“I thought you were taking me home,” she said.
“Change of plans. There’s a big game at the Palazzo.”
“I’m done. No more scamming for today.”
“There’s a lot of money on the table. I’ll get you some coffee, wake you up.”
“My mind’s all mush. The pills wore off.”
“I’ll give you some more. It’s easy work. You can’t say no.”
Mags glared at him. “My hand hurts from belting that asshole. I want to go home.”
Some tender loving care was in order. Slyde took Mags’s hand and kissed her swollen knuckles while he drove. “Come on, baby, you can do it.”
“How come you’re nice to me only when you want something?”
“I’m always nice to you, baby. You just appreciate it more sometimes.”
“Is that what it is.”
“You know I wouldn’t steer you wrong. Once we’re done fleecing these suckers at the Palazzo, I’ll take you home and put you to bed. What do you say?”
Mags withdrew her hand and stared at the road. “All right, but you’d better give me those pills. I ain’t worth shit to anybody right now.”
The Palazzo was an all-suite joint tucked between the Wynn and Venetian on the north end of the Strip. Every hotel in town had a special amenity that it advertised to death in order to make itself stand out. For the Palazzo, it was the fact that the resort was eco-friendly.
Eco-friendly was an oxymoron in Vegas. The town was committed to the waste of the region’s precious resources and had been since the first casino had been built seventy years ago. Millions of watts of power were wasted every time the Strip’s neon lights came on, while excessive watering of golf courses and landscaping had sucked dry the nearby Colorado River.
The Lago suite was nothing to write home about. Nineteen hundred square feet of furniture covered in animal prints and a bunch of dull wall coverings. A green felt poker table occupied the living room’s center, and around it, five chairs. A Hollywood producer named Rand Waters sat at the table with two flunkies. Waters was pushing sixty but played a younger man, his sleeveless muscle shirt displaying a pair of well-toned arms. Waters had produced so many hit TV series over the years that even Mags knew his name.
Introductions were made. Mags had played poker with Hollywood hotshots before and knew the drill. It was all about enhancing the star. Waters was the star, and everyone present was expected to fawn over him like the next coming of Christ.
The hired dealer shuffled and dealt the round.
“Where are you from, Mags?” Waters asked.
“Providence,” Mags replied.
“I visited there once. A lovely town.”
“You should get your eyes checked,” she said.
Waters laughed. A split second later, the flunkies joined in.
“Have you ever acted? You could be on TV,” Waters said.
“I thought we were here to play cards,” Mags said.
“Fasten your seat belts, boys. We’re in for a ride,” he said to the flunkies.
The game was no-limit Texas Hold ’Em. Mags decided not to give Waters bad action and purposely lost the first few hands. It was apparent that the flunkies had an agreement with Waters and would drop out whenever Waters had good cards and bet aggressively. Hustlers called this playing cousins.
In most poker games that Mags had played in, cell phones were turned off. That was not the case with Waters. The TV producer’s iPhone lay on the green felt next to his chips and was constantly beeping, buzzing, and vibrating. Play was stopped if the call was deemed important, and Waters would talk to the caller while Mags and the flunkies twiddled their thumbs.
After the fourth interruption, Mags decided she’d had enough. Waters needed to be cut down to size. Her opportunity came the very next hand. She got dealt two aces, a pair of bullets. Waters also had a pair. Mags knew this because Waters had gotten a pair earlier, and his breathing had become accelerated. Waters’s breathing was accelerated now, and Mags put him on a pair of jacks.
Mags raised five grand.
Waters came over the top and raised Mags ten grand.
Mags went for the kill and shoved her chips forward. “I’m all in.”
Waters turned white. His jacks were good, but were they good enough?
“That’s a very a-aggressive bet,” Waters stammered.
“You can always muck your hand,” Mags suggested.
“Should I?”
“I would if I were you.”
Waters stared at his cards. He was out of his element, and he knew it.
“I call,” he said.
They flipped their cards faceup. As she’d suspected, Waters had jacks. The dealer dealt the flop, then fourth and fifth street. Mags’s aces held up, and she raked in the massive pot.
“You’re awfully good,” Waters said.
“Beginner’s luck,” Mags said.
“You’re a natural. Let me give you a screen test.”
“I’ve never acted in my life. I wouldn’t know what to do.”
“Just be yourself. I know talent when I see it, and you’ve got talent. Doesn’t she?”
“The camera will eat her up,” one of the flunkies said.
Mags had not expected this to turn into a casting call. Slyde stood on the other side of the suite talking on his cell phone. His face was filled with worry, and he motioned to her.
“Excuse me, gentlemen, I’ll be right back,” she said.
The suite had a game room with the prerequisite pool table and pinball machine. Slyde shut the door behind them. “That was the concierge at the Riviera. You broke Dolan’s neck.”
“Is he alive?”
“Barely. The C2 vertebra is broken in two places. They call it the hangman’s fracture because that’s what breaks when a person gets hanged. Dolan is at the emergency room at the hospital, about to go into surgery. He’s already talked to the cops and is pressing charges.”
“But he struck me. It was self-defense.”
“Dolan’s buddies told the cops that you attacked him. The two hookers are backing up the story.”
“Are the police looking for me?”
“Yeah. You want to go talk to them, give them your side of the story?”
“Are you out of your fucking mind? I’m not allowed to set foot in a Vegas casino, remember? The police will put me into a cell and throw away the key.”
“Then what do you want to do?”
“I need to talk to a lawyer.”
“A lawyer’s going to tell you what I’m telling you. You have to talk to the police.”
Mags leaned against the wall and hugged herself. Her world was suddenly caving in and she didn’t know what to do. “Will you go with me?”
“Go with you where?” Slyde asked.
“To the police. I need you to back up my story.”
“Me and the police don’t get along.”
“For the love of Christ, you’re all I got, Jimmy.”
“Fuck it. All right, I’ll back you up.”
Slyde was lying to her. Mags could tell by the soft tone of his voice and the subtle narrowing of his eyelids. Slyde was going to drop Mags and run like hell. The betrayal was enough to make her head explode, and she wanted to scratch his eyes out.
“You prick,” she said.
Slyde pretended not to hear and walked out of the game room. He had his parking slip out and was calling downstairs to the valet for his car to be pulled up.
“Wait for me, you piece of shit.”
Mags hustled after Slyde across the suite. Upon reaching the door, she felt a hand on her arm. Waters stood next to her wearing his best Tinseltown smile.
“You can’t leave now,” Waters said.
“Afraid so,” Mags said.
“But I just ordered lunch from room service.”
“You’ll have to give me a rain check.”
“I was serious about what I said. Give me the chance, and I’ll make you into a star.”