The Strip was jumping: tourists, peddlers, hookers, and plenty of nut jobs. He was looking at one right now, standing in the crosswalk of Sahara wearing bright blue underwear and a Superman cape with a screaming gold S stitched crookedly on the back. Nutso flapped his arms, as if preparing for liftoff. Traffic ground to a halt. Horns blared.
A swarm of uniformed cops appeared in the crosswalk. The cops pinned the would-be Man of Steel’s skinny arms behind his back, slapped on the cuffs, did a thorough frisk, and led their man to a cruiser parked by the curb, where they shoved him into the back. The cruiser sped away with ruby-sapphire lights flashing, the crown jewels of trouble.
As busts went, it was as pretty as a ballet. Vegas had one of the largest forces of street cops in the world, over two thousand strong. The largest concentration was deployed around the convention center and the Strip, where the tourists were. Using bike patrols, motorcycle units, and cruisers, they did a good job of keeping things safe. Dozens of cops were right outside Galaxy’s front doors every day. Just a simple call to 911 and they’d appear.
That was it. He’d call the cops and tell the operator a psycho was inside Galaxy’s casino, shooting up the place. The cops would appear and save the Gypsies from getting hurt. If the Gypsies handled themselves right, they might even be able to sue Galaxy for damages.
It was all good, but it wasn’t good enough. By ratting out the Gypsies, he was breaking the code never to hurt another cheat. That required making things right with them. Perhaps he’d hear about a casino with a flawed security system and pass the information to them. Or, he’d let them know where Ricky was buried so they could retrieve the body and give the kid a proper send-off. Whatever he did, it needed to be significant enough to erase the harm he’d caused. He went back inside. Ike and T-Bird were still sucking down coffee.
“That was fast,” Ike said.
“Compared to you, anything’s fast,” T-Bird said.
“Shut up,” Ike said.
The sound of the door being unlocked snapped their heads. Even to a casual observer, the unusual layout on the table would arouse suspicion and lead to questions Billy did not wish to answer. With a sweep of his arm, he sent the salt and pepper shakers, sugar bowl, and flower vase to the floor, where he swept them under the couch with his foot. Evidence gone.
Shaz entered wearing a white pantsuit and a string of white pearls. To keep the color theme correct, her eyes were dilating, and she appeared to be riding the white pony.
“Reverend Rock requests the presence of your company,” she said, making it sound like a death sentence. “Get moving.”
FIFTY-TWO
As Billy followed Shaz to the pool area, a group of bikini-clad young things strolled past. Weekends were his favorite time in Vegas. On Friday nights, cars with California plates pulled into the hotels, and throngs of girls climbed out clutching overnight bags and pillows. These girls often stayed five to a room, sleeping on floors and sharing food they brought from home. The casinos were cool with it because they drew men the way honey draws bears.
Shaz pulled out her cell phone and stopped by the pool. It was a replica of the magnificent pool at the Beverly Hills Hotel, with pink cabanas and striped lounge chairs.
“I’ve got Cunningham with me-where are you?” she said into her phone. “You’re having lunch? We’ll be right in.” She turned to him. “Rock has some business to discuss with you.”
“What kind of business?” he asked.
“Our business.”
The café had a checkerboard tile floor and metal tables and catered to the pool crowd. A hostess escorted them to a doorway with a velvet rope stretched across it. The rope came down, and the hostess led them into a second dining room, where Rock sat at a corner table, eating lunch. The drug kingpin wore ridiculously small bathing trunks and could have passed as a chocolate Buddha. His bodyguards wore bikini bottoms and T-shirts with long sleeves to hide the knives they kept strapped to their forearms.
“Leave,” Rock said to the hostess. To Ike and T-Bird he said, “Stand in the corner.”
The punishers moved away from the table, and the hostess disappeared.
“You two pull up a chair,” Rock said.
Billy and Shaz made themselves comfortable. Rock resumed eating an artery-clogging double-bacon cheeseburger. When it was gone, he picked at a mountain of french fries covered in ketchup. The conversation would not begin until he was ready for it to begin. Back home, Billy had known drug dealers who’d drag a subject into a bathroom stall and make him watch while they crapped. It was a form of intimidation, designed to remind you who was boss.
“I hear you killed a woman last night,” the drug kingpin said. “That your first time?”
Billy realized he was being tested and grew rigid in his chair.
“Yeah,” he said.
“How did it make you feel?”
He shrugged, not sure what to say.
“Answer me.”
“I was numb, but then it wore off,” he said.
“What did you do after you buried her?”
“Had dinner.”
“You were hungry?”
“Yeah.”
“You’re not bullshitting me, are you?”
“No. We were hungry, so we went out for a late dinner.”
Rock gave him a cold stare. “Which restaurant?”
“We went to a Brazilian steakhouse called Fogo de Chão on East Flamingo. You should try it sometime. The steaks are great.”
“You don’t say.” Rock addressed the punishers. “Is pretty boy telling the truth?”
“Uh-huh. Best steaks in town,” Ike said.
“Don’t fuck with me, asshole. Did you eat there last night?”
“Yes, suh,” Ike said.
Rock crossed his hands over his enormous belly and belched. “I once had a guy working for me went by the name Freeway. Freeway’s deal was that he sold bags of coke at exits off the freeway. Freeway wanted to move up and become a lieutenant in my organization, so I decided to test him. I needed a rival killed, so I ordered Freeway to take the guy out. I drove Freeway there so I could watch. He walks up to the guy on the corner, caps him, and jumps into my car. As we’re leaving, he pukes on the upholstery. The blood upset him.”
Rock shook his head at the memory. His Mexican bodyguards laughed to themselves.
“Freeway was a weakling, so I got rid of him,” the drug kingpin said. “You, on the other hand, have the right stuff to join my organization. You interested?”
It was a job interview. Billy tried to keep a straight face.
“You want me to push drugs for you?” he asked.
“I got a hundred guys selling drugs for me,” Rock said. “I want you to police my casino, keep hustlers from stealing my money. I’ll pay you real good, give you a car, penthouse, all the blow you want, pussy, too. You won’t regret coming to work for me. Will he?”
“Rock’s the best,” Shaz said.
“What do you say?” Rock asked. “You in?”
Billy believed in seizing opportunities whenever they presented themselves to him. Only one person stood in the way of him ripping off Galaxy’s casino this afternoon, and that was his old pal Crunchie. If Crunchie’s grift sense kicked in, he’d blow the whistle on Billy and his crew and bring everything crashing down on Billy’s head.
“The last time I checked, Crunchie was policing your casino,” Billy said. “Is he staying? If he is, then my answer is no. I won’t work alongside that prick.”
Rock was not a man to be challenged. He picked up his walking stick from the floor and dropped the handle on Billy’s shoulder, causing the young hustler to wince in pain.
“You got a lot of balls, little fellow. I’ll answer your question, but only this one time. Crunchie’s history.”
“Then I’m in,” he said.
“Good. We’re meeting in Doucette’s office at two to discuss how we plan to deal with these Gypsies trying to rip me off. Don’t be late.”