It was showtime. Pepper removed a slip of paper from her purse and placed it on the table. This was the crux of the scam, for if Pepper didn’t deliver her lines correctly, Wang would feel a breeze and realize the whole thing was a setup.
“Tommy, look,” she said. “Your numbers have all come up. That’s good luck.”
Wang appeared to be confused. He stared at the slip of paper and shook his head.
“Don’t you remember? These are the numbers that came up when you won at backgammon yesterday. Your lucky numbers.”
So much had happened since yesterday morning that Wang had all but forgotten about his amazing prowess while playing Pepper and Misty at backgammon. A spark of recognition flickered in his eyes and Wang shifted his gaze to the electronic board. “Your lucky numbers were six, eight, and nine,” Pepper said. “Look at all the different numbers with six, eight, and nine that have come up. It’s a lot more than the others!”
The numbers six, eight, and nine were scattered across the board. They hadn’t come up more than the other numbers, but Pepper made it sound like they had.
“Bet on anything with those numbers in them, and you’ll win,” she said.
Wang took her advice and made a five-thousand-dollar street bet on the numbers twenty-six, twenty-eight, and twenty-nine. If the little white ball landed on one of those three numbers, the house would pay Wang $55,000.
Billy made a split bet on the numbers eighteen and nineteen. His crew made bets on the other numbers on the board that contained Wang’s lucky numbers. Hopefully, one of these numbers would hit, and the session would start out right. If none of Wang’s lucky numbers hit, no big deal, but it would be nice to start out with a winner.
Rafael spun the wheel and sent the little white ball in the opposite direction.
“Good luck, everyone,” the croupier said.
The wheel slowed and the ball hit the pocket walls before finally settling on number twenty-six. The table erupted and Wang jumped out of his seat. He grabbed Pepper by the shoulders and gave them a squeeze.
“You were right. They are lucky!” Wang told Pepper.
Pepper looked shocked. This was not in the script, and she glanced at Billy for some sort of explanation.
Dumb fucking luck, Billy mouthed silently.
It was all going according to plan until Billy got the text from Mags. He hadn’t been able to get Mags out of his mind since his talk with Travis that morning. Mags was the most messed-up woman he’d ever known and might very well ruin him someday, yet he didn’t care.
Out came his cell phone. His eyes scanned her text.
Slyde trying to kill me
Billy turned in his chair so his back was to the table, and he called her.
“You’ve got to help me,” she begged, choking on her tears.
Billy heard a terrific banging sound in the background. “Where are you?”
“Locked in the john in my bedroom. He’s breaking down the door.”
“Call the cops, for Christ’s sake.”
“The cops want to arrest me. Billy, you’ve got to help me.”
A tap on Billy’s shoulder snapped his head. Rafael stood behind Billy’s chair wearing a stern look. “I’m sorry, Mr. C., but phone calls are not permitted at the table. House rules.”
“Take a hike,” Billy snapped.
“Mr. C., you must put your phone away.”
“You heard me. Get lost.”
“I’ll have to call the floor supervisor.”
“Do that, and I’ll leave.”
Rafael hesitated. Roulette was closely watched, with one surveillance camera devoted to the wheel and a second to watching the layout. Whatever decision the croupier made was being filmed and would later be dissected by management.
Rafael decided to punt, and he returned to his spot by the wheel.
“Place your bets,” Rafael announced, as if nothing had happened.
Mags screamed into the phone. “He’s going to kill me.”
“Hang on, I’m coming.”
Billy got out of his chair so quickly that it toppled backward onto the floor. He had stopped thinking coherently and no longer cared how his actions looked. Even though he’d walked out on her, Mags had always been a part of his future; someday, he saw them patching things up and embarking on a life of crime together. Improbable, yes, but not impossible. And now Jimmy Slyde was taking that future away from him.
“You still keep a key under the flower pot?” he asked.
Another scream and the line went dead.
His crew lifted their eyes as one. They knew something was amiss but could have no idea what it was. With his right hand, Billy brushed imaginary lint off the left sleeve of his sports jacket. Hustlers had their own sign language; brushing the sleeve meant everything was George, or okay, and that the play should proceed.
Wang gazed up at him. “Is everything all right?”
“I have a fire to put out. I need to get on my computer,” Billy explained.
The line made perfect sense. Computers were forbidden inside a casino, so it was necessary for Billy to leave the casino in order to get on one.
“Travis, I need to speak with you for a minute.”
Travis rose from his chair and followed Billy across the bustling casino floor. Once during rehearsal in Lake Tahoe, Travis had played Billy’s part, and he hadn’t screwed it up.
“You’re the captain now. Take over for me,” Billy said.
“I think I still remember the lines. Where you going?”
“I can’t tell you that.”
“When will you be back?”
“I don’t know.”
“No offense, Billy, but how the hell am I supposed to run a scam when I don’t know how the fucking thing works? You never told me.”
They had reached a short hallway that led to the hotel’s entrance. DeSantis was at the end of the hallway, coming toward them. Security had seen Billy making the phone call at the roulette table and alerted management, who’d sent DeSantis to straighten things out.
“I’ll tell you later. Just follow the script, and Wang will win,” Billy said.
“No, he won’t,” Travis protested. “Wang’s lucky numbers aren’t coming up enough. He’s ahead now, but he’ll lose in the long run.”
“Trust me. Just follow the script. All will be revealed in due time,” Billy said.
“Jesus Christ. You sound like Yoda in Star Wars.”
Billy gave Travis a gentle push, and the big man hustled away. Billy headed down the hallway, meeting DeSantis in the middle. Billy did not slow down, forcing DeSantis to do a snappy about-face and follow him.
“Is everything okay, Mr. C.? I heard there was a problem at the table.”
Billy’s mind was racing. The lie he told had to be convincing. “One of my associates got drunk last night and smacked a bouncer at a nightclub. He called me from the jail and asked me to bail him out.”
“I’m sorry to hear that, Mr. C.”
“Where’s the jail, anyway?”
“It’s in old downtown. I can get the address for you.”
“Do they take credit cards?”
“I’m sure they do.”
They went outside the hotel to the valet area. It was total gridlock, with a long line of people waiting for their cars to come up. The line for cabs was equally long. By now, Slyde had broken down the door and gotten his filthy hands on Mags. Mags could bullshit with the best of them, and Billy prayed that she’d somehow convince Slyde not to kill her.
“Does your hotel have a limo I can borrow?” Billy asked.
“I’m sorry, Mr. C., but the limos are at the airport picking up clients,” DeSantis said.
“Listen, Eddie, the longer I’m away from the tables, the less money you make. It would be in your best interest to find me a car.”