“Don’t you want to feel better?”
“It’s too late for that.”
She left without a word. She’d gotten to hear his story, and that was all she was getting.
He stared at the pool’s flat surface for what felt like an eternity. If he had to do it over again, would he have done things differently? For his old man’s sake, he liked to think so. He could have enrolled in a community college and gotten a degree in math or engineering and still made his old man proud. That wouldn’t have been so hard.
But he hadn’t done that. Instead, he’d headed to Vegas and never looked back. It was the life he’d chosen and he had no regrets, except when his old man’s birthday came around.
Then he cried like hell.
FORTY-SEVEN
“Tell us about Saturday,” LaBadie said. “We want to hear what happened in Galaxy’s casino. Don’t leave anything out.”
LaBadie, Zander, and Tricaricco were not happy campers. Their all-day deodorants were starting to fade, their chins sprouting five o’clock shadows. Dinnertime had come and gone, along with any hope of spending Sunday night with their families. Billy wasn’t going anywhere, and he took his time drinking a warm can of soda before answering the question.
“A strange thing happened on Saturday,” he said. “I discovered that another crime was being hatched, right under Doucette’s nose, and he didn’t know a damn thing about it.”
“Another crime besides the Gypsies?” LaBadie asked.
“That’s right.”
“Tell us about it.”
“Doucette had a pair of gay football players on his payroll named Ike and T-Bird. I got to know these guys pretty well. They told me that Doucette’s strip clubs were a front for a drug dealer named Rock, and that Rock had bankrolled Galaxy. Needless to say, I got upset.”
“You got upset.”
“That’s right. I know how hard the gaming board tries to keep drug money out of the casinos. I mean, it’s what you guys get paid for, isn’t it? And here I’m being told that a drug dealer pulled the wool over your eyes and actually got a casino built with drug money.”
“You’re not funny, Billy.”
“I’m not trying to be funny.”
“Keep talking.”
“Where was I? Oh yeah, Ike and T-Bird told me that Doucette was using check-cashing stores in town to launder the profits from Rock’s drug operation and turn the cash into money orders. They said Doucette was laundering eight million a pop, which I couldn’t believe. Doesn’t the gaming board monitor those stores to make sure stuff like that doesn’t happen?”
“Make another remark like that, and you’ll pay for it.”
“I’m just trying to be helpful.”
“I’m sure you are. Tell us about this crime Ike and T-Bird were planning.”
“Ike and T-Bird were planning to steal the eight million in money orders from the cage and wanted my help. Of course, I said no.”
“Those money orders were stolen yesterday afternoon,” LaBadie said, barely able to contain his anger. “Are you saying that you and your crew had nothing to do with the theft?”
“I already told you, I don’t have a crew.”
“You’re lying.”
“My client did not rob Galaxy Casino and does not have a crew,” the attorney said, having not spoken a word for several hours. “Please stop repeating these false allegations.”
LaBadie retrieved his briefcase from the floor and placed it on the center of the table. From it, he removed a stack of eight-by-ten glossy photographs taken from a casino surveillance camera. Each photo had the date and time stamped in the corner.
The gaming agent placed the top photo on the table so it faced Billy. It showed Ike standing at the cage, cashing in the fake gold chips. T-Bird was also in the shot, accompanied by Misty and Pepper in their disguises.
“Admit, it, these two women work for you,” LaBadie said.
“Never seen them before,” he said.
“They’re not part of your crew?”
“Stop saying that.”
“Then explain this.”
Three more surveillance photos were produced and placed on the table. The cameras had caught his crew doing the pigeon drop and stealing the eight million in money orders from Ike and T-Bird.
Shit, he thought.
LaBadie had a smug look on his face, having backed his suspect into a corner.
“Ready to confess?” the gaming agent asked.
“To what?” he asked innocently.
“We’re willing to cut you a deal, provided you give us the names of the people in your crew. And, we want the eight million in money orders returned. Give us those two things, and we’ll go light on you. Think about it, Billy.”
Even the best cops made mistakes, and LaBadie had just made a major one. The gaming board didn’t know the names of Billy’s crew.
“I’m not interested in cutting any deals because I didn’t do anything,” Billy said. “Do you want to hear the rest of my story or not?”
LaBadie left the incriminating photos on the table and returned to his chair.
“Go ahead with your story,” he said. Then he added, “It’s your funeral.”
FORTY-EIGHT
Saturday morning, 6:00 a.m., the dingy motel room filled with harsh sunlight. It was a rude way to wake up, and Billy crawled off the couch to pull the blinds.
His eyes adjusted to the darkness. Ly murmured in her sleep, and he looked at her lying in the big bed by herself. He’d stayed up late, come into her room to watch a little TV, and had crashed. He checked his Droid to see if he’d been missed, and saw no messages.
He took a short walk to the 7-Eleven at the end of the block. The pastries had just come out of the oven, and he bought doughnuts and chocolate cookies. He held the mouth of the bag beneath her nose upon returning to the room.
“Here’s some yum for your tum,” he said.
She rolled over and started to snore. He turned on the TV, and checked the weather while munching on a doughnut. It rained less than five inches a year in Vegas. The rest of the time, it was hot and dry. Today would be no different.
He thought about his old pals Wolf and Fleshman. He’d done a search not long ago and discovered that Fleshman was a personal injury attorney, while Wolf had gone to work for one of the financial institutions that had bankrupted the country. Their gutless betrayal had ruined his life, yet he didn’t think they particularly cared. It had been a good lesson. He chose his partners carefully now and did not tolerate betrayal.
Time to go. He took half the money from his wallet and left it on the night table.
He made sure to hang the “DO NOT DISTURB” sign before walking out.
A cab dropped him off at Galaxy’s entrance. The joint was a tomb, and he heard a lone slot machine being played as he walked through the lobby. He would have bet that the player had blue hair and a Popeye-sized forearm, only there was no one to take his action.
He went upstairs to his suite. An empty bottle of Jack sat on the bar, the TV showing the porn channel, a pair of hot blonds doing each other while a tattooed dude masturbated. According to Pepper and Misty, the porn shown on hotel channels was shot in an industrial warehouse. It took the fun out of watching it, and he killed the picture.
The door to the punishers’ bedroom was ajar. He stole a look inside and saw them passed out in each other’s arms. He’d told them to dial back the partying, and they’d gone and gotten shit-faced anyway. He couldn’t wait to lose these two guys.
He got a bottled water from the fridge. A message pad lay on the bar. The top sheet had been written on, then scribbled over. People only scribbled over things they wanted to hide. He tore away the top sheet and studied the indentations on the sheet below. It was a woman’s name-Amanda Fernandez. And a long phone number that suggested another country.