Billy saluted him. “So what kind of songs do you sing?”
“I like rock ’n’ roll. Rolling Stones and Led Zeppelin are my favorites,” Wang replied.
“Do you sing in a band back home?” Billy asked.
“No band,” Wang said, shaking his head.
“You sing solo?”
“I sing in the shower,” Wang said with a laugh.
Billy’s face burned. They were going to the Hard Rock to hear Wang sing karaoke. Travis gave him a poke in the ribs with his elbow.
“Maybe we can duck out when no one’s looking,” the big man whispered.
“Right,” Billy said.
The Joint at the Hard Rock was a mixed bag. Classic acts like Peter Frampton and Cheap Trick played there, but there were also pole-dancing competitions and fetish balls. Billy hoped that DeSantis had reserved them a private suite to avoid mixing with the rest of the crowd, and to his chagrin discovered that DeSantis had them sitting in reserved seats on the main floor.
“You know what they say. Closest to the stage wins,” DeSantis said.
DeSantis took Wang backstage to get ready. The featured act was Jimmie Vaughan and the Fabulous Thunderbirds, with Tommy Wang and the High Rollers serving as warm-up. Billy had attended concerts at the Hard Rock before he’d become persona non grata and knew that the crowds were young and hard-drinking. The moment Tommy Wang let out a bad note, they were going to eat him alive.
Pepper sat at the end of the aisle. She had not made eye contact with him. Billy pulled the rubber band off his wrist and sent it her way. Most hustlers wore rubber bands on their wrists and used them to tie up their bankrolls in case they got robbed. The hustler would toss the bankroll over a wall or beneath a parked car, and then retrieve it later on. He’d never had to use his rubber band, but he wore it under the belief that it was better to be safe than sorry.
The rubber band landed in Pepper’s lap. She glanced his way.
“Did Misty talk to you?” Billy asked.
“About what?” Pepper asked.
Misty hadn’t told Pepper the bad news. Billy rose from his seat.
“Let me buy you a drink,” he said.
“Sure, Billy,” Pepper said.
The Joint had two bars. Each had a long line of patrons waiting to buy drinks. Billy waved a hundred-dollar bill and a bartender took his order. Glasses in hand, he moved away from the bar for some privacy. Pepper reluctantly followed.
“I’ve got a couple of things I want to say to you,” Billy said. “First you had no right putting Misty in the middle of this situation. If you want to run off and fuck some guy, that’s your call. But don’t use your best friend as your messenger.”
Pepper stared into her drink. “Sorry.”
“Here’s the second thing. Who’s the easiest person in the world to con?”
Pepper shook her head.
“Take a guess.”
“A rich sucker?”
“A rich sucker is the second easiest person in the world to con. Rich people think that because they’re successful in business, they’re smart, when in fact most of them are chumps. The easiest person in the world to con is another grifter. Know why?”
Pepper shook her head again.
“Grifters think they know all the angles. Any time you think you know all the angles, your ass is going to get paddled. Like your ass got paddled today.”
Pepper’s lower lip began to tremble. “What are you talking about?”
“Tommy Wang conned you this morning, and you fell for it, hook, line, and sinker.”
“He conned me? How?”
“Figure it out yourself.”
Pepper’s mind raced as she played back her day with Tommy Wang. Pepper was going to figure it out eventually, and when she did, it was going to sting worse than a nest of hornets.
“Now, here’s the last thing I want to tell you,” Billy said. “When this job is done, you have a decision to make. Do you want to stay with the crew or not? If you leave, no hard feelings. If you stay, you’re going to have to play by my rules, because I will never tolerate a fucking stunt like this again. Do you understand?”
Pepper’s face had turned to stone. “He’s married, isn’t he.”
“Took you a while.”
“Don’t be so goddamn smug. Is he?”
“Married with kids.”
“How many?”
“Two.”
“Teenagers?”
It took Billy a moment to catch Pepper’s drift. If the kids were nearly grown, then maybe she could live with the deception. Anything else, no.
“The kids are still in diapers,” Billy said.
A tear ran down her cheek. “He told me a story about that gangster Broken Tooth executing him and some accountants, only he miraculously got spared. Was that bullshit, too?”
Billy handed her his napkin. “That part’s true. The bullet meant for Wang hit the guy standing next to him. Broken Tooth decided it was a good omen, and he sent Wang back to Vegas.”
The house lights flickered and the packed room let out a cheer. Up onstage, four long-haired musicians strolled out and got reacquainted with their instruments. Billy had seen them before in clubs around town playing warm-up for name acts. They had a tight sound and soon the crowd was moving as one to the beat.
Pepper faced the stage, her eyes throwing daggers. Hell hath no fury like a woman scorned, and Billy knew Pepper would pay Wang back for the deception. Maybe she’d get him drunk and send him back home with an obscene tattoo stamped on his ass, or maybe she’d get her hands on his cell phone and initiate a dialogue with Wang’s wife. Pepper had a creative side to her, and Wang was in for a royal screwing.
“Whatever you’re planning has to wait until the job is finished,” he said into her ear.
“You’re no fun,” Pepper said.
“Ladies and gentlemen, welcome to the Joint inside the beautiful Hard Rock Hotel and Casino,” a man’s voice boomed over the P.A. “Our feature act this evening is straight from Austin, Texas — Jimmie Vaughan and the Fabulous Thunderbirds. But before we bring out Jimmie and the band, please give a big Hard Rock welcome to Tommy Wang and the High Rollers.”
The band broke into a cover of the Rolling Stones’s “Satisfaction.” Tommy Wang bounced onto the stage, waved to the crowd, and grabbed the mike off its stand. His eyes were glassy and he looked loaded. Billy braced himself for the worst.
When it came to live entertainment, no one did it like Las Vegas. The comics were always funny, the magicians never failed to blow your mind, and the bands and singers always delivered the goods. Crummy acts were given a bus ticket and never invited back.
The lyrics coming out of Wang’s mouth sounded professional and in perfect pitch, as if Wang had been singing in front of packed houses his whole life. At first Billy wondered if Wang was lip-synching, but ruled that out when Wang coughed into the mike. Something else was going on here, and he wondered if Wang had been lying about his singing prowess.
When the song ended, there was lots of applause and foot stomping. Wang bowed to the crowd, and they ate it up and cheered.
“He’s not bad,” Billy said.
“He didn’t sound like that in the shower,” Pepper said.
“He sang for you?”
“He sure did. He thinks he’s a celebrity.”
“His voice sounded different?”
“Try fucking awful. You would have thought a cat was being strangled.”
The band broke into Bruce Springsteen’s “Born to Run.” Wang picked up where he’d left off, and he belted out the lyrics without missing a beat. Billy prided himself on knowing all the angles, and it was going to bug him until he learned the secret behind this stunt.
DeSantis stood on the main floor to the left of the stage. Beside the VIP host was an overweight roadie with long flowing hair wearing a tie-dyed T-shirt. Billy told Pepper he’d be right back and sifted his way through the crowd to where DeSantis stood with the roadie.