DeSantis wasn’t paid to be a hero and retreated. Billy’s crew stood on the other side of the rope, unsure of what was going on. Billy held his ground and tried to stay cool.
“Step over here,” Guido said.
“You sure about this? You didn’t do so well the last time,” Billy said.
“The more you talk, the more this will hurt,” Snap said.
“You strung more than five words together,” Billy said.
Guido lifted the rope and motioned with his hand. Billy said, “I’ll be right back,” and ducked under the rope. Guido and Snap led him back to the sidewalk where Tony G stood puffing on a fat stogie. The bookie blew smoke into Billy’s face.
“I’ve been looking forward to this,” Tony G said.
“Does this mean our arrangement’s over?” Billy asked.
“We never had an arrangement,” the bookie said.
“So you lied to me.”
“You’re funny.”
“I just want to know where we stand.”
“You talk too much, doesn’t he, boys?”
“Want us to knock out his teeth?” Guido asked.
“That would be a good start,” Tony G said.
The cavalry had arrived and not a moment too soon. Billy removed a monster wad of cash from his pocket and peeled off a handful of C-notes.
“You think you can bribe your way out of this?” Tony G said.
“It’s not for you,” the young hustler said.
The Haneys materialized out of the shadows. They had come loaded for bear, with Junior wielding a Louisville slugger, his old man a tire iron. Billy started walking backward until he bumped into Junior, while never taking his eyes off Guido and Snap.
“Took you long enough,” Billy said.
“Fucking traffic,” Junior said.
Billy stuffed the money into the breast pocket of Junior’s denim shirt and walked away. The sickening sounds of shattering bones followed him across the parking lot to the waiting limo. DeSantis held open the door for him.
“You okay, Mr. C.?” the host asked.
“Never better,” Billy replied.
Forty-Four
— SATURDAY, THE KILLING —
Billy awoke Saturday morning believing the worst had passed. So many things had gone wrong over the past two days that he’d lost count. But now here he was, about to steal more money off a Vegas casino than any thief had in a long time.
The sky palace had a private gym, and he spent a half hour pedaling an exercise bike while gazing at a muted TV bolted to the ceiling. Billy was not the first cheat to take a Vegas casino for a multi-million-dollar score. Several crews had already done this by rigging blackjack games and slot machines. The casinos had chosen not to publicize the losses, fearful that other cheats would think they were candy stores. A casino lived by its reputation, and if cheats thought a casino were an easy target, they’d pick it clean like a vulture.
He worked up a sweat and ordered breakfast on an iPad that was wired into the hotel’s kitchen. By the time he’d finished his shower, a butler had delivered the food to the dining room. Two organically grown eggs over easy, three strips of fat Canadian bacon, a basket of steaming rolls, fresh OJ, a pot of Jamaican coffee, and a bowl of fruit with delicacies flown in from the four corners of the world.
Travis joined him, fresh from his swim. Billy put a piece of bacon and a roll on the bread plate, and then passed it Travis’s way.
“Thanks, Billy. You get any sleep?”
“I slept like a baby. How about you?”
“Not so great. Too much on my mind.”
Travis looked like death warmed over. That was not unusual in Vegas on a Saturday morning, where most people looked like The Walking Dead stand-ins. What worried Billy was Travis’s state of mind. Travis was the only member of Billy’s crew who had worked for a casino, what people in the business called a gamer. Travis had dealt craps, blackjack, and roulette, and had a deep understanding of how casino people thought.
Travis had taught Billy many things. One of the most important was that most casino employees hated their jobs and worked on autopilot. As a result, these employees were easily fooled. But, if an employee sensed a customer was cheating, the employee would sound the alarm, not wanting to get blamed if the game lost money.
Travis was Billy’s second pair of eyes inside the casino. Billy needed for Travis to be sharp, and he poured him a cup of coffee. The big man’s eyes grew wide as the caffeine hit his bloodstream.
“What is this — rocket fuel?”
“It’s called Blue Mountain. It’s what Jamaicans drink to offset all the ganja they smoke. Speaking of which, what’s the deal with Cory and Morris? Are they still toking?”
“Not around me.”
It was the kind of answer that let Billy draw his own conclusions. Cory and Morris had been flying high at the Hard Rock, but Travis wasn’t going to break the code and say so.
“If I get a whiff, they’re done,” Billy said.
“You said that the last time you caught them,” Travis said.
“Well, this time I mean it.”
“You’re the boss.”
Billy wiped his plate clean with a piece of bread. After his mother went to prison, Billy’s father had taught himself to cook and prepared the family meals. It had been a struggle, and to show his appreciation, Billy had wiped his plate clean after every meal.
Finished, Billy went outside to the pool. Travis refilled his cup and followed.
“So what’s the deal with Pepper? Is she in love with Wang?” Travis asked.
Billy shushed him with a finger to his lips. “Be careful. Voices carry.”
“Is she?” Travis whispered.
“She was. Not anymore. He’s married.”
Travis sipped his morning joe. “Love is for suckers.”
“You think so?”
“Yes, indeed. I found out the hard way. Got married when I was thirty, thought it would last forever. We were on the rocks in five years. Couldn’t get away from each other fast enough.”
“What happened?”
“We got blinded by love, thought it would solve our problems. What a joke.”
“You don’t believe in love?”
“Not anymore. Live and learn.”
“What about Karen? Don’t you love her?”
“It’s different with Karen,” Travis said. “We knew each other in high school, double-dated a few times. After the divorce, I looked her up, found out she was also divorced and raising two kids on her own. I know this sounds screwed up, but I don’t love her. We’re just good friends. I feel...” Travis struggled for the right words. “I feel safe with her.”
“Does she love you?”
“I never asked her. How about you? Do you believe in love?”
The conversation had turned awkward. Billy went to the railing and gazed down at the swirling mass of humanity thirty-six floors below. If love was for suckers, then he was the biggest sucker of all. He’d fallen head over heels for Maggie Flynn before he was shaving, and the feelings had yet to fade away. It didn’t seem to matter that Maggie was on a suicide run and might one day destroy herself; Billy still carried a torch for her and always would.
Travis shouldered up beside him.
“Do you?” the big man asked.
“Sometimes,” Billy said.
“Don’t worry, you’ll get over it.”
From the adjacent sky palace came the sound of shattering glass, followed by an angry woman’s voice that sounded a lot like Pepper.
“Another one bites the dust,” Travis said.
You couldn’t be a beautiful woman living in Las Vegas and not have been cheated on at least a couple of times. It was one of the harsh realities of residing in a gambling town.
Pepper had been cheated on enough times to know the drill. Catch the bastard red-handed and shove the evidence in his face. If the bastard started lying, rip out his tongue.