and looked scared out of his wits.
Billy knew the feeling.
Seventeen
Nobody who worked in Vegas made jack.
Not the blackjack dealers who stood on their feet eight hours a day and relied on tips to get by. Or the statuesque showgirls who balanced ten pounds of feathers on their heads and took home less than a schoolteacher. Or the front-desk receptionists who worked twelve-hour shifts and had nothing to show for it at the end of the month.
When Billy had first arrived in Vegas, he’d taken one look at the opulent casinos lining the Strip and assumed that everyone in the gambling industry was making big bucks and living the good life. The casinos generated billions, and it seemed logical the money would get spread around.
He’d been wrong. Nobody made shit. The greedy casino owners didn’t share their food and there was no trickle-down effect among the employees who kept the joints running. Like Medieval times, there was a handful of kings and a kingdom of slaves, and anyone foolish enough to think they could change things had a lesson coming to them.
The same was true of the town’s other businesses. Like the cab companies. Vegas taxis generated twenty-five million rides a year, yet the owners of the cab companies forced their drivers to work inhuman hours to meet revenue targets. As a result, cabbies often resorted to cheating their customers to make a buck.
“That was our turn,” Billy said through the partition.
“I know where I’m going,” the driver said.
“So why did you pass our turn?”
“You think I’m long-hauling you?”
“Damn straight I do.”
The driver said nothing, his eyes glued to the four-lane stretch of road in front of him.
“The nerve of this fucking guy,” Gabe said under his breath.
Billy put his face to the glass. “Say good-bye to your tip, pal.”
The driver’s eyes grew wide in his mirror. “I live on tips, man. Have a heart.”
“I live here, and you’re taking us for a ride.”
“You’re a native? Why didn’t you say so?”
“I just did. Now, turn the cab around.”
Their driver did a one-eighty in the middle of busy Las Vegas Boulevard. Less than sixty seconds later the cab was idling in front of Gabe’s sprawling ranch house. Gabe’s neighborhood had taken a serious hit during the recession, and half the houses on the block were empty. It was like living in a ghost town, and Gabe often talked about pulling up stakes once property values rose. Billy passed a crisp twenty through the partition for the ten-dollar fare.
“Keep the change,” he said.
The driver took the money with a smile and handed Billy his card.
“Call me if you need a ride,” the driver said.
The driver had major cojones. Billy liked that, and he pocketed the card.
Billy and Gabe headed up the front path. The house had lights in the windows and the AC unit purred. The notion that something bad had happened to Nate hung over them like a dark cloud. They halted at the front porch. Billy tested the front door and found it locked.