James Swain

Sin City

Sometimes the lambs slaughter the butcher.

Amarillo Slim, American gambler

Glossary of Useful Terms

Agent: A person who works with a casino employee to beat a casino.

Agent/dealer scam: A scam where a dealer rigs a game so the agent wins.

All in: To shove all your money into a pot.

Bad beat: When something unlucky costs you a win.

Beard: A person who places a bet for another person to conceal their identity.

Brownie: A chip worth five thousand dollars.

Burn test: A special test developed by the FBI to determine if a playing card has secret markings on its back.

Carpet joint: An upscale casino.

Captain: The person in a crew who dictates the action.

Casino pit: The area inside a casino where table games are played. In most casinos, a pit is organized in two rows of tables arranged back-to-back that face a public walkway.

Chip Cup: An ingenious scam using a plastic shell made to look like a stack of chips. A crooked dealer will use the cup to steal higher denomination chips off the table, which she sells to her agent. The scam was inspired by a popular magic trick called Nickels to Dimes and was invented by author/ magician Walter Gibson, creator of The Shadow.

Cleanup Man: The cheat responsible for getting gaffed equipment out of a casino.

Cooler: A stacked deck that gets switched into a game by a cheat.

Cooler mob: A crew of cheats who specialize in switching decks.

Crew: A team of professional cheats.

Crossroader: Cheats who specialize in ripping off casinos. The term originates from the old west where gambling saloons were located at the crossroads of a town. If a crew of cheats needed to make a hasty getaway, they would jump on their horses and take off in different directions.

Device law: A body of law that outlaws all forms of electronic assistance in a casino.

Doing business: Cheating.

Double-sided chip: A cleverly fabricated chip with two different denominations, one on each side, used by a cheat working with a dealer. The gaff was first described in Reginald Scot’s Discoverie of Witchcraft, published in 1584.

Fall money: Money kept in a bank account in case a lawyer needs to be hired.

Feel a breeze: To be suspicious.

Fix: A rigged sporting event

Gaff: A cheating device.

Gaffer: A person who make cheating equipment. Also called a scratcher.

Gaming agents: Employees of the Nevada Gaming Board who enforce gaming regulations to protect casinos from being swindled.

Grift sense: The innate ability to spot a scam.

Half smart: To be too smart for one’s own good.

Heat: Unwanted attention.

High roller: A gambler who consistently wagers large sums of money, often in the millions of dollars. Also called a whale.

Hustler: A dishonest gambler. Also called a cheat or shark.

Iggy: An ignorant tourist.

Itch for play: The desire to gamble.

Jackpot junkie: Someone hopelessly addicted to gambling.

Jammed up: To be in the clutches of the law.

Joints: Casinos.

Juice: An invisible substance used to mark the backs of playing cards.

Juice collector: A person who collects money for a bookie.

Lock up: To secure all the seats at a table with the members of a crew.

Marked cards: Cards with hidden marks on their backs. Also called paper.

Mechanic: The member of a crew who does skilled sleight of hand.

Nevada Gaming Control Board: A governmental agency involved in the regulation and enforcement of gaming laws throughout the state of Nevada. Also known as the Gaming Board.

Office: A secret signal.

On the square: To play legitimately.

Past posting: The act of increasing a bet when the outcome is already known. Many people in the casino industry considered this a rank scam until Richard Marcus explained the real work in his book, American Roulette.

Peek store: A crooked poker game. A secret hole in the wall allows the cheats to see the values of their opponents’ cards.

Player: A sophisticated gambler who plays with an edge over the house.

PTZ: Pan-tilt-zoom.

Roulette computer: A hidden computer that calculates ball speed and rotor speed and uses the information to make predictions.

Sawdust joint: An old-fashioned, no-frills casino.

Shade: Distraction.

Shot: To shoot the dice. A dice shot.

SIN: An email service used by casinos to send out alerts about crews of cheaters and other undesirables. The letters stand for Secure Internal Network.

Special Observation: When a surveillance department scrutinizes a player. It’s the equivalent of having a police car following you. Also called Special Ops.

Splashing: Establishing yourself as a sucker by deliberately losing.

Stacked deck: A deck of cards in a prearranged order.

Take-off: The taking of money during a scam.

Take-off man/woman: The person winning money in a scam.

The bomb: The most audacious blackjack scam ever invented. For decades it was the stuff of legend until Robert Asiel described it in his memoir, The Unexpected Gambler.

The wheel: Roulette.

Third base: The last seat at a blackjack table.

Threshold of pain: The amount that can be stolen from a casino before the alarms go off.

Tilt: When a situation is out of control.

Trick roll: A woman posing as a prostitute but who is in fact a thief.

Turn: An intentional distraction used to hide a scam. This can be as innocent as asking for directions to the restroom, or as outlandish as setting the drapes on fire.

Work: The technique used to execute a scam.

Wheel tracking: A sophisticated roulette scam that uses hidden cameras and a roulette computer to predict which section of the wheel the ball will land in.

1

Billy Cunningham made his living scamming casinos. He was a cheat, and his work took him to tough towns because that was where the action was. He’d visited many dangerous places, but none held a candle to the biggest little city in the world, Reno, Nevada. The town was a human cesspool, with strung-out hookers, sleazy pimps, and fast-talking grifters oozing out of every crack in the uneven sidewalks.

It hadn’t always been that way. Reno’s founding fathers had envisioned a cultural hub devoted to the arts and higher education and spent a fortune trying to bring this vision to life. When it failed, gambling and prostitution filled the void.

Coming to Reno was a risk. Billy was the most wanted cheat in Nevada and trying to keep a low profile. He’d made the drive anyway. His friend Bobbi — who’d taught him his first dealer/agent scam — needed help and he never turned down a friend.

Friday night, and downtown was jumping. He stood outside Club Cal-Neva, the pockets of his jacket bulging with chips he and Bobbi had stolen off her blackjack table. Her shift ended at midnight, and they planned to grab dinner and chop up the score.

An Uber kissed the curb. Two hookers and a white-haired drunk staggered out of the club and piled into the backseat. The ladies looked like sisters and had gold dust in their hair. A lipstick hit the sidewalk. Gentleman that Billy was, he retrieved it.

“You lost something,” he said.

One of the hookers blew him a kiss. “Keep it, lover boy.”

The Uber departed. It was an unwritten rule in Reno that hookers stayed out of the casinos. These ladies were breaking that rule, and he guessed they were trick rolls, and would rob the drunk once they were alone. Trick rolls were vultures, he’d heard stories about men standing in their underwear while filing a police report.

His car came up. He tipped the valet and got in. He’d recently traded in his sexy silver Maserati for a clunky leased Jeep Cherokee. He planned to change cars every few months until the heat died down. It was a small price to pay to avoid detection.

As he started to pull away, a big, athletic dude wearing a black hoodie rushed out of the club, ripped open the passenger door, and hopped in. He recoiled in anger.

“Get out of my car,” he said.

The big dude shoved a laminated ID and gold badge into Billy’s face. Special Agent Ray Lopez, Federal Bureau of Investigation, Las Vegas Division. In Billy’s pocket was a chip cup which he’d used to steal the chips with Bobbi’s help. It was a felony to possess such a device and could lead to prison. He was royally fucked.

“Two hookers and a drunk came out. Did you see them?” Lopez asked.

This wasn’t about him, and he immediately calmed down.

“Yeah, I saw them. They got into an Uber and split.”

“Did you catch the make of the vehicle?”

“Honda Accord, black, four-door.”

Lopez put the seatbelt on. “I need you to run them down.”

“Sorry. I have to be someplace.”

“The hookers are killers. If you say no, the drunk is history. With me?”

Billy hesitated. His pockets were stuffed with loot and a cheating device. If he said no, it would look suspicious, and Lopez might ask him questions he’d prefer not to answer. His rendezvous with Bobbi could wait, and he did a sharp U-turn on Virginia Street. He stared at the car in front of him as he drove.

“What’s your name?” Lopez asked.

“William Cunningham. My friends call me Billy.”

“Nice to meet you, Billy. Did you get a look at the hookers?”

“I did. Real trailer trash. You said they were killers.”

“That’s right. They prey on old rich men they pick up in casinos. They get their victim drunk, take him to a hotel, and put a plastic bag on his head before robbing him. In Lake Tahoe, a surveillance camera recorded them outside a club. They had gold dust in their hair, so the newspapers started calling them the Glitter Twins.”

“They both had gold dust in their hair.”

“Damn. You were that close.”

Lopez slapped the dashboard in frustration. If the drunk ended up dead tonight, Lopez was going to take it personally. Billy found himself liking the guy.

“Maybe I can help you find them,” he said.

“I’ll take all the help I can get.”

They crawled down Virginia Street. It was the town’s main drag, and traffic was bumper-to-bumper. At the light, Lopez got out and stood on the front bumper. Not seeing the Honda, he got back into the car shaking his head.

“We lost them,” Lopez said.

Maybe not. Billy knew how criminals thought because he was one himself. They followed recognizable patterns which seldom if ever varied. “I have a question,” he said. “You said the Glitter Twins lure their victims out of casinos and take them to hotels before murdering them.”

“That’s right. It’s the thread that ties the crimes together,” Lopez said.

“Are these hotels near the casinos?”

“They are. The hotels where the murders took place were all close to the casinos where the victims were last seen.”

“The closest hotel to the Club Cal Neva is the Emerald City. I know because I’m staying there. Why don’t we check it out first?”

Lopez turned in his seat to face him. “Good thinking.”

Billy put his hand on the horn and kept it there. It did nothing but raise the blood pressure of the drivers in front of him.

“Drive down the sidewalk if you have to,” Lopez said.

Ever since he was a little kid, Billy had wanted to drive a car down the sidewalk of a busy city. He’d seen it done in the movies, and it looked like loads of fun. The sidewalk running parallel to Virginia Street was wide enough to navigate without endangering any late-night revelers, and he tooted his horn while he drove.

He turned down the Emerald City’s winding entrance and headed for the valet area. Every casino was the same, with money-losing table games surrounded by rows of slot machines. To stand out, their owners came up with crazy themes to set them apart which changed every few years. Emerald City had started out with a Wizard of Oz theme which had later changed to the Canto Bight casino from the Star Wars movies. An emerald-green dome on the roof blasted fake laser beams into the night sky.

Lopez pointed through the windshield. “Is that the Uber you saw?”

A black Honda was leaving the valet area, having dropped off its passengers. It had tinted windows and a student decal on the bumper.

“That’s them,” Billy said.

Lopez jumped out of the car and gave chase. Billy wanted to see how this was going to end and got out as well. His car keys hit the valet squarely in the chest.

“Wait your turn,” the valet said.

“FBI,” he said.

The Emerald City was a sawdust joint, pretty on the outside, ugly on the inside, the interior reeking of warm beer and BO. Over the sound system John Williams’s Star Wars soundtrack blasted the patrons at a deafening pitch. Billy watched Lopez run around the casino looking for their suspects. He had a better idea and hopped onto an empty blackjack table. He quickly spotted the Glitter Twins across the casino shoving their victim into an elevator car, the gold dust dancing mischievously in their hair.

“Get off the table!” a pit boss shouted.

“FBI,” he said, milking it for all it was worth.

He grabbed Lopez and they raced across the casino. The car had departed, and they watched the digital display above the door as it stopped on the sixth floor.

“Sixth floor. But which room?” Lopez said under his breath.

“I can find their room,” he said.

“How the hell are you going to do that?”

“The hotel has sensors in the doors of their guest rooms. Call security, and they’ll tell you which room on the sixth floor had its door opened.”

“Why does the hotel have sensors in the guest room doors?”

“To prevent illegal card games.”

“Is that true with all hotels?”

“It is for the ones in Nevada.”

“Are you speaking from experience?”

He was speaking from experience, having fleeced many rich suckers in rigged Texas hold ’em games in their luxury VIP suites. He wasn’t about to admit it, though, and shrugged. A new car came. They got in, and Lopez hit the button for the sixth floor. As they ascended, Billy imagined the Glitter Twins ending the drunk’s life. He had known they were going to hurt the old guy but hadn’t done anything to stop it. He normally didn’t care about things like that, but for some reason, it bothered him.

Lopez was breathing hard. Billy stared at his profile. The FBI agent couldn’t have been thirty years old.

“You’re a rookie, aren’t you?”

Lopez nodded. “Do exactly what I tell you. Am I making myself clear?”

“Clear as a bell.”

“If you start recording on your cell phone, I’ll bust you.”

“I wouldn’t dream of it.”

“One more thing.”

“What’s that?”

“Stop telling people you’re with the FBI.”

“But I am with the FBI,” he said, hiding a grin.

2

They got out on the sixth floor. The hotel hadn’t been remodeled since its Wizard of Oz days, the carpet a hideous green color with a gold follow-the-yellow-brick-road stripe down the middle. Lopez called hotel security on his cell phone and used a special password to identify himself as an FBI agent. Ending the call, he said, “You were right. Security said door number 656 was opened in the past minute.”

Billy had always thought he would have made a decent FBI agent. He’d entertained the idea growing up but had decided that fleecing people was his true calling.

The hallway reeked of the Glitter Twins’ cheap perfume. Lopez marched down the hallway to Room 656 and stuck his ear to the door. Not hearing anything, the FBI agent took out his cell phone and opened an app.

“What are you doing?” Billy whispered.

“I have an app called Peephole Reverser,” Lopez whispered back. “It enables the camera lens in an ordinary cell phone to view activity behind any door with a peephole.”

“I want one of those.”

Lopez stuck his cell phone to the door and played voyeur. Still whispering, he said, “The drunk is passed out on a bed. The Glitter Twins are rolling him. One of them is holding a plastic bag.”

“Is the drunk alive?”

“Appears to be. We got here just in time.”

Lopez drew a handgun from beneath his sweatshirt. The sight of it made Billy swallow hard. He had never carried a gun and never planned to.

“Stay behind me. Understood?”

“You’re the boss.”

The door was easily breached and came down with a single kick. Lopez rushed in with Billy on his heels. The room was long and narrow with tacky wallpaper. A boxy TV sat on the credenza showing a basketball game with the volume turned up.

The Glitter Twins hovered over the drunk like he was roadkill. One had his wallet and was auditing his bankroll. The other was getting ready to put a plastic bag over his head and suffocate him. They were nearly identical, right down to their crazed expressions.

“FBI. Step away from the bed,” Lopez said.

The two women shook their heads.

“This isn’t a negotiation. Step away from the bed,” Lopez said.

“You’re not FBI. Let’s see your badge,” said the twin holding the wallet.

Billy knew bullshit when he heard it. The twins were going to rush Lopez when he reached for his wallet. Lopez also knew bullshit. Without hesitation, he aimed and shot the twin with the wallet. She flew into the wall with such force that her dentures popped out and bounced on the carpet. She slid to the floor and took her last breath.

A knife appeared in her sister’s hand. Lopez was at a bad angle to neutralize her. As a kid, Billy had read that FBI agents were taught to shoot with either hand in case they were wounded, which he’d thought was really cool. Lopez adroitly tossed his gun into his left hand and shot the second twin. She joined her sister in hell.

Billy’s ears were ringing.

Lopez checked the drunk. He was sound asleep without a care in the world.

“Won’t he be surprised when he wakes up,” the FBI agent said.

An hour later, a grim procession made its way through the packed casino. An FBI agent leading two corpses on gurneys would have stopped most parties cold; not this one. The craps players kept throwing the dice and making their point, while the blackjack players screamed with joy each time the dealer busted. They were in a hot zone, the adrenalin coursing through their veins like a narcotic.

Outside, the corpses were loaded into a waiting ambulance. The ambulance drove away with its lights flashing and its siren muted. Lopez and Billy shook hands.

“Thanks for the assist. You helped save that guy’s life,” Lopez said.

“My good deed for the day,” Billy said.

“There are some loose ends I need to tie up. It was good meeting you.” Lopez handed Billy his card. “Call me sometime, and I’ll take you to lunch.”

“I’ll do that.”

Lopez went inside. Billy got on the line at the valet stand. While he waited, he traded texts with Bobbi. They agreed to meet at the Lucky Beaver and chop up the score. Finally, it was his turn. He told the valet captain he didn’t have a claim stub.

“You’re the joker who cut in line,” the valet captain said.

“I was helping the FBI.”

“And my old man’s the King of England. Your car was towed away. Next!”

Let no good deed go unpunished. Billy entered the casino, hoping Lopez could fix his problem. It took several minutes before he found the FBI agent at the craps table shooting dice. Clutched in his non-shooting hand was a cocktail. Billy tried to get his attention, but Lopez ignored him. Lopez looked different. Like a man possessed. His gold badge was no longer clipped to his belt.

Billy took a step back. And he watched.

The dice went cold. Lopez lost his money and made a withdrawal from an ATM and resumed playing. The dice got hot, and Lopez got ahead. Stepping away from the table, the FBI agent called his bookie and bet three thousand dollars on the Lakers.

Ten minutes later, Lopez’s money was gone. Back to the ATM he went. Lopez’s credit card was maxed out. Instead of doing the smart thing and quitting, Lopez took out another card and jammed it into the ATM. He was out of control.

Casinos had a special name for people like Ray Lopez. They called them jackpot junkies. Lopez couldn’t have stopped gambling if his life had depended upon it. It was sad, but Billy saw an opportunity. Compulsive gamblers were always broke. Maybe he could recruit Lopez to help him with a scam. Lopez worked out of the FBI’s Las Vegas office — perhaps their target would be a major Strip casino. With Lopez running interference, the risk of getting caught would be diminished.

The idea grew in his mind. The scam had the potential to be huge, with a monster score that brought in millions of dollars. A scam they’d be doing a documentary about twenty years from now. Billy got excited just thinking about it. He got a text from Bobbi, wondering where he was.

Dreaming, he thought.

3

The Lucky Beaver served Reno’s late-night crowd. It had the personality of a bunker with most of the action happening at a bar running the length of the wall.

Billy and Bobbi sat in a booth sharing a plate of onion rings. Bobbi had changed out of her dealer’s uniform and tied her hair into a ponytail. They’d met in Vegas when she was dealing blackjack at a joint on Fremont Street. They’d pulled several scams together and he’d asked her to join his crew. Before she could sign on, she had gotten jammed up in a bust and hightailed it to Reno before anyone could finger her.

To the casual observer, they appeared romantically involved, and sat with their shoulders touching. This allowed Billy to drop the stolen chips into her purse between them. When he was done, Bobbi put her purse on the floor.

“This is a lot of chips. What are you doing, Billy?” she whispered.

“You need a car. That’s enough to buy one,” he said.

“You’re giving me all of our score?”

“I kept enough to pay for my room and gas.”

“That wasn’t our agreement.”

“You’re right, it wasn’t. Sue me.”

She kissed him on the lips. She’d taught him his first dealer/agent scam, and he owed her big time. If not for Bobbi, he’d still be a small-time hustler. Their lips parted. She was the one that got away, and he often wondered how far their relationship would have gone had she not left Vegas.

“You’re the best,” she said.

Their meals came. They’d both ordered burgers. His was called Rounder, hers Stack the Deck. It made him wonder if the owners had been grifters in a previous life.

“We make a good team,” he said.

“Old habits die hard,” she said.

“Have you thought about scamming full-time? You could move back to Vegas and join my crew. You’d never have to worry about money again.”

“I still have nightmares about the last time. No thanks.”

He decided not to push it and bit into his burger. It was cold in the middle. Normally, he would have sent it back to the kitchen with a few choice words for the cook. He didn’t want to spoil the moment and pretended nothing was wrong.

“I never told you what happened to me, did I?” Bobbi asked.

He shook his head. Cheats rarely talked about getting jammed up. It was considered bad luck. But enough time had passed and now she wanted to vent.

“I was running a dealer/agent scam with a guy named Duke,” she said. “Duke was bribing the pit boss to look the other way. We were raking in twenty grand a week.”

“Which scam were you running?”

“The High Low.”

The High Low always got the money. It started with the dealer picking up a slug of cards in high-low sequence. The dealer shuffled around the slug and the agent cut it to the top. The agent always won the first hand.

“What happened?” he asked.

“The gaming board wiretapped the pit boss’s phone. They caught him on tape bragging to a girlfriend about the money he was stealing.”

“Jesus.”

“The pit boss was going to roll on us. The D.A. was working out a deal when the pit boss dropped dead of a heart attack.”

“God loves you.”

“That’s a good one. I moved to Reno the next week.”

She shuddered from the memory. He put his hand on her wrist and left it there.

“Do you have a car picked out?” he asked.

“I’m torn between a Prius or a Toyota Corolla. I went to a couple of dealerships in town and took test drives.”

“Go out of state to buy your car.”

“Why should I do that?”

“If you buy in-state and pay cash, the dealership will report the sale to the gaming board, and they’ll run a background check. Once they see that you’re a dealer, a gaming agent will come knocking on your door and want to know where the money came from.”

“You’re kidding me.”

“You shouldn’t deposit the money into your bank account, either.”

“Will my bank rat me out to the gaming board if I do?”

“They sure will.”

“Thanks for the heads-up. What brought this on?”

“The casinos’ revenues have dropped from all the scamming. The governor ordered the gaming board to stop the bleeding.”

“Is your crew stealing that much?” she asked playfully.

“We’re having a good year. But there’s a lot of heat.”

“Why don’t you take a break?”

“I wouldn’t know how.”

They ordered another round from a waitress. Soon they were clinking glasses and letting their imaginations play in each other’s eyes. He’d wanted to sleep with Bobbi since the day he’d met her. Now that the opportunity had presented itself, he wasn’t so sure. He was living with his girlfriend and had made a vow not to cheat on her.

His eyes drifted across the bar. She got the hint and sipped her drink.

“I want to ask you something,” he said.

“You’re consulting me? How novel,” she said.

“I met an FBI agent tonight. He’s a jackpot junkie,” he said.

“And you’re thinking of exploiting his gambling problem and recruiting him.”

“You’re a mind reader.”

“That’s fucking crazy. Don’t do it.”

“Without risk there can be no reward. Why is it fucking crazy?”

“Because the guy’s an FBI agent, that’s why.”

“So?”

“FBI agents get paid bonuses for busts. If this guy you met sets a trap and busts you, he’ll get rewarded for it. Think about that, Billy.”

“Your sister’s married to an FBI agent, isn’t she?”

“They split up last year.”

“What happened?”

“My brother-in-law was away a lot. They also had money problems. She finally threw in the towel.”

“I thought FBI agents made a decent buck.”

“They make more than cops. I wouldn’t call that decent.”

He let his thoughts drift. How big a bonus would Special Agent Lopez receive for his scalp? Five grand? Ten? It was chump change compared to the amount of money Lopez would make if he became a member of Billy’s crew. As if reading his thoughts, Bobbi pinched his arm. He winced.

“You’re playing with fire if you mess with the FBI. Don’t do it, Billy.”

Bobbi knew him too well. What she didn’t know was how badly the casinos were messing with him. He couldn’t step foot in a joint without getting harassed by security. The heat had gotten so bad that he’d considered going to Mexico for a while. But before he did, he wanted to pull a heist right under their noses. Just to show them who was boss.

He flashed his best smile. She shook her head in resignation.

“Don’t say I didn’t tell you so,” she said.

4

Three days later

The overdraft text alert came early Monday morning. Lopez was at his desk when his cell phone vibrated. He glanced over his shoulder before having a look.

Attention! Your checking account is overdrawn. Please deposit sufficient funds to reach a positive balance. Thank you for banking at Wells Fargo.

He told himself it was no big deal. The last time this had happened, the branch manager set up an overdraft, and charged him interest until he’d gotten his financial house in order. He felt certain she would offer him a lifeline again.

He smothered a yawn. He’d spent the weekend in Reno tying up loose ends and hadn’t gotten home until last night. He could have taken today off, but that wasn’t his style. He loved coming into work; every day felt like an adventure.

A stack of memos sat on his desk. Agents were required to keep current on active investigations and it took a while for him to get up to speed. The bureau had three satellite offices in Nevada and its headquarters office in Las Vegas. Two hundred thirty-six field agents investigated crimes ranging from money laundering, national security, and human trafficking. There was never a dull moment in Sin City.

Beneath the last memo he found a note from Tricia Pressley, the Special Agent in Charge of the Las Vegas office. Come by when you have a minute. The message didn’t feel right. Pressley had sent him to Reno knowing the odds were slim he’d catch the Glitter Twins, and he was expecting an Attaboy! or Congratulations! He slipped on his jacket and straightened his tie before heading upstairs.

Pressley was rough on secretaries. The latest was on her cell phone and didn’t bother to look up.

“She’s been expecting you.”

“What kind of mood is she in?”

“She’s kicking ass and taking names.”

He entered to find Pressley doing the hunt and peck on her laptop. Early forties, she was a West Point graduate and the most competitive person he’d ever met. Running, target shooting, pickleball, it didn’t matter the sport, she had to win. SACs were allowed to run their offices as they saw fit, and she had a reputation for pushing her agents hard.

“Have a seat.”

He took a chair. Her desk was a thing of beauty. No stacks of paper, no scribbled calendar, no fingerprints. She shut her laptop and gave him her attention.

“Good job in Reno. I’m proud of you.”

“Thank you.”

“When will your report be ready?”

“I’m putting the finishing touches on it now. It will be in your inbox by noon.”

“The Associated Press picked up the story. Have you seen it?”

He hadn’t seen the AP story but knew that reporters had a way of twisting facts that wasn’t favorable to the FBI. He shook his head.

“The story casts a positive light on the bureau, and credits you for saving a man’s life. All good there. But there’s a problem with the man who helped you apprehend the Glitter Twins. What’s his name again?”

“Billy Cunningham.”

“That’s a nice Irish name. What did he tell you that he did for a living?”

“He said he was as a professional gambler living in Las Vegas.”

“Did you believe him?”

“I did. I grew up in Las Vegas. When I asked him what he gambled on, he said sports. Several guys I know make a living betting on sports, so his story rang true.”

“Cunningham lied to you. He’s the most wanted cheat in Nevada.”

His jaw nearly hit the floor. “Who told you that?”

“The Director of the Nevada Gaming Board. He saw the story and called me. The GB has been trying to bust him for years, with no success.”

“The director admitted that?”

Pressley smiled. “He did. It was quite a moment.”

The Nevada Gaming Control Board was responsible for patrolling the casinos and investigating gaming crimes. Their rank and file consisted of ex-cops who couldn’t pass the FBI entrance exams. As a result, gaming agents had chips on their shoulders and despised the FBI. The two agencies weren’t friendly and rarely shared information.

“Cunningham is a master at scamming casinos,” Pressley said. “He works with a crew and is alleged to have stolen millions of dollars.”

“Wow,” he said.

Pressley’s smile grew, and he sensed that she was enjoying herself. “The director asked if Cunningham is on our payroll. I told him I’d check.”

“On our payroll? In what capacity?”

“As an informant. Did you sign him up?”

Now he understood the meaning of the director’s call. The FBI’s Las Vegas office had dozens of informants on their payroll. These informants had their ears to the ground and helped crack cases. The director had called Pressley to see if Cunningham was part of this stable of snitches.

“No, I didn’t sign him up. Our meeting was a chance encounter. I had no idea the guy was a cheat.”

“That’s what I thought. I’ll call the director and let him know.”

He started to get out of his chair. Pressley continued to smile, and he realized their conversation wasn’t over. He sat back down.

“A casino in Reno was scammed out of thirty grand Friday night.” She paused, then said, “The Gaming Board thinks Cunningham was behind it.”

He shook his head in disbelief. Something about Cunningham’s behavior had felt off, and now he knew what it was.

“Which casino?” he asked, just to be sure.

“The Club Cal Neva.”

“We met at the Club Cal Neva’s valet stand.”

“So, it was him.”

“Has to be.”

Pressley gazed out her window. “What was your impression of Cunningham?”

“I liked him.”

“Did you include that in your report?”

“I did. He was genuinely concerned about the well-being of the Glitter Twins’ victim. I found that commendable.”

She tapped her fingers on her desk. “The director is emailing me Cunningham’s file for review. I’d like you to read it and tell me what you think.”

“Are we going to help the Gaming Board catch this guy?”

“I actually had something else in mind.”

Her eyes were dancing and filled with mischief, and it took a moment before he understood. It took a thief to catch a thief, and Billy Cunningham would make a valuable addition to the FBI’s stable of snitches, the Gaming Board be damned.

“I’ll get right on it,” he said.

5

“I thought Lopez’s name sounded familiar,” Gabe said.

Billy and Gabe sat at the island of Gabe’s kitchen, drinking Starbucks coffee and noshing on bagels. Billy had dropped by to inspect the brand-new chip cups that his gaffer had manufactured in his garage workshop.

Everything old was new again. The chip cup had been around since the sixties and had cost the casinos hundreds of millions of dollars in lost revenue. It was so old that many pit bosses didn’t recognize it. Billy had decided it was time to reintroduce the scam. His crew was pulling down fifty large a week without anyone being the wiser.

“Why was his name familiar?” Billy asked.

“You said Lopez was a native,” his gaffer said. “Ray Lopez played for UNLV’s baseball team. His nickname was “King Kong” because he belted so many home runs.”

“Are you sure it’s the same guy? Lopez is a common name.”

“I did a search. Take a look.” Gabe used his cell phone to pull up an article from the Las Vegas Review Journal and showed it to Billy. A younger Ray Lopez wearing a Rebels baseball uniform flashed a toothy grin for the camera.

“That’s him. What else did you find?”

“Lopez graduated with a degree in criminology and married his college sweetie. I found the wedding announcement in the paper. They bought a house in North Las Vegas a few years ago. He’s an FBI agent now, huh?”

“Yup. I’m thinking of recruiting him.”

“Isn’t that’s a little risky?”

If the question had come from another member of his crew, Cunningham would have told them to shut their mouth. He was the captain and made the decisions. Every job entailed a certain level of risk which was balanced by the reward. Using an FBI agent to scam a casino was a huge risk but so was the payout if the job went cleanly. Gabe realized he’d stepped over the line and cleared his throat.

“Sorry, boss,” his gaffer said.

“Apology accepted.”

Billy picked up the jeweler’s loop sitting on the island and inspected the row of chip cups. The cups were designed to look like a stack of casino chips but were actually a hollow plastic cone with a real casino chip glued on top. He searched for any imperfections that might be picked up by the casinos’ powerful surveillance cameras, called “the eyes in the sky.” These cameras could count the hairs in a player’s nose and had been the undoing of many cheats.

“How do they look?” Gabe asked.

“They’re perfect. You haven’t lost your touch.”

“Thanks.”

Gabe wrapped each of the chip cups in tissue and put them in a felt bag which he handed to Billy. When it came to cheating a casino, you couldn’t be too careful, and Billy made his crew switch chip cups every few days in case one of the cups got scratched or began to look worn. They finished the bagels in silence.

“Don’t be pissed at me,” Gabe said.

“Who said I was pissed?”

“You’ve got steam coming out of your ears. I shouldn’t have challenged you on Lopez. If you think he’s solid, I’m good with it.”

“Glad to hear it. I need to run. I’ll touch base in a few days.”

They went to the door and Gabe gave him a hug. If you lived in Las Vegas for too long, you became addicted to something. Either gambling, sex, booze, or drugs would take you down. Gabe’s weakness was betting on college sports. It had cost him his business and his family. Since joining Billy’s crew, he’d put his life back together. Becoming a cheat had been Gabe’s redemption.

They went outside to the driveway where the Jeep Cherokee was parked. Las Vegas had the market cornered on sunshine and it took a moment for his eyes to adjust. When they did, he noticed a look of concern on Gabe’s face. He waited him out.

“There’s something you need to know about Lopez,” his gaffer said.

He hated it when people held back. “What aren’t you telling me?”

“I think Lopez fixed baseball games in college.”

“What? Who the hell told you that?”

“No one. I figured it out on my own.”

“The suspense is killing me. How?”

“Before I went to work for you, I placed bets for a bookie named Big Lenny. When Big Lenny got hot tips, I’d make bets at the casino sports books for him.”

“You were a beard.”

“That’s right. I once placed a bet against the Rebels in the College World Series. Big Lenny told me the series was fixed.”

“Did he finger Lopez?”

“No. I figured it out by looking at the stats,” Gabe said.

“You figured out Lopez fixed the series by looking at his statistics?”

“You got it. Lopez was the Rebels’ star hitter and had a .342 batting average with 52 RBIs going into the College World Series. His bat went cold, and he struck out twelve times and hit a few meaningless singles with no runs scored. The Rebels didn’t make it past the first round. If Lopez hadn’t played so poorly, the Rebels would have advanced. It was a classic tank.”

Billy considered what his gaffer was saying. Compulsive gamblers had money problems; sometimes it led to them doing desperate things.

“How much would Lopez have been paid to do this?”

“A lot.”

“Fifty grand?”

“At least. I pulled up some articles about Lopez and read that several major league teams were interested in signing him. The interest ended after his disastrous outing in the College World Series.”

“You’re saying he threw it all away for a bribe.”

“That’s what it looks like.”

“Why would a talented kid do something like that?”

“He must have needed the money.”

That was one explanation. The other explanation was that Lopez had larceny in his heart, and the temptation of making a quick score had been too great to turn down. If Lopez was such a person, who knew how far he would be willing to go?

“I need to talk to Big Lenny,” Billy said. “Can you arrange that?”

“I don’t see why not. How soon?”

“Right now. I want to jump on this.”

“Big Lenny eats lunch at the same restaurant every day. I’ll call him and set up an introduction.”

“Let me know when it’s done.”

“You got it, boss.”

Billy climbed into the Cherokee. If he didn’t recruit Lopez right away, another cheat in town certainly would. That was how Las Vegas worked. Sharks circled the water and when they smelled blood, they pounced.

He drove away from Gabe’s house thinking he’d hit the mother lode.

6

Lopez was at his desk reading the file on Cunningham when his cell phone vibrated. The file read like the script for a Hollywood movie, with Billy taking down every casino in town. No wonder the Gaming Board had him in their crosshairs.

He’d gotten a text from his bank. Marked “Urgent,” it requested that he call the branch manager immediately. He started to punch in the number but stopped. His co-workers didn’t need to know about his money problems.

Five minutes later, he was outside in his car. It was the coldest February in memory, and he gazed at the snow-capped mountains that ringed the valley while waiting for his call to go through. To his surprise, he got a live person. He asked for the branch manager who’d helped him before, only to learn she’d left. The new branch manager, a cheerful guy named Ernesto, came on the line.

“Good morning, Mr. Lopez. How may I help you?” Ernesto said.

“My checking account is overdrawn. Can we set up an arranged overdraft?”

“I’m afraid we don’t offer those anymore. I’m looking at your account on my computer. I see that your home mortgage is with us. Why don’t you and your wife apply for a home equity line of credit? You can use the money to pay off your bills.”

He blew out his lungs in frustration. Lezli didn’t know about his misadventure in Reno, and he planned to keep it that way.

“My wife is at work. I’ll have to get back to you,” he said.

“I look forward to hearing from you,” Ernesto said.

He told himself not to panic as he crossed the parking lot. He had gotten himself into this mess, and he would get himself out of it. He worked out of the John Lawrence Bailey Memorial Building, known to all as the Bailey Building. John Bailey was the only Las Vegas FBI agent to be killed in the line of duty. His framed photo hung over the reception area, and Lopez made it a point to look at it every day.

He passed through a security checkpoint before entering. With a beige interior and landscape murals on the walls, the offices could have been occupied by doctors or insurance executives. Only when you poked your head into a storage room filled with racks of Remington shotguns and Heckler & Koch MP5 assault rifles did it become apparent that this was not an ordinary office building.

Waiting for an elevator, he was reminded how much he loved his job. Every criminal he got off the streets was one less blight on society. He was making a difference, and that made him proud. The doors parted and Pressley came out.

“Just the man I was looking for,” she said. “A suspect in a money laundering investigation was murdered in her home last night. Russo needs help examining the crime scene. He asked for you. Go upstairs and get your jacket.”

“Yes, ma’am,” he said. “Should we take my car?”

“We’ll take mine. You can drive.”

Pressley drove a sleek Infiniti SUV with a leather interior. She gave him the address in Henderson, and he backed out.

“Should we use Waze?” she asked.

“I know the neighborhood. My wife and I recently looked at houses there.”

“Where do you live now?”

“North Las Vegas.”

“I hear that’s a rough area.”

Which was why they were looking to move. There were burglaries every week and he didn’t feel comfortable with Lezli being in the house alone. Leaving the parking lot, he hung a right at the corner McDonald’s, drove up the I-515 S ramp, stayed left at the fork, and headed for Henderson. He wanted to strike up a conversation but was unsure how to begin. Pressley was a demanding boss and hated small talk.

“I finished the Gaming Board’s file on Cunningham. What a résumé,” he said.

“You were impressed with him, weren’t you?” she said.

“I was. The file said he’s been scamming casinos for a decade.”

“Do you want to connect with him and see if he’s interested in being an informant? It does have its benefits.”

“Working with informants is new to me. What kind of benefits?”

“Let’s say Cunningham gets busted. His defense attorney would tell the district attorney that his client is an FBI informant and get his sentence reduced.”

“Does that happen a lot?”

“All the time.”

“He’d probably like that. The file said the Gaming Board has him under surveillance. What if they caught us having a conversation and realized the FBI was recruiting him? Would that cause problems for us?”

“Probably.”

Pressley gave him a sideways glance, waiting for him to figure it out.

“I could pick safe places for us to talk,” he said.

“Good idea. If Cunningham says yes, he’ll need to fill out an authorization form. Bring it to me, and I’ll sign off on it.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Please don’t call me that. It makes me feel old.” She got a call. Hanging up, she said, “That was Russo. He asked us to hurry. A group of reporters showed up, and he doesn’t want them getting inside the house. He said the victim was decapitated.”

Reporters that covered Las Vegas were a different breed of journalist. Because they were barred from entering the casinos, they resorted to stealth to break their stories. Nothing was beneath them when it came to scooping the other media outlets.

The teams from KLAX were the worst offenders. They roamed the city in vans with police scanners and were often the first to appear at crime scenes. They would do anything to get an exclusive, even if it meant upending an investigation.

Their destination was a house on Dutchman Avenue. Lopez remembered doing a walk-through of a fixer-upper on the street recently. The neighborhood wasn’t great, merely what he and Lezli could afford.

The police had blockaded the street’s entrance, and only residents were allowed in. A KLAX van was parked at the curb. A reporter accompanied by a cameraman and producer was interviewing one of the uniformed cops. The driver was missing.

“They always travel in fours,” Pressley said, seeing the same thing.

“The driver must have slipped through. Want me to go find him?”

“Please. Put the fear of God into him. I despise these people.”

“Roger that.”

A uniformed cop waved him through. He drove to a sad house with a dying palm tree in the yard. Russo stood in the driveway wearing a white protective suit. Right before the holidays, Russo’s teenage son had died from a drug overdose, and Russo had been going through the motions ever since. Russo was two years shy of retirement, and Lopez knew that his friend was counting down the days.

He parked behind a CSI van. While Pressley put on a protective suit over her street clothes, he went to talk to Russo. His first day on the job, Russo had befriended him, and they’d been buddies ever since.

“I heard you were a hit in Reno,” Russo said.

“Thanks. One of the KLAX reporters slipped through. Pressley wants me to run him down. I’ll come inside once I’m done.”

“Sure. I can use some help on this one.”

One of the neighborhood’s selling features was a park with pickleball courts. He decided to check there first, and he walked between houses and hopped a short fence. He hadn’t gone twenty steps when he discovered a young woman spying on the house through a camera’s telescopic lenses. The lanyard around her neck identified her as a KLAX employee. Seeing him, she started to bolt.

“Stop right there,” he said.

She froze. “Who are you?”

“FBI. You shouldn’t be spying on that house.”

“Are you going to run me in?”

“It crossed my mind.”

Her lower lip trembled. “I’m sorry. It’s my first week on the job.”

“What’s your name?”

“Brie Bixby.”

He pretended to enter her name into his cell phone, just to intimidate her. “Let this be a warning. Now, get the hell out of here.”

“You’re letting me go?”

“Yes, I am.”

“That’s way cool.”

“Next time, I won’t be so accommodating.”

She retreated into the park. Stopping, she did a pirouette and waved. The job was still fun. That would change after she covered her first car wreck or mass shooting. The reality of her work would sink in, and Brie Bixby would be forced to grow up.

Returning to the front of the house, he pulled a suit out of the CSI truck and put it on before going inside. The house was filled with techs gathering evidence, and he tried not to bump into anyone. The interior had popcorn ceilings, bare walls, and furnishings reminiscent of a no-tell motel. Yellow evidence markers highlighted a dark bloodstain on the carpet. Beside the stain was a shattered coffee cup.

He took a mental picture. Tomorrow he would be able to remember everything he’d seen, right down to the cracks in the walls. An instructor at Quantico had wanted to know how he remembered so much detail. The honest answer was he just didn’t know.

“Bingo,” a tech muttered.

The tech had gotten a hit. Lopez watched a full handprint take shape on the door. The print was three feet above the doorknob. He took a mental picture of this as well.

“Our killer screwed up. The house was scrubbed clean of fingerprints. He missed this one,” the tech said.

“Where’s our victim?”

“Down the hall to the left. The cop who found her hurled.”

“Thanks for the warning.”

In the kitchen he found Russo and Pressley hovered over a round object on a granite countertop. After a moment he realized it was a woman’s head. She had short dark hair and a gold nose ring, her eyelids propped open with plastic toothpicks. Slumped in a chair was her headless torso. It took a moment for the revulsion to pass. The day he stopped being sickened by the job’s horrors would be the day he quit. He studied the position of the head, which was pointing at the archway. The killer had wanted to sear an indelible impression on whoever found her.

Russo edged up beside him. “Meet Echo Chambers. I questioned her two days ago. She’s a stripper. She got pulled over for a DUI, and the cops found half a million bucks in her car with casino wrappers. The cops assumed she was money laundering.”

Which was why the FBI got involved, Lopez thought.

“Her attorney wanted to cut a deal. She was scared and looking for a way out.”

“Poor kid.”

“Let’s talk to the neighbors. Maybe someone saw something.”

He took another mental picture before leaving the kitchen. Echo’s lifeless eyes seemed to be begging for help. Girls didn’t grow up wanting to take off their clothes in front of strange men or move dirty money. They had dreams and aspirations and longed for lives filled with promise. Sometimes those dreams fell apart, and these same women ended up compromising themselves in order to survive. She mattered, just like everyone else, and he promised himself that he would find the sick bastard who’d done this.

He was at the curb pulling off his protective uniform when he got another call from his bank. He crossed the street to take the call.

“Mr. Lopez?” a familiar voice said.

“You got him.”

“It’s Ernesto at Wells Fargo. I was following up on this morning’s conversation. Have you spoken to your wife?”

“Not yet.”

“We need to get your overdraft in order.”

“I’m working on it,” he said.

7

Bookmakers were a human clearinghouse for their customers’ compulsions. They had no interest in the actual games, and collected a small commission, called a vigorish, each time a customer placed a bet. Big Lenny Wolfstein was such a person. Big Lenny didn’t gamble and viewed the games with the same detachment as a referee. Big Lenny didn’t give a rat’s ass who won or lost, so long as he got his cut.

The three-hundred-pound New York transplant could be found each day at a funky eatery called the Tailwinds Café. Model airplanes hung from the ceiling, reminiscent of an adolescent’s bedroom, while waitresses dressed like stewardesses waited on tables. Big Lenny held court at a private table, where he wolfed down pastrami sandwiches while checking the betting line on his laptop. He froze as Billy pulled up a chair.

“Who the fuck are you?” Big Lenny asked.

“Billy Cunningham. I’m a friend of Gabe Weiss.”

“You’re Billy Cunningham? I was expecting Superman.”

“I left my cape in the car.”

“Your reputation precedes you. To what do I owe the pleasure?”

“I need to talk to you about Ray Lopez.”

Big Lenny made a distasteful sound. “Are you having problems with him?”

The question caught Billy by surprise. “No. Are you?”

“Afraid so.”

“Does he owe you money?”

“Go to the head of the class.”

“How much is he into you for?”

“Three grand. I just sent two of my boys to talk with him.”

Billy thought back to Saturday night when he’d overheard Lopez betting on a Lakers game with a bookie. His suspicion that Lopez had a gambling problem was confirmed. That made the FBI agent a perfect candidate to join his crew. The only question he had was Lopez’s trustworthiness. Casino cheats followed a strict code. They never stole from each other or cut deals with the police. Before he approached Lopez, he needed to determine if the FBI agent would follow the code or not.

“I need your advice. Where is a safe place to talk?” Billy asked.

Big Lenny tossed his napkin onto his plate.

“Follow me,” the bookie said.

They took a drive in Big Lenny’s Caddy with the radio playing Sinatra. If Billy had been wearing a wire, the music would distort their conversation and make it impossible to be used in a court of law. Big Lenny knew all the angles.

They passed a razed shopping center. A billboard announced that a new one would soon replace it. Vegas was a city of planned obsolescence, the stores and casinos never intended to last very long. Everything old was erased by each new generation.

“What’s your interest in Lopez,” Big Lenny said.

“I’m thinking about recruiting him,” Billy said.

“You want me to give you a recommendation? That’s a good one.”

“I thought you knew him.”

“Lopez is a guy. I know lots of guys.”

“But you helped Lopez throw the College World Series.”

“Is that what Gabe told you? For the record, I had nothing to do with fixing the College World Series. All I did was make a phone call. It was a stupid fucking play.”

Big Lenny was agitated. Normally, Billy would have backed off. But he sensed the bookie wanted to get something off his chest. He pressed him.

“Why was it a stupid play?”

“Ever hear the expression ‘Don’t shit in your own backyard?’ Fixing a sporting event in your own backyard is no different. The stench never goes away.”

“But you were involved.”

“I introduced Lopez to Teddy Vandergraft. It was Teddy who put in the fix.”

Teddy Vandergraft was a notorious fixer of sporting events. Vandergraft had cost the casinos so much in lost revenue that he’d been barred from gambling in every casino and had his own page in the Nevada Black Book. They had driven in a circle and were back at the café. Big Lenny pulled into an empty space and killed the music.

“Something tells me you don’t approve,” Billy said.

“A fix can always bite you in the ass.”

“Then why did you introduce Lopez to Vandergraft?”

“Lopez started placing bets with me in college. One day he says he needs fifty grand to pay off his debts. In return, he’ll throw the College World Series. I said no thanks. Next day, he called again. His parents were being threatened by a mobster he borrowed money from. I felt bad for him, so I introduced him to Teddy.”

“Do you think Vandergraft will vouch for him?”

“You’ll have to ask him.”

“Can you set that up? I’ll make it worth your while.”

Big Lenny rubbed his chin. Billy produced a roll of bills and stuffed them in the ashtray.

“How soon?” the bookie asked.

“Now.”

“What’s the rush?”

“Lopez is in debt. I want to offer him a solution before somebody else does.”

“You mean before someone else recruits him.”

There were thirty cheating crews in Las Vegas. There were Russian crews rigging slot and video poker machines, Brazilian crews sliding dice at craps, and Asian crews beating baccarat with hidden cameras. Any of these organizations would benefit by having a compromised FBI agent feeding them information about a casino’s security. Lopez was a valuable commodity.

“Fair enough. I’ll call Teddy and arrange a meeting,” Big Lenny said.

“Much appreciated.”

They shook hands, which was how business was done in Las Vegas. Billy started to climb out of the car. Big Lenny stopped him.

“Just so we’re clear, I’m not calling off my boys,” the bookie said. “Lopez owes me three grand, and I’m going to collect it.”

Big Lenny’s “boys” were probably a pair of muscle-bound goons with a penchant for shattering kneecaps. Billy hoped they didn’t hurt Lopez when they came calling.

“Of course,” he said.

8

There was a mantra in law enforcement that said crimes were easier to solve when they were fresh. Witnesses were around, memories were sharp, and evidence was as abundant as it would ever be. The more resources you threw at a crime after it happened, the better your chances of solving it.

Lopez spent several hours interviewing Echo Chambers’s neighbors to see what they knew. The FBI continued to have its agents take notes in long hand, and by mid-afternoon his pocket notebook was filled. The neighbors called Echo a night creature. Kept to herself and didn’t entertain. She had a dog, but it had run off and she hadn’t replaced it. Not one to socialize. Her boyfriend had moved out last year. No one could recall his name. Everyone was shocked at her passing.

At three-thirty the team met up in the driveway of Echo’s house. The body had been taken to the morgue, and the police were gone. Las Vegas had a high murder rate, and the cops were happy to pass along cases. It was the FBI’s baby now.

The agents traded notes. Echo’s neighbors didn’t have surveillance cameras, and there were no videos of vehicles parked in her driveway for them to study. Their best hope was the palm print taken off the front door. Hopefully, it would generate a hit on a database.

Lopez hitched a ride with Russo. All he’d eaten was a power bar and he was hungry. Soon they were pounding Quarter Pounders at McDonald’s.

“You’re a smart guy. Answer a question for me,” Russo said.

“Shoot,” he said.

“The kitchen in Echo’s house had track lighting. One of the techs noticed the lights had been shifted to better illuminate Echo’s head on the counter. Why do you think her killer did that?”

He brought up the mental picture of the kitchen. The position of Echo’s head had bothered him, as had the use of toothpicks to prop her eyes open. It was a gruesome tableau and after a moment he understood why. Her killer was immortalizing her.

“He shifted the light so he could photograph her,” Lopez said.

Russo ate his burger and considered what Lopez had said.

“He keeps souvenirs of his victims,” Russo said.

“That would be my guess.”

Russo parked behind the Bailey Building twenty minutes later. As they crossed the parking lot, Lopez got a call from his wife. He decided to call her back from his desk, and let it go to voicemail. Moments later, she texted him.

CALL ME RIGHT NOW

Had the bank manager called her directly? He told Russo he’d see him upstairs. Russo went inside and he called her back.

“We have a problem,” she said.

“What’s wrong?”

“I came home to find two thugs parked out front. They said you knew what it was about. I told them to leave, and they threatened me.”

“They did what?”

“They said they’d come back later, and mess with me. Who are they?”

He knew exactly who they were. But he wasn’t going to tell his wife that.

“I don’t know,” he said.

“Don’t lie to me, Ray. What on earth did you do?”

“I owe a guy some money. It’s no big deal.”

“Does this guy have a name?”

“Big Lenny.”

“The bookie? You told me you stopped gambling.”

“I had a relapse.”

She shrieked. He’d done many bad things in the past few days; hiding the truth from her was the worst of them. He ran to his car and made the tires squeal backing up.

“Stay inside the house. I’ll be right home,” he said.

The neighborhoods of North Las Vegas were nobody’s idea of a good time. The crime rate was through the roof and drugs were peddled in the parks. But the homes had been in their price range, so they had made the best of it.

They lived on Iron Summit Avenue in a neighborhood with zero lot lines. Big Lenny’s boys were parked at the curb. Two mean-looking Mexican dudes adorned with jailhouse tattoos. The rap music coming out of the speakers shook the car.

Lopez did a quick drive-by. His cell phone lit up.

“Get back here,” his wife said angrily.

“I wanted to make sure they were alone. I’m doing a U-turn.”

“Make them leave or I’m calling 911.”

Lezli was his rock, but even rocks had their breaking points. Lopez got a good look at them as he pulled into his driveway. They looked like boxers, with thick necks and flat noses. It wasn’t going to be easy to persuade them to leave without their money, but he had to try. He poked his head through the open driver’s window.

“Hey guys, how’s it going?”

“Not so good. You’re late,” the driver said.

“Tell Big Lenny I’ll come by tomorrow and get this straightened out.”

“We want our money right now,” the driver demanded.

“You’ll get it. I just need a few days.”

“That’s bullshit. Isn’t it, Freddie?”

His partner grabbed the door as if preparing to get out of the vehicle.

“Tell Big Lenny not to worry. He’ll get his money. Now get out of here.”

“You telling us to go? That’s funny.”

“Why is it funny?”

“Because we know where you live, and we’ve seen your wife. She’s hot, you know? A real Bonita. Maybe we’ll come back and do her and let you watch.”

“You’d rape my wife over three lousy grand?”

“In a heartbeat. Wouldn’t we Freddie?”

“I get hard thinking about it,” his partner said.

Lopez grabbed the driver’s head and pulled his face into the steering wheel with enough force to fracture his nose. Freddie fumbled, reaching for his gun. Lopez drew his sidearm and aimed it at Freddie’s temple.

“Don’t shoot!” Freddie begged.

“Leave. Right now.”

“We’re going!”

“If you ever come back, I’ll shoot both of you.”

“We’re not coming back.”

“You better drive. Your friend isn’t doing so hot.”

The Mexicans climbed out of the vehicle and switched places. The driver’s eyes had lost focus, and he could hardly stand. Lopez watched them drive away before entering the house. That had been hard, but this was going to be harder.

Lezli stood in the foyer in her work clothes. Crying.

“Oh, God, Ray. How could you,” she said.

He had to come clean with her. He had to tell her the truth about Reno. She might ask him for a divorce, and he had to accept that.

“I fucked up,” he confessed.

During his junior year in college, he’d worked the door at the Double Down Saloon, which claimed to be the happiest place on earth. That was certainly true on weekends when there was always a smoking band. One Saturday night a group of sorority sisters came in. He checked their ID and tried not to stare at Lezli, who was taller than her friends, and had stop-the-party-looks. He’d shied away from girls in high school because he didn’t think he was good enough for them. But college was a fresh start, and he’d dated several and it had gone fine.

At midnight, she approached him. Her friends were gone, and she was running solo. She tugged his shirt sleeve and said, “Walk me to my car.”

He got her number. On their first date they talked until three in the morning. She was getting a degree in education and wanted to be a teacher. He told her about his dream of becoming an FBI agent. Her uncle was a cop, and she knew how difficult it was to join the bureau. She’d even quoted the stats to him. Less than 3 percent of those who applied made the cut. He said that he wasn’t going to let that deter him. Five years later, she’d been in the front row of the auditorium at Quantico when he graduated basic training. He’d asked her to marry him over dinner that night.

They were now sitting at the dining room table facing each other. Her gaze was relentless, and he finally explained what he’d done.

“I started gambling again in Reno. I got way up, and lost control.”

“You promised me you’d never step foot in a casino again.”

“I didn’t mean to.”

“Did someone twist your arm?”

“I had to get a statement from the general manager at the Emerald City. When we were done, he led me over to the craps table. He made the banker give me two hundred in complimentary chips. I threw the dice and couldn’t stop. I called Big Lenny and bet three grand on the Lakers.”

“Were you drunk?”

“Yeah.”

“You really did lose control.”

“Somehow, my glass kept refilling itself. I’d put it down and throw the dice. When I’d pick it up, it would be full.”

“Was the casino plying you with booze?”

It had sure felt that way. But blaming the Emerald City wouldn’t cure what was wrong with him. He’d been gambling since college and was addicted.

“How much did you lose?”

He hesitated. It had taken them a year to climb out of their last financial hole.

“Forty-six thousand,” he said.

“What?”

“I started chasing my losses. I kept hitting the ATM and drained our checking account and maxed out our credit cards.”

She angrily slapped the table. “How can we pay our bills?”

“I don’t know.”

“What about Big Lenny? Can you at least pay him off?”

He shook his head dejectedly.

“Tell me you have a plan to get us out of this.”

He did have a plan. In a calm voice he said, “I called Rick Shoemaker and left him a voicemail. Rick just signed a contract to play third base for the Braves and got a two-million-dollar signing bonus. I’m going to hit him up for a loan.”

“Rick the Dick. He was always hitting on me.”

“It’s all I could think of.”

“Does the FBI still have that program that lets agents borrow money for emergencies? Can you tap into that?” his wife asked.

The FBI’s Employee Assistance Program offered emergency loans when an agent was experiencing an adverse financial situation. But he would have to lie to secure the loan. If the bureau knew he was gambling, he’d be drummed out.

“If I have to. I’ll get this fixed.”

“You said that the last time. What’s changed?”

“I woke up Sunday morning knowing I’d screwed up. It wasn’t like that before.”

“Are you going back to Gamblers Anonymous?”

“Yes.”

The North Las Vegas chapter of Gamblers Anonymous held nightly meetings at the Triangle Club. He had religiously gone every night for a year without a relapse. Thinking he was cured he’d stopped going. Stupid him.

“One question. Would you have told me if Big Lenny hadn’t sent his boys?”

“I was going to tell you tonight.”

It was a bold-faced lie. If Rick hadn’t panned out, he would have concocted a story. He didn’t have the courage to say this. It was the great failing of his addiction.

The answer seemed to satisfy her, and she walked out of the dining room.

9

Early the next morning, Billy drove to the exclusive Seven Hills neighborhood in Henderson. Commanding the high ground of an arroyo was Teddy Vandergraft’s estate. The main building was big enough to be a restaurant with a breathtaking view of the Rico Secco Golf Club below. He parked by the house’s main entrance and got out.

Dozens of palm trees lined the walkway, and he would have been lying if he’d said he wasn’t impressed. He paused at the front door and reminded himself why he was here. Before he recruited Ray Lopez into his crew, he needed to know if the FBI agent could be trusted. If anyone knew the answer to this question, it was Vandergraft.

He’d counted four surveillance cameras on the walkway, and assumed his every movement was being watched. He rang the bell, and a relaxed strawberry blonde opened the door. Her eyes visually appraised him and liked what they saw.

“You must be the infamous Billy Cunningham.”

“That’s me.”

“I’m Becki. Come on in. Teddy’s working out.”

Vegas was a city of transplants. Most lost their accents over time. Southerners like Becki clung to theirs like family jewelry. He entered and she shut the door.

“Can I get you a coffee? I’ve got a fresh pot brewing.”

“I’m fully caffeinated, but thanks anyway.”

“You’re just what Teddy likes. A man who knows his limitations. Follow me.”

She led him down a paneled hallway to the great room. The furnishings made his jaw drop. Everything was burnished wood, floor, walls, and alcove ceiling, with enough antique furniture to fill a showroom. Dancing images caught his eye. The south wall was consumed by the largest flat screen TV he’d ever seen. It was easily twenty feet across and had twelve pre-recorded college basketball games playing. A ticker showed how their outcomes compared to the betting line.

“Teddy, we have company. This is Billy Cunningham,” Becki said.

The most feared sports gambler in Las Vegas sat on a fancy exercise bike wearing a crushed velvet warmup suit that could have belonged to Elvis. His legs were barely pedaling, and he hadn’t broken a sweat.

“Nice to meet you,” Teddy said. “I’ve heard your name so many times, I thought there were ten of you.”

“I get around,” Billy said.

“I’m sure you have a lot to talk about. Nice meeting you,” Becki said.

She shook her finger at her husband as if to say, Mind your manners, and left the room. Teddy hopped off the bike and shook Billy’s hand. Without warning, his host did a bob and weave, while throwing phantom punches to Billy’s solar plexus.

“How tall are you?” Teddy asked.

“Five-nine,” Billy said.

“You look bigger. What do you tip the scales at?”

“One sixty-five.”

“You look lighter. You work out?”

“I try to stay in shape.”

“Ready to go a couple of rounds with the champ?”

Billy couldn’t help it and laughed. Teddy stopped the charade and lowered his arms.

“You could probably beat me with one hand. Make yourself comfortable.”

He chose an oversized leather chair. Teddy chose its mate, so they faced each other. Becki appeared with a basket of rolls and a charcuterie board of meats and cheeses. She placed the food on a glass coffee table before departing.

Teddy tore a roll apart with his teeth. “There’s a rumor that says you’ve scammed every casino in town. Is that true?”

“I’ve still got a few more to go.”

“Ha! Mind if I ask you a question?”

“Not at all.”

“I’m from Newport, Kentucky. There was a private casino where I dealt blackjack. One night a guy cheated us by nail-nicking the cards. It gave him an unbeatable edge.”

“Was he Asian? Nail-nicking is a specialty among Asian cheats.”

“Come to mention it, he was. Here’s my question. I heard you got busted at the Sahara for marking cards, but the judge tossed the case. How’d you pull that off?”

His host leaned forward expectantly. Billy rarely tipped his mitt, but he decided to make an exception with Teddy.

“I used drinking water to mark the cards,” he said.

“You’re kidding me.”

“I had the cocktail waitress bring me a glass of water. Every time I drank from it, I got my forefinger wet, and marked the backs. It was a beautiful scam.”

“But the casino caught you.”

“A pit boss spotted me touching the cards and figured it out.”

“Why did the judge toss the case?”

“My attorney asked the judge to watch the surveillance footage of the game. The judge reviewed the footage and noticed that the other players at my table were drinking bottled water. My attorney argued that if the Sahara was going to serve players water, they had to expect some of the cards would get wet. That’s not a crime. The judge agreed and let me skate.”

“You said the other players were drinking water. Were they part of your crew?”

“Yes, sir. I don’t leave stuff like that to chance.”

“I like your style. Let’s talk about Ray Lopez. Big Lenny said that you want to recruit Ray into your crew and were hoping I’d vouch for him. I had no issues when I worked with Ray. He’s a stand-up guy.”

“That’s good enough for me. Would you approach him for me?”

“Why not approach him yourself? Why do you need me?”

“I haven’t done business with Ray, and you have. Ray trusts you.”

“Makes sense. How soon do you want this done?”

“Zoom.”

“You want it done immediately? As in today?”

“Ray is drowning in debt. Another cheat might approach him with a job, or he might get fired from the FBI. Time is of the essence.”

Teddy grew quiet. Las Vegas hadn’t been built on charity and Billy knew what his host was thinking. Teddy wanted to know what was in it for him.

“I’ll make it worth your while,” he said.

“A cut?”

“Yes. I’ll give you 10 percent of whatever I make with Lopez.”

“Make it twenty and you have yourself a deal.”

“My crew needs to get paid. Fifteen percent and that’s my final offer.”

Teddy started to object but thought better of it. Fifteen percent of something was better than 20 percent of nothing. His host hopped out of his chair, and they sealed the deal with a handshake. A spark of light caught Billy’s eye and he felt himself stiffen.

“Looks like we’ve got company,” he said.

He went to the glass slider facing the golf course and found the light’s origin. It was coming from a hedge and was either binoculars or a camera with a telescopic lens.

Teddy edged up beside him. “Gaming Board likes to keep tabs on me.”

“Me too,” he said.

“Tell them I said hi when you leave. They’re parked on the road.”

“I’ll do that.”

Billy drove down the winding road outside Teddy’s house and stopped at the intersection at the bottom of the hill. He didn’t spot any suspicious vehicles parked at the cross streets. So far, so good. He passed the guard house and hit the open road. A quarter mile later, he spied a black Crown Vic parked on the shoulder with its emergency blinkers flashing. This had to be part of the stakeout.

Gaming agents were predictable. They worked in pairs, wore cheap, off-the-rack suits, and had bad attitudes. They intimidated suspects by using stakeouts, tails, and wiretaps. They were not above breaking the law because they were the law.

Billy despised gaming agents. They had messed with him so many times that he’d lost count. The results were always the same. He won, and they lost.

He passed the Crown Vic doing eighty. The vehicle roared to life and was soon behind him. The driver flashed his brights and tried to wave him over. He’d been through this drill before. The gaming agents would ask him why he was visiting Teddy. If they didn’t like his answers, they’d illegally detain him, and he’d have to call his lawyer. Screw that.

He decided to use evasive action. A half mile up the road he spotted a busy intersection with a four-way traffic light. He slowed down, and in his mirror saw the Crown Vic do the same. He reached the intersection and braked.

A blue-and-white FedEx truck was coming in the opposite direction followed by a line of cars. He spun his wheel to the left and cut in front of the oncoming truck in the opposite lane, hoping the driver would hit his brakes to avoid a crash.

The FedEx truck missed taking him out by a foot. Billy put the gas pedal to the floor and stole a glance in his mirror. The Crown Vic had stayed behind. The driver rolled down his window and stuck his shaved head out. It was his nemesis — Frank Grimes. Passed up for a promotion, Grimes had decided to take his anger out on the town’s cheats. Grimes had sent several of Billy’s friends to prison but had failed to land the biggest fish of all. Sticking his arm out the window, Billy flipped him the bird, just to get Grimes’s goat.

He got onto the interstate laughing his head off.

10

Las Vegas was tough on gambling addicts. There were slot and video poker machines in every bar, grocery store, and laundromat. The temptations were everywhere, and impossible to ignore.

The North Las Vegas chapter of Gamblers Anonymous met at the Triangle Club every night. The club was a pink stucco building with meeting rooms and a café which served decent food. It was probably the only restaurant in town without a slot machine. Twenty-four hours after confessing to his wife, Lopez eased his car into the parking lot. This was going to be hard. He’d walked out of his last meeting with his head held high, and he was not looking forward to telling the group the depths to which he had fallen. His cell phone buzzed. It was Rick Shoemaker.

“Is this Mister Baseball?” he answered.

“Still running down bad guys for the FBI?” Rick said.

“April is my one-year anniversary, and I couldn’t be happier. ESPN ran a story about your deal, and I wanted to say congrats. How does it feel to be rich and famous?”

“It sucks.”

“Why do you say that?”

“Too many people hitting me up for money. Old girlfriends, guys from the minors, a bunch of relatives I didn’t know I had.”

Lopez’s face burned. “What do you tell them?”

“I just say no. I played six years in the minors and didn’t make jack. Then, I got called up to the majors and got nothing for two years. I’m finally going to make a real living, and these assholes think I won the lottery.”

“You earned it. Nobody worked harder than you.”

“Thanks. You were always a class act. I need to run.”

“You take care.”

The call ended. Rick’s little speech sounded rehearsed, and he wondered how many other people he had given it to. Perhaps Rick had forgotten all the term papers he’d written for him so that Rick could maintain his GPA and keep his baseball scholarship. People had short memories, that was for sure.

A bow-legged Irishman named Finn came out of the club. Finn had hit for the cycle, with addictions to booze, drugs, sex, and gambling. Finn fired up a cigarette and the match’s glare illuminated his face. His ruddy cheeks were wet from weeping.

Lopez got out of the car. “Are you okay, Finn?”

“Hey, Ray. I’m shitty, thanks for asking. I just broke the news to the group.”

“What news? What did I miss?”

“Chantelle overdosed on sleeping pills last night. She left a suicide note with my contact info, and the police called me with the bad news.”

A fist tightened in Lopez’s stomach. “I thought she was doing better.”

“So, did I. The police read her note to me. She had a relapse. She gambled at The Grand and lost all her money. The pain was too much, so she checked out.”

“Jesus. How are the others taking it?”

“Not very well. I’m going home. You take care.”

Lopez went inside to find his friends in a state of despair. Chantelle was keeper of the pins and would proudly give members a gold-plated pin when they reached the one-year mark. She was a special lady and loved by all. He expressed his condolences and did a lot of hugging. He wanted to believe that this could never happen to him, but deep down, he knew it was possible. If he had learned anything from attending meetings, it was that no one was stronger than their weaknesses.

He went outside and got into his car. The itch for play was a monster that never went away. It lurked in the shadows, and in times of weakness, it took over. Going to meetings was helpful but it wasn’t a cure because there was no cure. He shook his head in resignation. All the counseling in the world wasn’t going to change the path his life was headed down. He was just biding his time.

He drove a bureau vehicle which was outfitted with crime-fighting equipment. In the trunk was a storage unit containing a cache of firearms, including an automatic handgun. He could use it to end his life. It was a loser’s way out, but he didn’t see that he had much left to live for. He would park in the long-distance lot at the airport and do it there. The lot was regularly patrolled, and a guard would eventually find him.

He hit the button that opened the trunk. Then he got a call. The number was unfamiliar. He fell back into his seat and answered it.

“Who is this?” he said.

“Hey Ray, it’s Papa Bear,” a familiar voice said.

It was Teddy Vandergraft, the man who’d paid him to fix the College World Series. Teddy lived in the back of his thoughts, and he had no interest in speaking to him.

“Get lost,” he said.

“I have a proposition for you.”

“Not interested. Goodbye.”

“You need to hear me out. I’m calling on a burner.”

“I’m hanging up. Do me a favor and lose my number.”

“Word on the street is that you’re up to your eyeballs in debt.”

Fuck. “Did Big Lenny tell you that?”

“Doesn’t matter. I met a guy who can help you. You need to talk to him.”

“What does this guy do?”

“He’s a hustler.”

“And he wants me to work for him.”

“In a manner of speaking, yeah.”

He had two choices. He could end things tonight or he could take another journey to the dark side. He hesitated, unsure of which road he wanted to go down.

Teddy broke the silence. “I believe you know this guy.”

“I don’t know any hustlers.”

“Well, he seems to know you. Name’s Billy Cunningham. He heard you were having problems and offered to help.”

He shook his head in disbelief. Billy was in the Gaming Board’s crosshairs; jumping in bed with him would only lead to disaster.

“I’m not interested. Thanks for the call.”

“When you’re drowning you don’t get to choose your life preserver.”

“That’s a good one.”

“You can’t run away from your obligations. It doesn’t work that way.”

He’d heard the same thing at his meetings. A person could die, but their debts remained. Even if he offed himself, Lezli still had to settle his debts. She’d inherit his problems and it would financially ruin her. He shook his head in resignation.

“I could get caught,” he said.

“You’re not going to get caught,” Teddy reassured him.

“How can you be so sure?”

“Billy Cunningham has never done time. What does that tell you, my friend?”

The Gaming Board file had said the same thing. Billy hadn’t spent a day in prison for his crimes. Nor had his accomplices. Law enforcement had a name for criminals like him — Teflon-coated.

“All right. I’ll talk with him,” he heard himself say.

“Splendid. He’s playing blackjack at the Gold Rush.”

“He wants to meet tonight?”

“You know what they say. No time like the present.”

He started to object. Maybe he’d wake up tomorrow and feel differently.

It was too late. The line had gone dead.

11

Lopez’s head was spinning as he drove to the Gold Rush. He was about to sit down with a professional cheat and discuss scamming a casino. That was a conspiracy in Nevada and a felony. If he got caught, he would spend years in prison.

He told himself to stop being a wimp. He was drowning in debt, and this was a lifeline. If there had been another way out, he would have taken it. But there wasn’t.

Driving down the Strip, he soaked up the blinking neon and energy of the crowds packing the sidewalks. It made him feel alive, and he had collected himself by the time he reached his destination. This was going to work out; he could just feel it.

The Gold Rush was a pleasure palace, the exterior ablaze in blinking, colored lights, the entrance a horseshoe of glass doors atop a wedding cake of stairs. He parked in a covered garage behind the building and took a moving sidewalk to the rear entrance. The moving sidewalk brought people into the casino but didn’t take them out.

Lezli texted him. Had he connected with Rick? He started to message her back but decided a call was better. She picked up on the first ring.

“Rick was a non-starter. I’m working on something else,” he said.

“I guess Rick forgot about all those papers you wrote for him. What’s that noise in the background? Where are you?”

He wasn’t going to tell Lezli his real plan. Better to keep her in the dark in case of trouble. Lying was an art that he knew well. Tell the truth but tell it on the slant.

“I’m at the coroner’s office. One of the members of our group committed suicide. I brought my friend Finn here to identify the body.”

“That’s awful. Are you okay?”

“I’m surviving.”

“I’ll wait up for you. Love you.”

“I love you, too.”

He entered and headed straight for the bar. A bottle of Bud Light set him back six bucks. He played tourist and took a stroll around. The casino was packed, the air electric. He fought the urge to pull up a chair and take out his wallet.

Every casino had a theme. For the Gold Rush it was the Wild West. Cocktail waitresses wore bolo necklaces and frilly miniskirts, the dealers leather vests. In the center of the blackjack pit sat a bronze statue of a cowboy on a rearing horse.

There was not a seat to be found at the blackjack tables. It was a rowdy crowd of mostly drunk men. He checked out the players without spotting Billy and wondered if he was in disguise. That made sense, considering Billy’s history.

If he walked around too many times it would look suspicious, so he started playing a slot machine. Soon his money was gone, and he nearly punched the machine. When it came to ripping people off, slot machines were the worst offenders. He decided to call it a night before he did something rash. He would call Teddy tomorrow and ask him to set up another meeting. There was a flurry of activity inside the pit. A group of dealers had returned from break and replaced the dealers currently working. One of the female dealers caught his eye. Her name tag said MAGGIE.

Maggie was not hard on the eyes. He saw her brush a piece of lint off her sleeve. It felt like a signal, and he decided to stay, and fed more money into the machine.

And he watched her.

There were two types of blackjack dealers. The first type wanted the players to win, while the second type wished bad luck on every player at their table.

Maggie belonged to the first group. She smiled, offered advice, and thumped the felt when a player drew a miracle card. It was a good performance.

Seated at her table was a farm boy with buck teeth and a John Deere hat. His clothes were dusty, and he looked like he’d fallen off a turnip truck. Before each deal, Maggie shot him a fleeting glance. It was subtle, and no one at the table saw it.

Lopez made the match. The farm boy was none other than Billy. He and Maggie were scamming the game. Whatever they were doing, it was invisible.

A pit boss came over to watch Maggie deal. Dealers were not allowed to turn around, and Maggie didn’t know the pit boss was behind her. Billy grabbed his beer bottle and took a swig. It was a signal, and Maggie dipped her chin.

He had just seen something important. Their scam would not pass muster with the pit boss present. So, they had devised a signal to freeze the scam in case a pit boss made an unwanted appearance.

He kept watching. He wanted to know how their scam worked when he approached Billy. It would give him the upper hand in the negotiation.

At midnight, a new team of dealers tapped the existing dealers out. Maggie clapped her hands and wished everyone goodnight. Billy continued to play. He’d stopped betting hundred-dollar chips. When Maggie was dealing, that was all he’d bet.

Ten minutes later, Billy left the table. Lopez followed him. Billy was walking fast and was staring at his cell phone. His radar was down, and he failed to notice the pair of Italian stallions lurking by the exit. The Italians shared the same DNA, with flowing manes of jet-black hair, olive-colored skin, and bulging biceps beneath their fancy silk shirts. They followed Billy as he went out the door.

This was going to get ugly. Lopez and the Italians both wanted to have a chat with Billy, and the Italians didn’t look like the types who would wait their turn.

He came outside to find Billy being dragged into the ground floor of the garage where a black Cadillac was waiting. Billy had been tasered and was half-conscious. Lopez drew his handgun and got behind the Italians.

“Freeze,” he said.

They lowered Billy to the pavement and turned around. Lopez made a face that was meant to scare people. Both men swallowed hard.

“Who’s this dude?” the smaller one whispered.

“Beats me,” his brother replied.

They looked, talked, and dressed like mobsters. Legend had it the corporations had driven the Mafia out of Las Vegas, but that wasn’t true. The mob had simply moved to the west side of town, and made their money pimping, loan sharking, and drug dealing.

“Keep your hands where I can see them,” Lopez said.

“Yes, sir,” they both said.

Lopez came up behind the Cadillac’s driver. The driver’s hands rested in his lap, hidden from sight.

“Put your hands on the wheel, or I’ll blow your head off.”

The words sounded strange coming out of his mouth. He had never said them before in his life, yet he meant them.

The driver stuck his hands on the wheel.

“Good move. Now, open the trunk.”

“Say what?” the driver said.

“You heard me. Open it.”

The trunk popped open. He shot a glance at the would-be kidnappers. He didn’t care what their beef with Billy was; he just wanted them gone.

“Climb in. Both of you,” he said.

“There’s not enough room,” the smaller one said.

“Do it.”

The brothers squeezed themselves into the trunk. Lopez slammed it shut, and they hollered as they were thrown into darkness. To the driver he said, “Pull out, and don’t stop until you leave the property.”

The Cadillac exited the garage and stopped once off property. The brothers got out of the trunk and started throwing punches. Lopez guessed they’d shared a bedroom growing up. The driver herded them into the car, and they left.

Billy got to his feet and tried to shake off the cobwebs. His denim jacket was ripped, and dozens of chips fell from his pockets to the ground. One chip spun on its side, and Lopez saw that it was black on one side, and red on the other. So that’s what they’re doing, he thought. He slipped the chip into his pocket.

“I thought that was you. Thanks for the save,” Billy said.

“You’re welcome. Who were those guys?” Lopez asked.

“The Pinelli brothers. They do odd jobs for the casinos.”

“Were they planning to kill you?”

“Just beat me up. Last time they broke two of my ribs.”

“You don’t sound too concerned.”

“It comes with the territory. I know a few bars where they don’t have surveillance cameras. Let’s grab a drink and talk.”

“I’m game. Do you want to call your girlfriend and tell her you’re okay?”

“Say what?”

“The blackjack dealer you were scamming with. She’s your squeeze, isn’t she? There’s a lot of chemistry there.”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

Lopez had expected this. In Las Vegas, a person either knew the score, or they didn’t. He needed to convince Billy that he knew the score. He took the double-sided chip from his pocket, and flipped it in the air, exposing both the red and black sides.

“Let’s start with this,” he said.

12

Dino’s Lounge had been getting people drunk since 1962. In a town that reinvented itself every few years, that made the bar prehistoric. The windowless interior had a smoky, booze-soaked charm and a laid-back vibe. Once upon a time, it had been a mob hangout, with secret deals hashed out over glasses of the hard stuff.

A bearded fellow with Mr. Universe arms worked the bar. Lopez ordered three bottles of Lone Star and brought them to the pool table in back where Billy was trying to hustle him into a game of eight ball, a dollar a ball. The guy was the epitome of cool. He had nearly gotten pulverized and had shaken it off like it was nothing.

“Are you sure you don’t want to play? I’ll spot you two balls.”

“No thanks. Where’s your lady friend?”

“Maggie’s in transit. You know how women are.”

“Check your phone again.”

“Whatever you say.” Billy consulted his cell phone. “She’s on her way. I’ll spot you three balls, and that’s my best offer.”

He shook his head and leaned against the wall. Whatever he said to Billy, he wanted Maggie to hear. At the academy he’d learned to read body language. Maggie’s body language was alpha, and he guessed that she was on strong footing in the relationship.

Billy proceeded to sink fifteen balls in a row. As the last ball dropped in a corner pocket, Maggie made her entrance wearing jeans with holes in the knees and a tight-fitting sweater. She threw her arms around her boyfriend and hugged him fiercely.

“Did the Pinelli brothers hurt you?” she asked.

“I’m fine. Ray saved the day,” Billy said.

“Who the fuck is Ray?” she asked.

Lopez grabbed a Lone Star off the pool table and handed it to her.

“Nice to meet you,” he said.

She cut her eyes at him. To her boyfriend she said, “Is this the FBI agent you told me about?”

“The one and only,” Billy said.

“Nice to meet you, Ray,” she said icily.

Dino’s was open all night, and there was no telling who might walk in. They found a secluded table behind the darkened karaoke stage and got down to business.

Maggie went first. “Are you wearing a wire?”

Fun and games had officially come to an end. Lopez lifted the front of his sweatshirt to show them that he wasn’t wired up. He tried to break the ice.

“It’s funny that you would reach out to me,” he said.

“Why is that funny?” Maggie said.

“The director of the gaming board saw a story about Billy helping me in Reno. He called my boss, and asked if Billy was an informant. My boss said no, but it gave her an idea. She’d like you on our payroll.”

“As a snitch? Fat chance,” Billy said.

“It will let us talk with impunity.”

“Talk about what?” Maggie said.

“My joining your crew.”

“We’re getting ahead of ourselves,” she said. “Billy and I will talk this over later tonight. If we think you’re a good fit, you’ll meet our crew. It’s a process.”

Lopez started to fume. He had convinced himself that joining Billy’s crew was the only way he was going to pay off his debts. He removed the double-sided chip from his pocket and spun it on the table. Maggie came out of her chair and grabbed the chip.

“Where the hell did you get this?” she said.

“It fell out of Billy’s pocket when the Italians were roughing him up,” he said.

“This chip could land us in prison.”

“Your secrets are safe with me.”

She fell back in her chair. She was clearly agitated.

“What will it take for me to become a member of your crew?” he asked.

“First of all, you have to have grift sense,” Billy said. “Every member of our crew has it. It’s the most important thing.”

“I made your scam. Does that count?”

“Describe what we were doing.”

It was a test. Lopez put his elbows on the table and took a deep breath. “The chip is double-sided. One side is a hundred-dollar chip, the other is a five-dollar chip. You bet the hundred-dollar side. If you win, Maggie pays you off. If you lose, Maggie flips the chip over, and puts it in her tray with the five-dollar chips. You buy the chip back for five bucks and do it all over again.”

“You’re pretty smart for a cop,” Maggie said.

“I’m an FBI agent.”

“What’s the difference?”

“I had to pass an IQ test.”

They burst out laughing. The ice was starting to melt. The Gaming Board’s file said that Billy lived in a lavish penthouse apartment overlooking the Strip. The double-sided-chip scam wouldn’t pay his light bill.

“You were pulling a second scam tonight,” he said.

Maggie gave him a look. “You don’t say. What else were we doing?”

“Billy bought red chips and dumped a stack into his pocket. He brought that stack out a minute later and bet with it. That stack wasn’t real, was it?”

Her eyes went wide. So did Billy’s. Lopez knew he’d nailed it.

“You’re good,” Maggie said.

“It was a guess. Can I see the gaff?”

“It’s called a chip cup,” Maggie said. “Show it to him.”

Billy took a plastic cup from his pocket and handed it over. The cup was painted to look like a stack of five-dollar chips and had a real chip glued on top.

“Let me see if I understand,” he said. “Billy bets the chip cup. If he wins, you pay him off. If he loses, you pick up the cup, and slide it over another player’s losing bet. Billy buys the cup back and steals the other player’s bet in the process.”

“You’re a star,” Maggie said.

“Doesn’t the casino catch on to the theft?”

“The casino has no way of knowing how many chips each player is betting,” she said. “The theft goes undetected.”

“If you don’t mind my asking, how much are you clearing a night.”

It was a loaded question. If one of them answered, he was one step closer to joining their crew. If they didn’t, the deal fell through. Maggie glanced at her boyfriend. Billy drank his beer and nodded.

“We’re clearing five grand a night. Sometimes more,” she said.

“How many times a week are you doing this?”

“Two. You know what they say. Pigs get fed; hogs get slaughtered.”

“The Gaming Board said you had a crew. Are they also working these scams?”

The beer had loosened Billy’s tongue. “My crew is working the chip scams at four different casinos in town. There are other dealers involved.”

“Wait — you’re stealing fifty grand a week?”

“Uh-huh. Sometimes more.”

The admission stunned him. These simple scams were netting Billy and his crew over two-and-a-half million dollars a year. It was big time thievery. Best of all, they were flying under the casinos’ radar. He had found the answer to his problems.

“I want to go into business with you,” he said.

They said nothing. It was now or never, and he pressed them.

“Hear me out.” He pointed a finger at Billy. “You need to lay low for a while. You don’t want to have another encounter with the Pinelli brothers, do you?”

“Not particularly,” Billy said.

“I’ll replace you in the crew and run the chip scams. The money keeps flowing and you’ll be out of harm’s way. It’s a perfect solution.”

Billy and Maggie had a conversation with their eyes and came to a decision. Billy looked at him and said, “How much are you looking to make?”

“I need to pay off my debts. Give me a cut of whatever I steal.”

“Twenty percent?’

Twenty percent was two grand a week. That wasn’t enough to clear the ledger. He didn’t want to screw up the deal but felt compelled to ask for more.

“Make it thirty,” he said.

“That’s a lot for a newbie,” Maggie said. “You need to learn the ropes.”

“I’m a quick learner. You won’t be disappointed.”

“You sound desperate, Ray,” she said.

“I’m drowning in debt and you guys are my lifesaver.”

“How much do you need to settle your debts?” Billy asked.

“Forty-six grand.”

“Do you see this as a permanent thing?” Maggie asked.

“No. Once I clear my debts, I’ll fade into the woodwork.”

“You’re wearing a wedding ring,” she said. “Does your wife know about this?”

“She knows about the gambling debts. That’s all,” he said.

“She’s going to be suspicious when you start coming home late at night. What are you going to tell her? She can’t know about any of this.”

“I do a lot of undercover work. I’ll tell her I’m on a stakeout and will be coming home late. It’s nothing she hasn’t experienced before.”

“Sounds like you’ve got this all figured out,” Billy said.

“Just trying to cover my bases. There’s one more thing.”

“Lay it on us.”

“If you let me join your crew, I’ll put the kibosh on the Pinelli brothers.”

Billy sat up in his chair. “How are you going to do that?”

“The FBI keeps a list of suspicious people. I’ll add the Pinelli brothers’ names to the list, and we’ll start tapping their phone conversations. Eventually, they’ll get caught doing something stupid. They can’t hurt you from jail.”

Billy and Maggie came to a silent agreement and stood up.

“You have yourself a deal, Special Agent Lopez,” Maggie said.

Lopez felt like he’d won the lottery. They exchanged cell phone numbers and agreed to meet in a few days so they could introduce him to the crew. The cheats departed, and Lopez went to the bar and ordered a shot of tequila and a beer chaser.

The tequila burned going down. His hand was shaking, and some of the booze ended up on his chin. He reminded himself that this wasn’t the first time he’d broken the law. He’d done bad things before, and no harm had come from it.

He slammed the shot glass on the bar, convinced he was doing the right thing.

13

Leaving Dino’s, Billy and Maggie drove to the Peppermill on the north side.

The Peppermill was Billy’s preferred meeting place. The restaurant was nothing special and served overpriced food in a diner-like setting. The main attraction was the lounge, which had comfy leather sofas and a fire pit. An absence of security cameras made the place special. Politicians and hoodlums mixed freely, often at the same tables.

Billy found his crew sitting in a horseshoe-shaped booth. Before joining his crew, they’d barely been able to make ends meet. Now, they owned beautiful homes and had fat bank accounts.

His crew made room as they squeezed themselves in. Billy put the chips he’d stolen from the Gold Rush on the table and stacked them. His crew took out the chips they’d stolen from their respective casinos and added them to Billy’s stacks.

Billy chopped up the score. It was important that this accounting was done with everyone present. That way, no one felt short-changed.

He tallied the chips and looked into their faces. “Are we good?”

Everyone said yes. He gave each member their take. Tomorrow, Maggie would meet with the dealers who were part of the scam and give them their share.

His crew lifted their glasses and toasted him. He ordered another round and soon no one was feeling any pain. It was time to tell them about Lopez. Before he did that, he needed to tell them about the Pinelli brothers.

“I had a problem at the Gold Rush tonight,” he said. “Two goons roughed me up and tried to throw me into the trunk of their car. The casino sent them.”

“Oh, no,” Pepper said.

“Did they hurt you?” Misty asked.

“A guy named Ray Lopez came to my rescue,” he explained. “I need to stay out of the casinos for a while and let the dust settle. I wanted all of you to know.”

Pepper and Misty acted relieved. They’d worked in porn before joining his crew. The experience had soured them on men, and a week ago, they’d walked into a wedding chapel and gotten hitched. He couldn’t remember them being happier.

Cory and Morris looked up from their cell phones. They were foster kids who Billy had pulled off the streets and taught the ropes. Recently they’d ventured out on their own with disastrous results. Billy had offered them their jobs back, which they’d happily accepted. They were the kid brothers Billy had never had.

“Who is Ray Lopez?” Cory said.

“I met him last weekend in Reno. He’s an FBI agent.”

Gabe looked up from his beer. “So, you did recruit him.”

“I did. We wanted to run the idea by you guys.”

No one spoke. Billy sensed the idea unsettled them.

“Ray fixed baseball games when he was enrolled at UNLV,” he said. “We thought he’d be a good replacement while I was on hiatus.”

Gabe spoke to Maggie. “What did you think of him?”

“Ray’s a smart operator,” she said.

“Does he have grift sense?”

“Yeah. He figured out the chip scams.”

“That’s impressive,” Pepper said.

“Sounds like the guy’s a natural,” Misty said.

“He is a natural and he’s hungry,” Billy said. His crew seemed to be warming to the idea and he kept going. “Imagine having our very own mole within the FBI. Those guys know everything that’s going on in this town. It would be like having an insurance policy against getting caught.”

“You’ve got my vote,” Misty said.

“Mine, too,” Pepper chorused.

Gabe and Morris said yes as well. Cory was playing with his cell phone and didn’t seem convinced. Billy wanted everyone on board and waited Cory out.

“He’s a fucking FBI agent,” Cory finally said.

“With a gambling problem,” Billy said.

“That doesn’t change who he is,” Cory said.

“I’m not reading you.”

“I read a book about the FBI when I was a kid,” Cory said. “Special agents are expected to have integrity and obey the law. It’s drilled into them.”

“Lopez is different. He’s cheated before and is willing to do it again.”

“What happens after Lopez pays off his debts?” Cory said. “He could have a change of heart and turn on us.”

Cory had a point. Lopez had promised to disappear once his debts were paid off. But that might just be a story. Lopez could set them up and get a bonus for his trouble.

“Do you think I should walk away?” Billy asked.

Cory stared at the ersatz fire pit belching purple flames. “You’re the captain. It’s your decision. If it were me, I would test his loyalty before bringing him in.”

“Test him how?”

“The same way you tested me and Morris. You staked us a thousand bucks and a taser. You explained how a slot machine will pay off small jackpots if you give it some juice while the wheels are spinning. We went into Slots-O-Fun and Morris blocked the eye-in-the-sky while I scammed a Mega Moolah slot machine. It was the greatest night of our lives.”

“We won three fucking grand,” Morris said, savoring the memory.

“We thought about blowing the money on coke and girls. Then we realized that you’d never talk to us again. So, we went to your apartment and gave you the money.”

“Every penny,” Morris said.

“You shook our hands and made us members of the crew. Giving you that money was the smartest thing we’ve ever done. Morris still has the taser.”

“It’s my rabbit’s foot,” Morris said.

“We’d take a bullet for you, and that’s a fact,” Cory said.

“So would me and Pepper. You pulled us out of the gutter,” Misty said.

“Same here. I was nearly homeless before I met you,” Gabe said. Billy felt Maggie’s leg beneath the table. He gave her the side-eye.

“Looks like it’s unanimous,” Maggie said.

They were right. Lopez was worth his weight in gold if he stayed loyal. But if Lopez had a change of heart they’d be ruined. The risk clearly outweighed the reward.

Billy still wanted to do it. Working the chip scams was a grind and was starting to feel like a nine-to-five job. These scams brought in the money but weren’t giving him the adrenalin rush like a major one-off. There was no greater thrill than taking down a casino for a few million bucks in a single night. There was no question that Lopez could help him do that. But first, the FBI agent had to prove he belonged.

A waitress named Jennifer took their drink order. She’d been a cocktail waitress at the Peppermill longer than most of them had been alive. That was common in Las Vegas. When people found a good thing, they stuck with it. Billy ordered a signature drink called a Scorpion. It was a sixty-four-ounce concoction of five different liquors blended with vanilla ice cream. Jennifer brought the drink to the table and passed out spoons. His crew dug in. Except for Cory.

“Is this guy going to get tested?” Cory asked.

“That was the plan,” Billy said.

“What if he screws up?”

Billy stuck a spoonful of the drink into his mouth. It tasted like an ice cream sundae. His crew stared at him. Adding a new member was serious business.

“Then I’ll cut him loose,” he said.

14

Lopez awoke early the next morning with a start. Their bedroom faced the street, and he slid out of bed and parted the blind with his finger. Lezli stood on the stoop in her bathrobe talking with a man wearing horn-rimmed glasses and a plaid bow tie. Their visitor looked like a tax preparer for H&R Block.

He threw on jeans and went to see what the guy wanted. He’d gotten behind on his sleep in Reno and felt exhausted. When he signed up to become an FBI agent, he hadn’t understood why the mandatory retirement age was fifty-seven. Less than a year into the job, he got it. The work drained you.

He joined Lezli on the stoop. “Who are you?”

“This gentleman is a process server. He’s here to serve you a summons.”

He rocked back on his heels. This had to be some kind of mistake. He hadn’t broken any laws or done anything to warrant a summons being served. Their visitor handed him a manila envelope bearing the stamp of the Clark County courthouse.

“What is this about?” he asked.

“I have no idea. I don’t read the complaints,” the man said.

The man used his cell phone to snap a photo as proof that Lopez had received the summons. Then, he walked briskly to the curb. His car backfired as it sped away.

Lopez and his wife retreated inside. She slammed the door and got in his face.

“What did you do this time, Ray?” she asked.

The words had a terrible sting. He wasn’t fully awake, and he handed her the envelope and said, “Why don’t you see what this is about,” and walked into the kitchen and flipped on the coffee maker. She followed him, reading aloud. “‘This action is hereby brought to recover four promissory notes, each for the sum of 12,500 dollars, existing between Raymond Lopez, a resident of North Las Vegas, Nevada, and the Emerald City Casino of Reno, Nevada. Failure to satisfy these notes in a timely manner will result in a judgment by default being rendered against Lopez for the relief demanded in this complaint.’” His wife dropped the summons on the kitchen table. “Do you know what this means, Ray? The Emerald City Casino is going to take away our house if we don’t pay this off.”

He fixed two mugs of coffee and handed her one. This was crazy. He hadn’t signed any promissory notes when he was in Reno, and he didn’t owe anybody fifty thousand dollars like the summons claimed.

“What are we going to do?” she asked.

“I’ll hire a lawyer and fight it. I didn’t borrow money from the Emerald City when I was in Reno. They’re mistaking me for somebody else.”

“There are copies of the promissory notes attached to the summons,” she said. “They have your signature on them.”

“That’s impossible.”

“See for yourself.”

She handed him a Xeroxed sheet. Four promissory notes were copied on it. His signature was on each, along with a date and time with his initials.

“This can’t be,” he said.

“It’s your signature, Ray. You borrowed fifty thousand dollars from the Emerald City, and now they want it back.”

The coffee brought him around. He dredged up his memories of Reno.

“I don’t remember signing these notes,” he said.

“Well, you must have. The casino took photographs of you. Take a look.”

She handed him the remaining attachments. There were four grainy photographs of him sitting at a blackjack table. The photos had been taken by a surveillance camera and memorialized with a timestamp. In each photo, a man leaned over Lopez’s shoulder, acting as witness as he signed a document. It was the general manager, the same guy who had given him the two hundred in free chips that had started his downfall.

He sat down at the kitchen table and racked his brain. Like a bad dream, the memory came back. Lezli pulled up a chair, her eyes pleading with him.

“What happened, Ray?”

“I decided to play blackjack to see if my luck would change,” he said. “The GM came over and asked me if I wanted a drink. Like an idiot, I said yes.”

“They got you plastered and cleaned you out.”

He glanced at the surveillance photos clutched in his hand. There was a fresh drink in his hand in each photo.

“It sure looks that way,” he said.

“We have to hire a lawyer and fight them.”

“With what money?”

“Maybe we could retain one of those personal injury attorneys that advertise on TV. They don’t cost anything unless you win. We could use one of them.”

“Those guys work on contingencies. They’ll want to get paid up front if they’re going to take on a casino.”

“Can’t we find somebody else to represent you? Getting a customer shit-faced and lending him money to gamble cannot be legal, even in Nevada.”

Lezli was right. What the general manager at the Emerald City had done wasn’t legal. But the sad truth was, he’d still done it, and was probably doing it to other gamblers as well, while the people entrusted to stop him were looking the other way.

“If I don’t pay off these notes, we’ll lose everything we have,” he said. “I’ll set up an appointment with the bank manager at Wells Fargo. He offered to give us a home equity line of credit. We can use the money to pay this off.”

“Why in god’s name won’t you fight them?”

“Because I’ll lose.”

Her chair made a harsh scraping sound as she rose from the table. He listened to her get dressed and leave the house for work. There was no goodbye.

Near his office was a twenty-four-hour liquor store called XO. The parking lot was empty, and he ducked inside and pulled a miniature bottle of tequila out of a display. Back in his car, he uncorked the bottle with his teeth and chugged it. The booze did its magic and calmed him down. He’d never seen Lezli so angry. He’d betrayed her with his behavior and his lies, and he drove to work convinced she would leave him.

Russo was waiting with coffee when he got to his cubicle. He mumbled thanks and sat down at his desk. He wanted to call his wife but didn’t know what to say.

“We’re in luck. CSI matched the palm print in Echo Chambers’s house to a stripper named Chastity Gamble,” Russo said.

Russo handed him a rap sheet which he studied. Gamble had been arrested multiple times for prostitution and peddling weed. Her mug shot was hard-core. Black lipstick, black eyeshadow, and a hissing serpent tattoo on her left cheek.

“I ran a check with the cops,” Russo said. “Gamble got a DUI the night of Echo’s murder, so she has an alibi. We still need to talk to her. Maybe she knows who Echo was laundering for.”

The tequila had thickened his tongue. He drank coffee before replying.

“Did the cops have her address?” he asked.

“It isn’t current. Call the strip clubs and run her down.”

Russo went into his office and shut the door. Lopez faced his computer and booted it up. He came up with a plan. He’d call Lezli during her lunch break and fall on his sword. He would beg forgiveness and ask her to give him another chance. It was a gamble, and he needed to accept that she might tell him to fuck off and decide to walk out. He didn’t like himself when he gambled; why should he expect his wife to?

He did a search of Las Vegas strip clubs and a dozen sites popped up. He began at the top of the list and started calling them. Vegas strip clubs were nothing more than fronts for prostitution, and their owners lived with the fear of being shut down. The threat of a raid usually got them talking.

On the tenth call he hit paydirt. The owner of a club named Sugar Babies said that Chastity Gamble was at the club working the morning shift. He ended the call and went to tell Russo. Then Lezli texted him.

Love you, her message read.

He nearly broke down and cried.

15

Lopez drove to Sugar Babies while Russo read aloud from the club’s website off his cell phone. “‘Welcome to Las Vegas’s premier nude club. Sugar Babies isn’t for the faint of heart. Our world-famous dancers come from all walks of life and put on a heart-stopping, breathtaking show.’ Sounds sleazy. Have you ever been?”

“Locals don’t visit those places,” he said.

“The site says they don’t sell booze. How do they make money?”

“Drugs, prostitution, groups.”

“Groups?”

“They send a stretch limo to your hotel to pick up your group, that costs money. Lap dances cost money. Bottle service costs money. Renting the VIP rooms costs money. I wouldn’t be surprised if they charge you to take a piss.”

“Do they pimp out the girls?”

“All the time. Late at night, they turn into brothels.”

“That’s illegal. Why don’t the police shut it down?”

Living in Las Vegas his whole life, he knew the answer, only people didn’t want to hear it. The sex industry was vital to the city’s economy; without street walkers and escort services, the city’s hotels would take a major hit.

Sugar Babies was located on Western Avenue and hugged the Las Vegas Freeway. The club resembled a bomb shelter, the thick concrete walls designed to block out the steady hum of traffic. He eased his vehicle into a spot by the entrance.

“This place will have security. Should I roast beef them?” Russo said.

The FBI had its own nomenclature. This expression was new to him.

“First tell me what that means,” he said.

“To roast beef someone means to shove your credentials in their face like a big shot. An FBI agent in New York got served a roast beef sandwich at a deli, and he thought they’d gone light on the meat. He said, ‘I’m with the FBI. More roast beef!’”

“Go right ahead.”

They entered a world of strobe lights and head-throbbing music. The hostess stand was vacant, and they followed a hallway to a horseshoe-shaped bar where a naked girl covered in ink gyrated on a brass pole. She beckoned Lopez with a crooked finger.

“Looks like you’ve made a new friend,” Russo said.

“Lucky me.”

A bouncer materialized out of the shadows. He looked strung out and had a bad case of the sniffles. “You gents looking for a lap dance?”

Russo flashed his ID. “We’re looking for Chastity Gamble.”

“Name isn’t ringing any bells.”

“She works here. Lie to me again, and I’ll run you in.”

“Chastity’s entertaining a customer in a private room.”

“Take us to her. If your boss blows up, he can talk to me.”

“Whatever you say.”

They followed the bouncer to the VIP rooms. Every few seconds a passing eighteen-wheeler made the walls shudder. The bouncer rapped loudly on a pink door.

“I’m busy,” came a female voice from within.

“Someone wants to talk to you,” the bouncer said.

“Tell them to wait their turn.”

“This is the FBI. Come out now,” Russo said.

Other pink doors banged open as customers bolted out of the rooms like the place was on fire. Chastity emerged barefoot, wearing a white satin robe. Inside the room, a skinny guy in his skivvies lay on a heart-shaped bed.

“What did you do to him?” Russo asked.

“I fucked him silly, and he’s taking a nap,” she said.

“Go wake him up.”

“You think I slipped him a mickey and rolled him?”

“I’m sure it wouldn’t be the first time.”

“Do what the man says,” the bouncer said.

Chastity slipped into the room and gave the john a resounding slap in the puss. When that didn’t have the desired effect, she grabbed his ankles and dragged him off the bed. The john bounced on the floor and awakened with a start.

“Happy now?” she asked.

Interrogating suspects with records was tricky. Most criminals knew their rights and wouldn’t talk. They decided to question her in the car to keep the session informal.

Lopez got sodas from a McDonald’s drive-through and deliberately dropped his change. Reaching under his seat, he pressed a button on a hidden tape recorder.

Chastity sat beside him, oblivious. “This is about Echo, isn’t it?”

“That’s right,” Russo said from the backseat.

“I heard she got murdered. You need to catch the sick bastard that did it.”

“We’re trying to.”

“Well, try harder. He’s still out there.”

The sound of a straw puncturing the lid of Chastity’s soda sounded like a pistol going off. Russo leaned between the seats. “I need to ask you a few questions. When we’re done, we’ll drive back to the club, and you can go back to work.”

She slurped her drink. “I’m game.”

“How long have you worked at Sugar Babies?”

“About a year. Before that I was at Little Darlings. The owner made us pay him a cover charge to strip, so I quit. We also had to tip the bartenders.”

“Why would you do that?”

“The bartenders make the drinks extra strong. The customers got wasted and tipped the dancers more. The owner thought the bartenders deserved a piece of the action, which is horse shit if you ask me.”

“The owner should be paying the bartenders out of his cut,” Russo said.

“Damn straight he should.”

Russo was gradually winning Chastity’s trust. He pressed her.

“Were you and Echo close?”

“We shared a stage a few times. Echo had a body that wouldn’t quit. I got more tips when I was dancing with her, that’s for sure.”

“Did you ever go to her house to party?”

“Never had the pleasure.”

“Did Echo have any boyfriends that you knew of?”

“Not that she told me about.”

“How about guys that came into the club?”

“Most of the customers are jerks. I tune ’em out.”

“Makes sense. For the record, my partner is recording this conversation.”

Her head snapped. “You’re recording me?”

Lopez nodded. “Yes. Did you know that it’s a felony to lie to an FBI agent? You can be put in prison for what you just said to us.”

Chastity blinked as the words sunk in. She tried to bolt, only to find the car was locked and escape impossible. She pounded the dashboard.

“You bastards tricked me!”

Russo waited for Chastity to calm down before continuing. “We found your palm print on the front door of Echo’s house. You were inside that house, and I think you know more than you’re telling us. If you don’t start playing ball, we’ll run you in.”

“I had nothing to do with this. I got a DUI the night Echo was murdered.”

“But you were inside that house. Why did you lie?”

“Echo had a party a month ago, and I went. So what?”

“The palm print on the door was fresh. We’re running a forensic test to tell us how fresh. Why don’t you come clean and tell us? It will make things easier.”

Lopez caught Russo’s reflection in the rearview mirror. One of the drawbacks of finding fingerprints at a crime scene was that there was no scientific way to determine their age. A print could be fresh, or it could be ten years old, and CSI couldn’t tell the difference. Chastity didn’t know this, and thought she was screwed.

“I went to Echo’s house the day before yesterday,” she blurted out. “I saw her head on the kitchen counter and freaked out. I started to faint in the foyer and fell against the front door. That’s how my palm print got there.”

“Did you call 911?” Russo asked.

“No.”

“Why not? Your friend was murdered.”

“I didn’t want to get involved. Echo was ripping off the casinos and laundering the cash. These people came into Sugar Babies one night and sweet-talked her into helping them.”

“Who were they?” Russo said.

“Scammers.”

“What was their scam?”

“Echo wouldn’t tell me.”

“Did you meet these people?”

“I was off work that night.”

Chastity’s story explained the $500,000 in casino wrappings the police had found in the trunk of Echo’s car. What it didn’t explain was the motivation behind Echo’s gruesome murder inside her home. Lopez thought he knew the answer, and said, “Was Echo stealing from her partners?”

“I wouldn’t put it past the bitch,” Chastity said.

16

Billy’s apartment building had all the amenities. Pool, gym, and a putting green. Billy was working on his short game when he got a distress call from Cory. Normally, he avoided his crew during the day and spent the time fine-tuning his golf strokes. But Cory and Morris were in a jam and needed to talk, so he told them to come over.

He texted Maggie to say he was going upstairs. Maggie was at the gym taking her morning spin class followed by a massage. Tomorrow, she was going shopping at the ritzy stores at Wynn Plaza and then dressage lessons at a stable where she leased a horse. She was burning money and drawing unnecessary attention to herself. That wasn’t smart for a thief, and he planned to talk to her about it. Maggie was the first woman he’d ever lived with, and he was finding cohabitating a challenge. He was used to calling the shots and had to bite his tongue whenever she challenged him.

He took the elevator to his penthouse which he’d won off a trust fund baby. It had views both east and west. In the morning he gazed at snow-capped mountains, at night the blazing neon Strip. It was the best view in Las Vegas. He’d come a long way since arriving on a bus ten years ago.

He brewed coffee and set a pair of mugs on the counter. Every cheat had a job that got them in trouble. For Cory and Morris, it had happened at the Mandalay Bay. They’d bribed the concierge into letting them install a camera in the AC vent of a suite where a high stakes poker game was held. The camera would let them see their opponents’ cards. Cheats called this running a peek store.

Before they’d won a hand, hotel security had kicked down the door, and broken up the game. They had escaped into an adjoining room and used a service elevator to reach the basement where their car was parked. They’d spent a few days in L.A. waiting for the dust to settle before returning home.

Billy knew what had happened. A snitch had ratted them out. More than likely, the snitch was someone they knew and trusted. They needed to find out the snitch’s identity or risk being compromised again.

The front desk called to announce their arrival. A minute later his doorbell rang, and he ushered them in. They shuffled past him wearing hang-dog expressions. He had them sit at his kitchen table and served them coffee.

“Did you find the snitch at Mandalay Bay?” Billy asked.

Cory blew steam off his drink. “I wish.”

“Rat bastard,” Morris said.

“You’ll eventually figure out who it was. Then you can pay him back.”

“We need to talk to you about something else,” Cory said.

“I’m listening.”

Cory sucked on a vape like it was a pacifier. “We messed up.”

“Big time,” Morris added.

“How did you mess up?” Billy asked.

“We sampled the merchandise,” Cory said.

Billy took a deep breath. “Explain.”

“We’ve been using strippers to cash the stolen chips from our side jobs, like you told us to,” Cory said. “The girls cash the chips in the casinos and keep 10 percent. If the casino asks them where they got them, they say the chips are tips from customers. It’s been working like a charm.”

Cory took another hit off his vape. Morris grimaced like he had a belly ache. Billy thought he knew where this was headed and cleared his throat.

“Let’s jump to the chase. You fucked them,” he said.

“How did you know?” Cory said.

“Logical conclusion. Two horny guys spend time with a couple of strippers. Wild sex ensues. Are they trying to blackmail you?”

“I wish it was that simple. Show him,” Cory said to Morris.

Morris unfolded a piece of paper on the counter. It was a bulletin from Security Internal Network, aka SIN, an email service created by the casinos to send out bulletins about card counters, cheating crews, and other undesirables. Sometimes, the Gaming Board and the FBI issued alerts as well. Cory had set up a phony account to get these bulletins. The one on Billy’s kitchen counter had been issued by the FBI. It contained a photograph of a suspected money launderer named Echo Chambers. The bulletin asked anyone who’d seen Echo in their casino to call an FBI hotline printed on the page.

“You were sleeping with her?” Billy said, unable to hide his disgust.

“She’s nicer looking than that,” Cory said defensively.

“Was,” Morris corrected him.

“What do you mean, was?” Billy said.

“Echo got murdered. Somebody cut her head off. It was on the news.”

“Jesus Christ. Can she be traced to you?”

“I don’t know,” Cory said. “I ended the relationship, and we haven’t spoken in a couple of weeks. Morris was seeing her friend, Chastity, who was also helping us.”

“I broke it off with Chastity the same time,” Morris said.

“The bulletin says that Echo Chambers is suspected of money-laundering. What’s that about?” Billy asked.

“Echo and Chastity were scamming with an Asian crew the same time they were moving chips for us,” Cory explained. “They told us the Asians had this amazing scam and were stealing millions from the casinos. That’s when we decided to end things.”

“They were bragging about the score?” Billy said.

“I know. It was stupid,” Cory said.

More than one cheating crew had gone down in flames because someone couldn’t keep their damn mouth shut. His curiosity piqued, Billy said, “Did they tell you what the Asian crew’s scam was?”

“Something high-tech,” Cory said.

“Which game?”

“The wheel,” Morris said.

The gloom and doom had not left their faces. If the FBI discovered their contact info in Echo’s cell phone, they’d get hauled in for questioning. Before that happened, they needed to get their stories straight. That was why Cory had called. He and Morris needed help with their stories. Everyone who cheated got tangled up with the law at some point in their lives. How you handled it often defined the rest of your career.

“You guys have never been hauled in for questioning, so I’m going to explain some things to you,” he said. “Rule number one. Don’t lie.”

“You want us to tell the truth?” Cory said.

“I didn’t say that. Tell the truth but tell it on the slant.”

“You mean half-truths.”

“Correct. That way, you won’t trip up. Where did you meet these ladies?”

“At a strip club called Sugar Babies.”

“How long did you date?”

“Two months.”

“Besides shacking up with them, what did you do? Go to clubs? Hang out in bars? Take field trips out to the Hoover Dam or Red Rocks?”

“They were both into electronic dance music. We went to clubs and partied the night away.”

“And the Arts District. Echo liked to hang with artists,” Morris added.

“Here’s your story. You met Echo and Chastity at Sugar Babies and dated for a few months. You went to nightclubs and listened to EDM. Echo was into the arts, so you visited the Arts District and looked at paintings. The relationships ran their courses and ended. That’s it.”

“We leave out the chip cashing,” Cory said.

“Right. It’s not part of the narrative.”

“What if the FBI brings it up?” Morris asked.

“Rule number two. Never stray from your story.”

“But they still could bring it up,” Cory said.

“If it turns into a fishing expedition, tell the FBI you want a lawyer. You still have his number, don’t you?”

“Yes, sir.”

Billy used a cut from their scams to keep a criminal defense attorney on a monthly retainer. Cheats called this fall money. Billy had instructed his crew to call this attorney if they ever got jammed up by the law.

He made them repeat the story until they had it memorized. The FBI would interview them individually, so it was important that neither of them deviated from the narrative. Satisfied they wouldn’t screw up, he walked them to the elevator.

“Call me if you run into any problems,” he said.

“Thanks, Billy,” Cory said.

“You’re the best,” Morris added.

The elevator came and he gave them both a hug. He’d been scamming for over a decade and never had a member of his crew go to prison. It would have broken his heart if Cory or Morris broke that run. They stepped into the car.

“Keep the faith,” he said.

As the car descended, the door to the second elevator parted. Maggie stepped out and threw her arms around him. Her massage had brought a glow to her cheeks, and she looked radiant. Living with her wasn’t easy, but it was always exciting.

“Want to have some fun?” she asked.

17

Lopez circled the block before parking in his driveway. Big Lenny’s juice collectors were nowhere to be seen and he killed the engine. It had been a long day. He’d spent the afternoon typing up his notes from the Chastity Gamble interview and entering them into the case file. Then, he’d emailed the casinos, asking if they’d had any suspicious $500,000 losses recently. It was a long shot, but sometimes those paid off.

He entered his house and tried not to make any noise. Lezli taught at a private academy and on the dining room table were a stack of exams she’d brought home to grade. He’d once divided her weekly pay by the number of hours she worked and discovered that she was making less than minimum wage. He popped a beer and watched TV with the sound muted. He was happy with things at work, but his personal problems weren’t getting solved, and he felt like he was circling the drain.

“Ray?”

He went to their bedroom and stuck his head in. Lezli sat up in bed, reading a book on her tablet. He sat down beside her.

“I thought you’d be asleep by now,” he said.

“I was waiting for you. How was your day?”

He was better at hiding his emotions than he was expressing them, and a long moment passed. “Not great,” he admitted.

She put her tablet onto the night table. “Tell me what’s wrong.”

“Yesterday you asked me if I thought the Emerald City targeted me after I started winning. I’ve thought about it a lot.”

“And?”

“I’m still on the fence about it.”

“Maybe I can help you get off the fence.”

He sipped his beer. He’d been trained not to make assumptions unless he could back them up with unimpeachable proof. Everything else was simply conjecture. At the same time, he couldn’t shake the feeling that his losses at the Emerald City hadn’t been normal. He drank little when he gambled, yet somehow his glass of tequila had kept magically refilling itself when he’d been playing, and it had led to his ruin.

His wife playfully poked him. “Out with it.”

“Casinos offer players free drinks as a courtesy. But you’re supposed to ask for them. When the drink comes, you tip the cocktail waitress. I don’t remember doing that. She just showed up on her own accord.”

“You’re saying they got you drunk and cleaned you out.”

“It’s starting to feel that way.”

“Can you do something about it, and get your money back?”

He didn’t like the direction the conversation was heading. He had a gambling addiction, and he should have walked away the moment temptation came knocking.

“It doesn’t work that way,” he said.

“The casino plied you with booze and tricked you. Why is it hard to admit that?”

“I’d like to think I’m stronger than that.”

“We all have weaknesses. It’s what makes us human.”

FBI agents were supposed to be better than that. At least that was what he’d been taught at the academy. Maybe that was why he’d hidden his problem instead of getting treatment right away. His wife took a thick white envelope off the night table and handed it to him. For a moment he thought she was presenting him with divorce papers. That was why she’d stayed up late. To tell him that the marriage was finished.

“What is this?” he said, his voice trembling.

“Open it and see for yourself.”

The envelope was filled with crisp hundred-dollar bills. He had no idea where the money had come from and looked to her for an answer.

“I pawned my jewelry. Use the money to pay off Big Lenny,” she said.

He stared at her right hand. She still had on her diamond wedding ring. She lifted her hand and stuck the ring in his face.

“You’re not getting rid of me that easy,” she said.

He choked up. He didn’t deserve her. He’d been telling himself that since the day they’d met. Now, more than ever, he knew that this sentiment was true.

“You didn’t have to do that. I would have thought of something.”

“You were running out of somethings. I did what had to be done.”

“Are you angry with me?”

“I wouldn’t describe my mood as joyful if that’s what you’re asking. We’re going to get through this, just like we did before. I won’t bail on you. Now let’s get some sleep. Six A.M. is going to be here before you know it.”

He undressed and slipped beneath the covers. For a while he stared at the ceiling, feeling ashamed of himself, until the gentle sound of her breathing carried him to sleep.

He’d been asleep for only a few minutes when the vibrating of his cell phone snapped him awake. He picked it up off the night table and stared at the face. Caller ID said Reggie Carson. Billy Cunningham’s contact info was entered in his cell phone directory under the name of a childhood friend in case Lezli happened to see the call come in. He slipped out of bed.

“Who’s calling at this hour,” his wife murmured.

“Work,” he said.

“Can’t it wait.”

“Afraid not. Go back to sleep.”

He walked outside of his house and down to the sidewalk. There was no activity on the street save for a feral cat stalking a rodent in his neighbor’s bushes.

“Hey Billy, what’s up?” he answered.

“My crew requests the presence of your company. You up for that?” Billy said.

He felt himself shiver. He was about to step over into the dark side. He’d done it before in college and had hated how crummy it made him feel.

“Sure,” he said.

“You don’t sound too excited about this, Ray.”

“I’m running on fumes. When do you want to do this?”

“How about right now.”

He checked the time. It was nine-forty-five.

“Can’t this wait until tomorrow?”

“Afraid not.”

He took a deep breath. “Okay, whatever you want.”

Billy gave him the address and ended the call. The cat had caught a mouse, and its end-of-life screams followed him into the house. He threw on yesterday’s clothes and gave his wife a parting kiss on the forehead. Her eyelids fluttered.

“Are you leaving?” she asked sleepily.

“Russo is on a stakeout and needs backup.”

“How long will you be gone?”

That was a good question. He didn’t know how long this meeting would take, and realized he was running blind.

“I have no idea,” he said.

“Please be careful.”

“I will. Don’t wait up.”

18

That night, Lopez got schooled in the art of the grift.

His lesson took place in a house in the University District owned by two members of Billy’s crew named Cory and Morris. From the outside, the house was an eyesore, with peeling paint and zero landscaping. The walkway had more cracks than a whip, and promotional flyers stuffed the mailbox. Inside was a far different story. The rooms had shiny hardwood floors and were decorated with expensive furnishings. It screamed new money and could have been a model in an upscale development.

The real showpiece was the basement. It had been converted into a casino, with slot and video poker machines, a craps game, and a felt blackjack table with seven chairs. Video cameras mounted to the ceiling let Billy film the crew as they rehearsed their scams. The crew had five members besides Billy and Maggie. They were practicing a scam when Lopez arrived. There was Misty, a pretty brunette; Pepper, a sultry redhead;, Gabe, an older, overweight guy with a ready smile; and the owners Cory and Morris, who looked straight out of National Lampoon’s Animal House. They were as different as night and day. The bond that held them together was their loyalty toward Billy.

“Everyone’s eager to meet you,” Billy said.

“Same here,” he replied.

The crew was huddled around the craps table, the action fast and furious. The men were pretending to be employees, while the ladies played the cheats. After a few rolls, Lopez made the scam. With Pepper and Misty providing shade, Maggie was increasing her bet after the outcome was known.

“Do they actually get away with that?” he asked under his breath.

“It’s called past posting. It always gets the money,” Billy said.

“It looks risky.”

“See for yourself.”

A laptop sat on a table. Billy rewound the video. Lopez brought his face to the screen and watched from a camera’s POV. Shot from above, past posting was invisible to the eye-in-the-sky, which was all that Billy cared about.

The session ended, and Billy made the introductions. The crew was friendly except for Cory, who cracked his gum and gave him a stink eye.

“This won’t work. He’s too clean-cut,” Cory said.

“I can dress down,” he said.

“Do you think dressing down is all it’s going to take?”

“I’ve worked undercover. I know how to blend in.”

“That’s right, you’re with the FBI. You can do anything.”

Cory wasn’t sold on the idea of him joining the crew. If Lopez screwed up and got caught, the rest of them would be put in jeopardy.

“Let me ask you a question, tough guy,” Cory said. “Let’s pretend you have a gaffed chip in your hand, and security pulls you off a game. What do you tell them?”

He’d already considered this scenario and had a ready answer. “I show them my ID and identify myself. Because I’m an FBI agent, a security guard can’t legally frisk me, so he won’t see the double-sided chip.”

“But what’s your story? Why are you there? You better tell them something.”

“I tell security I’m working a money-laundering investigation involving a Strip casino. If they call my boss, the story will check out.”

“Your case is your cover.”

“That was my plan. It includes all of you. If I somehow get caught with one of you inside a casino, I tell them you’re working with me as informants.”

“Will your boss back that up, too?”

“She should. It was her idea to use informants on this case.”

Cory’s face softened. Lopez sensed he’d won him over. Misty, Pepper, Gabe, and Morris also seemed sold. He had passed the first test of the evening.

“Billy was right. You’re a smart one,” Cory said.

It was time for Lopez to learn the chip scams. The crew took their places at the blackjack table, with Lopez sitting in the very last seat, commonly called third base. Maggie stood behind the table and acted as dealer. She started with the basics. “Rule number one is the most important rule of all. Never move unless the dealer gives you the office. The dealer is the boss.”

“The office?” he asked.

“It means a signal. Don’t move unless I signal you. Understood?”

“Loud and clear.”

“There are three signals you need to memorize. Left sleeve, right sleeve, vest. Now, let’s pretend I’m dealing, and you sit down at my table. What do you do?”

“I wait for you to give me the office.”

“Exactly. If I brush my left sleeve, you bet the double-sided chip.”

“Left sleeve, double-sided chip,” he said.

“If I brush my right sleeve, it means bet the chip cup.”

“Right sleeve, chip cup,” he said.

“There’s a reason for this. I always know how many chips are being wagered at my table. If the action is light, we’ll steal a few hundred with the double-sided chip. If it’s heavy, we’ll steal more with the chip cup.”

“Got it.”

“When I adjust my vest, it means stop the play.”

“That’s easy enough.”

“There’s more.” She handed him a bottle of Bud Light. “Taste it.”

He took a sip. “That’s water.”

“Never fucking drink on the job. Booze is a bad idea when you’re scamming. But you still need to bring a beer to the table. Know why?”

“It makes me look like a tourist.”

“That’s one reason. What’s the other?”

If he hadn’t caught Billy signaling Maggie with his beer bottle, he wouldn’t have known the answer. He wanted to impress and pretended to think about it.

“I use the bottle to signal you if a pit boss is coming to the table,” he said.

“Out-fucking-standing. You grab the bottle by the neck and take a drink. That’s the signal. Never scam when a pit boss is watching,” Maggie said.

“Got it.”

Pepper slapped his arm. “You sure you haven’t done this before?”

“I’m a virgin.”

“I’ll bet you are,” she said with a wink.

They did a dry run. First, they practiced with the double-sided chip. Lopez placed it into the betting circle with the black side showing along with two red chips. He won the hand, and Maggie paid him off. The next hand he lost. Maggie scooped up the gaffed chip, and deftly added it to the red chips, which she put in her tray, the red side facing out. He bought more chips, and Maggie sold him the double-sided chip as if it was worth five dollars. It was a brilliantly constructed scam. When he won, he made a hundred bucks. When he lost, the house won five bucks.

Next up was the chip cup. The hollow cup looked like five red chips and had an apparent value of twenty-five dollars. If he won the hand, Maggie would pay him twenty-five dollars, which wasn’t much of a payout. But if he lost, Maggie would use the cup to steal another player’s bet, and then deposit the cup with the red chips in her tray. He would buy in for more chips, and Maggie would slide the cup to him with the stolen chips still inside, which he dumped into his pocket. The stolen chips could be worth hundreds of dollars or even more. The sky was the limit with the cup.

He practiced under their watchful eyes. Then, they watched the videos of him scamming on a flat screen TV. Everything passed muster.

“Kid’s a natural. Ready to start thieving?” Billy said.

It was unnerving to think he was about to become a thief, and he took a deep breath. “I’m ready. When do we start?”

“Tonight. Maggie pulled the graveyard shift and starts working at midnight. This will be your trial run. Pull it off, and you’re in.”

He wasn’t ready to start tonight and needed to work up his nerve. But if he said no, they would dump him. The crew stared at him, waiting for his response.

“I’m in,” he said.

“You’ll do great. Just follow my signals,” Maggie said.

“There’s one more thing you need to know,” Billy said. “Some asshole pit boss might not care that you’re an FBI agent and tell his guys to back room you. If that happens, you’ll need to destroy the gaffs. The chip cup is made of acrylic and will shatter if you squeeze it hard enough. Give it a try.”

He picked up the chip cup and crushed it in his hand. It made a cracking sound and disintegrated. Opening his hand, colored dust and shards of plastic fell to the floor. Evidence gone. The double-sided chip was a different story. He could have beaten it with a hammer, and not dented it.

“How do I get rid of this?” he asked.

“You swallow it,” Maggie said.

“You’re kidding me.”

“Not at all. That one in your hand’s been through Billy twice.”

Maggie and Billy erupted in laughter. So did the rest of the crew. He laughed as well, his body tingling with excitement. His life was about to change. There would be no going back once he pulled the first chip scam tonight. The voice of his conscience was telling him to run while he still had the chance. He was going to ruin his life, as well as the lives of those he loved.

He told the voice to go to hell.

19

Lopez drove to the Holiday Inn Express on Tropicana a mile off the Strip and found an empty space in the hotel parking lot. He let the engine idle and nervously tapped his foot to the music pouring out of the car’s speakers. He had never been more nervous in his life. A few minutes past midnight, he spotted Billy circling the lot in a Jeep Cherokee. He got out of his vehicle and waved. Billy pulled up and soon they were tooling down the Strip. The sidewalks were jammed with tourists and music poured out of the casinos that was so loud it made the car vibrate.

“Nervous?” Billy asked.

“Like a leaf in a tornado,” he said.

“Don’t be. You’ll do fine.”

“I really appreciate you taking a chance on me.”

“Hopefully, it will be the beginning of a beautiful friendship.”

Billy’s cell phone vibrated in its dashboard holder. The cops would ticket him for texting and driving, and he pulled down a side street before reading the message.

“That was Maggie. She just started her shift. She said the water’s fine.”

“Is that code for things are okay?”

“You catch on fast.”

“When are things not okay?”

“Sometimes the casinos hire retired detectives to walk the floor. We don’t scam when those guys are around. They’re super sharp.”

Billy got back on the Strip. Traffic was inching forward and felt like a parade. Lopez spied the blinking neon sign for The Gold Rush.

“I’m going to walk the rest of the way,” he said.

“Need to clear your head?” Billy asked.

“Something like that.”

Billy took a bottle of Bud from the drink holder and presented it to him like a trophy. “I took the liberty of substituting the beer for water. I’ll be circling the block while you’re inside the casino. If things go sideways, get the hell out of there, and shoot me a text. I’m your getaway driver tonight.”

“Thanks for watching my back.”

“You got it. Good luck in there.”

As Lopez passed through The Gold Rush’s sliding front doors, he wondered if he was dreaming. He’d been gambling since he was a teenager and always been on the losing end. Tonight, he was going to walk out of a casino with more money than he came with, guaranteed. Where else but in a dream did that happen?

There was a convention in the hotel and the casino was packed. He took the last chair at Maggie’s table and slipped his beer into the drink holder. She was shuffling six decks while bantering with the players. She wore a ruffled white shirt with a sequin bow tie and had a lucky horseshoe pin in her hair. Her eyes twinkled as he sat down.

In his jacket pocket was his bankroll and the gaffed chips Billy had given him which matched the chips used on The Gold Rush’s tables. He peeled five hundreds off his bankroll and slid the money across the felt. Maggie exchanged the bills for black, green, and red chips. As he returned the bankroll to his pocket, he finger-palmed the double-sided chip, and brought his hand out.

He played a few rounds. The other players were part of the convention and knew each other. He was so intent on watching for Maggie’s signal that he drew a card and busted on a hand he should have won. The guy to his left gave him a drunken stare.

“First time?” the drunk asked.

“How could you tell?” he said.

The table laughed. Maggie held back a smile. She gave him the office and flicked an imaginary piece of lint from her left sleeve.

“Gentleman, place your bets,” she said.

His chips were stacked in front of him. He covered them with his hand, brought the double-sided chip into view, and slid it into the betting circle. His heart was pounding as Maggie dealt the round. He hit a blackjack, which paid 3/2. He added the winnings to his stack and left the double-sided chip in the betting circle.

“Feel better?” the drunk asked.

“You have no idea,” he said.

He won the next three hands, putting him up four hundred fifty dollars. His skin was tingling with excitement, his body pleasantly warm. It was an amazing rush, and he told himself that he could do this. He could steal back all the money he’d lost in Reno and still sleep at night. His conscience wouldn’t haunt him the way it had when he’d fixed baseball games in college.

He could live with himself, and it made him feel good all over.

The drunk got cleaned out and left. A jerk puffing a cigar took his place. The jerk blew a smoke ring that floated over the table. Maggie began to cough violently.

“Does my smoking bother you?” the jerk asked.

“It’s awfully strong,” she said.

“I get them from Cuba.”

The jerk placed a stack of different colored chips into the betting circle. This bet was called a rainbow. Dealers didn’t like it when players bet rainbows because it took time to break the bet down.

“Would you like a drink?” Maggie asked.

“I always want a drink,” the jerk said.

“Cocktail waitress,” she called out.

A waitress took their orders. Maggie had something in mind. His suspicion was confirmed when she signaled him to retire the double-sided chip and use the chip cup. He did the exchange in his pocket and placed the cup into the betting circle.

On the next round, Maggie busted the table. She scooped up the losing bets and retired them to her tray. Lopez watched the jerk’s chips disappear into the cup.

He bought more chips, and Maggie sent the cup his way. It was heavy, and he stuck his pinky on the bottom so the stolen chips wouldn’t tumble out. Dumping the loot into his pocket, he brought the cup out, and bet it again.

They kept this up for ten minutes. Because the jerk was betting rainbows, the surveillance camera watching the game couldn’t tell the amount of each bet. This allowed them to rob the house blind with little chance of getting caught. Maggie had seen an opportunity and seized it. It was a gutsy play, and his opinion of her grew.

By the time Maggie ended the play, his pocket was sagging with stolen chips. He tipped her and rose from his chair.

“Have a nice night,” he said.

“You all come back now,” she said with a wink.

He walked a few blocks to make sure he wasn’t being followed before texting Billy that he was done. Las Vegas never slept, and the sidewalks were jammed with people, including gangs of teenagers wanting to soak up the scene. He’d done this when he was growing up and found it a rush. But it didn’t compare to how he felt right now. Walking away a winner was a new feeling that he could easily get used to.

Billy picked him up on the next block. “Maggie went on break and texted me. She said you were a rock star. How do you feel?”

“That’s the most fun you can have with your clothes on,” he said.

“I’ll use that.”

Billy drove to the Holiday Inn Express. He circled the parking lot to make sure he hadn’t picked up a tail before easing into an empty spot.

“All clear. Let’s see your haul.”

Lopez dumped the stolen chips into Billy’s waiting hands. Billy added them up and announced that the night’s take was eighteen thousand five hundred.

“You did good, my man,” Billy said.

“Thanks. Am I a bona fide member of the crew?”

“Let’s just say you’re one step closer.”

“What else do I need to do?”

“It’s the crew’s call. We’re getting together tomorrow to talk it over. I’ll get back to you either way.”

Lopez felt himself losing his temper. The people he owed money to weren’t going to wait much longer. Billy gave him a funny look and stuck his hand between his legs as if drawing a gun. Lopez instinctively reached across the seat and grabbed Billy by the wrist and jerked his arm into the air. He squeezed so hard that Billy yelped like a dog that had been kicked.

“Let me go!” the cheat said.

“You planning to shoot me?”

“Fuck no!”

“Don’t move.”

With his free hand, Lopez grabbed the paper bag lying on the floor of the driver’s side. He tore it open, expecting to find a handgun. To his surprise, stacks of hundred-dollar bills poured out. He felt like a fool and released Billy’s wrist.

“Jesus. I’m sorry,” he said.

Billy rubbed his wrist and gave him a cold stare.

“Why are you carrying so much money?” he asked.

“It’s your take. I was going to pay you off.”

“Aren’t you going to cash the chips first?”

“You get paid when your job is done. That’s the rule.”

Billy counted out his share. Lopez’s take was seventy-four hundred bucks. It was more than he made in a month as an FBI agent, and it made his head spin.

“I blew it, didn’t I?” he said.

“That’s one way to put it,” Billy said.

“Give me another chance.”

“That’s not going to change things.”

“What do you mean?”

“We have a problem, Ray. Deep down, you’re a fucking FBI agent, and you always will be a fucking FBI agent. What you just did proves that.”

“I thought you were going to pull a gun.”

“A member of my crew would never do that. They trust me. Do you get it?”

“You’re saying I’m not loyal.”

“That’s right. Which is a crying shame because you were born to do this.”

“Why do you say that?”

“You didn’t get cold feet.”

“Is that what happens to most people?”

“Damn straight. Most people freeze up and beat a path to the exit. You passed that part of the test with flying colors. You’re a natural.”

Lopez took a deep breath. He had one more card to play.

“Let me prove my loyalty,” he said.

“How are you going to do that?” Billy said.

“Wait here. I’ll be right back.”

Lopez hustled across the parking lot to where his own vehicle was parked. From the trunk he removed a thick manila envelope. He’d done a number of bad things in his life but what he was about to do was the worst. As he trotted back to the Cherokee the driver’s window lowered and Billy stuck his head out. He slipped him the envelope and said, “Burn this after you read it.”

“What is this, an episode of Mission Impossible?”

“I’m not kidding. I could do a long stretch in prison for giving you this.”

The smile evaporated from Billy’s face. He undid the clasp and peered inside.

“Holy shit. Is this what I think it is?” Billy said.

“Yes, it is. I’ll call you tomorrow and you can give me your answer,” he said.

20

For Maggie, every morning began the same way. She would awaken and spend a minute lying in bed wondering if her life was real or just a dream. Was she really living in a beautiful penthouse apartment with a walk-in closet filled with designer clothes in the company of a man who seemed willing to fulfill her every dream?

The answer was yes, yes, and yes. It was all real and such a fantastic departure from her previous life that she had to pinch herself. No longer did she have to worry about paying the rent on a crummy one-bedroom or whether she’d have the money to keep her ancient Toyota from being relegated to the junk heap. Like an impoverished girl in a fairy tale, she’d been swept off her feet and given a new life.

But the best part was the coffee. Every morning Billy would bring her a steaming mug, place it on the night table, and disappear. She would slip out of bed and sip her drink while staring out the window at mountains that seemed much closer than they really were. This ritual began the day she’d moved in, and it had made her feel like a princess.

Today was different. There was no coffee on the night table. She could hear Billy on the other side of the apartment, and she wondered why he was neglecting her. It made her think something unpleasant had happened.

She slipped on a robe. Maybe one of the crew had gotten busted. Or Billy had woken up to find his bank accounts frozen by the IRS. A cheat’s life was filled with nasty surprises, and she told herself not to panic. Billy would know what to do.

She found him in the living room. He was shirtless and had day-old stubble on his chin. In his hand was an RF Wireless Signal Detector Wand that he’d purchased from a spy shop. The coffee pot was on, and she fixed herself a cup.

“Good morning,” she said.

He put a finger to his lips. “Shhh.”

She leaned against a wall and watched him sweep the room for bugs. Billy did this whenever he had repairmen do a job or the cable people had to work on the service. Just to be safe. He would turn off all the wireless devices and use the wand to pick up any unwanted radio frequencies. They hadn’t had any visitors in a while, and she found herself wondering what had compelled him to scan the place this morning.

She followed him into the study. He was being extra-thorough and brushing the wand against every electrical outlet and light fixture. If the wand found a bug, it would emit a low-frequency beep like a microwave. So far, that hadn’t happened.

In the corner of the study was his late father’s desk. Billy had gotten it out of storage back home and shipped it to Las Vegas. Sometimes at night he sat at the desk and read a book, just like his old man had done. On his desk she spied a pair of cell phones. His Android and her iPhone. Both had been taken apart.

Her radar went up.

She had a closer look. Beside the phones were a flashlight and a screwdriver. She knew what that meant, and it made her shudder.

He brushed past her and made eye contact. He looked more than a little scared. For as long as she’d known him, she’d never seen that look before.

Oh shit, she thought.

She couldn’t follow him around like a puppy. That would just make him angry. She went to the kitchen and whipped up some scrambled eggs and burned some toast. Then set the table and poured two glasses of OJ just to have something to do.

Her eyes found the stack of papers on the table. The logo on the cover page jumped out. It was the Nevada Gaming Board’s seven-pointed blue-and-gold star. Beneath the star was one word printed in block letters: CONFIDENTIAL.

Her heart skipped a beat. The gaming board was the most powerful law enforcement agency in Nevada and reported directly to the governor. Their primary responsibility was to maintain the integrity of the games being played inside the casinos. To accomplish this, the gaming board prosecuted cheating in all its forms.

Her eyes scanned the first page. The document was written in memo-form, its subject her beloved. The gaming board had placed Billy under “special ops” and were using their resources to catch him in the act of cheating a casino and put him behind bars. The governor himself had signed off on the order.

A sinking feeling filled her stomach. Like the Royal Canadian Mounted Police, the gaming board always got their man. She would know, because they’d busted her years ago, and turned her life upside down.

But would they catch Billy? He was a different breed of cheat, with a genius IQ and an innate ability to stay out of harm’s way. He was always a step ahead of the law, anticipating the police’s next move like a chess grandmaster. But even a cat only had so many lives. One day, he’d get caught.

She stuck the scrambled eggs in the oven to stay warm and threw out the toast. With a fresh cup of coffee, she returned to the table and started to read.

The document made one thing abundantly clear. The gaming board hated Billy. They had tried to catch him over a dozen times. Each attempt had ended in failure. Billy was a perennial black eye on their reputation.

So, they’d gone to Plan B, and were targeting the crew. Traps had been set for Gabe, Misty and Pepper, and Cory and Morris. Once the traps were sprung, the gaming board would pressure the crew to turn state’s evidence against Billy. All they needed was one member of the crew to flip.

As she finished the last page, Billy entered the kitchen. He’d put on a long sleeve shirt but hadn’t buttoned it. She told him how long to microwave the eggs. Soon he was sitting across from her, eating.

“Where did you get this?” she asked.

“A little bird gave it to me,” he said.

“You realize they have a vendetta against you.”

He shrugged and kept eating. She wanted to talk. Clearly, he didn’t. She waited until his plate was clean before making him follow her onto the balcony. She shut the slider behind them. It was a chilly day, and a light mist was falling. She tightened the knot in the belt of her robe to stay warm.

“Ray Lopez gave you this document, didn’t he?” she asked.

“Last night. It was his way of showing loyalty.”

“This is why Cory and Morris nearly got busted at the Mandalay Bay, isn’t it?”

“Uh-huh. The gaming board knew about the rigged poker game and were waiting for them.”

“Should we leave town?”

“Not right away.”

“You have something else in mind?”

“We’re going to give the gaming board a royal fucking. Then we leave.”

Billy gave her a little smile. It took a moment before Maggie understood. Her boyfriend was going to feed bad information to the gaming board and pull a heist right under their noses. He’d done the same thing several years ago, and made one of their agents, a knuckle-dragging neanderthal named Frank Grimes, look like a fool.

“You’ve got this all figured out, haven’t you?” she said.

“I do indeed. Stay here. I’ll be right back.”

He went inside and grabbed the document along with a metal pot. Coming back outside, he put the cover sheet into the pot and added a burning match. Together they watched the piece of paper go up in bright orange flames.

“Did you make a copy?” she asked.

“Didn’t have to. I memorized it,” he said.

“The whole thing?”

He shot her a look. He hated to be challenged. She couldn’t help it sometimes. Men liked to stretch the truth and exaggerate; at least the ones she’d known. He handed her the second page and said, “Go ahead, ask me anything.”

Her eyes scanned the page. “When did the special ops begin?”

“It was approved on January 13th and began on January 18th.”

“Score one for Billy.”

“Try again. If you stump me, I’ll buy you that diamond necklace you want.”

“You’re on.”

The page was set afire. The next page was devoted to the gaming board’s surveillance of Cory and Morris which also began on January 18th. “The gaming board is using an informant to gather information on Cory and Morris. What’s his name?”

“The report only gave the informant’s initials. No name.”

“What are the initials?”

“J.R.”

The page was soon in flames. She decided to skip a few pages and went to the fifth page of the document which detailed the surveillance of Misty and Pepper. The ladies had secretly been recorded talking to a general contractor about a house they’d flipped. They were about to face legal problems with the IRS because they’d failed to properly report the sale.

“What were the dates that Misty and Pepper were recorded?” Maggie said.

“Once on January 29th, twice on February 3rd,” he said.

The page burned brightly in the pot. Billy had a favorite game. She’d shuffle a deck of cards, remove one, and deal the rest face up. Without fail, he’d tell her the name of the chosen card. She’d always assumed it was a trick. Now, she knew otherwise.

“Last page,” she said. “The report claims Gabe fenced stolen jewelry. The gaming board will sic the cops on Gabe if he doesn’t cooperate. What were the items?”

“A Rolex Daytona, a diamond pinky ring, and three eighteen-karat gold bracelets.”

“Appraised value?”

“Just shy of five hundred grand.”

She balled the last page and tossed it into the pot. “I guess that diamond necklace isn’t coming home with me.”

“I’ll buy it for you once this is over.”

“Is that a promise?”

“When have I ever fucking lied to you?”

She hugged him and felt his heart beating savagely beneath his shirt. Some men ran in the face of danger; Billy chose to stay and fight. She held his face with her hands and stared into his eyes.

“Do you really think you can beat the gaming board?” she asked.

“Just watch me,” he said.

21

On the other side of town, Lopez and his wife drove to the local branch of Wells Fargo. The bank had yet to open, and they waited in the car for the manager to arrive.

Lopez smothered a yawn. He’d been wired after getting home and hadn’t fallen asleep until three A.M. Cheating a casino had given him an adrenaline rush like nothing he’d ever experienced before. He was in control and had never felt more alive.

He had planned to sleep in, but Lezli had dragged him out of bed. Wells Fargo had a new policy regarding home equity lines of credit. If two people signed the mortgage, the same two people had to sign for the line of credit and come into the bank to do so.

“I bought us some time until the line of credit is approved,” Lezli said.

He sipped the coffee he’d brought from home. The money he’d stolen was in the trunk hidden beneath the spare tire. He hadn’t come up with a plausible story to explain where it had come from. Until he did, the money would remain hidden.

“How did you do that?” he asked.

“My big sister came through. She transferred five thousand into our checking account. It gives us some breathing room.”

“That was awfully nice of Lauren. What did you tell her?”

“I fibbed and said that my car blew up and needed a new engine. She doesn’t know about your problem in Reno. The less she knows about this, the better.”

His wife’s family were not his biggest fans. They lived in an affluent enclave of San Diego where everyone went to college and the cheapest house cost a million bucks. Lezli had hidden his gambling addiction from them, fearful of how they’d react.

“I talked to a lawyer last night,” she said.

A lawyer. Had she finally decided to ditch him? He couldn’t blame her if she had. He blew steam off his drink and waited for her to continue.

“I found him on the internet. His name is Marvin Noffsinger, and he specializes in suing casinos. I think he might be able to help us.”

His wife wasn’t bailing. The air trapped in his lungs slowly escaped.

“Help us how?” he asked.

“He’s sued several casinos on behalf of clients with gambling addictions who lost everything they had. I wrote down what he said.”

“Wait a second. Did you tell him this happened to me?”

“I told him what happened in Reno but substituted myself for you.”

“Did he buy it?”

“Of course, he bought it. Don’t be so paranoid. Your secret’s safe.”

He leaned across the seat and kissed her. Through thick and thin, Lezli had always had his back. She removed a slip of paper from her purse and read from it.

“Marvin said that casinos across the country are deliberately targeting compulsive gamblers. By doing so, they are engaging in a pattern of racketeering, and violating the 1970 Racketeer Influenced and Corrupt Organizations Act.”

“The RICO Act.”

“Marvin said that a significant portion of casino revenue comes from problem gamblers. Independent studies show that gambling addicts generate close to 50 percent of total revenue.”

“Fifty percent?”

“That’s what he said.”

Vegas casinos generated ten billion dollars a year in profit. If what this lawyer was saying was accurate, half of that money was coming from people like himself who couldn’t control themselves inside a casino.

“Can he prove this?” he asked.

“I asked him that same question. He said he had evidence.”

“Did he say what that evidence was?”

“Marvin said the casinos use direct mail to target problem gamblers. The casinos have lists of people who are addicted, and they send them vouchers for free play. The vouchers have a special bar code, so when the addict redeems it, the casino knows they have a live one, and induce them to stay longer.”

A live one. Like a fish hooked on a line.

“Marvin said these mailings violate the RICO Act,” she said. “He also told me the casinos have tricks to get addicts to gamble away their life savings.”

He felt himself getting angry. She pulled another slip of paper from her purse. “He gave me a laundry list of tricks they use. I wrote it down.”

A sleek BMW parked beside them. Ernesto, the bank manager, got out and gave them a friendly wave. He was a dapper guy with a nice haircut and a tailored suit.

Lezli lowered her window and exchanged good mornings. Ernesto explained that he needed a few minutes to open up the bank. She waited for him to go inside before reading the list.

“Here are the casino’s dirty tricks according to Marvin,” she said. “The first is targeted mailings to addicts. The second is loyalty cards to track an addict’s play. The third is deliberately getting addicts drunk so they’ll lose more. That’s what those bastards did to you in Reno.”

Yes, they did, he thought.

“The last two are the worst,” she said. “Some casinos talk players into signing promissory notes. Marvin said players have lost their life savings because of this.”

“This is a policy?” he said.

“Yes. The last trick is the worse. Many casinos pay their GMs’ bonuses tied to customers’ losses. The more the customers lose, the bigger the GMs’ bonuses.”

“They’re given incentives to bankrupt people.”

“That’s right.”

Except for the loyalty card trick, these things had been done to him in Reno, the booze lowering his defenses so the GM could persuade him to sign promissory notes.

“You know what else he told me?’ she said.

Her voice was filled with optimism. She could find the bright side behind every dark cloud, and he waited for her to finish.

“Marvin said that people who develop gambling problems in casinos think they’re messed up. But the truth is, it’s the casinos that are messing them up.”

“I’ll second that.”

“Do you want me to hire him?”

“Would he take this case on a contingency basis?”

“No. He wants a ten-thousand-dollar retainer to start.”

The lights inside the bank flickered to life. Through the window they could see Ernesto at his desk powering up his PC.

“What kind of success rate has he had?” he asked.

“He didn’t tell me that. I’ll ask him when we talk tonight.”

“Ask him if he’s sued any Nevada casinos, and what the outcome was.”

“Why? Are the laws different here?”

He didn’t know the answer because he’d never lived anywhere else. What he did know was that casino revenue kept the state running. Every judge, prosecutor, and cop believed it was their solemn duty to protect that money like it was their own. Taking a casino to court, even if they had broken the law, was usually a losing proposition.

“Ask him and see what he says.”

Ernesto opened the front door and waved them inside. As they exited the vehicle, a veil of snow descended over them, dusting their clothes and hair. It rarely snowed in Las Vegas and the event was always met with unbridled glee. They both burst out in laughter.

“It looks like a snow globe,” she said.

“Enjoy it while you can. It’s supposed to warm up this afternoon.”

When they’d first started dating, their lives had been filled with moments like this, their happiness defined by the smallest things. It seemed like another lifetime ago, and he wondered if there was a way to reclaim that magic, even if just for a little while.

Lezli grabbed his arm and dragged him into the bank.

“Let’s go sign our lives away,” she said.

22

“You haven’t told me how you’re going to pull this off,” Maggie said.

Billy pulled into the driveway of Cory and Morris’s house and killed the engine. He undid his shoulder harness while admiring the recent addition of landscaping to the property. The sod was so green it made his eyes hurt. Everyone had a dream; for Cory and Morris, it was having a permanent roof over their heads. As kids, they’d bounced around foster homes until the system tossed them out to fend for themselves. When Billy met them, they’d been peddling worthless coupon booklets on the Strip and living out of their car. Buying the house had been the culmination of a dream. He couldn’t have been happier for them.

“Answer me,” his girlfriend said.

The look in her eyes was pure fear. She knew what it was like to get busted by the gaming board and ground through the legal system, and she didn’t want to experience it again. Flight was in her eyes. A sandy beach in Mexico with pretty boys serving her piña coladas beat cooling her heels in jail any day of the week.

“We’re going to hit them with the bomb,” he said.

“The bomb? I thought that was a myth.”

He shook his head. The bomb was the most audacious casino scam ever invented. It was also a one-off. Once the money was stolen, the crew needed to hightail it out of town or risk arrest once the authorities realized what had happened.

“It’s real,” he said. “We scammed the Silver Slipper in Lake Tahoe and one of Trump’s joints in Atlantic City. This was before you joined the crew.”

“How much did you steal?”

“One point three mil in Lake Tahoe, one point five in AC.”

“The casinos didn’t catch on?”

“Not right away. It’s not like the old days.”

Back in the day, the casinos had tried to prevent cheating. That meant training the floor staff to know what to look for. Today, the name of the game was detection. If a casino saw a dip in profits, they would review the surveillance tapes to figure out what happened. That could take days. By then the cheats were long gone.

“Are you planning to leave Vegas once you pull this off?” she asked.

“Once I have the loot in my hot little hands, I’m outta here.”

“Where?”

“Mexico.”

Maggie gazed at the dashboard. “Are you going to take me with you?”

“What kind of question is that? Of course, I’m taking you with me.” He caressed her arm. “I would never leave you behind. I love you.”

“You haven’t said that to me in a while.”

“Shame on me. I’ll have to work on that department.”

“Yes, you will.”

A convertible Mercedes parked behind them. Gabe climbed out, looking like a player in a navy blazer and linen pants. A gold Infiniti SUV kissed the curb and Misty and Pepper hopped out. They were fixing up a house they’d just built and wore paint-splattered jeans and T-shirts. They walked up the path with Gabe. The front door swung in, and Cory ushered them inside.

“Hey, hey, hey, the gang’s all here,” Billy said. “Let’s go break the bad news to them, shall we?”

Maggie glared at him. “How can you be so fucking cheerful? We’re about to turn their lives upside down and you’re acting like it’s a birthday party.”

“It could be worse. We could all be in jail,” he said.

Billy popped the trunk and took the wand out. Cory’s eyes went wide as they came through the front door with Billy holding the wand in his outstretched hand.

“This can’t be good,” Cory said under his breath.

“It’s not,” Maggie whispered back.

Billy swept the first floor of the house. Satisfied there were no listening devices hidden in the furniture or light fixtures, he went into the attached garage and checked both cars, then followed Cory to the basement where the crew was assembled and swept it as well. The crew watched with long faces.

“All good,” he said, turning the wand off.

“What the heck is going on?” Pepper asked.

“Should we be afraid?” Misty asked.

He took a moment to collect his thoughts. He’d spent ten years of his life building his crew into a well-tuned stealing machine. They were the family he’d never had, and it was going to break his heart if they decided to leave town before he could stick it to the gaming board. But at the end of the day, it was their choice.

“The gaming board is on the warpath,” he said. “In January, the governor ordered them to clamp down on the cheating. The gaming board needed a scapegoat, so they picked me. This isn’t the first time they’ve tried to bust me. But now they’re taking a new approach. They’re going after you guys.”

“Us?” Morris said in shock.

“That’s right. They’re going to pressure each of you to turn against me. That’s their plan and it’s already underway.”

“We’d never rat you out, Billy,” Morris said.

The rest of the crew chorused his sentiment. Billy appreciated the gesture but knew that when a person was sitting in a prison cell his loyalties often shifted.

“The gaming board is using people close to you to set you up.” To Cory and Morris, he said, “One of your friends told them about the poker game at Mandalay Bay.”

“What? Who is it?” Morris said.

“His initials are J.R.”

Morris and Cory exchanged angry looks.

“Who is he?” Billy asked.

“His name is Jake Robinson, aka Flash,” Cory said. “We shared a bedroom in a foster home. We paid Flash protection money to keep the bigger kids from hurting us.”

“We thought he was our friend,” Morris added.

“I guess you didn’t pay him enough.”

Pepper and Misty looked petrified. He’d already thought about their situation and come up with a solution. He said, “Your general contractor let the gaming board record his phone conversations. The gaming board knows you didn’t pay taxes on the sale of a house. They’ll tell the IRS if you don’t play ball. You need to get ahead of this.”

“How?” Pepper said.

“Have your CPA tell the IRS that each one of you thought the other had paid the taxes and offer to send them a check asap. That should put the fire out.”

“That dirty prick Glen screwed us,” Misty hissed.

“Men are such rat bastards,” Pepper said.

Gabe had turned to stone, his eyes hidden behind Ray-Bans. Gabe’s life had been a disaster movie when he’d joined Billy’s crew. Over time, he’d rebuilt his life. This situation would set him back in a major way.

“The gaming board thinks you fenced a stolen Rolex and some jewelry,” Billy told him. “If you don’t play ball, they’re going to turn the evidence over to the police.”

Gabe ripped off his shades. “I’m not a goddam fence.”

“Where did the jewelry come from?”

“Tony G asked me if I could find a buyer for some stuff. I did it as a favor. I didn’t collect a commission.”

“Tony G set you up. The jewelry was hot.”

“I had no idea.”

“Why are you still seeing that scumbag? His boys nearly killed you that time.”

“We kissed and made up. Or so I thought. What should I do?”

“Have a sit down with Tony G and ask him to change his story. If he blows you off, you’ll need to leave town. You can stay in my place in Tijuana if you want.”

Gabe uttered a string of obscenities under his breath.

“What about us? Should we leave as well?” Misty asked.

“That’s your call,” Billy said. “Maggie and I are going to stick around for one more score. You’re welcome to join us.”

“Billy wants to pull the bomb as a going-away present,” Maggie explained. “If you participate, you’ll get your usual cut.”

“The bomb is the sweetest scam in the world,” Cory said. “Count me in.”

The others said yes as well. They’d pulled the bomb before, and they could taste the money. Gabe looked forlorn.

“I need to talk to Tony G first. Can I let you know this afternoon?” his gaffer said.

“Of course,” Billy said.

The meeting ended. Billy didn’t like the way Gabe was reacting to the news. Gabe was the nicest guy in the world, but even nice guys had breaking points. His gaffer’s hands were balled into fists like a boxer ready to step into the ring. Billy followed Gabe outside and cornered him.

“Are you okay?” Billy said.

“No, I’m not okay,” Gabe said. “My daughter is coming to town for the weekend. We finally patched things up. What the hell am I supposed to tell her?”

“Tell her you’re dealing with an emergency.”

“That’s not going to work. She already blames me for everything wrong in her life.” Gabe climbed into his Mercedes. His rage was distorting his face.

“I’ll go with you to see Tony G,” Billy suggested.

“I can handle that asshole,” his gaffer said.

“Are you sure?”

“Yeah. This is between him and me.”

23

Applying for a home equity line of credit had taken longer than Lopez had expected, and his hand had trembled as he’d signed the papers. Financially, he and Lezli were back to ground zero. They had been married six years and should have built the beginnings of a nest egg. Instead, all they’d acquired was a ton of debt.

Waffles Cafe was their favorite spot for breakfast. They sat beside each other in a booth, the way they’d done when they started dating. Lezli was handling it better than he was and rested her head on his shoulder while they waited for their meals.

“Don’t be so upset. It’s not the end of the world,” she said.

“I feel like such a loser.”

She kissed his cheek. “You’re a winner in my eyes. Always will be.”

“Thanks.”

Their food came. They’d both ordered sweet potato waffles with bacon on the side. They often ordered the same thing when they went out. Like two peas in a pod, Lezli was fond of saying. He started to dig in when he got Russo’s call. He’d told Russo that he’d be into the office late, and he assumed something was up.

“I’d better take this.”

“Hurry up or I’ll eat your bacon,” she said.

“Don’t you dare.”

He went outside to the parking lot. “Good morning.”

“How soon can you be at the Motel 6 on Boulder Highway?” Russo asked.

“Twenty minutes. What’s going on?”

“The Las Vegas cops got a call this morning from the manager. A cleaning lady found Chastity Gamble, or should I say what’s left of her.”

A stone dropped in his stomach. The email blast they’d sent to the casinos had turned up nothing, and Chastity was their only lead in the Echo Chambers investigation. They were back at the starting line. He told Russo he’d be right over and went inside.

“You’re frowning. What’s wrong?” his wife asked.

“A woman helping us in a homicide investigation was murdered last night. Russo needs me. Are you okay taking an Uber to work?”

“Sure.”

He paid for their meals and kissed his wife goodbye. She popped a piece of his bacon into her mouth and smiled at him with her eyes.

Traffic was light, and twenty minutes later he pulled into the Motel 6. There were more losers than winners in Sin City, and it showed on the mean streets just off the Strip, the sidewalks teeming with barely dressed hookers and low-life drug addicts. The CSI team had beaten him there and were carrying a black body bag into a room. A new addition to the team stood in the building’s shadow, trying to pull herself together.

“What have we got?” he asked her.

“Our victim was staying by herself,” the tech said. “Sometime last night, she had a visitor. She must have known him and opened the door. He butchered her.”

“Where’s Russo?”

“He’s waiting for you inside. We ran out of suits. There’s booties and rubber gloves in the van.”

He slipped on the protective equipment and entered the dingy motel room. The furnishings were depressing, just a sagging bed, a worn chair, and a TV bolted to the wall that showed porno movies for a handful of quarters. Chastity’s severed head was balanced atop the set, her eyelids propped open with toothpicks. It was identical to the gruesome tableau they’d discovered in Echo Chambers’s kitchen. Like her friend, Chastity had been blind to the danger she was in. The CSI team were dusting for prints, and he did his best to stay out of their way. Russo stood in the corner like a statue, his face filled with quiet desperation. With Chastity gone, their case had run out of leads.

“I spoke to the reservations manager,” Russo said. “There was a black vehicle parked next to Chastity’s car last night.”

“Did he get the make?”

“He thinks it was a Kia.”

“A tech said Chastity let her killer in.”

“That’s a reasonable assumption. There was no forcible entry. Her killer wrestled her to the floor and stabbed her in the back. Then he got the hand saw out.”

Russo looked deflated. Unlike the cops, who often became numb to their jobs, FBI agents took their work personally, especially when cases hit a wall. The new tech slipped into the room and approached them.

“There’s a TV crew outside snooping around,” the tech said.

“Just what we need. Which station?” Russo said.

“KLAX. Should I run them off?”

“I hate those fuckers. Let me talk to them.”

Russo marched out of the room with the new tech on his heels. Russo was on edge and was going to take his frustration out on the reporters. If the reporters filmed Russo, it would end up on the news. That would reflect poorly on the office.

Lopez decided that he needed to back Russo up, just in case. He headed for the door and gave the room a parting glance. He sensed that he was missing something. Chastity’s killer had beheaded her after he’d stabbed her. Why had he done that?

The most important clues were often hiding in plain sight. His eyes fell upon the bed. The adjustable reading light above the headboard was twisted at an odd angle. Instead of pointing down at the bed, it was pointed at the opposite wall. He caught the attention of the supervisor of the CSI team.

“Can I turn this on without contaminating your work?” he asked.

“Go ahead. It’s already been dusted,” the supervisor said.

He flipped on the reading light. The beam hit Chastity directly in her lifeless face. She looked like an exhibit in a museum of horrors. After a few moments it hit him. Her killer had positioned the reading light so he could photograph Chastity’s head after he killed her. He was collecting souvenirs, just like he’d done with Echo Chambers.

After a moment, he noticed something else. Chastity was wearing diamond and gold drop earrings from Rocks the Jewelers at The Grand. He and Lezli had celebrated their anniversary at The Grand and his wife had fallen in love with the exact same earrings. She’d feigned a heart attack when the salesperson told her the price.

It didn’t add up. Chastity made her living stripping and turning tricks. High-end jewelry was above her pay grade. It made him wonder how she’d been able to afford such expensive earrings. On a hunch he took several photos on his cell phone. He tried not to get her eyes in the shots. The scene was hard enough to look at.

He tossed his booties and gloves into the CSI van. Russo was talking to the reporters from KLAX and had things under control. One of the team waved to him. It was Brie Bixby, the young woman he’d admonished behind Echo Chambers’s home. He ignored her, and waited until the KLAX van was gone before showing Russo the photos.

“Nice earrings,” Russo said.

“Five-thousand-dollar earrings,” he said.

“They’re above her pay grade.”

“That’s exactly what I was thinking. They’re from a jewelry store called Rocks the Jewelers at The Grand. My wife fell in love with the same pair. Chastity obviously fell in love with them as well.”

“How could she afford them?”

“I think Chastity bought those earrings after winning money at The Grand’s casino. Maybe she won the money fair and square. Or maybe she was working with Echo and the scammers she told us about.”

“You think she lied to us yesterday.”

“I wouldn’t put it past her.”

Russo considered what he was saying. “If you’re right, then Echo and Chastity will be on the Grand’s surveillance videos.”

“Hopefully, yes.”

“If they ripped off The Grand, why didn’t the casino respond to our email?”

“I don’t know. We’ll have to ask them.”

“It’s a longshot, Ray.”

“I know. The investigation has hit a wall. I think it’s worth a look.”

Russo wasn’t sold on the idea. “If we ask The Grand to pull up surveillance videos, they’ll want a range of dates. What do we tell them?”

“We ask them if a gambler recently won half a million dollars in their casino. Those kind of loses are hard to forget.”

“If they say yes, we ask to see the surveillance videos of the loss.”

“Yes. Hopefully, Echo and Chastity will be on those videos.”

Russo slowly came around. “It’s worth a shot. Do it.”

24

The Bad Beat Special was not on the menu at the Speedway Diner, even though Jake “Flash” Robinson, the owner and proprietor, had been serving it to customers for as long as Cory could remember. The meal consisted of two eggs sunny side up, hash browns, two thick strips of Canadian bacon, a piece of rye toast, and a cup of coffee, no substitutions accepted. The best part was that it didn’t cost a dime.

The scenario was always the same. A dejected-looking customer would come in and sit at the counter. They would be slumped over, beaten, their face tortured by a bad luck reel playing endlessly in their head. Usually a man, but sometimes a woman, they’d driven to Las Vegas from California or someplace east, with a wad of cash burning a hole in their pocket, ready to show the casinos who was boss. It never ended well.

Flash could pick them out a mile away. He had seen these people so many times, it was like they were painted orange. Usually, all they wanted was coffee and a shoulder to cry on. Flash would give them both, along with the Bad Beat Special. It was his way of making them feel better before the long ride home.

Cory sat at the counter, waiting for his takeout. Two stools down, a ponytailed guy ate his special. His eyes were bleary and his hand trembled as he lifted his cup. How much did you lose? Cory wanted to ask. How bad did they take you? Las Vegas had busted more bankrolls than any city on earth. It was the city’s DNA.

But Cory didn’t ask. He had more important things on his mind. The guy finished his meal and tossed a crumbled bill on the counter before departing.

Cory drank his soda. It was two in the afternoon and the lunch crowd was long gone. That was good because he didn’t want any witnesses.

“Where’s my food?” Cory called into the kitchen.

“What’s your hurry?” Flash called back.

“I’ve got places to go and people to see.”

“Let me finish spitting on it.”

“You know what they say. It’s the little things.”

Flash came out of the kitchen with Cory’s food and got behind the counter. Flash was a lanky guy with a shit-eating grin and a mop of unruly black hair that was always in his face. Flash pointed at the chocolate layer cake sitting under glass.

“Want some dessert?”

“No, thanks. I’m trying to watch my girlish figure.”

Flash brayed like a donkey. Cory avoided looking into his friend’s face and went to pay for the food. Flash dropped his voice to a conspiratorial whisper. “I’ve been dying to ask you. How did your rigged poker game at Mandalay Bay go? Did you and Morris take those rich assholes’ money?”

“The Gaming Board raided us.”

“Holy shit. You didn’t get arrested, did you?”

“Got away in a service elevator. How much do I owe you?”

“Food is on the house. I’m sorry. That really sucks.”

Sure, you are, Cory thought.

Flash came out from behind the counter and gave him a hug. Growing up in a foster home they’d watched each other’s backs. It was the only way a kid could survive in that type of environment. It made the betrayal that much worse.

Cory jabbed a taser into Flash’s ribcage. It was the size of a keychain and powerful enough to knock a person out. Flash crumbled in his arms. Cory laid his friend out on the floor. He wasn’t as angry with Flash as he thought he’d be. But that didn’t change how he planned to deal with him. Flash was a rat, and the only way to deal with rats was to drown them. He went to the front door and waved. Morris hopped out of the car and came inside. Morris nudged Flash with his toe. Flash didn’t move.

“Sleeping like a baby,” Morris said.

“He never saw it coming,” Cory said.

“Why do you think he did it?”

“We’ll soon find out.”

Cory locked the front door and flipped the reversible sign to say CLOSED. He grabbed their food off the counter and helped Morris drag Flash into the kitchen.

They bungee-corded Flash to a chair and ate their sandwiches. The kitchen was barely large enough for the three of them. Morris had Flash’s cell phone and was trying to figure out the password. Their friend let out a groan.

“Awaken, sleeping beauty,” Morris said.

Cory tossed a glass of cold water into his face. Flash snapped awake and spent a moment getting his bearings.

“What the hell are you doing?” their friend said.

Cory cleaned his mouth with a paper napkin. He needed to play this cool. In a situation like this, he often asked himself, what would Billy do?

“What does it look like?” Cory asked.

“It looks like you’ve lost your fucking minds,” Flash said.

“Why did you rat us out to the gaming board?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Really. You’re telling me it wasn’t you.”

“I swear to god, it wasn’t me.”

“I want to believe you, but I don’t. Give us the password to your phone.”

“Why should I do that?”

“Because I told you to. You’re in no position to argue with me.”

“First tell me why you want it.”

Cory didn’t like the direction the conversation was headed. Flash was asking too many questions and trying to buy time. On the shelf above the stove was a black metal toolbox. Cory removed an electric screwdriver and placed the tip in Flash’s ear. A bad guy had used an electric screwdriver to kill a kid in the movie American Sniper. It was one of the most brutal things Cory had ever seen. Flash had been sitting with Cory in the movie theater, and judging by the way he now screamed, he also remembered the scene.

“Give me the password,” Cory said.

“123lookatme,” Flash said, breathing hard.

Morris unlocked Flash’s cell phone and scrolled through the names in the contact app. He turned the cell phone around and pointed at the screen. “The number for Frank Grimes of the gaming board is in your contacts. Is he an old friend?”

Flash started to bawl like a little kid.

“You’re giving free meals to people down on their luck, but you betrayed us,” Cory said. “What the hell’s wrong with you?”

“Grimes is blackmailing me,” Flash said through his tears.

“Sure, he is,” Cory said skeptically.

“It’s true. Grimes and his boys raided the diner. Grimes claimed the video poker machine at the counter was tampered with and accused me of doing it.”

“Did you?” Morris asked suspiciously.

“Fuck, no. I wouldn’t know how. Grimes is after your boss. He threatened to shut me down if I didn’t help him.”

It was the same story that Billy had told them that morning. Grimes had a hard-on for Billy and was willing to bend the rules to bring Billy to justice. But there was always the chance that Flash was lying just to save himself. He turned to Morris.

“Give me the phone,” Cory said.

Morris passed Cory the cell phone. Dozens of colorful apps filled the home screen. Cory clicked on the Bank of Nevada app and saw that Flash had two accounts, one personal, the other business. He scrolled through recent transactions of both.

Cory knew how the snitch business worked. Informants were paid a weekly salary with the money electronically transferred to their accounts. If Flash was an informant for the Gaming Board, the proof would be in his BON accounts.

To his surprise, he discovered there were no recent cash deposits in Flash’s accounts. In fact, the balances were minimal. Flash was barely making ends meet and fucking Grimes was threatening to shut him down. No wonder Flash had caved.

“He’s telling the truth,” Cory said.

“Well, excuse me,” Morris said.

They untied Flash from the chair and gave him a dish towel to wipe the blood from his ear. Flash took it like a champ, and they walked back into the diner. From behind the counter Flash served them thick slices of chocolate cake and coffee.

“No hard feelings?” Flash asked.

“Water under the bridge,” Cory said.

“Your ear doesn’t hurt?” Morris asked.

“It hurts like hell. But it will heal.” Flash stuck his elbows on the counter. “Frank Grimes is a piece of shit. Something needs to be done about that guy.”

They had found something they could agree upon. Grimes needed to be taught a lesson. It gave Cory an idea and he said, “When was the last time you saw him?”

“Grimes comes in once a week for lunch. Never pays.”

“Shocking,” Morris said.

“Do you want to stick it to him?” Cory said.

“Fuck yeah,” Flash said eagerly.

“Our crew is going to pull a final job before we leave town. How would you like to send Grimes on a wild goose chase?”

“You want me to feed him bogus information?”

Cory nodded. Making Grimes look like a clown would be icing on the cake.

“It would be a pleasure,” Flash said.

25

Every day, a small city passed through The Grand. Nearly seventy thousand strong. They came to stay in the 6,800-room hotel, one of the largest in the country, or gamble in the casino, which was the length of three footballs fields, and the biggest in Las Vegas. Lopez was old enough to remember the giant lion’s mouth that adorned the entrance. It had looked straight out of a theme park and attracted plenty of families, including his own. Superstitious gamblers had worried it was a sign they were about to be devoured, so it was sadly demolished.

The valet area resembled a parking lot. Lopez gripped the wheel and glanced at Russo. Russo was spitting nails. With a single phone call Russo had learned that The Grand had lost half a million dollars at roulette the week before and hadn’t reported it. That was against the law, and Russo planned to read the riot act to the general manager.

“If you don’t mind, I’d like to handle these guys,” Lopez said.

Russo eyed him. “Why?”

“The Grand sponsored my baseball team in high school. They offered us jobs one summer, and I bussed tables at the Brown Derby restaurant. I know a lot of stuff about this place that I probably shouldn’t.”

“Be my guest.”

Cars inched forward. It hadn’t warmed up and the uniformed attendants wore knit hats and scarves. Finally, it was their turn, and Lopez surrendered his keys, and they clipped their badges to their lapels and went inside. A flirty VIP host greeted them.

“Welcome to The Grand. I’m Cici. Please follow me.”

The Grand’s casino was designed to tire people out. Their journey twisted down a curving hallway past a row of retail stores, the windows filled with branded golf shirts and overpriced women’s accessories. Cici keyed a private elevator made of glass, and they ascended to the fifth floor. Russo motioned to a luxurious villa straight out of Tuscany that took up the rear of the property.

“How much does it cost to stay there?” Lopez asked.

“The rooms are free, if you can afford it,” Cici said.

“Come again?”

“The beautiful building that you’re looking at is called the Mansion. Only qualified guests are offered accommodations.”

“You mean high rollers. Got it.”

The general manager awaited them in his office. His name was Roscoe Barnes, and he looked like he lived on a diet of meat, potatoes, and scotch. Using an intercom, Barnes summoned Darren, the floor manager. Darren appeared, red-faced and out of breath. He was twenty years Barnes’s junior but living on the same diet. They moved to a sitting area. Lopez unbuttoned his jacket, flashing the sidearm strapped to his side.

“Last week, your casino lost half a million dollars at roulette. By law, you were required to report that loss on the day it happened. You didn’t. Why not?”

Neither man said a word. Lopez wondered how they would react to a perp walk through the casino in handcuffs.

“If you stonewall us, there will be consequences. Am I making myself clear?”

Barnes cleared his throat. “It was an honest mistake. Darren wrote up the Cash Transaction Report right after it happened but got called to another situation in the poker room and it slipped his mind. Isn’t that right, Darren?”

Darren grunted in the affirmative. His forehead glistened with sweat. Barnes had thrown him under the bus and Darren was going along with it.

“The report will be filed this afternoon with a note explaining what happened. That should put this to rest,” Barnes said.

“Are you saying this hasn’t happened before?” Lopez said.

“That’s correct. We file our CTR reports every day, rain or shine.”

“I think you’re lying to me.”

Barnes started to object. Lopez raised a finger and silenced him.

“I’m local,” he said. “One summer I bussed tables at one of your restaurants. The manager was a funny guy named Willy. Willy used to tell us stories about how the hotel spied on its guests. We thought he was kidding until Willy played a tape recording of a famous politician having sex with a hooker. The hooker kept saying the politician’s name, so we knew it was him. Willy told us the high-roller suites were wired, and management eavesdropped on guests to make sure they didn’t gamble in other casinos.

“Willy played a tape I never forgot. A gambler was in his suite having drinks with the GM. The gambler had won a huge sum of money and didn’t want the IRS to know. The GM agreed not to report it. That was you, wasn’t it?”

Defeated, Barnes went to a mini bar and poured himself a stiff drink. He wiped his mouth on his sleeve and returned to his seat. Someone once said that if you like sausages, never watch them being made. The same thing was true with a casino. Behind the flashing neon was an industry as nasty as sewage treatment.

“What I just described happens often, doesn’t it?” Lopez asked.

“Let’s just say it happens,” Barnes replied.

“This could cost your casino its license.”

“I know that.”

“You don’t want that, do you?”

The booze had flushed Barnes’s face and brought tears to his eyes. Lowering his voice, he said, “How do we make this go away?”

“First, you need to start filing daily CTR reports,” Lopez said.

“You have my word.”

“Next, we need to see the surveillance video of your roulette game when it lost the half million. Money laundering may be involved.”

Barnes agreed. He went to his desk, picked up the land line, and set the wheels in motion. Hanging up, he said, “All done. Our director of surveillance will take care of you. His name is Lonnie Allison. Darren will escort you to his office.”

Lopez wasn’t finished. He wanted to ask Barnes if his job description included targeting compulsive gamblers and making them borrow money they couldn’t pay back, like the general manager in Reno had done to him. He wanted to nail Barnes to the wall — just to see the slimy bastard squirm — but was afraid he might start yelling.

Instead, he rose from his chair.

“We’ll be in touch,” he said.

26

Five minutes later they were standing in the office of Lonnie Allison, The Grand’s Director of Surveillance. Allison was an athletic, affable Australian who looked much younger than his years. Today, he appeared deeply troubled.

“We heard you may have been cheated at roulette,” Russo said.

“There’s no question we were cheated,” Allison said. “Four female scammers ripped us off. The problem is, we don’t know how. I can show you what we have.”

“Please.”

Allison led them down a hallway to the surveillance department which had a security camera perched over its door. Allison waved to the camera, and they were buzzed in. The room was freezing cold and had more screens on its walls than Best Buy. Six observers basked in the glow of computer monitors while noisily slurping caffeinated drinks. In the back of the room was a table draped in a white sheet. Allison whisked the sheet away to reveal a roulette wheel veneered in mahogany.

“This is the wheel that got scammed,” their host said. “We replaced it with another wheel and brought it here to run a diagnostic test. Roulette wheels can warp and become biased. Our test showed no bias in this wheel. It’s perfectly balanced.” He spun the wheel and set the ivory ball in motion. “A crew of cheats in France inserted a radio transmitter into a ball and switched it into play. They were able to make the ball fall onto certain numbers. We sliced open the balls and checked. They were clean.”

“You’re saying the equipment wasn’t gaffed,” Russo said.

“That’s right. No gaffs,” Allison said.

“Then how were you cheated?”

“We thought our scammers were wheel tracking. The scam employs hidden cameras and a roulette computer. Are you familiar with this?”

They both said no.

“In roulette, players can place bets during the first three spins of the wheel. That’s when the dirty work happens. The cheats use hidden cameras to track the wheel and ball speed. A hidden computer calculates which half of the wheel the ball will fall in. The computer relays the information through earpieces, and the cheats clean up.”

“This can’t be legal,” Russo said.

“You’re right, it isn’t. Nevada law prohibits players from using electronic devices. Unfortunately, cheats still wheel track, so we invented ways to stop them.”

“Such as?”

“If we suspect a player of wheel tracking, we brush them with an electromagnetic wand to see if they’re wearing hidden cameras.”

“Were the cheats who ripped you off brushed?”

“They were. Clean as a whistle.”

“Then how do you know they were cheating?”

“The math doesn’t lie. These ladies won 80 percent of their bets, which is statistically impossible. My bosses want me to figure it out and get our money back. If I don’t, I’ll be fired along with everyone else working the game. You wouldn’t happen to know of a casino looking for a surveillance director, would you?”

Casinos weren’t supposed to have bad nights. If a casino lost money, the employees often paid for it with their jobs. Allison was about to be unemployed.

“You’d better show us the videos,” Russo said.

The room’s back wall was consumed by a giant screen. Using a keyboard, Allison pulled up a video of The Grand’s roulette wheel from last week. While the video downloaded, he decided to confide in them. “I’m going to tell you a secret. Surveillance cameras don’t stop cheating. They just record.”

“If cameras don’t stop cheats, who does?” Lopez said.

“Dealers, pit bosses, and security guards stop cheating. If a player wins too much, they alert us. We video the player and analyze their win/loss ratio.”

“And if they don’t alert you?”

“Then we get robbed.”

“Is that what happened last week?”

“Yes. Four ladies were beating us at roulette. The croupier assumed they’d lose the money back and didn’t alert us. By the time he made a distress call, it was too late.”

“Why would the croupier assume they’d lose?”

“The house edge at roulette is 5.26 percent. A player cannot consistently play and come out ahead. It’s bloody impossible.”

Lopez had learned something important. A casino only knew it was getting robbed if an employee sounded the alarm. If an employee said nothing — or was complicit in the theft — the casino had no clue. The video finished downloading. Four ladies were playing roulette. On the very first spin of the wheel, they won.

“These are the femme fatales that scammed us,” Allison said.

Two of the ladies wore black leather: Chastity and Echo in all their glory. His hunch about the earrings was right. Chastity was a scammer and had used part of her winnings to buy jewelry. Their partners were two poorly dressed Asian women.

“I’ll be making my appearance shortly,” Allison said.

The ladies continued to win, and their stacks of chips grew. Allison and two security guards appeared. Allison made the ladies step away from the table, and a guard ran a wand over their clothes. The ladies did pirouettes as the wand brushed them.

“They were taunting you,” Russo said.

“It sure felt that way,” Allison said. “We were down half a million at this point, so I froze the game. I gave the ladies meal vouchers and told them to have dinner while we got their money ready. I reviewed the videos and didn’t see anything suspicious. I had to pay them off.”

“Did they object when you froze the game?”

“Hardly. They laughed in my face.”

What Allison was saying didn’t make sense. Cheats didn’t taunt their victims. Russo asked for a copy of the video to review. They exchanged business cards.

If Lopez had learned anything working the chip cup scam, it was that a scam’s secret was often hidden in plain sight. He wanted to figure out how the roulette scam worked. It looked a lot easier than what Billy’s crew was doing.

The Grand’s roulette game was quiet. A dashing croupier wearing a sparkling white tuxedo chatted with a pretty cocktail waitress while spinning the wheel. Seeing the two FBI agents approach his table, he snapped to attention.

“What’s your name?” Lopez asked.

“Albert,” the croupier said.

“This game got cheated last week. Were you working that shift?”

“I was. Those four women really screwed us.”

“Did anything stand out about them?”

“The two Asian women were really strange.”

“How so?”

“They were dressed like homeless people. No jewelry, no makeup. If they hadn’t brought a bag of money, I would have tossed them.”

Lopez had noticed the same thing on the surveillance video.

As the wheel stopped spinning, a spark of light appeared on its head. The illusion lasted a few seconds before disappearing. Lopez craned his neck and found himself staring at a pair of rectangular mirrors glued to the ceiling.

“What are those for?” he asked.

“The reflection catches the wheel and draws people to the table,” Albert explained. “The trend started in Macau and was a big hit. Our Asian customers really like it.”

Lopez caught Russo’s eye. They were thinking the same thing. The mirrors were somehow connected to the scam. He told Albert to spin the wheel again. Using the camera app on his cell phone, he filmed the wheel’s reflection in the mirrors.

Driving back to the Bailey Building, they watched the video on his cell phone.

“They somehow used the reflection to cheat the game,” he said.

“I think you’re right. Now, we have to figure out how it works,” Russo said.

He spent the rest of the drive racking his brain. For the life of him, he didn’t know how the four women had scammed the Grand’s roulette game. But he knew someone that would know. Billy. He’d call Billy and get the cheat to tell him the secret. And then he’d be one step closer to tracking down Echo and Chastity’s killers.

27

Misty and Pepper spent the morning with their CPA trying to determine the best way to explain to the Internal Revenue Service the three-hundred-thousand-dollar profit they’d made flipping a house but had failed to report on their income tax returns.

Their CPA had offered several creative solutions. They could claim they were planning to roll the profits into another house, but that deal had fallen through, and they’d forgotten to report the money. Or they could claim they’d lost the money in another deal, and were planning to report both deals, with one canceling the other.

They had nixed both ideas. The last thing they wanted was to raise a red flag with the IRS and undergo an audit. An audit would require them to explain where the original down payment for the house had come from, and they didn’t want to go there.

There was no plausible explanation for what they’d done. They needed to fall on their swords and accept the consequences. They would pay the taxes and the penalty.

Misty had asked for a ballpark of the damages. Their CPA had written his best guess on a slip of paper and slid it across the desk to them. Misty shrieked, while Pepper wept. Out in the parking lot, they’d plotted their revenge.

“I want to kill fucking Glen for reporting us to the IRS,” Pepper said.

“Screw that. I want our money back,” Misty said.

“You want to rob him? How?” Pepper asked.

“Remember the time we went into Glen’s office, and he was playing video poker on his computer? I found out that Glen’s addicted. Goes online every night and gambles his money on those poker sites.”

“A lot of guys do that. So what?”

“There’s a sneaky way to scam people that gamble on those sites. Billy told me the secret. We’re going to take Glen to the cleaners.”

“And get our money back?”

“That and more.”

“You want to bankrupt the prick?”

“I want to make him suffer. Are you in?”

“You bet I’m in.”

They left their CPA’s office seeking revenge. They were eager to put their plan in motion and enact a payback. The tires of their car squealed with approval.

They grabbed Pepper’s sleeping pills from the house, then went on a shopping spree in the electronics department at the local Walmart. The nerd on duty fell in love with Pepper and showed them how easy it was to install the surveillance equipment they were about to purchase. Pepper tore up his phone number as they headed out the door.

Glen lived in a nice neighborhood called Wildwood Ranch. Recently divorced, his ex-wife had taken everything that wasn’t nailed down, including the lawn statues and the mailbox. His office was in a converted garage behind the house.

They devised a plan in the driveway. They would pretend everything was normal and not mention the IRS. Pepper crushed two sleeping pills and put the powder into a vial. They got out of the car and walked around back.

The office smelled like a jockstrap. Glen was on his computer and had his shirt off. He thought he was god’s gift to women and sported a handlebar moustache and biceps as round as cantaloupes. He was drinking a beer as they entered.

“Misty. Pepper. What a nice surprise,” he lied.

“Hey Glen, sorry to barge in. We have a favor to ask,” Misty said.

“Anything for you ladies. Have a seat.”

They pulled up chairs. Part of the plan required their host to be a gentleman and offer them liquid refreshment, but Glen wasn’t in a sharing mood. Instead, he acted downright rude and smothered a yawn. There was a letter opener on his desk which Misty would have liked to plunge into his chest as payback for betraying them. Instead, she went into a spiel about a foreclosed house in Summerlin they wanted to flip. Would he like to be a partner?

“Not interested,” Glen said.

“Are you sure? It’s in a great neighborhood,” Misty said.

“I’m not investing in today’s market. It’s a bad time for a good deal.”

Misty gave Pepper a sideways glance. This wasn’t working. Pepper was good on her feet and started to cough violently.

“Are you okay?” their host asked.

“Something caught in my throat. Water,” Pepper said, pretending to gasp.

Glen opened the mini refrigerator behind his desk. While his back was turned, Pepper dumped the crushed sleeping pills into his beer can and watched them fizzle before disappearing. Glen spun around in his chair and handed her a Dasani.

“Here you go. Misty, you want something?” he asked.

“I’m good,” Misty said.

Pepper unscrewed the top and took a swallow. The dirty work was done, and they engaged in small talk before saying goodbye and leaving.

They drove around the neighborhood and had a good laugh. When they returned, Glen was sleeping in his chair with the beer can clutched in his hand.

Pepper stood on a chair and unscrewed the light fixture over the desk. It only took a couple of minutes to install the surveillance camera and attach it to the fixture with the electrical tape that came in the package. The camera had a small but powerful battery which was guaranteed to last for a month.

Pepper turned the camera on and aimed it at Glen’s personal computer which sat on the desk. The camera’s manufacturer had an app which she’d already downloaded to her cell phone. She clicked on the app and typed in her password to open her account.

A live feed from the camera directly above her head appeared on her cell phone’s screen. The picture was in color and was crystal clear. Pepper shared the screen with Misty, and they had another laugh. Glen was about to get royally screwed.

Pepper put the light fixture back together and returned the chair to its place. “Ready when you are,” she said.

“One second,” Misty said.

Misty had found a cheat sheet glued to the frame of the computer. The sheet had the different handles Glen used when he played online poker. Misty took a photo of the cheat sheet on her cell phone and joined her partner at the door. They spent a moment staring at Glen, who was sleeping like a baby.

“When do you think he’ll wake up?” Misty said.

“Probably in an hour or so,” Pepper said.

“I can hardly wait.”

Traffic was a mess and they let Waze take them home. Misty made sandwiches in the kitchen while Pepper sat by the pool with her cell phone and watched Glen cutting Zs. It was hard to believe she’d once found him attractive, but that seemed to be her fatal flaw. The men she gravitated toward sexually were never good for her. Her lovers had cheated on her, stolen her cash, and broken her heart. Except for Misty. They were soulmates and made a great team. The curse was over, or so she hoped.

Misty served lunch on a tray. As Pepper bit into her cucumber sandwich, Glen stirred in his chair and wiped the cobwebs from his eyes.

“The monster has awoken,” she said.

They took turns watching. Glen answered emails, made phone calls, and surfed the net for porn while scratching his balls. After an hour they were ready to call it quits when he got the itch for play and logged onto a site called Americas Cardroom where there were multiple live games taking place.

Misty got her MacBook and went onto Americas Cardroom and set up an account with a credit card. While the software downloaded, she checked Glen’s cheat sheet and found the handle he used on this site. THE BEAST.

“He’s playing No-Limit Texas Hold ’em,” Pepper said.

There were several dozen live games of No-Limit Hold ’em on the site. Misty searched until she found a game with a player named THE BEAST. She took a seat at the imaginary table and joined the game.

An imaginary dealer dealt the flop. Ace, four, six.

“I’ve got two pairs, aces and sixes,” Misty said.

Pepper stared at her cell phone. “Glen just has a pair of aces.”

“Does that mean I’m ahead?”

“Yes. Raise him.”

Misty raised and Glen called. The imaginary dealer dealt fourth street. Another six.

“I’ve got three sixes and two aces,” Misty squealed with delight.

“It’s called a full house. You’re in the driver’s seat, baby.”

Misty raised and Glen called her. The imaginary dealer dealt fifth street. Many players called this “the river” because it could drown you. The card was a four.

“Well, look at that,” Pepper said. “Glen hit a full house on the river.”

“Is that bad?”

“No, sugar. Your full house is stronger. Take the mother down.”

Glen thought he had the nuts and made a five-thousand-dollar bet. Misty put her finger on the mouse to call him.

“What are you waiting for? Take his money!” Pepper admonished.

“I want him to suffer,” Misty said.

28

The FBI operated several labs in the basement of the Bailey Building. These labs contained state-of-the-art equipment and were used to run forensic tests on firearms, detect counterfeit money, and recreate crime scenes.

One lab was dedicated to testing casino equipment. It was here that the FBI had developed its famous burn test, where a playing card was burned while being filmed. If the card had secret markings, a slow-motion replay of the film would reveal it.

Lopez and Russo spent the afternoon in the casino lab working on the roulette scam. They started by familiarizing themselves with the lab’s extensive video library, which contained hundreds of casino surveillance tapes of known cheating.

Where there was gambling, there was cheating. This was especially true in casinos, where any game could be compromised. Roulette was especially vulnerable. Cheats would distract employees and increase a winning bet after the ball had fallen. Cheats desiring a bigger score would manipulate the ball using radio transmitters and hidden magnets. There was also the caveman approach. Muscle-bound cheats would press the table, causing the wheel to tilt as it spun.

Watching the tapes, one thing stuck out. Each scam had a “tell” which became obvious after repeated viewings. Except the roulette scam from The Grand. Nothing unusual jumped out at them. But Lopez did see something strange. As the ladies placed their bets, one of the Asians repeatedly glanced off screen.

“Does that look strange to you?”

Russo stared at the monitor. “She’s looking at somebody.”

“Could there be a fifth member of the crew the camera didn’t pick up?”

“You may be onto something.”

Russo called Allison and requested more surveillance videos. Allison was happy to help. Twenty minutes later, an email with an attachment appeared in Russo’s inbox. Russo opened the attachment to find a surveillance video. He hit play.

The new video showed Echo, Chastity, and their Asian partners strolling through The Grand’s casino. Trailing behind them was a third Asian woman with a floppy handbag slung over her shoulder. The third Asian woman was barely five feet tall. As they neared the roulette table, the third Asian woman broke away, and sat down in front of a slot machine. Placing her handbag on the floor, she reached inside, and fiddled with a device.

Lopez brought his face to the monitor. “That’s a video camera in her bag.”

Russo stared as well. “I think you’re right.”

“What do you think she’s doing?”

“I have no flipping idea.”

The third Asian woman’s role was unclear. They watched the video again, getting no closer to the truth. Russo let out an exasperated breath.

“I’m going outside for a smoke.”

Russo slammed the door on the way out. It was time to call Billy.

Lopez sent Billy a text and asked him to jump on a call. The text contained a FaceTime link. The FBI trained its agents to use FaceTime instead of talking over the phone. It let an agent look into the informant’s face and see if they were being truthful.

A few minutes later, Lopez and Billy were FaceTiming. Billy was in his penthouse apartment with his back to a panoramic view of the Strip. Lopez explained what he’d seen on the videos and asked Billy how the roulette scam worked.

“I’d like to help you, but I can’t,” the cheat said.

He almost cursed him. “Why not?”

“Cheats live by a code. Sort of like the Ten Commandments. Thou shall not steal another cheat’s score. Thou shall not rat another cheat out to the police. You get the picture.”

“Tell me how the scam works, and I’ll take it from there.”

“I’d be helping you catch these people. I can’t do that.”

Lopez hadn’t come this far to be told no. “This situation is different. Two women in this crew were murdered in cold blood. We think their partners did it. We need to run these people down before they kill again.”

Billy’s eyes went wide. Lopez realized he’d struck a nerve.

“The murdered women…were they strippers?”

“Yes, they were strippers.”

“Were they working with Asian scammers?”

“Right again.”

“Two guys in my crew were sleeping with them.”

“You mean Cory and Morris?”

“Good memory. Let’s do a deal.”

This didn’t sound good. “What do you have in mind?”

“If my guys’ names surface during your investigation, I want you to erase them. I don’t want them dragged into this.”

Lopez felt himself shudder. Billy was asking him to tamper with evidence. He’d already robbed a casino and shared a classified document with a known criminal. For some reason, this felt different. Billy sensed his hesitation.

“Otherwise, no deal,” the cheat said.

What other choice did he have? None.

“I’ll do it,” he said.

“Beautiful. Send me the videos. I’ll call you once I dope the scam out.”

Lopez ended the call. For a long moment, he stared at the blank computer screen. Then, he asked himself a question. How many laws was he going to break before this was over? A dozen? More? What was his limit? He had no earthly idea, and it scared him. He had totally compromised himself without even knowing it.

Get out while you still can, a voice inside his head said.

All right, he thought. I’ll get out.

29

In a town filled with lowlifes, Tony G should have been given a prize.

Tony G was a bookie. But not just any bookie. He’d carved out a special niche by taking bets from desperate people with bad credit. Tony G charged astronomical interest rates when a client ran late. If a client couldn’t pay, legs got broken. Or worse.

Tony G ran his operation out of a sports bar called Instant Replay. Most bars in town were located inside strip centers. Instant Replay was a stand-alone building without a single neighbor. The area was depressed, with little commerce.

Gabe parked behind a boarded-up gas station across the street from the bar. He took a moment to collect his thoughts. He wanted his meeting with Tony G to go well, but deep down, he knew that it probably wouldn’t. Tony G was an animal and lived by his own set of rules. But that didn’t mean Gabe wasn’t going to give it his best shot.

There was a security camera on the bar’s roof, and Gabe crossed the street with his head bowed. He had gotten dressed up and wore a long sleeve guayabera, black dress pants, and a straw fedora. Happy hour hadn’t started, and a Black trucker sat at the bar playing video poker. The bartender was a pink-eyed albino with colorful tattoos on his knuckles. It was a bad look, and Gabe pretended not to notice.

“What’s your pleasure?” the bartender asked.

“Ginger ale. I’m here to see Tony G.”

“I’ll tell him.”

A minute later, Big Nogg came out from the back. Big Nogg had cauliflower ears, souvenirs from his time in mixed martial arts. Beneath his T-shirt was a gun. They went into the back room, and Big Nogg frisked him. Finding nothing of concern, Big Nogg pointed at a metal chair in front of Tony G’s desk. Gabe took a seat. The years had not been kind to Tony G. His cigar had been replaced by an inhaler and his fingers were bent by arthritis.

“Look at what the cat dragged in,” the bookie said.

Gabe said nothing. To his surprise, he felt remarkably calm. Before driving over, he’d watched a film clip from a Clint Eastwood western called Unforgiven. He’d paid close attention to a speech Eastwood gave in a saloon filled with his enemies. Although outnumbered, Eastwood’s character had never wavered.

“What do you want?” Tony G said.

“I want to ask you a question.”

“You came here to ask me a question. It must be an important question.”

“It is.”

“Go ahead and ask it, so I can get on with my day.”

“Why did you set me up?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“You know exactly what I’m talking about.”

Tony G shook his head. He had pocked skin and coffee-colored teeth.

“I did you a favor and found a buyer for a Rolex and some jewelry,” Gabe said. “I gave you the money and didn’t take a cut. You didn’t tell me the stuff was hot.”

Tony G’s eyes got thin. “Who told you that?”

“You wouldn’t believe me if I told you.”

“Try me.”

“An FBI agent.”

“An FBI agent told you that I gave you stolen goods? That’s bullshit.”

“It’s the truth. Want to hear the rest?”

“Lay it on me.”

“A gaming agent named Frank Grimes is behind this. The police are going to charge me with moving stolen goods. After I’m arrested, Grimes will step in, and cut me a deal. If I turn on my friend Billy Cunningham, the charges will go away.”

“Did the FBI agent tell you that as well?”

“Yes, he did.”

“Why would an FBI agent be telling you this? What’s in it for him?”

“The FBI agent is dirty.”

Tony G shifted uncomfortably in his chair. Gabe had laid his cards on the table and shown his hand. Gamblers called this tipping your mitt. By doing so, Gabe had put Tony G on the defensive, which was exactly where Gabe wanted the bookie to be.

Tony G coughed into a hanky. “Do you know what your problem is?”

“I didn’t know I had a problem.”

“You don’t know your spot on the food chain. Only guys at the top of the chain survive; everyone else gets eaten alive. That’s how this town works. Take my advice and accept Grimes’s deal when it’s offered. It’s the only way you’re going to survive.”

Gabe had heard enough. He’d given Tony G a chance to make things right between them. Instead, the ailing bookie had chosen to belittle him. Before leaving home, he’d outfitted himself with a cheating device called a holdout. A long piece of monofilament ran from his left wrist across his back and down the right sleeve of his guayabera where it was tied around the handle of an NAA-22S single action revolver, nicknamed The Short. It was the smallest handgun made, the size of a box of mints. Luckily, Big Nogg had missed it while frisking him. Gabe lifted his arm and made The Short drop into his hand. He manually cocked the trigger with his thumb and took aim.

Tony G laughed derisively. “Where’d you get that, Toys ‘R’ Us?”

“It’s not a toy.”

“You could have fooled me. Does it shoot BBs?”

“ .22s.”

“ .22s are for pussies. Put it away before you hurt yourself.”

“Go fuck yourself, Tony.”

“Look at you, playing the alpha dog. Who would have known?” To his goon, Tony G said, “Deal with this asshole.”

Big Nogg drew the Glock holstered behind his belt buckle. Before he could get off a round, Gabe shot him three times in the gut. Big Nogg screamed and sank to the floor. Gabe shot him in the face. He jumped out of his chair and snatched the Glock from Big Nogg’s lifeless hand. Tony G had turned to stone.

“Who’s on top of the food chain now?” Gabe said.

Tony G died in his chair with the inhaler clutched in his hand. The bookie was in rough shape; robbing him of what little time he had left tasted that much sweeter. Gabe wasn’t done. He put the Glock into Big Nogg’s hand and pumped another round into the dead bookie. Then he placed his own gun into Tony G’s hand and fired the remaining bullet into Big Nogg. He appraised the bloody scene. He’d ended two men’s lives and felt no remorse. If anything, he was pleased with himself. It needed to be done. He had no idea if the police would buy it. All he could do was hope for the best.

The sound of a flushing toilet snapped his head. A second goon came out of the john. Gabe grabbed the Glock and shot him dead. It suddenly occurred to him that his fingerprints were everywhere, and he ran into the bar. Two conversations were taking place. The bartender was in the kitchen, whispering to a 911 operator. The Black trucker was cowering under a table while saying a prayer.

“They had a fight and pulled their guns,” Gabe said. “There was nothing I could do.”

He ran across the street and got into his car. The police sirens were too far away to be a concern. Before leaving home, he’d packed a suitcase with clothes and planned his escape route. Mexico was nice this time of year.

He aimed the car toward the border and pushed it past 100 mph. Killing the bookie and his goons had been far easier than Gabe could have imagined. He’d never killed anyone before, or for that matter, shot a gun. Gabe had been scared walking into the back room, but in hindsight, he realized those emotions were misplaced. What he was dreading was the phone call he had to make. An hour into his drive, he finally found the courage. To his relief, his call was patched into voicemail.

“Hi Chloe, it’s your father. There’s been a change in plans,” Gabe said.

30

Billy was reading a special news alert on his cell phone when Maggie came into the living room and sat down beside him on the couch. She looked like hell.

“Gabe’s phone is disconnected,” she said.

His girlfriend had been a wreck since he’d told her the Gaming Board was after them. Their lives were unraveling, and she didn’t know what to do.

“You don’t seem too concerned,” she said.

The hardest part of a difficult conversation was the opening line. Once you were out of the gate, the rest was relatively easy.

“Gabe is on the run,” he said.

“What?”

“The scumbag bookie that set Gabe up was shot to death an hour ago. His two henchmen also got whacked. It just popped up on the newsfeed on my phone.”

“You think Gabe was behind it?”

“It would explain why his phone no longer works.”

“My god. Where would he go?”

“I’m guessing he’s driving to Tijuana. I gave him the passcode to the front door of my house a few months ago.”

“Do you want him there?”

“What do you mean?”

“What if the police arrest him at your place? They might come after you.”

He nearly came off the couch. “I’m not scared of the fucking police.”

“Don’t be angry at me.”

“Then stop being so selfish. Our problem is — or should I say, was — the gaming board. They were going to screw us. With Gabe hiding in Mexico, they can’t.”

“Like Gabe hiding in Mexico is better?”

“Much better. It buys us time.”

“Do you honestly think you can scheme your way out of this?”

“Why not? I’ve done it before. Look, if you want out, I won’t hold you back. I’ll transfer money to your checking account, and you can blow out of town.”

“You’ll end things just like that?”

“I’m giving you an exit ramp. What more do you want?”

His girlfriend shut her eyes and hugged herself. A cheat’s life never ended well. They both knew that, or at least, he’d thought Maggie had known that. But maybe she was living in a fairy tale and thought one day she’d ride off into the sunset with the top of her Mercedes down and a fat suitcase filled with fresh hundred-dollar bills. That wasn’t how it worked. At the end of the day, either the cops, the gaming board, or some other law enforcement acronym arrested you, and you ended up living in an eight-by-ten windowless cell with a stainless-steel toilet that never got washed.

She began to cry. “I thought you loved me.”

“I do love you. That’s why I’m giving you an out.”

“What happens if I stay? What’s the plan?”

He flashed a devil’s grin. “The plan hasn’t changed. We pull one last monster score and get out of town.”

“You still want to do the bomb.”

“Why wouldn’t I? It’s one of the greatest scams ever invented. We all get rich.”

“Because it’s risky. If we don’t create a diversion in the casino the surveillance cameras will spot us. Cory told me Lake Tahoe was a shitshow. He said the security were all over you in your Superman costume. Cory said it was a miracle you got away.”

“All’s well that ends well.”

“Be serious, goddammit.”

“There’s a new wrinkle. We won’t need a diversion this time.”

“The scam doesn’t work without a diversion.”

“Lopez is going to help us divert the cameras.”

“How?”

“I’m working on it.”

“Did you ask Lopez? Is he on board?”

“Not yet. But I’m sure he’ll say yes.”

She gave him a cold hard stare. “You’re sure Lopez will say yes. This sounds like a huge fucking risk to me. Count me out, lover boy.”

He returned the look. They were like a pair of snarling dogs sizing each other up, with neither willing to give an inch. The hardest part of being in love with a cheat was being able to trust your partner. It ran both ways.

“I’m going to tell you something, but you have to promise me that you won’t tell the rest of the crew,” he said.

“Big dark secret?” she said.

“I’m being serious.”

“Okay, I promise I won’t tell the others.”

“My old man loved to play craps. He learned in the Army. One weekend he went to the Mohegan Sun. The casino got him drunk, and he lost all his money. Do you think the casino was satisfied? Fuck no. They coerced him into signing promissory notes to keep playing. That one night ruined my family.

“My dad sold his dry-cleaning business to pay off his debts. He became a drunk, and my mom got a job to put food on the table. Her boss was a masher and groped her in the copy room. She stabbed him and got sent to prison where she died.”

“I’m sorry, Billy.”

“For what? That my dad had a moment of weakness and lost everything? It didn’t have to be that way. The casino should have cut him off when his losses piled up. Just like when a bartender cuts off a customer who’s drunk. But the casino didn’t do that. They made the situation worse.”

The memory was crushing him, and he spent a moment regaining his composure. “I ripped off my first casino when I was eighteen, and it felt great. It was payback for what they did to my family. Ripping off casinos still feels great. The moment that feeling goes away, I’ll quit.”

“You’re doing this out of revenge.”

“That’s right. I don’t give a shit about the money we steal. Never have, never will. Don’t you dare tell the others. Do you understand?”

“I won’t Billy.”

“Do you want to know why Lopez is going to help us?”

She shook her head.

“Because a casino in Reno got him drunk and made him sign promissory notes. The poor guy’s drowning in debt.”

“You want to play Good Samaritan and bail him out. Is that it?”

Her tone was condescending. She didn’t get it. She’d never woken up in a freezing house because the heat had been turned off by the electric company. Or gotten off the school bus to find the furniture piled up on the sidewalk because the landlord had evicted them. Or not knowing where his next meal was coming from. What he wanted was to save Lopez from the same fate that had destroyed his family and ruined his childhood. He leaned back on the couch and put his legs on the coffee table.

“We’re going to make history. A casino is going to have a losing night. That hasn’t happened in sixty years,” he said.

She shook her head, knowing the dangers that lay ahead.

“I sure hope you know what you’re doing,” she said.

31

It was dark when Lopez left the parking lot of the Bailey Building. He hadn’t heard back from Billy, which was probably a good thing. He had decided to end their relationship and was working up the nerve to make the call. He was not cut out to be a cheat and he hoped Billy would understand. He planned to give back the money he’d stolen with Maggie so there would be no hard feelings. He would have to figure out another way to settle his gambling debts. Lezli called a few minutes from the house.

“I’ve got good news,” she said. “I spoke with the broker who handles my pension fund at work. There’s a clause that allows me to borrow money in case of an emergency. I can pay it back in twelve months without being penalized.”

“That’s awesome. How much is there?”

“Twelve thousand and change. The money is ours if we need it. I have a question, and you need to be honest with me.”

He got another call and let it go into voicemail. “What’s that?”

“Did you lose any more money in Reno that you haven’t told me about?”

He had replayed his wild night many times. Once he’d left the Emerald City, he’d gone to his hotel, and hit the sack. If he had stopped to gamble in another casino, he felt certain he would have found out by now.

“There are no more surprises,” he said.

“Glad to hear it. See you soon.”

He retrieved the voicemail. It was his friend Finn.

“Hey Ray, sorry to bother you, but I have something you need to see,” Finn’s raspy voice said. “The casinos are after you. Meet me at the Triangle Club, and I’ll explain.”

The casinos were after him? What did Finn mean? He called Lezli back.

“I’m going to be late,” he said.

Finn did not have much of a social life. He spent his days attending mass, seeking absolution for his sins; his nights at recovery meetings, trying not to sin again. He’d lost his driver’s license because of multiple DUIs and didn’t own a car. Tonight’s meeting hadn’t started, and the parking lot was empty. He texted Finn, and his friend came of the club and got into the car.

“You got my message,” Finn said.

“What do you mean, the casinos are after me?”

“Take me to my apartment, and I’ll show you.”

“You have evidence of this?”

“I most certainly do.”

Finn lived in a depressed neighborhood called Naked City. The streets were lined with 1930s bungalows whose charm had faded away, and he pulled into an apartment complex and parked in front of a duplex. Finn said he’d be right back and went inside.

A parade of cars pulled into the complex. The routine was always the same. Passengers got out, entered a first-floor unit, and emerged with their fix. Laws were being broken everywhere; it had been that way for as long as he could remember.

Finn emerged holding a cardboard box. He got into the car and held the box on his lap. “I had the unpleasant task of cleaning out Chantelle’s car before I sold it. I used the money to pay for her funeral.”

“That was good of you.”

“This box was in the trunk. It’s her bank statements and papers. The casinos took her to court to collect their money. She lost over a million dollars gambling.”

“I didn’t know she had that kind of money.”

“I’m sorry to say, our friend embezzled it from the bank where she worked. She got caught and went to jail. When she got out, she paid it back. It took years.”

“That’s sad.”

“Were you aware that I also stole money from my employer, and was caught?”

The confession startled him. He’d once seen Finn chase down a man who’d dropped money on the sidewalk.

“So have others in our group,” Finn said. “They gambled in the casinos with stolen money, got caught, and paid the price. It happens all the time.”

“I didn’t know.”

“Have you ever gambled with stolen money, Ray?”

Lopez shook his head. He’d gambled with borrowed money, but he’d always paid it back.

“Just wait. Someday, you will,” Finn said.

“You’re out of line.”

“This has nothing to do with your character. It happens to all of us.”

He’d heard enough. He had conquered his gambling addiction before, and he would beat it back again, and prove Finn wrong.

“Let me take you back to the meeting,” he said.

“I’d like to show you something before we go.”Finn removed a flexible binder from the box. It landed in Lopez’s lap.

“What’s this?”

“That, my friend, is called the Compulsive Gambler’s List. Chantelle’s sister worked for a casino marketing department and gave it to her.”

“The casinos have a list of compulsive gamblers?”

“Yes. They created it.”

“How is that possible?”

“They buy databases from credit card companies and use algorithms to pull the names of customers who take out cash advances. They compare these names to customers who travel to Las Vegas, Atlantic City, or the Native American casinos, and use the names that match to create their list. The names are assigned different levels of status. If a person took monthly cash advances and hit the casinos regularly, they got a platinum status. If the activity was less, gold or bronze.”

“What was the list used for?”

“Mailings. The casinos sent two-hundred-dollar gambling vouchers to everyone on it. They’d cast a wide net, and watch the addicts come through the doors.”

Two hundred dollars was the hook the general manager in Reno had used to get him to play. His hand was shaking as he removed the list from the binder.

“Chantelle is on the list. Have a look,” Finn suggested.

“I don’t know her last name,” he said.

“Booth.”

The list was alphabetized. He flipped through the Bs until landing on the page with her name. There was a P beside it, indicating her platinum status. And a code. 2PLV. He showed it to Finn.

“That’s a rating formula. Predicated lifetime value,” Finn said.

“Does the 2 stand for years?”

“Yeah. Chantelle had another two years of value.”

“Then what?”

“She would crash and burn and became of no use to them.”

“Are you on the list?”

“Yes. But I only got a bronze rating. Fuckers.”

“What about the rest of our group?”

“They’re all there. No one escaped.”

“What about me? Am I on it?”

“I don’t know, Ray. You never told me your last name. It’s called Gamblers Anonymous, remember?”

He thumbed through the list. There was an entire page of compulsive gamblers named Lopez. He found his name and his current address. He had a gold status.

Lifetime value, four years.

They sat in the Triangle Club’s parking lot with the engine running and watched members drift in. “Tell me what happened to Chantelle the night she died,” he said.

“Chantelle had a relapse and went to The Vinoy to gamble. It was her favorite casino. I believe she had a loyalty card there,” Finn said.

“They must have known her history.”

“I’m sure they did. She lost her money and became despondent. She called me and said she had nothing left to live for. She committed suicide a few hours later.” He wiped the tears from his eyes. “The meeting’s about to start. Will you be joining us?”

“Not tonight.”

“You need to start coming to meetings. Before it’s too late.”

“What’s the rush? According to the list, I have four years left.”

They laughed, but it was gallows humor. Finn got out of the car with the box.

“What are you going to do with her papers?” Lopez asked.

“I’m going to share them with the others. As a reminder. Be safe, my friend.”

He watched Finn walk into the club. He pulled out of the lot and pointed his car toward home. For as long as he could remember, his mailbox had been stuffed with promotional mailings from the casinos offering him free crap to get him in their doors. Now, he understood why. He was an addict, and their favorite customer.

It made him angry enough to want every casino burned to the ground.

32

All in. The expression came from the world of poker and meant to shove all your money into a pot. It also meant to be committed to a cause. Lopez sat in his driveway gripping the steering wheel and stared at the scars covering the knuckles of his right hand. They were souvenirs from a bench-clearing brawl during a college baseball game. The opposing pitcher had thrown at his head, and he’d retaliated. He was beaten up by the other team, but that was okay. He’d never run from a fight, and never would.

His present situation was no different. The casinos were trying to hurt him. He was going to pay them back, even if he got roughed up in the process. He popped the trunk and got out. He removed the bag of stolen money he’d been driving around with and went inside. Dinner was warming in the oven. He dropped the bag on the kitchen table and poured two glasses of Chardonnay. Lezli entered the kitchen wearing a pair of sweatpants and a red UNLV Rebels sweatshirt. She peeked into the bag and let out a happy shriek. He handed her a glass.

“Here’s to new beginnings,” he said.

“Did something happen that I haven’t heard about?”

“I got a phone call this afternoon that will solve our financial problems.”

“What are you talking about? Where did this money come from?”

“I’m going to get us out of this mess.”

Confusion spread across her face. She led him into the living room and made him sit on the couch. The furniture was from before they were married and desperately needed replacing. She sat facing him, holding her glass, looking into his eyes.

“You haven’t come up with a system to beat the casinos, have you? That last time you did that was a disaster.”

“That’s ancient history. This came out of left field, and it’s huge.”

Her eyes went wide. “Tell me.”

“I got a call from a Hollywood producer named Jonathon Komack Martin. He produced the Deadpool movies and is partners with Ryan Reynolds. He also creates TV shows and is developing a series about an FBI agent who’s based in Las Vegas. He read a newspaper story about the Glitter Twins and tracked me down.”

“He wants to base a TV show on you?”

“He wants to incorporate my life story into the main character. He’ll pay me a flat fee and hire me as a consultant. The money on the kitchen table is a down payment. He wired it to me this afternoon.”

“How much is he going to pay you?”

“That’s up for negotiation. I’ve got a number in mind.”

“How much is that?”

“A hundred grand. It’s enough to pay off my gambling debts. Our credit will be clean, and we can start house hunting again.”

“That’s incredible. When are you going to meet this hotshot?”

“Jonathon is driving in from Los Angeles tonight. He’s going to call me once he’s in his hotel.”

“This is exciting. What’s his name again?”

“Jonathon Komack Martin. Komack is with a K.”

“I want to check him out.”

She did a search on her cell phone. The first thing that came up was a photo of Martin and Sandra Bullock on the red carpet at a movie premier.

“There he is. This is so cool,” she said.

He sipped his wine. There were plenty of producers whose names he could have inserted into his story, but Martin had produced a number of hit movies which Lezli would recognize. It also helped that Martin’s father was a Hollywood legend. Lezli found his biography on IMDB and spent a minute reading his credits.

“This is amazing. I’m sold. But one thing bothers me,” she said.

“What’s that?”

“You’re not allowed to have a side job. If your boss finds out, you’ll get fired.”

“I already discussed this with Jonathon, and we came up with a workaround. My name won’t appear in the credits, and our agreement will be strictly confidential. The only people that will know about the deal besides you and me will be the IRS.”

“The whole thing will be hidden.”

“Yes. No one will know that I’m consulting on a TV show. I’ll meet with Jonathon and the writers at their hotel when I’m off work.”

“Will you have to go to L.A.?”

“The show will be based in Vegas. They’re setting up camp here.”

She worked on her wine. He sensed that she believed him. That was important, because if his scheme went off the rails and he got busted, Lezli would be able to tell the police that she thought he was working on a TV show at night, not ripping off casinos.

“How long is this going to take?” she asked.

“Jonathon said three months max,” he said.

She crawled across the couch and got comfortable in his arms.

“That’s a long time. Can you ask for more money?”

“Listen to you.”

They drank their wine while gazing at their moon-lit backyard through the slider. Out of nowhere, a skinny guy wearing baggy pants and a wife-beater T-shirt crashed through the hedge and ran around the property looking for something to steal. Lezli screamed, and their intruder took off running. Lopez went to confront him.

“Be careful,” she said.

He entered the backyard and poked his head over the hedge. Their intruder was three houses away, being wrestled to the ground by the police. Every night punks vandalized cars and broke into houses. They would carry away grills and lawn furniture and whatever wasn’t bolted down. His neighborhood was safe until the sun went down; then it became a hunting ground. He locked the slider and returned to the couch.

“He’s gone.”

She shuddered and hugged herself. “I don’t feel safe living here anymore. Once we pay our debts off, I want to get out of this hell hole.”

“I’m with you,” he said.

A minute later Billy texted him. Maggie was working tonight, and a whale named Hector had sat down at her table. Bring the chip cup.

“Hollywood calling. I need to go,” he said.

“Ask for more money,” she said.

33

Lopez parked in a garage behind the Gold Rush and purchased a ball cap in the gift shop before venturing inside. There was a lone seat at Maggie’s table, and he bought a small stack of chips and started to play. An older, silver-haired Mexican with a diamond pinky ring sat in the chair beside him. He guessed this was Hector, the whale.

“How’s this game running?” he asked.

“It’s been running cold, but I’m sure our luck will change,” Hector replied.

They played a few rounds. Maggie didn’t give the signal, so Lopez left the chip cup in his pocket and played normally. The cards started to run hot, and everyone at the table won. Hector was betting with brown chips worth five thousand dollars apiece. Feeling lucky, the wealthy Mexican slid a stack of brownies into the betting circle.

“Make my day, Maggie,” Hector said.

Maggie gave Lopez the signal that it was time to start stealing. He removed the chip cup from his pocket and slid it into the betting circle. Maggie dealt the cards out of the shoe. Her face card was an ace. She asked the table if anyone wanted insurance.

“Insurance is a bad bet,” Hector declared.

The other players at the table disagreed and took insurance. Normally, Lopez would have done the same, but he decided to follow Hector’s lead. If Hector lost, so would he, and Maggie would be able to steal Hector’s brown chips with the chip cup.

Maggie checked her hole card and flipped it over to reveal the jack of spades. Blackjack. Lopez had never been so happy to lose a bet in his life.

Maggie collected the losing bets and made Hector’s brown chips disappear inside the chip cup. Lopez tossed money on the felt and bought the cup back. Maggie sent the cup his way, and he slipped it into his pocket, and deposited the stolen chips. He wanted to see how many there were but stifled the urge. His curiosity could wait until later.

His head snapped. At the next table, a drunk was spitting racial slurs. The pit boss tried to calm him down. The drunk got more belligerent.

“Place your bets,” Maggie said.

He slid the chip cup into the betting circle. There was an urgency to Maggie’s voice, and he thought he knew why. If there was a problem at a table — like now — an observer in surveillance would focus on that table. Maggie’s table was being ignored because of the drunk’s yelling.

Maggie knew this as well. She sped up her dealing while the drama played itself out. The cards went cold, and the players lost every round.

“Maggie, what is happening?” Hector bemoaned.

“Sorry,” she said.

The drunk’s mouth was going to start a riot. The pit boss had heard enough and told a pair of security guards to eighty-six him. Lopez bought the chip cup for a fourth time and dumped more stolen chips into his pocket.

The drunk was dragged out of the casino. Maggie signaled they were done. Rising, Lopez bid his fellow players goodnight.

“Nice to meet you,” Hector said.

“Same here,” he said.

He walked a few blocks down the Strip to make sure he wasn’t being followed, crossed the street, and headed back to the garage to his car. His jacket was sagging from the weight of his loot, but he didn’t dare look. He got a call from Billy, who was a few blocks away.

“How did it go?” Billy asked.

“It was like stealing candy from a baby,” he said.

“Meet me in the parking lot of the Holiday Inn.”

“You got it.”

He drove to the Holiday Inn and parked. He was buzzing, the rush from stealing making him sweat. Billy parked beside him, and he hopped in the passenger seat.

“How did you like Hector?” Billy asked.

“He seemed like a decent guy. Where does his money come from?”

“The cartels.”

“He’s a drug dealer?”

“Hector’s a general in the Mexican army. The cartels bribe him to arrest their competition. He’s got the hots for Maggie and likes to take her on fancy vacations. I come along for the ride sometimes.”

“How does that work?”

“It’s a little funky. He shacks up with Maggie, and I bang his wife. We get a nice vacation out of it, so I guess it’s a fair trade.”

“We took a lot of his money tonight.”

“How many times did you use the cup?”

“Five, and he was betting brown chips.”

“Show me.”

Lopez counted the stolen brown chips into Billy’s hands. He had stolen a hundred thousand dollars on the nose. Billy shook his head in disbelief.

“This is too much. They’re going to catch us.”

“No, they’re not. There was a drunk at the next table, causing trouble.”

“So what?”

Lopez related his visit to The Grand’s surveillance room, and how observers were trained to focus on problem customers, while leaving other areas in the dark.

“How did you get inside the Grand’s surveillance room?” Billy asked.

“I’m an FBI agent. I have carte blanche,” he said.

“If you told an observer to do something, would they have to obey?”

“They wouldn’t have a choice.”

“That’s fucking gold, man.”

Dollar signs were flashing in Billy’s eyes. Lopez had been waiting for the right time to ask about the roulette scam and decided this was it.

“Tell me how the roulette scam works.”

Billy hesitated. It was obvious he was having second thoughts about ratting out another crew and breaking the cheater’s code.

“Two women in those videos were murdered in cold blood,” he said. “Tell me how the scam works, and I’ll be one step closer to catching their killers.”

“I don’t want this coming back to bite me.”

“You have my word.”

34

Pressley got to work early the next morning. She was in a bind. The office was overbudget, and the bean counters in Administrative Services in D.C. had told her to rein in her expenses. It was the wrong time to ask for an additional five thousand dollars.

She decided to do it anyway. As policy, the FBI gave cash bonuses when a field agent broke a big case. These bonuses ranged between a few hundred and a thousand dollars and were accompanied by a letter of commendation which went into the agent’s file. Sometimes more was given when an agent’s behavior went beyond the call of duty. Ray Lopez’s behavior in Reno was a perfect example. He had acted heroically and deserved to be recognized. She reread her email asking for the additional money. It made a good case without being preachy. As she hit send, her secretary appeared.

“Two gentlemen from the gaming board are here to see you.”

“When did the gaming board start hiring gentlemen?”

Her secretary grinned. “That’s a good one.”

“Do these gentlemen have an appointment?”

“No, ma’am. They barged their way past reception. They said that if you won’t see them, they’d call your bosses in Washington.”

This sounded like war. Pressley closed her laptop and prepared for battle. The gaming board and the FBI did not play well together. It had been that way since the beginning. The gaming board reported to the governor, and the FBI reported to the Justice Department, and their agendas were rarely the same.

“Send them in.”

Two gorillas in cheap suits marched into her office. Their business cards said Grimes and Kehoe. Grimes had a shaved head, Kehoe a birthmark on the side of his face. It was a bad sign when law enforcement agents took on the characteristics of the people they pursued. They snarled like junkyard dogs.

“Have a seat,” she said pleasantly.

The chairs in front of her desk groaned beneath their weight.

“What can I do for you?”

“We have a problem,” Grimes said.

“Really. And I thought this was a social call.”

Grimes’s face glowed red. He would have made a terrible poker player. He was carrying a folder, which he opened. A grainy photo landed on her desk. In the photo, an overweight man wearing a straw fedora could be seen crossing a street.

“This is Gabe Weiss. Weiss is a cheat, and a member of Billy Cunningham’s crew. Weiss shot three men to death yesterday, including a bookie named Tony G. Tony G was helping us lay a trap for Cunningham.”

“What does this have to do with the FBI?” Pressley said.

“I’m getting to that part.” Grimes dropped a second photo on her desk. In it, two curly-haired young men could be seen through a window inside a diner. “These two boys are Cory and Morris. They’re also part of Cunningham’s crew. They were spotted entering a diner owned by a guy who’s also helping us catch Cunningham.”

“I see. Was the diner’s owner murdered?”

“No. But he’s been compromised.”

“How so?”

“The diner is under twenty-four-hour surveillance. The agent on watch saw the diner’s owner shaking hands with Cory and Morris in the parking lot. They turned him.”

“I’m still not seeing the connection to this office.”

“May I finish?”

“By all means.”

Grimes added a small stack of papers to the pile. The papers looked suspiciously like an income tax return and Pressley felt herself recoil. Only the IRS was allowed to use tax returns in criminal cases, and it made her wonder how many laws the gaming agents had broken in their pursuit of Cunningham.

“This tax return was filed by two ex-porn stars in Cunningham’s employ,” Grimes said. “The IRS was going to nail them for hiding income on a house they flipped. We were going to use that as leverage to get them to turn on their boss.”

“Only they filed this return, and now you can’t,” Pressley said.

His thunder stolen, Grimes simply grunted. Pressley returned the photos and tax return. She had a busy day and needed to wrap things up.

“You have not explained what any of this has to do with this office. If you’ll excuse me, I need to get back to my job,” she said.

Her visitors didn’t budge. The meeting had taken a bad turn. She considered showing them the door. But first she needed to learn why they were here. Hiking up his trousers, Kehoe said, “Last week, in the spirit of cooperation, we emailed you a confidential file on Billy Cunningham. The file laid out our investigation and named our sources. In a matter of days, our investigation has been compromised.”

Pressley twisted in her chair. “Are you insinuating that someone from this office leaked information to Cunningham?”

“We are,” Kehoe said.

“Do you have any proof?”

“Hard proof, no. But the circumstantial evidence is very strong.”

“And what might that be?”

“Cunningham helped one of your agents catch a pair of serial killers in Reno. We think Cunningham befriended that agent and turned him.”

“You mean Special Agent Lopez.”

“Yes.”

“I find that hard to believe.”

Grimes produced a final photograph which he waved in front of her. Taken from a surveillance camera, it captured a pair of men sitting at a traffic light on the busy Las Vegas Strip. Pressley fitted her glasses on for a better look. The man riding shotgun was Ray Lopez. The driver was unknown.

“The guy at the wheel is Cunningham,” Kehoe said.

She swallowed hard. Agents out of the Las Vegas office had been caught with bad actors before; the town seemed to breed this kind of behavior. The problem was that she had just sent an email to her superiors singing Lopez’s praises. If Lopez was in cahoots with Cunningham, the office’s reputation would be damaged.

Or not. She took a moment to compose herself. The gaming agents’ case was pure conjecture. She had vetted Ray before hiring him. His record was clean. She slapped her hand on the desk, startling her visitors.

“This proves nothing. While I don’t know why Special Agent Lopez was in that vehicle, I can assure you, it wasn’t to help Cunningham.”

The gaming agents glared at her. They weren’t giving up without a fight.

“Lopez was wearing a disguise when he was spotted,” Kehoe said. “Why would he do that?”

“Perhaps he didn’t want his cover blown.”

“His cover?”

“Special Agent Lopez is working a homicide investigation which involves money-laundering. This photograph tells me that Ray was working undercover, doing his job. Thanks for the heads-up.”

Grimes was clearly upset. “Does the gaming board know about this operation?”

“No, it does not.”

“Will you fill us in?”

The conversation had not started out friendly, and she saw no reason for it to end that way. She wanted Grimes and Kehoe gone and rose from her desk.

“I’m sure you can find your way out,” she said.

She stood at her window and watched the gaming agents drive away. Back to headquarters to whine to their bosses, she guessed. In a few days she’d get a call from her superiors in D.C., wanting to know why the gaming board was being excluded from an important money-laundering case. She would tell them the same thing as before. The gaming board was nobody’s friend and would only hinder their investigation.

Her calendar was full for the rest of the day, yet she remained at the window. She had a nagging feeling that she could not shake. What if Lopez had gone bad, like they claimed? If he was working with Cunningham, the gaming board would eventually catch him. Someday she hoped to transfer to D.C. and finish her career at headquarters. That wouldn’t happen if the office got rocked by scandal during her tenure.

The nagging feeling would not go away. The FBI trained its agents to detect dishonesty through tells that included accelerated speech and unusual body movement. Lopez had exhibited none of these tells when she’d been around him. But what if he was one of those people who was adept at keeping the truth buried, and his secrets hidden? What if he had an antisocial personality, and no one had spotted it? She needed to put her fears to rest. She went to the door and spoke to her secretary.

“Get me Ray Lopez’s personnel file,” she said.

35

Lopez got to the office early and sat in his cubicle waiting for Russo to arrive. He hadn’t slept and was wired on caffeine. Billy had explained how the roulette scam worked, and he was going to break the investigation wide open.

Russo had battled insomnia since his son’s passing and was often late to work. He arrived at nine-fifteen and headed straight to his office. Lopez rapped on the door.

“It’s open.”

He stuck his head in. “I’ve got good news.”

“How good?”

“This will make your year.”

“Get your ass in here.”

Lopez dragged a chair into the office. Russo sat at his desk, sipping from a bottle of Maalox. Russo’s last two cases had ended up DC, a bureau acronym for dead case. If the Echo Chambers/Chastity Gamble investigation wasn’t solved, Russo’s dream of running a field office until he retired would be put on the back burner.

“Make my day,” Russo said.

“I connected with Billy Cunningham last night. I twisted his arm, and he explained how the roulette scam worked. He also gave me insight into our suspects.”

“Why did you twist his arm? I thought he liked you.”

“Cheats have a code. They won’t rat out other cheats. I told Billy our suspects were murderers, and he made an exception.”

“How much did he tell you?”

“Enough to catch them.”

Russo’s eyes lit up. “The floor is yours.”

“Let’s start with our suspects. After watching the videos, Cunningham determined that our cheats are amateurs.”

“Because of the taunting.”

“That’s one reason.”

“What’s the other?”

“Our suspects recruited Echo and Chastity from a strip club without vetting them. Echo took off with the loot with Chastity’s help. It was a classic double cross.”

“Which is why they were murdered.”

“That’s right.”

It wasn’t possible to know a criminal’s true motivation; the best anyone could do was guess. The empty Maalox bottle hit the trash.

“That works for me. You good with it?” Russo asked.

“I’m good with it.”

“Explain the roulette scam. That’s been bugging the hell out of me.”

“Our cheats are wheel tracking. But instead of tracking the wheel, they track the reflection in the mirrors over the wheel. The camerawoman isn’t near the table.”

“Everything old is new again.”

“The video camera is hidden in a handbag. The camerawoman films the reflection while the wheel is spinning. The ringleader watches on a live feed and uses a software program on a computer to determine which half of the wheel the ball will land in. He relays these numbers to the ladies at the table through earpieces.”

“The take-off men. Or should I say women,” Russo said.

“Right. Eighteen numbers are losers, but one is a winner. Because the payout is so huge, they clean up.” He took a legal pad off the desk and drew a circle. “Let’s pretend this is a roulette wheel with thirty-eight numbers. Pick the winning number, and the casino pays you thirty-six times your bet. The house edge is 5.26 percent.”

“Some of the worst odds in gambling,” Russo said.

“Except when our suspects are playing. Their scam works 80 percent of the time. It doesn’t take long to win half a million dollars.”

Lopez did the math beneath his drawing and shared the numbers.

Numbers to bet:    19

Wager:        $5,000 per number

Total wager per spin: 19 x $5,000 = $95,000

Payout:       $180,000 x 80 % win rate = $144,000

Payout minus wager:  $144,000–$95,000 = $49,000

Actual win:         $49,000

“That’s impressive. So how do we catch them?” Russo asked.

“We need to catch them in the act. Our best chance is to set up a sting. We’ll circulate the Asians’ photos and ask the casinos to alert us if they show up. Once they start playing roulette, we swoop in, identify the camerawomen, and arrest them.”

“What about the ringleader? He’s the big fish in this operation. If we don’t nab him with his crew, he’ll disappear.”

“Cunningham said the ringleader would be nearby when the scam takes place. The crew will lead us to him.”

“How does he know that?”

“Casino walls are lined with metal. This stops cheats from sending information to computers on the outside. The ringleader is either in a restaurant inside the casino, or upstairs in a hotel room when the scam takes place.”

“You’ve got this all figured out.”

Lopez nodded. He’d stayed up all night thinking it through.

“Catching these people won’t be hard,” he said.

“Why do you say that?”

“Lonnie Allison comped the take-off women dinner while he got their money together. They didn’t make a fuss about it. This has happened to them before.”

“So?”

“The next time our suspects scam a casino, we tell the director of surveillance to comp them dinner. This will buy us time. We’ll go to the casino and let them take us to the ringleader. Case closed.”

Russo nodded approvingly. “Distribute photos of our suspects to the casinos and put them on alert. And by the way, great job.”

“Thank you.”

Lopez started to leave. Russo cleared his throat, indicating they weren’t done.

“I got an email from Pressley. The gaming board is questioning your relationship with Cunningham. Pressley wants you to stop using him as an informant.”

He started to object. He couldn’t enact his revenge against the casinos or pay off his debts without Billy’s help. He needed to make a stand and said, “We both have a lot riding on this case. Let’s strike a compromise. Once we bust the Asians, I’ll sever ties with Cunningham. Can you sell Pressley on that idea?”

Russo considered it. His promotion hung in the balance as well. And the new life he wanted to start with his wife.

“Sure. It’s all about solving cases.”

Lopez grabbed the chair and left the office. He’d just dodged a bullet, and he splashed cold water on his face in the restroom before returning to his cubicle.

36

SIN was how the casinos communicated threats to their bottom line. It was an acronym for secure internal network, and every casino in Las Vegas was a member. Each morning, the casinos that got ripped off sent out email alerts over SIN. These alerts included a description of the theft and surveillance photographs of the alleged suspects.

The FBI’s Las Vegas office had access to SIN. Lopez composed an email about their roulette cheats along with video links. He ran the final draft past Russo before blasting it out over the network. Then, he sent follow-ups to the casinos’ surveillance directors to make sure they saw the email. It was time-consuming, but it ensured that their suspects wouldn’t slip through the cracks the next time they showed their faces.

By five o’clock he was done. Now it was a waiting game. He’d been keeping late hours and decided it would be a nice break to have dinner with Lezli at a normal hour. As he walked to his car, he heard a woman’s voice.

“Special Agent Lopez? Over here.”

A young woman stood behind the fence. He approached her cautiously.

“What can I do for you?”

“Do you remember me?”

“Your name is Brie, and you work for KLAX.”

“That’s right. I have some information that you should hear.”

The temperature was dropping, and he stuck his hands in his pockets to stay warm. One of the first things he’d learned when being assigned to the Las Vegas office was to be careful when interacting with the media. The competition for stories was cutthroat, and reporters were known to flat-out lie.

“What’s on your mind?” he asked.

“I have a lead. But I want something in return.”

“You want a quid pro quo?”

“You were nice to me the other day, so I’m going to return the favor, instead of going to the police. There’s a guy in Henderson who talked to Echo Chambers’s murderers. I’ll tell you how to find him, but I want an exclusive in return.”

Murderers, as in plural. The FBI had been working off the assumption there was only one. Brie’s contact clearly knew something.

“What kind of an exclusive?” he asked.

“I want you to call me before you arrest them, so I can cover it.”

“What if we don’t find them, and there’s no arrest?”

“Then you owe me a favor. Sound fair?”

The bureau cut deals like this with reporters all the time, so he said yes.

“I’m freezing my ass off. Meet me at Corduroy in old downtown in fifteen minutes. You’re going to like what I have to tell you.”

Back when the Strip was rundown motels and rolling sagebrush, there was an old downtown filled with saloons, sawdust joints, and five-dollar T-bone steaks. Corduroy was a throwback to the good old days and served cheap beer and inexpensive well drinks.

Brie sat at a table firing up a butt. He placed a glass of red wine in front of her and sat down. The poster above her head showed an Amazon smashing a guitar over a poor guy’s head. He hoped it wasn’t a sign of things to come.

“Those things will kill you,” he said.

“Death on the installment plan. You’re not drinking?”

“Not while I’m on the job.”

She gulped down the wine. “My station is doing a story on unsolved murders in Las Vegas. We’re like the murder capital of the world, yet most cases go unsolved. The idea was to see if the station could crack a case and help the police.”

“That’s a clever angle.”

“My team got assigned the Echo Chambers case. We went to her neighborhood to snoop around and got lost using the GPS. I wondered if her murderers had the same problem and spoke to the owner of the gas station near her house.”

The wine was gone, and he went to the bar for a refill. He didn’t remember anyone from the FBI visiting the gas station and wondered what she’d learned.

“Thanks.” She took the glass and belted it back. “The night of the murder, three Asian women pulled into the station. The driver was lost and asked for directions. Her English was poor, so the manager took her to a pawn shop next door. The pawn shop’s owner was stationed in the Far East and speaks several languages.”

“What’s his name?”

Her eyes were glassy. “His name’s Raney.”

“Did you talk to him?”

“We talked yesterday. I could use some more wine.”

“You need to slow down. You’re getting drunk.”

“What are you, my father?”

He made another trip to the bar. She took the glass and knocked it back.

“What did Raney tell you?” he asked.

“Hold on. I’m enjoying my drink.”

Her face was going to hit the table soon. He could do nothing but wait her out. Finally, she spoke.

“Raney said the Asian woman needed directions to Echo’s house. He gave her instructions, and she left his store.”

“Did Raney know that Echo was murdered?”

“He sure did.”

“Did he call the police?”

“Nope.”

“Why not?”

“Echo came into his shop to pawn some jewelry, and Raney asked her out. She turned him down, and he held it against her.”

“He didn’t call the police because she turned him down?”

“Uh-huh. He also said that he could catch the killers if he wanted to.”

“How was he going to do that?”

“I asked him the same question.”

“What did he tell you?”

She took a deep breath. “Nothing. Fucker tried to rape me.”

Lopez was disgusted with himself. He had assumed Brie was trying to get drunk, when in reality she was getting the courage up to reveal the terrible thing that had happened to her. He’d been trained to spot rape victims, and his training had failed.

She wept silently, and he pulled his chair closer.

“I’m sorry. Have you told anyone about this?”

The words weren’t there, and she shook her head.

“I can arrest Raney if you agree to testify against him.”

“But then he’ll lawyer up.”

“They all do.”

“He won’t tell you how to catch Echo’s killers.”

“Is that more important to you than seeing justice done?”

“What’s important is that you catch them and give me an exclusive.”

“What about Raney?”

“Karma will catch up to him. She always does. She’s a real bitch.”

Brie extracted a business card from her purse and slid it across the table. Raney’s Hock or Shop. It screamed attitude and had raised lettering and slick gold embossing. He began to copy the address, and she told him he could keep it.

“The less I remember about him, the better,” she said.

He walked Brie to the garage across the street where her car was parked. Her legs were rubbery, and she leaned against him for support.

“You shouldn’t be driving. Let me give you a lift,” he said.

“I don’t take rides with strange men,” she said.

“But you’re drunk.”

“All the more reason.”

37

The next morning, a few minutes before opening, Lopez pulled into the parking lot of Raney’s Hock or Shop. Painted lime green, the building had as much charm as an ash heap. He’d never pawned an item to pay off his debts but knew many gamblers who had. Like vultures picking a carcass, pawn shops took only the good stuff. A minute later, Russo parked in the adjacent space and got out with two cups from Vesta Coffee Roasters. He got in and passed Lopez a cup.

“Two sugars, no cream, just the way you like it,” Russo said. “Is the guy we want to talk to here?”

“His name’s Raney, and that’s his red Porsche parked by the front door.”

“How do you want to handle him?”

Normally, he would have approached Raney in a civil manner, but Raney was scum, so he planned to take the gloves off.

“I’m going to threaten him,” he said.

A junker limped into the lot. A lady wearing Spandex entered the store carrying a box. She was talking to herself, lamenting her bad luck, the way gamblers did.

“Threaten him how?” Russo asked.

“Pawn shops have two types of customers. The first type just went inside. She lost her money gambling and needs to pawn her stuff to pay her debts.”

“How do you know that?”

“She was complaining about her bad luck. I’m guessing she’s a slot queen.”

“Because of the outfit?”

“Uh-huh. Walk through any casino and you’ll see women dressed just like her playing the slots.”

“You know this town better than me. What’s the second type of customer?”

“Thieves. The pawn shops fence their stolen goods.”

“I thought there were measures to stop that.”

“The thieves know how to get around them. The pawn shop owners know they’re dealing in stolen goods and look the other way.”

“You still haven’t explained how you plan to make Raney talk to us.”

“Easy. I’ll threaten to shut him down.”

“This I’ve got to see.”

They entered to find the Spandex lady haggling with the manager over the value of a small wooden clock. She claimed it was a priceless antique with a lineage dating back to the early nineteenth century, while the manager believed it had come out of a Sears catalogue. They settled on a value of thirty-five dollars. The Spandex lady left counting her money. Lopez showed his credentials and asked for Raney. The manager said Raney was on a call and would be out shortly. Lopez leaned over the glass counter.

“Go get him. Right now.”

The manager nodded fearfully and disappeared.

“You enjoy doing that, don’t you?” Russo said.

“Sometimes,” he admitted.

While they waited, Lopez appraised the vintage electric guitars adorning the wall behind the counter. It occurred to him that each instrument had been stolen or sold to pay off a debt. Without thieves or casinos, none of the guitars would have been there.

Raney materialized behind the counter. The pawn shop owner was as skinny as a refugee, his long greasy hair parted down the middle like a hippie, his arms and neck covered in erotic shunga tattoos from the Far East. He crossed his arms, defying them.

“What do you want?” Raney said.

“Look at me,” Lopez said.

Their eyes locked. Raney blinked first.

“You’re in a world of trouble,” he said.

“I run a clean operation. I haven’t had a problem in a long time.”

“You have a problem now. An informant said you’re dealing in stolen goods. We’re going to shut you down and inventory everything in your store.”

“What? That could take weeks.”

“Probably.”

“Can we talk about this?”

Pawn shops were required to confirm ownership of goods before they gave a customer a collateral-based loan. Raney’s quick retreat suggested his records were sketchy at best. His beady eyes took on a pleading look.

“That’s all up to you,” Lopez said.

“What do you want?”

“Three nights ago, an Asian woman came into your store, needing directions. You spoke with her. We want to know what was said.”

“That little cocktease from KLAX sent you, didn’t she?”

“Yes, she did. She said you tried to rape her.”

“Is she pressing charges?”

“That’s entirely up to you.”

“Is that the deal? If I talk about that night, this whole thing goes away?”

“Exactly. Are you going to play ball, or not?”

“Doesn’t sound like I have much of a choice.”

“That’s one way to look at it,” he said.

Some men hid their perversions; others put them on display for the world to see. Raney’s office was decorated with nude photographs of Asian girls in sexual poses with nothing left to the imagination. Two of the photos had cherry red frames. Had the circumstances been different he would have asked Raney the significance.

Sitting at a desk, the pawn shop owner struck a defiant pose. “I changed my mind. I want to call my lawyer.”

It was a typical scumbag move. Make a promise and immediately break it. Lopez removed handcuffs from his belt. “Put your wrists out,” he said.

“Wait, wait. Just testing the waters. Let’s talk.”

The cuffs hit the desk. “Tell us about the woman you spoke to that night.”

Raney shut his eyes, thinking hard. “Late thirties, plain-looking, flat chest. Not my type. Garish, the Paki who owns the gas station, brought her over. She had an address written down and said she was lost. I gave her instructions. That’s about it.”

“Did you recognize the address as Echo Chambers’s?”

“I may have, I don’t remember.”

“Did you know that Echo was murdered that night in her home?”

“I think I heard that.”

Raney was holding back for reasons that were not entirely clear. Russo sensed Lopez’s frustration and took over the questioning. “It’s important that you help us locate the woman you spoke to that night. Help us, and we’ll help you.”

“You didn’t say anything about finding someone. That wasn’t the deal.”

“The deal just changed. Look, pal, your wall art is giving me a bad feeling. These ladies look awfully young. Were they legal when they were photographed?”

Raney laughed under his breath. “Of course, they were legal. Do you think I’m stupid? Before I talk, I want to know something. Is there a reward involved?”

Sometimes the police offered rewards for unsolved homicides and advertised them on billboards across town. These rewards were put up by the victim’s family and were often substantial. Raney was holding back hoping to use his information to cash in.

“No, there isn’t. But you’ll have our undying gratitude,” Russo said.

“Meaning you’ll leave me alone.”

“Yes.”

“Okay, here’s the deal. Most people can’t tell Asians apart. If you live in the Far East long enough, you learn the differences. The woman with Garish had a strange accent. She wasn’t Chinese, and she wasn’t Vietnamese. I couldn’t figure out where she was from.”

Lopez wanted to kick himself. The worst thing an investigator could do was make assumptions. He’d assumed their Asian roulette cheats were Chinese because Cunningham had thought they were. But Raney had just blown up that theory.

“Are you sure she wasn’t Chinese?” he asked.

“Positive. I walked her to her car and gave her directions. I was trying to figure out her deal. She didn’t act like a tourist, so what was she doing here?”

“She made you suspicious.”

“Let’s say my curiosity got the better of me. As she got into her car, she started talking and I caught a few sentences. That’s when I knew.”

“Where was she from?”

“North Korea.”

Lopez shot a glance at Russo. They had just stepped on a land mine.

“Are you sure about this?” Lopez asked.

“As sure as I’m sitting here,” Raney said.

“The other two women in the car. Were they North Korean?”

“Yes, they were.”

Russo jumped in. “How do you know they weren’t South Korean? The languages are pretty similar, aren’t they?”

“Similar, but not the same,” Raney said.

“What’s the difference?”

“The languages are different because the countries have been separated for so long. South Koreans use English words and expressions because they watch a lot of American television. The North Koreans language is sprinkled with Russian because many of their TV shows come from there.”

“There’s no doubt in your mind,” Lopez asked, just to be sure.

“None whatsoever. Those ladies were from North Korea,” Raney said.

Lopez used his phone to pull up the surveillance video of the two Asian women cheating The Grand at roulette. He played the video and saw Raney nod.

“That’s definitely them,” the pawn shop owner said.

“How can you be so sure?” Lopez said.

“Easy. They’re wearing the same crummy clothes.”

38

They raced back to the Bailey Building. Russo matched his long strides as they hurried across the parking lot, their breath misting in the cold. At the academy, Lopez had been trained to recognize foreign and domestic terrorism in its many forms, but one hostile country was an enigma with its borders closed off to the rest of the world, and that was the Democratic People’s Republic of Korea, commonly known as North Korea.

Russo nervously shuffled his feet as they waited for the elevator. An FBI agent’s career was often defined by a single case. If the case went south, so did the agent’s career; if it ended in an arrest, the agent got a plaque and a promotion.

Russo swore under his breath. “Damn it. We forgot to take notes when we were interviewing Raney. Pressley will be furious with us.”

Lopez tapped his forehead. “Everything he said is up here.”

“Is your memory that good?”

“It’s photographic.”

“Mine’s not that great. Write it all down. Then, we’ll go see her.”

What Russo was asking was a breach of protocol that could land him in trouble. Lopez didn’t care; he wanted to solve this case as badly as Russo. Pressley was buried in a report when they entered her office thirty minutes later. She told them to sit.

“I was just reading your report on the Echo Chambers/Chastity Gamble murder investigation. It sounds like you’ve hit a wall,” she said.

Pressley’s voice was flat and emotionless. Lopez realized she was going to assign the case to another pair of agents.

“We just had a major breakthrough,” Russo said.

“Really. Explain.”

“A TV reporter gave Ray a tip last night. The night of Echo Chambers’s murder, three Asian women pulled into a gas station in Henderson asking for directions to Echo’s house. The driver was lost, and the station’s owner took her next door to a pawn shop whose owner was stationed in the Far East. We just met with the pawn shop owner. He confirmed it was the same women who scammed The Grand at roulette.”

“Nice work. Will the pawn shop owner be willing to testify in court?”

“I’m sure we can convince him to do that. Now, here’s the interesting part. The pawn shop owner walked the driver to her vehicle, and he heard the three women speaking to each other. He identified them as North Korean.”

Pressley grew in her chair. “Was the pawn shop owner sure about this?”

“Yes, he was. The North Korean language is filled with Russian expressions and words. He said he heard enough Russian coming out of their mouths to be certain.”

“Jesus Christ. Are they spies? Or terrorists?”

They had wrestled with this question before coming into Pressley’s office and had decided they didn’t have enough information to understand who they were dealing with.

“We think they’re here in some other capacity,” Lopez said. “They’re stealing millions of dollars but aren’t enjoying the fruits of their labor. We don’t know enough about North Korean operatives to understand their motivation.”

Pressley picked up the phone and punched in a number. “There are only a handful of people in the United States who understand how that crazy country works. And they all happen to work at our headquarters in Washington, D.C.”

There were dozens of terrorist organizations situated around the world. Some were tiny and poorly funded, while others boasted thousands of members and were state sponsored. Any of these groups had the capacity to disrupt governments and change the course of history if left unchecked. Since the events of 9/11, the FBI had made it a priority to monitor each of these organizations, and track their activity and whereabouts, as well as compile a rogue’s gallery of their membership. The goal was simple: stop the next foreign attack on American soil, or on our troops overseas.

Teams of FBI agents in Washington were assigned to spy on each organization. The team assigned to North Korea was directed by Special Agent Angie Clark, who got out of a meeting to take Pressley’s call. After a quick briefing, Clark suggested they all jump on Zoom to discuss the situation further. Pressley agreed, and a Zoom invitation appeared in her inbox moments after the call ended.

“That was fast,” Russo said.

“There are hot buttons in the counterterrorism department. North Korea is definitely one of them,” Pressley said.

Soon they were sharing a screen with Clark, an energetic lady who spoke in non-stop sentences with a delivery befitting an auctioneer. Lopez and Russo presented their evidence with Clark occasionally interrupting for clarification, or if a point didn’t make sense. When they were done, she took over the call.

“To start, let’s be clear about who you’re dealing with,” Clark said. “North Korea is the most restrictive country in the world when it comes to their citizenry. Those poor people aren’t allowed to move around their own country, much less leave. Anyone who attempts to cross the border and gets caught is shot on sight. Those lucky enough to make it across seek sanctuary, and the host country notifies the FBI so we can track their movements in case they’re double agents. My office has no knowledge of any defectors traveling to Las Vegas, which leads me to assume that this group you found is working for Room 39. Are you familiar with them?”

Pressley and Russo said no. Lopez had read an article online about Room 39, but he had no idea how accurate the story was, so he said no as well. On the screen, a photograph of a museum-sized building covered in red flags appeared.

“This is the Workers’ Party building in Pyongyang, North Korea,” Clark said. “Every major decision made in that country emanates from here. Kim Jong Un has a corner office on the third floor. Just down the hall are three offices that Kim has daily contact with. Room 35 runs intelligence, Room 38 handles finances, and Room 39 handles the foreign currency slush fund to pay for Kim’s lavish lifestyle.”

“That little guy has a slush fund?” Pressley said incredulously.

“He needs one. The embargo bankrupted his country, and he’s broke,” Clark said. “That’s where Room 39 comes into play. Room 39 agents slip into foreign countries posing as Chinese tourists and set up criminal enterprises. They have been caught counterfeiting, producing heroin, and committing insurance fraud. Everything is done in a big way to maximize profits. Now it appears they’re scamming casinos.”

“How big is big?” Pressley asked.

“Half a billion a year,” Clark said.

“That’s big.”

“These are not normal criminals you’re dealing with. Room 39 agents are brainwashed into worshiping Kim and his family and will do anything for them. Keep that in mind during your investigation.”

“The Room 39 agents we’re dealing with don’t appear to be keeping any of the money they steal,” Lopez said. “Is it safe to assume the money’s all being sent back to Kim?”

“That’s a safe assumption. Room 39 agents are paid an allowance that barely covers food and shelter. Everything else is sent to crypto accounts controlled by the government. We think Kim is preparing an exit strategy if he’s toppled from power.”

“Is that imminent?” Pressley asked.

“Things aren’t going well for Kim. The pandemic crippled the country’s economy and millions of people are starving. Kim is fearful of an uprising.”

“What kind of training do Room 39 agents go through?” Russo asked.

“Room 39 agents are trained by the Special Operation Force of the Korean People’s Army. Why do you ask?”

“They recruited two strippers to help with their scam. The strippers ripped them off, and the Room 39 agents murdered and beheaded them. Why would they do that?”

“Beheadings are a typical Room 39 procedure. Room 39 agents photograph their victims after they kill them and send the images to their handlers back in North Korea.”

“But why?”

“It’s called proof of death. A photograph of a corpse could be staged. A photo of a disembodied head leaves no doubt.”

“Don’t their handlers trust them?”

“Absolutely not. The North Koreans are inherently suspicious of each other. It’s part of their culture.”

“Sounds like they’re brainwashed,” Pressley said.

“From the day they come out of the womb,” Clark said. “When you arrest these folks, make sure your case is rock solid, and that you have enough evidence to put them in prison. Otherwise, the State Department will deport them, and they’ll be back in circulation before you know it.”

“Got it. Thanks for your help,” Pressley said.

“You are more than welcome. A word of caution is in order,” Clark said. “In January, a female Room 39 agent was apprehended while boarding a plane at Inchon International Airport in Seoul, South Korea. She stabbed two police officers in the face before being subdued. One of the officers lost an eye. The arresting report said she acted like a wild animal.”

“We’ll keep that mind when we bust them,” Pressley said.

“Be careful, and good luck,” Clark said.

39

Special Agent Clark ended the call, and the screen went dark. The investigation had changed. Their suspects were agents of a country engaged in hostile relations with the United States. If they were not apprehended, all of their careers would be hurt. No one knew this better than Pressley, who did not want to see her career trajectory taken off course. She spent a moment staring at Lopez and Russo before speaking.

“With the Chinese New Year ending this weekend there will be thousands of Asian tourists in town to celebrate. That is going to make apprehending the North Koreans much harder. Do you have a plan of attack?”

Lopez spoke first. “We’ve put the casinos on alert and plan to send them follow-up emails through SIN.”

“I’m afraid sending mass emails isn’t going to cut it. You need to go bigger.”

“What if I ask Billy Cunningham to help us run down the North Koreans.”

The corners of her mouth twisted into a frown. “I believe that you are aware that the gaming board has a problem with your relationship with Cunningham. But you still want to use him. Explain your reasoning.”

“There are forty cheating crews preying on the casinos in Vegas. Cunningham is on a first name basis with their captains. If I ask him, he’ll spread the word.”

“It takes a cheat to catch a cheat.”

“That was my thinking. Normally, cheats won’t turn on other cheats. This situation is different. Our suspects are murderers and will make life difficult for the other cheating crews. It would be in their best interest to help us.”

Pressley tapped her pencil on the desk. “Normally, I would say yes, but there is real hostility between the gaming board and this individual. The agents who visited me were not friendly. They accused you of tipping Cunningham off to their investigation.”

His face burned. “Why would I do that?”

“I have no earthly idea, Ray. Your résumé is spotless, and you have a terrific track record for a rookie agent. Sharing details of the gaming board’s investigation would be a career-ending move on your part. I’m sure you can appreciate the predicament this has put me in.”

Lopez shifted uncomfortably in his chair. Pressley was going to do whatever was best for the office’s reputation. Russo loudly cleared his throat.

“Would you like to say something?” Pressley said.

“I’ve dealt with plenty of gaming agents. They all have an axe to grind with the FBI. You shouldn’t listen to them,” Russo said.

“You’re saying that the gaming agents who visited me have an agenda.”

“That’s right. Most gaming agents are retired cops. They’ve taken the FBI exam at some point in their lives and failed. They’re washouts.”

“And you believe these claims stem from professional jealously.”

“I do. Ray caught the Glitter Twins in Reno, and he’s run down the North Koreans. He’s an MVP and they resent his success.”

“But the optics here are poor. Wouldn’t you agree?”

Russo shook his head. He was taking a stand and not backing down. “Gaming agents are incompetent. I heard a presentation from the gaming board where they claimed that for every cheat they caught, nine got away.”

“My, God. I had no idea.”

“They’re also unprofessional. The gaming board asked us for help. Now they’re blaming us because their investigation went sideways. That’s bush league.”

Pressley gazed out the window and gave it some thought. “All right. You may continue to use Cunningham as an informant. We need to find these people.”

Lopez and Russo rose from their chairs. She gave them a hard stare.

“Do not make me regret this,” she said.

Russo offered to buy him breakfast. They took the elevator to the first floor and went outside to where Cactus Jack’s Outlaw Grill food truck was parked. The sun had come out and it had started to warm up. Soon they were standing beside the building eating breakfast burritos and blowing steam off hot coffee.

“This case has the potential to change our careers. If we catch the North Koreans, I’ll get my transfer, and you’ll get to write your own ticket,” Russo said.

“Sounds good to me,” Lopez said.

“If we don’t catch them, we’re both screwed. I won’t get transferred, and you’ll stay a brick agent for another ten years. That’s not the future you want, is it?”

A brick agent was slang for a field agent, and the lowest paying job in the bureau. It was not the career trajectory Lopez aspired to, and he shook his head.

“I didn’t think so. So, here’s what I’m thinking. Billy Cunningham has been scamming for a long time. He couldn’t have lasted without having a network of people helping him. Crooked dealers, pit bosses on the take, dirty cops, you name it. I want this network to help us find the North Koreans.”

He didn’t think Billy would go that far, but he couldn’t tell Russo that.

“I’ll ask him,” he said.

“Tell him there’s an incentive if he helps us,” Russo said.

“What kind of incentive?”

“Ten thousand dollars cash. It’s coming out of my pocket.”

It was against bureau rules for agents to reward informants with money or gifts. Russo was risking his career. “Are you sure about this?” he asked.

“Damn sure. You can’t tell anyone what I’m doing.”

Lopez didn’t understand Russo’s motivation and shook his head. Russo explained. “Over the weekend, Elizabeth and I decided that it was time to clean Hank’s bedroom and go through his stuff. Elizabeth got hysterical and couldn’t stop crying. I took her to the emergency room, and she spent the night in the psychiatric ward.”

“I’m so sorry,” he said.

“Her doctor doesn’t want her returning to the house. He thinks it will trigger painful memories. We’ve decided it’s time to move on.”

“You’re moving?”

“Uh-huh. I listed the house with a real estate agent this morning. That’s why I was late for work. We’re staying with friends until we get resettled.”

Hank Russo had been an honor student and star football player. He’d injured his back lifting weights in the school gym and took pain pills given to him by a friend that were actually fentanyl. The pills stopped his heart, and his mother found him dead in bed. It happened every day in America, and parents were the collateral damage.

“Why use your own money as a reward?” he asked.

“If we crack this case, I get promoted and transferred which will let me and Elizabeth start our lives over. That’s worth ten grand to me.”

“Aren’t the casinos our best shot to find the North Koreans?”

“No. Every casino in town will be filled with Chinese gamblers this weekend. If a crew of Asian cheats gets busted, it might be taken the wrong way.”

“You mean a casino might let the North Koreans scam them, and let it slide.”

“If the loss isn’t too great. That’s why we need Cunningham’s help. Tell him there’s also something extra in it for him if he helps us.”

“What’s that?”

“A consideration.”

A consideration meant that Russo would put in a good word with the district attorney if Billy got busted and the case went to court. It could lead to reduced charges, or the charges being thrown out. It was like a gold-plated Get-Out-Of-Jail free card. In the year he’d worked in the Las Vegas office, he’d never heard of one being given.

They tossed their empty coffee cups into the trash. Lopez’s cell phone vibrated, and he pulled it out of his pocket. Speak of the devil, he thought.

“I’ll see you upstairs,” he said.

He waited until Russo was inside before calling Billy back.

“I’m at work. What’s up?” he said.

“We ran into your roulette cheats last night,” Billy said.

40

Foothills Tavern was a neighborhood watering hole that never closed. Lopez broke the speed limit getting there. His heart was pounding as he ordered a soda. The lunch crowd had yet to appear, and a handful of drunks were holding up the bar. He retreated to a corner table to wait. Five minutes later, Billy and Maggie made their entrance and took chairs at his table. A waitress took their drink order and left.

“Hey, partner,” Billy said.

“How did you find them?” he asked.

Maggie’s eyes twinkled. “Billy told me you were chasing a crew of female Asian cheats. They came into the Gold Rush last night and scammed the roulette game. The pit boss started to give them heat, so they cashed out. It’s a cool scam, filming the reflection above the wheel. Can’t say I’ve seen it before.”

“Why didn’t you call me?”

“I was afraid they’d be gone once you showed. So, I put Plan B into motion. They left the casino right as my shift ended, so I grabbed my coat from the dealer’s lounge and followed them.”

“They were on foot?”

“Yup. They took me straight to their hotel. I felt like I was in a spy movie.”

Lopez nearly spilled his soda. Everything in life happened for a reason. The reason that he’d connected with Billy and Maggie had just presented itself.

“Your bosses are going to love you,” Maggie said.

“What hotel are they staying at?”

“Not so fast. Billy and I have a business proposition for you.”

The words had a bad ring. Billy and Maggie had something hidden up their sleeves and it wasn’t a bouquet of feather flowers. Lopez drummed the table.

“Don’t get your knickers in a twist. You’re going to like this,” Maggie said. “Have you ever heard of a scam called the bomb?”

“No. Don’t tell me it uses explosives.”

Billy jumped in. “It’s the coolest blackjack scam ever invented, and that’s no bullshit. The name refers to the impact it has on a casino’s bottom line. My crew pulled it in Lake Tahoe and had a huge payday.”

Billy showed him a photograph on his cell phone of himself without any clothes on, swimming in stacks of hundred-dollar bills on a hotel room bed. The photo gave Lopez pause. The fact that Billy and his crew hadn’t been busted told him the scam was solid. His curiosity piqued, he said, “How does it work?”

“We have a source who can supply us with cards from any casino in Nevada. We create a distraction and switch all six decks at a blackjack game with our own cards. Our cards are stacked in a prearranged order and have secret markings on the backs that only we can see. We bleed the game all night long.”

“Boom! That’s the bomb,” Maggie said.

“What kind of distraction?” he said.

“In Lake Tahoe, I jumped on a craps table in a Superman costume, and started yelling, ‘I can fly!’” Billy said. “My crew did the switch on the other side of the casino. They used their bodies to block anyone on the floor.”

“What about the dealer? Didn’t he see it?”

“The dealer didn’t see a thing. He’s an unwitting accomplice.”

“This sounds too good to be true. How do I fit in?”

Billy put his elbows on the table. “Maggie is going to tell you which hotel the North Koreans are staying in. You and your FBI buddies will set up a sting and lure them into pulling their roulette scam at the hotel’s casino. It’s the perfect cover.”

“Does this casino have mirrors over its roulette wheel?”

“It does indeed. Maggie and I did a walk-through this morning.”

Lopez gave it some thought. “Let me make sure I’ve got this straight. While the North Koreans are in the casino doing their roulette scam, your crew will be in the casino doing the bomb.”

“Correct. Your job will be to tell the observer in the surveillance room to rotate the camera away from us, so we’re not filmed doing the switch. We’ll leave the reason up to you.”

What Billy was suggesting was not out of the question. His authority as an FBI agent would allow him to tell the observer in a surveillance room to watch a particular game, and the observer was expected to obey him. The only drawback was if the observer didn’t do as told, and they got caught. He felt himself shudder. His conscience said no. It was too much of a risk.

“Are you in?” Billy asked.

“I need to think about it.”

Maggie crossed her arms in front of her chest. “We need an answer now.”

“This is a big decision.”

She whispered in her boyfriend’s ear. Billy nodded and said, “I’m sorry, I failed to mention your cut. You’ll make four hundred thousand dollars for your part.”

Lopez nearly fell off his chair. His parents had worked their entire lives and retired with less money than that. Images of a new house filled his head, and so much more. It was life-altering money that would let him get his life back on track.

“You’re kidding me,” he said.

“I never kid about money. So, what’s your answer? Yea or nay?”

His conscience was screaming: Get up from the table and walk out of the bar. This was worse than stealing, it was a full-blown conspiracy, and he didn’t know how he’d be able to live with himself if he went through with it. But he stayed glued to his chair. He had gone to sleep last night feeling no remorse for any of the crimes he’d committed. The stealing hadn’t felt wrong, and he supposed it was because the casinos had stolen from him. It was his money he was stealing, not theirs.

Maggie looked concerned. “You seem conflicted, Ray. If you don’t want to do it, just say so, and we’ll be on our way.”

“I didn’t say that. I just—”

“Billy just offered you four hundred grand, and you’re teetering on the fence. Maybe this is too much, too soon.”

“I’m in,” he heard himself say.

“Are you sure about that?”

“Positive.”

“You don’t sound very enthusiastic.”

“I want this. You can count on me.”

Maggie looked ready to call the whole thing off. If that happened, their arrangement would end as well. He needed to show some love. Taking out his wallet, he removed a brown five-thousand-dollar chip and slid it across the table.

“Where did this come from?” she asked.

“It was in the bag with my money.”

“Billy was looking all over for it. We were short from the job the other night.”

“Well, you’re not short anymore.” He waited a beat and said, “You can count on me. I’ll make surveillance turn the camera while you do the bomb.”

Their expressions changed. He had won back their trust.

“The North Koreans are staying at Glee!” Maggie said. “I don’t know their room number, but I’m sure you can figure that out on your own.”

A waitress brought two glasses of wine to the table. They drank a toast to getting rich together. Lopez’s head was swimming. He was going to turn his life around and pay off his debts. It felt too good to be true.

“The bomb isn’t an easy scam to pull off. You need to rehearse with the crew,” Billy said.

“When do you have in mind,” he said.

“Right now.”

41

After Billy had learned about the gaming board’s operation to put him in jail, he’d told Cory and Morris to move the gambling equipment from the basement of their house to a commercial space in the Highland Industrial Park on the south side of town. Cory and Morris had done so, and it was here that they now drove to. Traffic was heavy, and Billy kept his eye on the rearview mirror as he drove, not wanting to lose Lopez during the drive.

“I changed my mind,” Maggie said, sucking on a menthol cigarette.

“About what?” Billy said.

“Ray’s the wrong fucking person for this job.”

“You don’t say.”

“I do. Emphatically.”

“That’s strange. I think he’s perfect.”

She flicked her cigarette out her open window. She was challenging him again. If they hadn’t been sleeping together, Billy would have said adios and kicked her off the crew. The sex had created an uncomfortable dynamic that wouldn’t go away.

“Do you want to hear why?” she asked impatiently.

Not really, he thought. “Go ahead,” he said instead.

“When we were at Foothills, I saw the outline of a crucifix under Ray’s shirt. He’s religious.”

“What does that have to do with the price of eggs?”

“Religious people have a conscience. That’s why he hesitated when you made the offer. A little voice in his head is telling him this is wrong.”

“But he came around and said yes.”

“He’s still thinking of bailing. Trust me.”

“Are you speaking from experience?”

“Uh-huh. Don’t you ever go to church?”

“I’m afraid of bursting into flames. How about you?”

“I go to confession every Sunday and spill my guts to a priest.”

Yet it hadn’t stopped her from stealing. Belief was a powerful thing, but it didn’t pay the bills. Billy needed to set his girlfriend straight and put this behind them.

“Did you read the gaming board’s report on me?”

She fired up another cigarette. “Of course, I read it.”

“There was a part about my recruiting casino employees. The gaming board said I’d corrupted dozens of dealers and pit bosses over the years.”

“What do you want, a medal?”

“A small trophy would be nice.”

“Fuck you. What’s your point?”

“They were way off in their estimate. The actual number is eighty-five. Not a single one ever went sideways on me.”

She stared at him. In her face was a look he’d never seen. An appreciation.

“How the hell did you do that, Billy?”

“I developed a pitch. My targets were female dealers, mid-thirties to early fifties, no wedding ring. I’d strike up a conversation and talk about my kids. If my dealer started talking about her kids, I knew I had a live one.”

“You’ve lost me.”

“Middle-aged, no hubby, raising kids on a dealer’s salary, she’s got money problems. I offered her five hundred bucks to listen to a business proposition when her shift ended. Over coffee, I’d persuade her to cheat her table. Her take was twenty grand. These ladies had never broken a law in their lives. Many were religious. Guess what?”

“They always said yes.”

“Yes, ma’am. I’m sure some of them had second thoughts about it. Most ethical people would. But in the end, they came around.”

“And you think Ray Lopez will pull through for us.”

“I’d be willing to bet on it.”

“What’s your wager?”

He told her. Maggie laughed out loud.

“You’re on,” she said.

Billy punched a code into the security gate and drove into the industrial park. Lopez was right behind him. They parked in adjacent spaces and got out. There was a bounce to Lopez’s step as he walked up the front path, and Billy guessed the FBI agent was already thinking of ways to spend his newfound fortune. Whoever had said that money didn’t buy happiness had probably never had any.

The crew had already arrived. Misty, Pepper, and Morris sat at the blackjack table, along with his friend Bobbi from Reno — who’d driven down in her brand-new Prius and was standing in for Gabe — and two Vietnamese hustlers he’d worked with before, Hung and his girlfriend Lilly Ann. For the bomb to work, all seven seats at the table had to be occupied. Hustlers called this locking up a table. That was why Bobbi, Hung, and Lilly Ann had been recruited for the bomb. Maggie got behind the table and went over their roles.

“The bomb is a team play,” she explained. “Billy is the captain. He stands next to the table and gives the signals. I’m the mechanic. I do the switch with Pepper and Misty, who also handle the cleanup. Ray is the shade and will get surveillance to pull the camera off the table. The rest of you do the take-off and steal the money.”

Like all good scams, the mechanics were simple. The devil was in the details. Billy stood beside Maggie and studied their faces like a general preparing for battle.

“Any questions?” Billy asked.

“How long does the camera need to be off the table?” Lopez asked.

“Fifteen seconds at least. Maybe longer.”

“You don’t know how much time you need?”

“This baby has a lot of moving parts. It only works right before a shift change. You know what that is, don’t you?”

“It’s when a new group of dealers replaces the old group.”

“Exactly. We take advantage of the confusion and perform the switch. I want you to time us. However long we take, that’s how long you’ll need to keep the camera off the table. Everybody ready?”

The crew said they were ready. Lopez opened the stopwatch app on his cell phone and put his forefinger on the start button.

“Say when,” the FBI agent said.

The bomb was a thing of beauty, so devilishly simple in its construction that it was impossible not to marvel at it. Every action was thought out, with nothing left to chance. There was no reason to believe they would encounter problems come Saturday night. On the first run, it took the crew twenty-one seconds to cleanly make the switch.

“Too slow. Let’s do it again,” Billy said.

They kept rehearsing, shaving seconds along the way. Billy kept his eye on Lopez. Despite what Maggie had said, Lopez didn’t appear to be having second thoughts, and was interacting well with the rest of the crew.

After an hour, they got their time down to fifteen seconds, the crew operating like a well-oiled machine. By no means was the bomb invisible. If a surveillance camera was watching the table, the scam would be exposed, and trouble would follow. That was why Lopez’s role of making the observer divert the camera was so important.

“That was perfect,” Billy said.

They went over the signals. Billy would run his hand through his hair to signal when it was time for Lopez to call surveillance. Lopez would scratch his chin when the surveillance camera was diverted. If Lopez failed to get the observer to divert the camera, he would scratch his nose, and the play would be called off.

The practice session ended, and the party broke up. The next time they did the bomb, it would be for real. Thinking about it got Billy excited, and he knew he would have trouble sleeping tonight. The casinos had ruined his family; every time he paid them back made him happier than a kid on Christmas day.

Billy turned off the lights and locked up. He found Lopez waiting for him in the parking lot. The FBI agent’s face showed concern.

“Something’s bothering me,” Lopez said.

“Better get it off your chest now,” Billy said.

“The casinos train their employees to be on the lookout for marked card scams. If a blackjack player makes suspicious plays, the casino will check the cards. How do you guard against that?”

Billy grinned. “We establish a threshold of pain for the casino and bleed the game slowly. No single player wins over the threshold, and the casino doesn’t realize they got whacked until it’s too late.”

“What’s the threshold at Glee!?”

“Fifty thousand.”

“And no one on the team wins over that?”

“Correct.”

“The math doesn’t add up.”

“I’m not following you.”

“With seven members of the crew, that puts your win at under four hundred thousand, which is less than what you promised me.”

“Let me rephrase that. No member wins over fifty thousand at one time. Each member will come back during the night in a disguise and win another fifty. That’s how we can afford to pay you. By the time Glee! realizes the loss, our crew will be gone.”

“Got it. See you Saturday night.”

Maggie sat in the Cherokee. She’d heard the whole conversation. As Billy backed out, she grabbed his arm, and dug her nails in.

“Do you really want to work with this fucking guy?” she said.

42

Leaving the Highlands Industrial Park, Lopez called Russo. Russo had a lot riding on arresting the North Koreans, and it was only fair that he be brought up to speed. He left a message in voicemail, and a minute later got a text. Russo had gone to the hospital to be with Elizabeth, who’d had a relapse. He felt bad for his friend. Russo had put in thirty years and deserved a better future than he was now facing.

He drove to Glee! and handed his car over to the valet. Glee! was the size of a small city and billed itself as the most technologically advanced hotel in the world. The property could hold ten thousand guests and consisted of two massive, curved steel towers adjoined at the center that looked like the set of a science fiction movie.

The lobby was mobbed with guests, including many Asians. Finding the North Koreans was going to be a challenge. He had an idea and called Billy. “Ask Maggie if she remembers what time the North Koreans walked into Glee! last night.”

“Ask her yourself. She’s right here,” Billy said.

Maggie came on. “My shift ended at midnight. The walk took fifteen minutes. Hold on. Billy just reminded me that I called him. He’s checking his phone.”

Billy came on. “According to my cell phone, Maggie called me at twelve-seventeen. That’s when the North Koreans walked into Glee!.”

“Much obliged,” he said.

He showed his credentials to a reservationist and was taken to the sales department. The general manager flew out of his chair.

“Is something wrong?” the general manager asked.

“I need to identify a pair of Asian women who entered your property last night. They may be guests.”

“Your best bet is Milky, our director of surveillance. Milky can help you.”

The name sounded familiar. “Is he here now?”

“He is. I’ll take you to him.”

They took an elevator to the basement. During the ride, the general manager bragged about the property like it was his first born. Glee! was state of the art in every regard. Part of that expense had gone to running fiber optic cable throughout the casino. When it came to catching cheats, Glee! was second to none. The surveillance room was spacious and brightly lit, the walls painted in earth tones. The observers bantered pleasantly while watching a wall of monitors. Milky was a tall Black guy with a broad smile. On his desk several monitors displayed live feeds from the casino.

The general manager made the introductions.

“You’re Ray Lopez, the baseball player,” Milky said.

The name finally clicked. “You played basketball at UNLV, power forward.”

“Good memory. How do you like being with the FBI?”

“There’s never a dull moment. I’m trying to run down two ladies that came into your hotel this morning at twelve-seventeen. They were on foot.”

“I’d be happy to take a look.” Milky typed on a computer keyboard. “The property has two entrances which they could have accessed. Did they come in from the Strip?”

“That’s what my source told me.”

“I’ll pull up the surveillance video from the main entrance and see if we can spot them. May I ask what your interest is with these ladies?”

The FBI prohibited its agents from sharing information about active cases. But Milky had an air of trustworthiness and he decided to confide in him. “They’re roulette cheats from North Korea who have stolen millions and murdered two people.”

“And you think they’re guests of our hotel?”

“That’s right.”

“Then I really need to find them.”

Milky had helped design Glee!’s surveillance operation, which he described as he retrieved the video. Eleven hundred cameras dotted the casino. These were a mix of high-definition digital cameras and analog pan/tilt/zoom cameras which didn’t have the lag shared by digital cameras. The casino also had fifty cameras that took 360-degree images, which made it easier to track a specific person.

“Here we go,” Milky said.

A surveillance video of the hotel’s main entrance played on a monitor. Casinos did most of their business at night, and scores of people flowed past. He spotted two of their suspects standing by the entrance, puffing on cigarettes.

“That’s them,” he said.

A third North Korean woman appeared, carrying a handbag. Lopez guessed the video camera used to film the mirror on the ceiling was inside the handbag.

The ladies ground out their cigarettes and went inside.

“Let’s see where they go,” Milky said.

A new video came on the monitor. The ladies strolled to a bank of elevators where a plastic card was used to gain entry. The elevator door shut behind them.

“They’re staying in a Sky Suite. Let’s see which floor they’re on,” Milky said.

A new video appeared, taken from a camera fixed on the Sky Suite elevator bank. Milky zoomed in on the LED display. The elevator climbed to the twenty-eighth floor.

“Now let’s find their suite,” Milky said.

“How the heck do you do that?”

“We can track a guest from when they enter the hotel until they reach their room.”

“That’s impressive.”

“Thanks, man.”

The ladies exited the elevator and walked down a gold carpeted hallway. They entered a suite, leaving the picture.

“Count the light fixtures in the ceiling until you reach their suite,” Milky said.

His eyes narrowed. “Four. The fourth is outside the door to their suite.”

“Every light fixture in our hotel has a camera. We installed them in case a guest gets robbed, which has happened to several poker players carrying large bankrolls.”

Milky brought up a video taken from a camera inside a light fixture. The ladies went into a suite, and the door shut behind them. “Your suspects are staying in Sky Suite # 2846. Would you like guest services to pull up their info?”

“Please,” he said.

The suite was registered to a guest named Albert Chau. Chau had checked in two weeks ago and was departing on Sunday. His profile said he was a businessman from Hong Kong. Chau was a whale. Before arriving, he’d wired two million dollars to Glee! from an overseas bank, which the casino had deposited in an account bearing his name. This money had earned him a variety of perks, including a comped suite, free meals in the hotel restaurants, and show tickets. Accompanying him were three female guests. Ming, Li, and Chen. Chau was smart, but he wasn’t that smart. Having his crew stay in his suite would make the FBI’s job easier when they busted them.

“What do these notations in Chau’s profile mean?”

“Those are ratings from the casino,” Milky said. “Chau and his lady friends lost sixty thousand playing blackjack. They also lost a hundred thousand at roulette.”

“Next to their names are the letters GP. What does that mean?”

“Good players.”

“Is that because they’ve lost?”

“That’s right. If they lose, we love them. If they win, we try to get it back.”

Lopez stifled the urge to ask if Glee! got players drunk and fleeced them.

“You said that these people are roulette cheats, correct?” Milky asked.

“That’s right.”

“Then these losses are a smoke screen. Crews of cheats will lose to convince management that they’re suckers. Then they go for the kill. It’s called splashing.”

Milky got paid to catch cheats and knew how they thought. It gave Lopez an idea, and he said, “If you were Chau, when would you go for the big score?”

“Saturday night. It’s the last day of the Chinese New Year, and the casino will be packed. When Chau’s crew starts scamming, the losses won’t be as noticeable. If he’s smart, he may have reserved seats at our roulette table.”

“You let gamblers reserve seats?”

“We let whales reserve seats. Let me call the casino and check.” Milky called the floor manager. Hanging up, he said, “I was right. Chau has reserved two seats at roulette on Saturday night. That’s when he plans to fleece us.”

“Not if the FBI has anything to say about it.”

“Would you like our security guards to help you bust them?”

If Glee!’s security got involved Saturday night, they might spot Billy’s crew doing the bomb. He couldn’t let that happen, and said, “The FBI needs to handle this.”

“It’s your rodeo. I’m going to place Chau and his ladies on special ops. We’ll follow them whenever they leave their suite. You can watch on your cell phone.”

“You can really do that?”

Milky smiled like a cat that’s just eaten a canary.

“I’ll text you a link when we’re live,” the director of surveillance said.

Lopez went to a bar inside the casino and ordered a soda. Everything was falling into place, like it was meant to be. It hadn’t always been like that. For as long as he could remember, the world had seemed stacked against him. He’d finally drawn a good card after so many busted hands. Milky texted him a link and password. He clicked on the link and typed in the word CHEATER. A live feed from outside Chau’s suite filled the screen. Room service was delivering a late lunch. As the meal cart was wheeled into the suite, he spied a slender Asian man lounging on a couch. Drink in one hand, a cigarette in the other. This had to be Alan Chau, the crew’s captain.

Gotcha, he thought.

43

FBI agents were trained voyeurs. Bugging, prying, wiretapping, and looking in windows were all part of the job description. Leaving Glee!’s valet area, Lopez drove to the Bailey Building with his cell phone stuck in the cup holder, watching the live feed from outside Chau’s suite. It was a whole new level of surveillance. Minutes before, the three ladies in Chau’s crew had taken an elevator ride for a session at the hotel spa. He’d watched their journey every step of the way.

He entered the building holding his cell phone to his face like a dopey teenager at the mall. He didn’t lower his arm until he was outside Russo’s office. The door was ajar, and he stuck his head in. Russo was on the phone with his real estate agent.

“I’ll be off in a minute.”

“How’s your wife?”

“Much better. Thanks for asking.”

“I found the North Koreans.”

“What?”

He held his cell phone up to Russo’s face. “They’re staying at Glee!. This is a live feed from the spa. The director of surveillance is spying on them for me.”

Russo ended the call and came around the desk, grabbing the cell phone out of Lopez’s hand. “Holy crap, is that really them?”

“It sure is.”

The ladies were getting manicures. One had red scratch marks on her wrists. Put there by Echo or Chastity as they died, Lopez guessed.

“The crew’s mastermind is registered under the name Albert Chau and is posing as a businessman,” he said. “His three accomplices are sharing the suite with him.”

“They’re staying there together?”

“Yes, sir. They’ve been gambling in Glee!’s casino and have lost a lot of money. The director of surveillance showed me the numbers. He thinks it’s a smokescreen.”

“Of course, it’s a smokescreen. They’re pretending to be Iggys.”

“What’s that?”

“Ignorant tourists.”

“The director of surveillance thinks they’re going to pull their roulette scam Saturday night. Chau reserved two chairs at the roulette table at eleven-thirty P.M. It’s the last day of the Chinese New Year celebration, and there will be a lot of money on the tables. The theft won’t look as noticeable.”

“Do you agree with his assessment?”

“He’s a sharp guy. I think he’s right.”

“That gives us forty-eight hours to set up a sting. Let’s go talk to Pressley. She needs to hear this.”

Pressley was on a conference call and kept them waiting in the reception area. Her old secretary was history, replaced by a young lady with a silver nose ring and thunderbolts on her fingernails. Her days were clearly numbered.

Lopez sent Russo the link. Together, they watched Alan Chau leave his suite and fill an ice bucket from a machine in the hall.

“Is this all being recorded?” Russo asked.

“It sure is. We’ll have a digital library of every step they make.”

Her call over, Pressley ushered them into her office. “Playing video games on your phones?” she asked sarcastically.

Russo showed her the feed. “Ray found the North Koreans.”

Pressley was a hard person to impress. This was one of those special times and she squeezed Lopez’s arm. Soon, she was watching the live feed on her laptop while nodding approvingly. Busting the North Koreans would make national headlines and raise the office’s profile. Lopez sat in his chair and tried not to smile. Breaking the case would erase any doubts Pressley might be harboring about his trustworthiness.

“Tell me what you need, and I’ll sign off on it,” she said.

“We want to apprehend the North Koreans on Saturday night inside Glee!’s casino. I need ten more agents for the bust,” Russo said.

“Consider it done. I’ll find the funds in the budget.”

“The bust will pay for itself,” Lopez said.

“How so?”

“Chau wired two million dollars from a Hong Kong bank to Glee!. We can tell the casino to hold it for us.”

“Good thinking. Now, tell me something, Ray. How did you manage to find our suspects so quickly?”

Pressley was staring at him like a drill sergeant. He had found the proverbial needle in the haystack, and she wanted to know how he’d done it. More importantly, she wanted to know if he’d done everything by the book. If he’d broken any laws during his investigation, she’d pull him off the case, and assign a senior agent to work with Russo. That way, there was no chance of the case being thrown out of court. He took a deep breath. He had worked on his story that morning during the drive in. It bore a close resemblance to the truth, and hopefully would pass muster.

“I asked Billy Cunningham to spread the word about the North Koreans, which he did,” he said. “One of the people Cunningham told is a blackjack dealer at The Gold Rush named Maggie Flynn.”

“Should I assume Ms. Flynn is a cheat?”

“That would be a safe assumption.”

“How did she get a job as a dealer?”

“I asked Cunningham that question. When the casinos opened after the lockdown, there was a shortage of dealers. Flynn used a false ID and slipped under the radar.”

“Why would Flynn be willing to help the FBI?”

“I told Cunningham there was a reward for the North Koreans’ capture. He relayed this information to Flynn.”

“You dangled a carrot in front of their faces.”

“That’s right.”

Pressley began writing on a legal pad. “Please proceed.”

“Cunningham called me this morning. He requested a meeting. I went to a bar called The Foothills Tavern and met with him and Flynn.”

“Was this your first meeting with Flynn?”

“Yes.”

“Describe her.”

“Mid-thirties, five-six, brunette, attractive.”

She wrote this down as well. “Go on.”

“Flynn spotted our suspects the night before, as her shift was ending. She tailed them to Glee! then called Cunningham. Based upon the time of her call, I determined our suspects arrived at Glee! at 12:17 am. I drove to Glee! and met with the GM. The GM introduced me to the director of surveillance.”

“What is the DOS’s name?”

“Milky. He played basketball at UNLV; I played baseball. We knew each other by reputation and hit it off.”

“You were both jocks at the same college.”

“That’s right.”

She added this information to her pad. “Proceed.”

“Glee! has two street entrances. Milky found a surveillance video of our suspects and traced them to their suite. Once I had the suite number, the rest was easy.”

“Was everything done by the book? No coercion or threats?”

“None whatsoever.”

“There will be no blowback from Glee! as to how you got this information.”

“There shouldn’t be.”

“When you write up your report, including everything you just told me. Be sure to explain in detail Maggie Flynn’s relationship with Billy Cunningham, and how she came to help you. Do not leave anything out. Is that clear, Special Agent Lopez?”

Her voice was emotionless. Something was clearly bothering her.

“Yes, ma’am.”

She tossed her pen onto the desk. “While you were waiting in the reception area, I was on a call with my bosses in Washington. The Gaming Board has filed a formal complaint against this office. They are accusing you of leaking sensitive information, and they’re accusing me of covering it up.”

“That’s nonsense.”

“My bosses feel the same way. It’s a baseless allegation that isn’t worthy of the paper it’s written on. But that doesn’t mean my bosses won’t be scrutinizing us. They’re paranoid about this sort of thing.”

“Understood.”

“Moving forward, I want you to behave like a choir boy. It that clear?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Good. Now, let’s nail these bastards.”

The meeting was over. Lopez’s face was burning, and he hoped Pressley didn’t notice and jump to the wrong conclusion. He and Russo rode an elevator to their floor.

“You don’t look good. Are you okay?” Russo asked.

No, he wasn’t okay. He was in the gaming board’s crosshairs; if Saturday night didn’t go as planned, his career in the FBI would be over, and he’d go to prison. The risk was suddenly too great. He needed to come to his senses before it was too late.

“It must have been something I ate,” he said.

44

They ate at the kitchen table, and Lezli told him about her day. The FBI forbade its agents from discussing active cases with family members, which made dinner talk one-sided. She talked about the boy in her class who found a rattlesnake in his backyard and brought it to school in his lunch box, not knowing it was deadly poisonous.

“Did he get in trouble?” Lopez asked.

“Little guy’s only seven. I turned it into a learning moment. So how is your show going with the Hollywood people? You were out awfully late last night.”

“It’s going.”

“Meaning what?”

He’d been waiting for the right time to break the bad news, and he supposed now was better than later. “Jonathon isn’t sure he can sell the show to one of the networks or streaming platforms. He may pull the plug on the project.”

“Will you still get paid the hundred thousand dollars they promised you?”

He shook his head and saw her frown.

“Then how are we going to pay off your gambling debts?”

“I honestly don’t know. Look, the show isn’t dead. There just isn’t as much enthusiasm in Hollywood as Jonathon thought there would be.”

“When will you know for sure?”

“We’re supposed to talk again tonight.”

Lezli looked crushed. She finished eating and disappeared into another part of the house. He had hurt her — with his gambling and his lies — and he needed to make things right. He found her sitting on the floor grading papers in front of the TV.

“Do you want to talk?” he asked.

“Not right now,” she said.

He supposed it was better than having a fight. He took a seat on the couch and sorted through the day’s mail. Bills, bills, and more bills. A postcard from a real estate agent they’d worked with caught his eye. Her name was Tami Dill, and she had a new listing that fit their needs. The seller had gotten himself into a bad situation and needed to sell. Let his bad luck be your new beginning, she’d written on the card.

His curiosity had been piqued, and he used his phone to get on the real estate agent’s website to see if the property was listed. It was the first house to pop up. A desert contemporary style home inside a gated community. Close to A-rated schools, community parks, and plenty of everyday conveniences. It had three spacious bedrooms, two full bathrooms, and was the perfect house to start a family in. He scrolled down and found the asking price. A lump formed in his throat. Four hundred grand. The same amount that Billy would pay him to scam Glee!. He glanced at Lezli. She wasn’t making eye contact, and he could feel her pulling away from him. The only person that could save their relationship was him. Without risk, there was no reward. He went outside and called the number on the postcard. Dill answered on the first ring.

“Hello, Tami, this is Ray Lopez. I’m responding to a postcard you sent me.”

“Good evening, Ray,” she said cheerfully. “I take it you like the house.”

“It’s spectacular. I was a little curious. Why is it priced so low?”

“The seller is in a bind and needs to move the house quickly.”

“A distress sale.”

“That’s a polite way to put it. He got arrested and needs to pay his lawyers.”

“What did he do?”

“I’m not at liberty to say.”

“I believe that’s something you legally need to disclose.”

“Are you a lawyer, Mr. Lopez?”

“I’m in law enforcement.”

“I see. Why do I legally need to disclose that information?”

“Because I don’t want to find a brick of cocaine stuffed in the wall during a renovation.”

“Got it. The seller is a financial planner. He got caught embezzling over a million dollars of his clients’ money. He told me that he’d been doing it for twenty years and it finally caught up to him.”

“He confessed to you?”

“In a manner of speaking, yes. He used the money to pay for the house and put his son through medical school and a bunch of other stuff. He wasn’t…”

“Ashamed?”

“Not at all. I guess you could say that crime does pay. Although I’m sure you have a different opinion.” She paused and then tried to close him. “It’s a gorgeous property. It won’t be on the market for long. Would you like a tour?”

He stared at the photograph on the postcard. It was time to make a decision. Neither of his choices were good. But one was better than the other.

“Yes, I’d like a tour,” he said.

He went inside to find Lezli in the bedroom packing a suitcase. For a fleeting instant he thought she was bailing. Then he remembered her childhood friend was having a shower this weekend in San Diego that she was going to attend.

“Running away from home?” he said.

She snapped the suitcase shut and sat on the edge of the bed. “I’m going to drive straight from work tomorrow. Can you last a whole weekend without me?”

“It will be hard, but I’ll try.”

She looked tired and very sad. It was upsetting to see her so down. The night before they’d tied the knot, his father had passed along some sage advice. He had told his son to end every day on a high note with his wife. That way, neither of them would fall asleep in a bad mood. Today needed to end on a high note. He needed to remind Lezli that she was the most important person in his life. On his own, he was capable of only so much; with her by his side, the sky was the limit.

“Guess what?” he said.

She shook her head. She was in no mood to play games.

“I talked with Jonathon. We have a buyer. Our ship came in.”

It took a moment for the words to sink in.

“Really? I thought you said there was no interest.”

“Jonathon had lunch with a foreign investor that he’s worked with before. The guy loved the idea and is signing on. We’re home free.”

“They’re going to pay you the hundred thousand?”

“More. This investor is all in.”

“I don’t mean to sound greedy, but when will you see the money? The wolves are knocking on our door.”

“The contracts are being worked up. I’ll have the money by next week.”

“That soon?”

“Yup.”

“Fairy tales do come true.”

“When you get back, I’d like for us to take a tour of a house that just came on the market.”

Her face lit up. “You found a house?”

“Yes, and it has our names written all over it.”

She jumped off the bed and threw her arms around him. He could not remember ever seeing her so happy. They kissed, and it dispelled the lingering notion that she might leave him. Of all his fears, being alone was his greatest.

“I’m so proud of you,” she said.

Tears streamed down her face. She’d go to bed happy tonight, and so would he. The day had been salvaged.

45

Friday, one day before the heist

Las Vegas was a magnet for thievery. Having so much money concentrated in one place made it a natural target for criminals. The city was protected by multiple law enforcement agencies, including the Metro LVPD, the Gaming Board, and the FBI. The FBI had the most power and could enter any casino and arrest an employee or customer.

On Friday morning, the ten additional field agents joined Lopez and Russo in a conference room on the third floor. Hanging on the walls were photographs of their suspects with their names, along with a description of their roles in the crew.

“Store these photos in your cell phones,” Russo said. “Glee!’s casino will be filled with Asian gamblers Saturday night, and we don’t want to arrest a tourist.”

Lopez stored the information in his memory instead. Ming & Chen/Take Off; Li/Camera Lady; Alan Chau/Captain.

Russo gave out the assignments. There were three teams, A, B, and C. Each team would work an eight-hour shift that aligned with Glee!’s shifts. Day, night, and graveyard. Although the bust wasn’t until Saturday night, Chau and his crew needed to be watched, in case they checked out early. If that happened, the team on duty would arrest them for being in the country illegally. But that wasn’t the goal. They wanted to arrest Chau and his crew while pulling their roulette scam. The crime would carry greater consequences, and the chance of them being deported would be diminished.

Team A consisted of Russo, Lopez, plus a pair of veterans named Kaplan and Torgove. Team B were also veterans — Goza, Collins, Golden, and Lerner. Team C were four agents who specialized in undercover work.

Russo gave out the assignments. Team A had the day shift, Team B the night shift, Team C the graveyard shift. All three teams would be present Saturday night.

“I know what you’re thinking,” Russo said. “Why use a small army to arrest four people? Simple answer. These aren’t ordinary criminals. They’re agents of a foreign country and well-trained. They’re also dangerous and will probably be armed. We’re leaving nothing to chance. Any questions?”

Goza raised his hand. “Is the gaming board involved in the bust?”

“We’re leaving them out.”

“What about the Metro LVPD?”

“Them too. This is our baby.”

Lopez hid a smile; the less cops that were there Saturday night, the less chance of Billy and his crew getting caught. Russo sent them the link to Glee!’s surveillance. Soon everyone was on their cell phones watching Chau and his crew lounging at Glee!’s pool. Their suspects were thin and malnourished, a consequence of living under a brutal regime.

The food wouldn’t be any better where they were going, Lopez thought.

The meeting ended. Lopez, Russo, Kaplan, and Torgove drove to Glee! and entered through a back door. Milky was in the surveillance room to greet them. He’d gotten dressed up and wore a paisley necktie and a sporty blue blazer. “It’s not every day that we get to help the FBI capture dangerous criminals,” Milky said.

Four desks had been placed near the coffee maker for their use. The team settled in and ate rolls Milky had ordered from the hotel bakery.

“I could get used to this,” Russo said.

The main wall had two dozen monitors; one was reserved for Chau and his crew. It was easier than watching on their cell phones, the picture sharp and clear. At noon, Chau and his crew came inside. The feed switched to the interior of a seafood restaurant where they gorged themselves on lobster rolls and shrimp.

“They’re running up some bill,” Russo said.

“Everything is comped,” Lopez reminded him.

“Let’s case their suite and see what’s lying around. There might be enough evidence to bring charges. It could save us a lot of trouble.”

Lopez started to panic. If they arrested the North Koreans now, Billy and his crew couldn’t pull the bomb Saturday night. He couldn’t let that happen and said, “There may be motion detectors in Chau’s suite. We could blow our cover.”

“Good point. Tell guest services to send a chambermaid, and see what happens,” Russo said. “Ask your buddy to make the call, will you?”

His argument had hit a wall. Milky was at his desk. The director of surveillance had overheard their conversation and put a call into housekeeping.

“A chambermaid is on her way,” Milky said.

Lopez edged up to the main wall to watch. One monitor showed the hallway outside Chau’s suite; a second monitor showed the seafood restaurant. A chambermaid appeared outside Chau’s suite, her feet dancing to music coming out of an MP3 player. She knocked on the door. Not getting an answer, she entered using a master key.

In the restaurant, Chau’s party were eating ice cream Sundaes. Chau took out his cell phone and looked at it. He hurried out of the restaurant with his crew on his heels.

“We’ve got a problem,” Lopez called out.

“I’m on it,” Milky said.

Milky switched feeds. Chau and his crew ran to the Sky Suite elevators and piled into a waiting car. The doors closed.

“They’re going upstairs. Can you alert the chambermaid?” he said.

Milky called housekeeping. “They’ve got me on hold.”

Russo got beside him. “You were right. Chau put motion detectors in his suite.”

“Should we call security?” he said.

“That would blow their cover. Let’s see what happens.”

The feed switched to Chau’s floor. The cheats rushed out of the elevator. One of the women had a serrated knife from the restaurant. The chambermaid had finished turning down the beds and was back in the hall. Chau and his crew swarmed around her like angry bees. Chau wagged a finger in the chambermaid’s face and asked her a question. She answered, oblivious to the mortal danger she was in.

One of the women entered the suite. Moments later, she returned and gave Chau the okay sign. Chau apologized and gave a short bow at the waist. The chambermaid pushed her cart down the hall and started dancing again.

Lopez realized that he’d broken into a cold sweat. So many things could go wrong between now and Saturday night, and he wondered if he could last that long without losing his shit.

The rest of the afternoon passed uneventfully. Chau and company returned to the restaurant, ordered fresh ice cream sundaes, and did a little gambling. They lost twenty thousand dollars at roulette and blackjack before retiring to their suite. Their play was sloppy and further reinforced their status as Iggys. At four P.M. the day shift ended, and Team B took over. Lopez introduced the agents to Milky and showed them how to use the coffee maker. Russo accompanied him on his walk to the parking lot.

“Is everything okay? You were sweating earlier,” Russo said.

Russo had eyes in the back of his head and didn’t miss a thing.

“I’m a little nervous. How many big busts have you been on?” Lopez asked.

Russo pretended to count on his fingers. “Over a hundred.”

“That’s impressive. This is my first. Any advice you’d care to share?”

“I didn’t know you were a virgin. Eat a big meal tonight and get plenty of rest.”

“It that all it takes?”

“Works for me. Try to eat some pasta. The carbs will help you sleep.”

“I’ll try that. See you tomorrow.”

He watched Russo drive away and got into his car. He was a nervous wreck, and he reminded himself that by tomorrow night, Chau and his murderous accomplices would be under arrest, Billy and his crew would have stolen several million dollars of Glee!’s money, and his problems would be solved. As he fired up the ignition, he got a text from Billy, which he found unusual. Normally, Billy called.

We have a problem, the text read.

He replied, asking what the problem was.

Maggie wants you gone.

Lopez punched the wheel in anger and pulled out of the lot.

45

Las Vegas was the marriage capital of the world. Getting hitched was as easy as placing a ten-dollar wager, and there were stand-alone chapels on nearly every corner. The most unexpected was inside Denny’s on Fremont Street.

Like everything on the menu, the wedding package was a real bargain. For two hundred bucks, a couple got two Grand Slam breakfasts, a bouquet of silk flowers, a cake, use of the chapel, and a champagne toast. The sign by the entrance got it just right. Happily Ever After. With a side of pancakes.

It was an intimate space. The bride and groom stood at the chapel, waiting for the officiator to get the show on the road. The bride wore a pale white dress that barely fit her, the groom a rented tux. Billy found a seat on a vinyl banquette and made himself comfortable. Just as the ceremony was about to start, Lopez appeared beside him.

“What do you mean, Maggie wants me gone?” the FBI agent whispered.

“We’ll talk when the ceremony is over,” Billy whispered back.

“Am I out?”

“No. That’s my decision.”

Lopez calmed down. “Strange place for a meeting.”

“Two gaming agents were parked outside my building. I had to lose them. Besides, I know the groom. He’s a trainer at my gym.”

“You sure they were gaming agents?”

“They weren’t the Boy Scouts of America.”

An Elvis impersonator wearing a white sequined jump suit entered the chapel and warmly greeted the bride and groom. The King was going to officiate, and Billy laughed to himself. You saw something new in this crazy town every day. The ceremony was short and sweet. Till death do us part, blah, blah, blah. The groom kissed the bride like he meant it, and the King broke into “Can’t Help Falling in Love” while the guests lined up to give the newlyweds their best. Billy made sure he was last on the line.

“Mr. Cunningham, thanks for showing up,” the groom said.

“Wouldn’t have missed it for the world. Promise me you won’t gamble this away.” He shoved a roll of hundreds wrapped in a rubber band into the groom’s hand. The bride eyed the money and squealed with delight.

“He won’t! I’ll make sure of it,” the bride said.

The bride was so happy that she kissed Billy on the lips, then kissed Lopez for good measure. The newlyweds left the chapel walking on air.

Lopez suggested they talk inside one of the casinos, and Billy nixed the idea. He’d made his bones scamming the sawdust joints on Fremont Street and didn’t want to risk being recognized by an old-timer. They settled on an Irish tavern called Hennessy’s and grabbed a corner table. A kilted waiter took their order and departed.

“Why does Maggie have a problem with me?”

Billy saw a strange look in Lopez’s eyes and proceeded cautiously. “My girlfriend thinks you’re the wrong person for this job.”

“Was it because I asked you about my share yesterday?”

“That’s part of the reason. Maggie’s main concern is that you’ll have a change of heart and leave us holding the bag.”

“She thinks I’ll get cold feet?”

“Maggie thinks your conscience will tell you to pull out. You can’t have a conscience in my line of work.”

“My line of work is different. FBI agents are expected to have a conscience. But that won’t stop me from helping you rob Glee! tomorrow night.”

Their drinks came. Two Guinness drafts in the biggest glasses he’d ever seen. Billy realized that he should have listened to Maggie the first time. Stupid him.

“How about I give you a finder’s fee. How does twenty grand sound?”

“I just told you — I’m committed.”

“What I heard you say is that you have a conscience. That doesn’t work.”

“Give me a break. Everyone has a conscience.”

“I don’t. Not when I’m robbing the casinos.”

“Your conscience disappears when you step inside a casino?”

Billy took a swallow of beer. “That’s right. Vegas was built by murderers and bootleggers. The suits that run things now aren’t any different. I hate these people.”

“The casinos destroyed my life. Doesn’t that count?”

“Do you hate the people that run them? Be honest with me.”

Lopez stared into the depths of his drink. “I don’t know.”

“You don’t know?”

“No.”

“That’s your conscience talking, Ray.” Billy paid their tab and stood up. “You can’t cheat the joints and not hate the people that run them.”

“Are you cutting me loose?”

“Give me one good reason why I shouldn’t.”

“Let me think about this. Will you do that?”

Billy felt bad for Lopez. You needed to have larceny in your heart if you wanted to be a cheat. And if you didn’t have that, you needed to be seeking revenge, like Billy had when he’d first started out. He patted Lopez on the shoulder.

“Call me later and tell me what you want to do,” he said.

The Fremont Street Experience was in full swing, with an ear-shattering band playing on a makeshift stage while raunchy street performers hustled for tips. Billy checked to see if he’d picked up a tail before hiking a block to E. Ogden Avenue. Maggie was parked in front of the Oasis in a white Corolla. It was a forgettable car preferred by rental companies and criminals who wished to blend in. He hopped into the passenger seat and nearly went through the windshield as she floored the gas.

“Take it easy,” he said.

“Never tell a girl to slow down. How did it go?”

“We had a Come to Jesus. He’s going to get back to me tonight.”

“What’s your gut saying? Is Ray in, or out?”

“Hard to say. Fucking guy has more baggage than a skycap. He wants the money so bad he can taste it. Yet he still thinks like a cop. I’ll tell you one thing…” He turned to face her. “… if I hear any hesitation in his voice, I’ll cut him loose.”

“No more Mr. Nice Guy.”

“You got that right.”

They drove south on the Strip. Outside of the soon-to-be-demolished Mirage, Billy spotted a pretty young woman pulling a wheeled suitcase down the sidewalk. She had steam coming out of her ears and looked mad as hell. Three steps behind her, her hungover boyfriend pulled a larger suitcase and was pleading with her.

“Have a nice trip home,” he said.

“You know them?” Maggie said.

“I know their story.”

“Which is?”

“The boyfriend lost their money gambling and maxed out their credit cards. They don’t have cab fare to the airport, so they’re walking.”

“It’s freezing. Should we give them a lift?”

He shook his head.

“We have plenty of room.”

“No,” he added for emphasis.

“You’re in some foul mood.”

Billy’s decision had nothing to do with his mood. The girl and her boyfriend had gotten themselves into a mess, and it was their responsibility to get themselves out of it. If Maggie gave them a ride, they’d forget about it by tonight. If they walked, they’d remember it for a long time. The same thing was true of Lopez. Ray had made bad decisions and was complicit in his own demise. Fixing the problem was solely up to him.

“No free rides,” he said.

46

Instead of going home to have dinner with his wife before she left town, Lopez drove to The Vinoy and went inside the bustling casino. His talk with Billy had been like having a bucket of ice-cold water dumped on his head. Was he really prepared to rip off one of the biggest casinos in town? Or was he just fooling himself? There was one sure way to find out. He stood by the registration desk and pulled up a number from the contacts on his cell phone. It was almost six, and he hoped the lady he wanted to see was working late. His call went through, and she answered on the third ring.

“This is Celia, may I help you?” a sultry female voice said.

“This is Special Agent Lopez with the FBI,” he said. “I don’t know if you remember me, but we met several months ago at a seminar, and you gave me your business card. You said to call anytime I needed help.”

“Of course, I remember you, Special Agent Lopez,” she cooed. “I hear slot machines in the background. Are you here at the casino right now?”

“I’m in the lobby.”

“Stay right where you are. I’ll be right down.”

Celia departed an elevator a minute later. She was a curvy Latina and wore a skintight white pants suit. As director of the Vinoy’s customer loyalty program, it was her job to make sure customers had a good time while pissing their money away.

“There you are. It’s so nice to see you again,” she said.

“The pleasure’s mine. I’m sorry to say, but this is a business call,” he said.

Celia pouted. “Maybe next time. How can I help you?”

“Last week, a woman named Chantelle Booth gambled in your casino. Our records show she was a member of your loyalty program. Would it be possible to pull up the surveillance video of her so I can review it?”

“I don’t see why not. Let’s go upstairs and have a look.”

FBI agents were not allowed to conduct private investigations, and there would be hell to pay if Celia got suspicious and mentioned his visit to her bosses. Riding up in the elevator, he told her about the casino laboratory at Quantico where agents learned about money laundering, hoping she’d think that was the reason he was here.

The loyalty center was on the third floor, and she swiped the door with a plastic key. Rows of smartly dressed people sat at computers monitoring the activity of players in the casino. “This is the customer loyalty nerve center,” she said. “Our job is to make sure qualified guests receive exemplary treatment while gambling in our casino.”

“How does that work?”

“Let me show you.”

They got up behind a young man toiling on a computer. He had a neat part in his hair and could have manned a hotel front desk. On the screen, a flashy woman with big hair was manhandling a slot machine. A toy poodle stuck out of her purse.

“This is Taylor, a loyalty specialist,” Celia said. “His assignment today is to take care of Doris, affectionately known to staff as the Divine Miss D. Taylor will make sure Doris and her pup have a great experience while they gamble.”

Doris’s face filled the screen of Taylor’s computer. She was being watched through a camera built into her slot machine. It was an unflattering shot and showed every wrinkle and age spot.

“Define great experience,” Lopez said.

“Doris will receive complimentary beverages and meals, and neck massages,” Celia said. “She’ll also get free rooms and show tickets during her stay.”

“And yummy treats for her dog,” Taylor added.

No one had ever mistaken a casino for a charity, and he said, “Do all loyalty guests get this kind of treatment?”

“For platinum members, the answer is yes,” Celia said. “The level of service differs based upon the tier the member has reached. Please tell me the name again.”

“Chantelle Booth.”

“Taylor, do your stuff,” she said.

Taylor entered a password into the casino’s loyalty member database before typing Chantelle’s name into a search engine. Chantelle’s profile came up, and he leaned in for a better look. So did Celia. Their bodies touched and she winked at him.

“Here we are,” Celia said. “Ms. Booth became a member eight years ago and was a regular customer. Her last visit was five nights ago.”

He pointed at the screen.

“What’s that?”

“Those are Ms. Booth’s monthly bank and credit card statements. Customers give us access to become a member of our loyalty program. Should I have Taylor pull up the video of her play from her last visit?”

“Please.”

Celia explained how the casino kept videos of members’ play stored on the cloud in case of disputes. The screen came to life and Chantelle appeared, sitting at a slot machine. Clutched in her hand was a free play coupon. His friend had fought the desire to gamble for years. Like so many addicts, she’d lost the battle. Celia appeared on the screen. She examined the coupon and programmed a credit into the slot machine. Chantelle started to gamble.

“Did you know her well?” Lopez asked.

“I deal with hundreds of customers. It’s hard to remember most of them.”

“What just happened?”

“Ms. Booth had a free play coupon which she wanted to use, so I obliged her.”

He decided to play dumb. “How would she have gotten that?”

“Through a mailing.”

A targeted mailing, sent to problem gamblers, designed to ruin their lives.

Chantelle jabbed the Spin button like a woman possessed. Her face mirrored her results. First, she was up, then she was down. Elation followed by sadness, the dopamine coursing through her bloodstream like a narcotic. She hit a jackpot, and a cocktail waitress served her a glass of wine. She sucked it down like water.

“I didn’t see her order a drink,” he said.

“Her drink preference is in her profile,” Celia explained.

The timing wasn’t a coincidence. The liquor flowed when the customer won. Lopez continued to watch. Soon, Chantelle was striking the machine in frustration.

“What’s happening here?” he asked.

“She’s hit a pain point. Her credits must have run low,” Celia explained.

On the screen, Celia swooped in, and offered Chantelle kind words. It was the same bullshit that every gambler got fed when they were on a losing streak.

You’ll win it back.

Chantelle’s drink was refreshed by the cocktail waitress. She swiped the ATM built into the machine with her credit card and resumed playing. A box in the corner of the screen showed how much money she’d lost. The number was obscene. Lopez knew how the video ended. Chantelle got cleaned out and became despondent. A few hours later, she took her own life.

Celia gave him a strange look. She sensed his discomfort and quite possibly his anger as well. Her job required her to be able to read people’s moods, and she knew that his mood was dark. She decided to find out why.

“If you don’t mind my asking, why are you here?” she said.

He had anticipated the question and was ready. “Were you aware that Ms. Booth embezzled money from her employer, and used it to gamble at your casino?”

Celia brought her hand to her chest, feigning surprise. “I had no idea.”

“She went to prison for her crimes.”

“Really.”

“That information is publicly available. Why isn’t it in your profile, so you could stop her from gambling again?”

No answer. He said he’d find his way out. At the door, he glanced over his shoulder. Celia was on her cell phone. Someone was going to hear about this.

He didn’t care.

At his first meeting, Chantelle had given him a button which said Gambling is only a problem when you lose. Thinking about it now made him cry. If he’d had any reservations about Saturday night, they’d been erased. Billy answered on the first ring.

“I’ve made up my mind,” he said.

“I don’t want to talk about this over the phone,” Billy said.

“Then where?”

“Meet me at the Strat’s observation tower in thirty minutes.”

The Strip resembled a parking lot. He stuck a portable flashing light on the dash.

“I’ll be there,” he said.

47

The bus ride to Las Vegas from Providence, Rhode Island had lasted three and a half grueling days. Each seat was taken by someone looking to start their life over. Billy had often wondered how many of his fellow passengers had succeeded.

He’d come to Sin City broke but determined. He’d gotten tossed out of M.I.T. after getting caught swindling a casino in Atlantic City and had decided to head west. Las Vegas was the city of second chances, a place where people could start over and reinvent themselves, no matter their background or past.

Standing outside the bus terminal on West Avenue, he’d soaked up the scenery. The Strip was lined with casinos, each joint more outlandish than the next. The biggest kid on the block was the Strat and was over a thousand feet tall. There was nothing like it back home, and he told himself he had to go there.

A friendly stranger gave him a lift. He was to discover that some of the nicest people in the world lived in Las Vegas. Soon he was standing on the viewing deck of the Strat’s observation tower. As the sun dropped over the mountains, the city came to life. He used the time to work on his plan. He would recruit a crew and scam every joint in town. When he was done he’d drive off into the sunset in in high style. And not on a fucking bus.

A noise snapped him out of his daydream. Lopez stood beside him; his reflection caught in the glass. Lopez was breathing hard, his mouth as thin as a paper cut. He’d seen that look in Reno, after Lopez shot the crazy bitches in the hotel room.

“Are you okay?”

“I’ve had better days, thanks for asking.”

“Want to talk about it?”

Lopez drew a deep breath. “My friend from Gamblers Anonymous committed suicide last week. Right before she died, she gambled at the Vinoy and got cleaned out. I watched the surveillance video of her playing.”

“That must have been painful.”

“I cried.”

Billy didn’t know what to make of that. He’d assumed that FBI agents weren’t prone to sentimentality. Lopez had just shattered that belief with a hammer.

“You must have been close.”

Another deep breath. “Have you ever attended a Gamblers Anonymous meeting?”

“I took a friend a few times.”

“Part of the twelve-step process is falling on your sword and telling your family you have an addiction. Once you get past that, you have to leave your family out of it. They can’t fight your battles or be your crutch. You have to go it alone. That’s the hardest part of recovery. At least it was for me.”

“Isn’t that what meetings are for?”

“That’s what they say. Sometimes it works, sometimes it doesn’t. My friend filled the void. She was there when I needed her. I didn’t realize how important she was to me until she was gone.”

“I’m sorry, man.”

“The Vinoy targeted her. They sent her a coupon for free play. It was in her hand on the video. They fed her booze, and she lost all her money. I could see her emotionally breaking down on the video. She committed suicide that night.”

“I’m sorry, man.”

“Thanks.”

“Want to hear a dirty little secret?”

“Lay it on me.”

“Las Vegas has the highest suicide rate in the country. Most of the victims are people who get cleaned out by the casinos. Many of them are locals.”

“I didn’t know that. Do the casinos know this?”

“Of course, they know. Have you ever noticed how all of the windows in the casinos and hotels are sealed? That’s done to stop people from jumping.”

Lopez dried his eyes with his sleeve. Billy waited him out.

“This isn’t just about the money anymore,” Lopez said.

“It’s always about the money,” Billy said.

“Maybe so. But I want revenge, too.”

“For your friend.”

“Her name was Chantelle. She deserved better.”

Someone once said that love was the greatest force in the universe. Revenge was a close second. It made people do things they would have never dreamed of, without the slightest hint of regret. Billy was convinced and stepped away from the glass.

“The job is yours, if you still want it,” he said.

“I do,” the FBI agent said.

“See you tomorrow night at Glee!.”

48

Saturday

Lopez awoke the next morning swimming in sweat-soaked sheets. Lezli had left the night before, and the house was quiet. He’d dreamed of Chantelle pounding the slot machine that had taken all her money. His friend had never had a chance.

Over coffee, he went over the signals he would use to communicate with Billy’s crew tonight. He was going to be doing a juggling act, and he felt confident he could pull it off. The FBI used overwhelming force during busts, and tonight’s bust of Chau and his crew would be no different. It would be the perfect distraction for the bomb.

He was not expected at Glee! until later that afternoon. He was filled with nervous energy that he needed to burn off, and he drove to the Steele Boxing Club where he was a member and jumped rope for a half hour and then pounded the heavy bag until sweat was pouring down his face and blurring his vision. His workout over, he offered to spar a few rounds with several gym rats. He had a reputation for being able to take punishment as well as dish it out and he had no takers.

He got cleaned up and ate breakfast at a mom-and-pop diner across the street. He stared at the second hand on the clock hanging behind the counter, which seemed to be moving in slow motion. His hand was shaking, and he realized it wasn’t the coffee.

He had never been more nervous in his life.

Every day was a party in Sin City, and nothing on earth could shut it down. Not earthquakes, or terrorist attacks on the nation’s capital, or even a national tragedy. After President Kennedy’s assassination, the governor had ordered the casinos to stop taking bets. The curfew had lasted one whole hour.

Weekends were particularly intense. Millennials drove in from Southern California and flooded the town. They shared cheap hotel rooms, while their more affluent counterparts jetted in for concerts and live sporting events. Sidewalks were packed, traffic bumper-to-bumper. It was a slow-motion riot awash in dazzling neon.

Today was no exception, and he took backroads to reach Glee!. When he entered the surveillance room, several observers shot him puzzled looks. He wore shades and a UNLV sweatshirt with a hoodie pulled down over his forehead and was unrecognizable. Removing the shades, he said, “Remember me? I’m one of the good guys.”

The observers said good morning and returned to work. Across the room, Russo was shooting the breeze with Kaplan and Torgove, who’d arrived early. The remaining agents assigned to the bust were scheduled to join them later in the day.

Sitting on a desk was the previous day’s summary, which he reviewed. Each team was expected to keep a running report of how Chau and his crew spent their day. These reports would be added to the final report, for the sake of completeness.

He dropped the report on the desk. He was home free. Billy had asked him to get Russo to time the bust during the shift change at midnight, which he hadn’t been looking forward to doing. Russo was in charge and would time the bust whenever he pleased. But that conversation wasn’t going to be necessary. The report had confirmed that two members of Chau’s crew would be sitting down at the roulette table at 11:30 P.M. Roulette was a slow-paced game, and the ladies would be scamming during the shift change on their own accord. The pieces were falling together perfectly.

He glanced across the room at Milky and the observers. He hoped they didn’t lose their jobs when the casino discovered one of its blackjack games had been swindled, which in all likelihood might happen. But he wasn’t going to lose any sleep over it. Milky and the observers had caught plenty of cheats, but had they ever reported the casino for letting a compulsive gambler lose their life savings? Of course, they hadn’t. They were part of the deception, no different than every other employee. If they lost their jobs, they’d just have to go work someplace else.

At four o’clock that afternoon, Teams B and C appeared in the surveillance room. They were also dressed in street clothes and barely recognizable.

Russo got everyone together and handed out their assignments. Lopez’s job was to case the casino and find the woman filming the reflection in the ceiling mirror — who Russo had dubbed Camera Lady — and confiscate her handbag with the video camera.

The other agents were expected to bust the two ladies sitting at the roulette table. It sounded like overkill, but Russo had good reason. Several Strip casinos had been robbed by thieves on foot, who’d slipped out an exit and disappeared. Russo did not want that happening tonight.

“I’m going to be here, watching you on the monitors,” Russo said. “Everything you do will be recorded, so be on your best behavior. Are there any questions?”

Lopez spoke up. “Who’s going to bust Alan Chau?”

“I am,” Russo said, unable to hide the pleasure in his voice. “The casino’s owner wants his security guards to help me, so his PR department can tell the newspapers that they assisted in Chau’s arrest.”

Lopez didn’t like the sound of that. On the law enforcement totem pole, casino security guards occupied the bottom rung, and were barely competent.

“I thought you were staying here,” he said.

“Not the whole time,” Russo said. “Three security guards will be stationed down the hall from Chau’s suite. When the bust goes down, I’ll take a service elevator to Chau’s floor, and with the guards’ help arrest Chau and confiscate his laptop.”

“Are you sure you don’t want one of us to assist you?” Lopez asked.

Russo bristled. “You think I’m not up to it?”

“The guards worry me, that’s all.”

“They’ll do what I tell them. It will be fine.”

It sounded like an invitation for disaster. But it wasn’t Lopez’s call. If he challenged Russo again, Russo might pull him off the floor, and his scam with Billy would have to be called off. If Russo wanted to step into a hornet’s nest, so be it.

“You’re the boss,” he said.

Time stood still on a stakeout. It was the nature of the job, and there was little that could be done to liven things up. The team drank coffee and stared at the wall of monitors, waiting for Chau and his crew to venture out of their suite, and go to their dinner reservation. It was about as much fun as watching paint dry.

At eight o’clock, Russo treated them to pizzas from the hotel’s Italian restaurant, and let the team pick out the toppings. He also ordered garlic knots, and said he’d expense it. The food arrived forty-five minutes later. The surveillance room didn’t have a microwave to heat the pizza up, so they ate it cold, and thanked Russo anyway. Lopez tried a garlic knot and nearly broke a tooth biting down on it.

At ten o’clock, Chau and company left the suite wearing designer clothes. The women carried Gucci handbags, and Chau wore a navy-blue silk sportscoat. They took an elevator downstairs and crossed the casino to their eventual destination.

By ten-fifteen, their suspects were seated inside the restaurant. Catch Seafood was decorated to celebrate the last day of the Chinese New Year, called The Lantern Festival, and had lit candles on the tables and a colorful paper tiger suspended from the ceiling.

“They sure are living high on the hog. I thought Chau was sending the stolen money back to North Korea,” Torgove said, working on a slice of pizza.

“Everything’s comped,” Lopez said.

“Even the fancy threads?”

“Those were charged to his room. He must plan to use the money his crew steals tonight to pay for them.”

“Nice work if you can get it.”

On the monitors, a tuxedoed waiter brought a seafood tower of lobster, king crab, shrimp, and oysters to Chau’s table, followed by plates of sashimi with truffles, octopus nigiri, and rice cakes topped with tuna tartare. For entrees, the table shared a crispy whole snapper and a pair of lobsters big enough to put a leash on. It was painful to watch while eating cold pizza, and Russo cleared his throat. “I hope they enjoy their food. This will be their last good meal for a long time,” he said.

“What’s going to happen to them?” Collins asked.

Special Agent Collins had recently been assigned to the Las Vegas office and didn’t know about the special treatment cheats received upon arrest.

“They’ll be processed in the Clark County Detention Center, which is filled with psychopaths and abusive guards. They’ll eat peanut butter sandwiches in a windowless cell with a mattress on the floor. Suspected cheats get stuck in the north tower, where they leave the lights on all night, and keep the air conditioning ice cold.”

“Sounds brutal,” Collins said.

“It’s supposed to be. Vegas is murder on cheats,” Russo said.

49

At ten fifty-five, an elaborate dessert tray appeared. Chau and his crew helped themselves to slices of coconut cake and homemade sweets. Glasses of port were poured. The crew clinked glasses and knocked back their drinks.

Lopez stood in front of the wall of monitors, chewing on a pizza crust. His conscience was making a last stand. The harsh conditions at the Clark County jail and the abusive treatment cheats received should have been reasons to bail. But his mind was made up. He was going through with it. Soon, his problems would be solved.

He glanced at the observer for the blackjack pit. Her name was Jade, and she was addicted to Red Bull. Framed photos of Jade’s three kids cluttered her desk. Every few minutes, she got a phone call from a pit boss, asking her to watch a player. Diverting her attention would be easy.

At eleven-fifteen, Chau’s party left the restaurant. Two of the women entered the casino, while Chau and the third woman took an elevator upstairs.

“Our suspects are on the move,” he announced.

The other agents joined him to watch. The action was now on two monitors. As the women strolled through the casino, Chau and the third woman entered the suite. Moments later, the third woman left the suite carrying a floppy handbag.

“That’s Camera Lady. Looks like we’re in business,” Russo said.

Camera Lady went downstairs and sifted through the packed casino. She took a chair in front of a slot machine by the roulette table, put her handbag on the floor, and used her finger to open a slit on the side of the bag. The video camera inside the bag was aimed at the mirrors in the ceiling over the roulette wheel. Her actions were quick and effortless, and she leaned back in her chair to wait.

“Time to roll. Let’s do a quick equipment check,” Russo said.

In lieu of walkie-talkies, Russo had chosen to use in-ear listening devices for the operation. The devices were digitally connected to small microphones inside the sleeve, allowing the team to communicate with each other, and to receive directions from Russo.

They flipped on the receivers and did a sound check. Russo received their calls on his cell phone, which identified the caller on the screen.

“You’re coming in loud and clear,” Russo said. “Now remember, let them win a lot of money before you bust them. It will make our case stronger.”

As the FBI agents walked out of the surveillance room, Lopez glanced at the monitor on Jade’s desk. A disguised Billy was in the blackjack pit along with several members of the crew, also incognito. Seeing them made him smile.

Torgove spoke to him at the elevators. “Ready to nail these assholes?”

“You have no idea,” he said.

The elevator doors parted, and the FBI agents spread out across the casino. Lopez pulled up his hoodie and kept his eyes downcast as he walked. To reach the roulette table, he had to pass the blackjack pit. Out of the corner of his eye, he spied Billy and the crew. They had locked up a blackjack game and occupied all seven seats at the table. Billy was decked out in biker leather and stood behind the table nursing a bottle of beer while casually shooting the breeze with Misty. The guy was fearless.

Lopez was of the opposite camp. He had started to sweat like a man going to the electric chair. The little voice inside his head was telling him to back out while he still had the chance. If the little voice had been a person, he would have put his hands around its throat, and choked the crap out of it. There was nothing wrong with what he was about to do. Nothing at all.

He came to the roulette table and stopped. The two chairs reserved by Chau’s crew had yet to be filled by the Take-Off Ladies. He spotted Camera Lady at the end of a row of slot machines on her cell phone. She was preoccupied and didn’t notice him.

Russo began talking in his earpiece. Not the voice of his conscience, but close.

“How are we looking?” Russo asked.

“Our suspects have yet to arrive,” he said into his sleeve.

“They stopped at the bar. Have you spotted Camera Lady?”

“I’m looking right at her.”

“Don’t let her out of your sight.”

“You got it.”

He circled the casino and walked down a row of slot machines until he was behind Camera Lady. She was fiddling with the video camera in her handbag while talking on her cell phone, and he guessed that Chau was having her adjust the lens.

He sat down at a slot machine two seats away, fed a twenty into the bill feed, and started to play. His seat gave him the perfect POV. He could watch the roulette table and observe Billy and the crew. And he could keep an eye on Camera Lady.

He used the opportunity to study her. She was petite, with brown eyes that never blinked, and a large mole on her chin. She looked harmless, save for the ugly scratch marks on her wrists. She was a killer, and it was foolish to take her lightly.

“Here they come,” Russo said into his earpiece.

He shifted his gaze and watched the Take-Off Ladies take their seats at the roulette table. They were holding glasses of champagne and acting tipsy. It felt staged, and he realized it was part of the act.

Regular casino chips were not used at roulette. Instead, each player was given special-colored chips to gamble with. Since Chau and his friends had a line of credit with the casino, these special chips had to be signed for, which took a few minutes. When the transaction was complete, the Take-Off Ladies started to gamble. The wheel was spun, and the little ivory ball set in motion. After a moment’s hesitation, they placed multiple bets on the layout. The ball came to rest on a number, and they lost.

They looked dejected. Clearly, this was not the desired outcome. The wheel was again spun, and more bets were placed. Again, they lost. More sad faces. They had run out of chips and had to sign for more chips to play with. Camera Lady got a call. She took out a hanky and wiped the lens on the hidden camera in her bag.

“What the hell is going on?” Russo said into his earpiece.

“Dirty lens,” he whispered into his sleeve.

“It better get fixed. We can’t arrest them for losing.”

The Take-Off Ladies bet again. This time, the scam worked, and they won. Fist pumps and happy faces. Even Camera Lady smiled.

“That’s more like it,” he heard Russo say. “I want to wait until they’re way up before we nail them.”

“Got it.”

Lopez checked the time. It was six minutes before midnight. For the bomb to work, it needed to be started right before the shift change happened at twelve A.M. He glanced across the blackjack pit and locked eyes with Billy who dipped his chin almost imperceptibly. It was showtime. The little voice returned, and told him to stop acting so foolishly, that he was going to ruin his life. He ignored it.

Billy ran his fingers through his air, signaling that it was time for Lopez to call upstairs, and divert the observer. Lopez gazed at the blackjack table adjacent to where Billy’s crew was sitting. He spotted an Asian gambler built like a Sumo wrestler. He whispered into his sleeve.

“We’ve got a problem,” he said.

“What’s wrong?” Russo said into his earpiece.

“There’s a huge Asian guy playing blackjack who keeps glancing at Camera Lady. He may be a part of Chau’s crew.”

“Which table is he on?”

“He’s at the table three down from the roulette game. You can’t miss him.”

Russo told Jade to find the huge Asian. Lopez felt sweat crawl down his back.

“Have you found him?” he asked impatiently.

“I’m looking at him right now.” Russo said.

“You need to watch him.”

“On it,” Russo said.

Lopez looked at Billy and scratched his chin. The scam was on.

Every casino scam exploited a weakness in procedures which cheats used to steal money. The procedural weakness which the bomb exploited was the chaos that occurred during a shift change. With so many employees coming and going at the same time, it was easy for an outsider to slip in, and go unnoticed. Maggie stood outside the blackjack area, wearing a dealer uniform. Her hair was dyed platinum, and she wore tortoise glasses and had a dental bridge stuck in her mouth that distorted her features. She unclipped the velvet rope and entered without anyone being the wiser. Walking up behind the dealer at the table where the crew was seated, she tapped the dealer’s shoulder and said, “Have a good night.”

The dealer was ready to call it a day. Her name was Connie and she’d been on her feet for eight hours and was physically and mentally exhausted. Connie bid the players goodnight and walked away from the table without a second glance.

Maggie bellied up to the table. She removed the playing cards from the discard rack and placed them in front of her. Then, she removed the undealt cards from the dealing shoe, and added them to the stack. There were now six decks of cards in the stack, three hundred and twelve cards total.

Maggie slid the stack to Pepper in the middle seat. Pepper slipped them into a shopping bag at her feet. Misty, sitting to Pepper’s left, was wearing an arm sling, from which she removed six identical decks, and placed them in front of Maggie, who inserted them into the dealing shoe. These new decks were stacked and marked, allowing the team to beat the game for hours on end.

Billy stood behind the table, watching for a pit boss. Since a surveillance camera wasn’t watching the table, a nosy pit boss was all he had to worry about.

The pit boss never came. They were home free. Lopez stared at his watch. The switch had gone down in fifteen seconds flat.

“I don’t think this big guy is part of Chau’s crew,” Russo said into his earpiece.

“Why is that?” Lopez said into his sleeve.

“Jade tells me he’s a regular customer.”

“My mistake.”

The hard part was over. Maggie needed to stall and wait for the shift change. This is where the crew came in. Pepper slid a stack of hundred-dollar chips toward Maggie and asked for them to be turned into five-dollar chips. Maggie broke the stack down and did the conversion.

Now it was Misty’s turn. She slid a stack of twenty-five-dollar chips toward Maggie and made the same request. Maggie broke the stack down and turned them into smaller denomination chips. It was almost midnight, and the shift change was about to occur. Dozens of new dealers were lined up outside the velvet rope, ready to take over. It was going without a hitch, and Lopez realized they were home free.

Maggie told the players at her table to place their bets. Each wager was the table maximum of one thousand dollars. Maggie slow-dealt the round. She would let the new dealer finish the hand and pay the table off.

The new shift filed in. Maggie’s replacement came up from behind and tapped her out. Maggie walked away with the rest of the dealers whose workday was ending. On the way to the employee lounge, she’d make a detour into the restroom, change into street clothes, and leave the casino through the front doors.

It couldn’t have gone any smoother. The team had followed the playbook and rigged the game so it would be impossible for the casino to know it had been scammed until the money was gone. Lopez was so happy that he nearly let out a war whoop.

His feeling of euphoria quickly evaporated. He’d been so absorbed watching the crew perform the bomb that he hadn’t seen Camera Lady rise from her chair. In her hand was a cell phone which she was pointing at Billy and the crew.

Camera Lady had filmed the whole thing.

50

Lopez’s head felt ready to explode. He had been so absorbed watching Maggie and the crew do the bomb that he had turned a blind eye to the cheat sitting two chairs away. Had he noticed what she was doing, he would have stopped her.

Now it was too late. Camera Lady had filmed the switch on her cell phone, for reasons that he didn’t entirely understand. Maybe she planned to share the video with Chau and the crew and try it themselves, or perhaps she had something else in mind. It really didn’t matter what her motivation was. He had to contain the situation right now.

He quickly devised a plan. He would confiscate Camera Lady’s cell phone when he busted her and destroy it. Evidence gone.

Russo was talking in his earpiece, for how long he didn’t know. He stopped staring at Camera Lady long enough to whisper in his sleeve. “I’m here.”

“Where did you go?” Russo asked.

“There’s a problem with our connection. What’s up?”

“Chau’s crew are on a roll. The croupier at their table let them raise the betting limit, and they’re cleaning up.”

“Should we bust them?”

“Not yet. What’s the deal with Camera Lady? She was filming a video on her cell phone. Don’t tell me you didn’t see it.”

Russo was challenging him. Wanting to know how he could be standing there, and not see something that Russo had seen on the cameras. His mind raced.

“A pretty Asian boy walked by. She must have liked him,” he whispered.

“She won’t be flirting with any pretty boys where she’s going. Once they hit a million in winnings, we’re going to arrest them. You ready?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Stay tuned.”

Lopez’s cell phone vibrated in his pocket. He held it against his thigh, the screen visible only to himself. Billy had texted him. Are we good? Using his thumb, he wrote Covered and hit send. He slipped his cell phone into his pocket and glanced at Camera Lady, who’d sat back down. She had a curious smile on her face.

He wanted to puke. Why had he gone down this treacherous road? Was revenge really his motive? Or was he trying to prove that he wasn’t a loser? Whatever the reason, it was too late for self-reflection. There was no reversing course now.

By 12:15, Chau’s crew had won most of the chips at the roulette table, and a mob of spectators were cheering them on. Scattered among the crowd were Kaplan, Torgove, and the rest of the team, who had effectively surrounded the table. The ladies were oblivious. They were flying high on adrenalin and giggling like happy schoolgirls. Rising from their chairs, they indicated they were done.

The dealer got busy converting their roulette chips into casino chips. Because they’d won so much, this process took several minutes. It was all going fine, until Lopez saw Camera Lady grab her handbag off the floor and start to walk away. Panic swept over him, and he whispered into his sleeve. “Suspect is leaving. I need to grab her.”

“Wait,” Russo said into his earpiece.

“But she’s getting away.”

“I’m watching her. She’s walking to the elevators. I’ll have Kaplan and Torgove grab her. I want you at the table, busting the crew.”

“But—”

“I need you at that table. Those ladies will see you and shit their pants.”

Fuck, fuck, fuck. He didn’t have a contingency plan for this.

“But what if she makes a run for it?” he asked, hearing his own desperation.

“The exits are covered. She’s not going anywhere. I’m heading up to Chau’s suite to arrest him. See you in a few.”

He didn’t know what to do. If he didn’t get his hands on that cell phone and erase the video, Billy and his crew would go down hard, and he wouldn’t see a dime of his money. He shook his head in disgust. He had wanted to pay the casinos back, but the sad fact was, he was out of his league.

Kaplan and Torgove tore past. Lopez was tall enough to stare over the crowd, and he watched them intercept Camera Lady at the elevators. As they tried to handcuff her, she drew a knife from her sleeve, and stabbed each of them repeatedly, sending them to the floor. Instead of running for an exit, she let out a high-pitched scream and hopped into an empty elevator.

The scream was a signal to her partners. From their purses, the two ladies at the roulette table removed canisters shaped like hand grenades, pulled the pins, and tossed them to the floor. Volumes of colored smoke filled the casino, causing a stampede.

Lopez blindly rushed the roulette table and attempted to grab one of the ladies before she fled. He was no match for the throng of people storming past him, and he was knocked to the floor. He shielded his head and tried not to get crushed.

The casino floor was pure bedlam with the crowd beating a path to the exits. He had no idea where the rest of his team was, or what his next steps should be. Lying on his side, he saw that Collins was down. Collins clutched his leg, writhing in agony.

He crawled over to him. “Are you okay?”

“Little bitch stabbed me in the leg,” Collins cursed.

He pulled Collins under the safety of the roulette table. The smoke was making it impossible to see, much less know what was going on.

“Are you okay being left here?” he asked.

“It’s just a flesh wound. Get them before they escape,” Collins said.

He rose uncertainly to his feet. In the smoky haze he spied Chau’s ladies running together while holding hands so as not to become separated. One held a gun and fired repeatedly into the ceiling to dispel the crowd. They were headed for the elevators, following Camera Lady’s lead. Going to another floor wasn’t going to facilitate their escape, and he wondered what their thinking was. Drawing his gun from beneath his sweatshirt, he sifted his way through the human stampede, and followed them.

He couldn’t catch up. The ladies boarded an empty car, and the doors closed. He wanted to scream. Nothing had gone right; not the sting, nor the scam. Life as he knew it was essentially over. What would follow, he had no idea.

He clipped his badge to his collar and said, “FBI, stand clear.” Reaching the elevators, he stared at the LED display above the door and watched the car stop at the twenty-eighth floor where Chau had his comped suite. He punched the call button and waited. His breathing had grown short, and he felt like he was drowning.

“Ray,” a familiar voice said.

It was Kaplan. He and Torgove sat on the floor with their backs against the wall. They’d both been stabbed in the arm and were using their hands to stop the bleeding. Their injuries weren’t life-threatening, and he was relived they were still alive.

“Are you okay?” he asked.

“Still breathing. Are you going to run them down?” Kaplan asked.

“That was the plan. Where’s the rest of the team?”

“Covering the exits. We’d like to help you, but we’re busy at the moment.”

“I’ll manage.”

“Good luck, man.”

The elevator came. The doors parted and Russo staggered out, his shirt drenched in blood. He’d been stabbed in the neck and had his palm pressed against the wound in a futile attempt to stop the bleeding. He collapsed into Lopez’s arms.

“Help me,” Russo gasped.

51

Fucking casinos, Billy thought. They got you coming, and they got you going.

A long line of people was attempting to leave Glee!’s smoke-filled casino. They had queued up by the entrance and were pushing and shoving in an attempt to get out. A line of burly security guards stood in their way. The guards were making people turn their pockets inside out to make certain they hadn’t stolen any high-denomination chips off the tables. People with high-denomination chips in their possession had to step out of line and present their ID to a pit boss.

It was a shitshow, and people were getting trampled. An irate female customer tried to film the scene on her cell phone, and had it confiscated. Obscenities were hurled along with threats of damaging lawsuits. Neither the guards nor the pit boss gave a rat’s ass. Their job was to protect the bottom line and deal with the consequences later.

Billy stood in line with his pockets turned inside out. Disguise or no disguise, his face was known to every casino in town, and he needed to get the hell out of there. He got a call from Lopez on his cell phone. He decided it could wait, and let the call go into voicemail. An angry text followed.

CALL ME! NOW!

Billy was torn. Ray had kept up his end of the bargain, and he didn’t feel right letting him dangle in the wind. He stepped out of line and returned the call.

“I need your help,” Lopez said, sounding desperate.

“Sorry, man. I’m out of here.”

“Didn’t you hear what I just said?”

“I can’t get busted.”

“I’ll deal with that.”

“Listen, man—”

“I’m not asking you; I’m telling you. If you don’t help me, I’ll ruin your fucking life. Maggie’s too.”

When people threatened, it was never about the words. Only tone mattered. Billy turned around and headed back into the casino. “I’m coming. Where are you?”

“By the elevators to the Sky Suites. Hurry.”

“I’m moving as fast as I can.”

The casino’s ventilation system had sucked the choking cloud smoke from the air, and things were slowly returning to normal. Dealers were back at their stations, taking bets and dealing hands for the diehard customers who hadn’t bailed, while a maintenance crew vacuumed the carpets and picked up discarded drink glasses. Soon, it would be like nothing had ever happened. He approached the blackjack table that his crew had scammed. His crew had returned to their seats and were playing. The dealer who’d replaced Maggie was there and seemed no worse for wear. Misty winked as he passed.

“Get the money,” Billy said under his breath.

The area by the Sky Suite elevators resembled a war zone. Two men sat on the floor with their backs to the wall. Both were bleeding profusely and holding their arms. Lopez knelt beside a third man with a serious neck wound.

“You took long enough,” Lopez said.

“I got here as fast as I could. Did you call an ambulance?”

“They’re coming. This is Russo. He’s hurt bad.”

“Hey, Russo.”

Russo’s eyelids fluttered and that was it.

“I need you to help me,” Lopez said.

Billy dropped to his knees. Russo’s face was losing color, and the poor guy was barely breathing. Lopez pressed a blood-soaked hanky against his wound.

“Put your hand on the hanky. Keep the pressure firm.”

Billy did as instructed. Lopez had a twisted look on his face. Their eyes met.

“I’m going upstairs,” Lopez said under his breath.

“Who’s upstairs?” Billy whispered.

“The North Koreans.”

“By yourself?”

“Have to. The woman with the camera filmed you.”

“What?”

“She saw the whole thing and filmed it.”

“Fuck me.”

“No, thanks. Wish me luck.”

“What are you going to do?”

“I’ll think of something.”

Lopez rose to his feet. He spoke briefly to the two men with their backs to the wall. Then he stepped into an empty elevator. The doors closed and he was gone.

52

The elevator car reached its destination and shuddered. Lopez was shaking in fear. He needed to find a way to extricate himself from this mess and come out on top. The problem was, he had no idea how he was going to do that.

The thick carpet muted his footsteps as he marched toward Chau’s suite, his gun hanging limply by his side. The hallway was littered with human bodies. Three uniformed security guards had done faceplants and were unconscious. Hearing him approach, a guard with an ugly neck tattoo opened his eyes.

“Here comes the cavalry,” the guard said groggily.

Lopez knelt down and checked for wounds. “Are you shot?”

“Stun gun.”

The words gave him pause. Chau and his crew were killers, yet they’d spared Torgove, Kaplan, Russo, and the security guards. There was a reason for this.

“Who’s in the suite right now?” he asked.

“Three women, one guy.”

“Did one of the women have a handbag?”

“Uh-huh. Kicked me before going in. Real sweetheart.”

The guard’s words gave him a glimmer of hope. If Camera Lady was in the suite, he could confiscate her cell phone, erase the incriminating video, and save Billy’s crew.

“I’m going in. Where’s the key?” he said.

“Wait for backup.”

That was the last thing he was going to do.

“There’s no time. Who has the key?” he asked.

“Don’t be an idiot.”

Chau and his crew were holed up in the suite for a reason. They wanted to bargain, and Lopez was more than willing to hear them out.

“I can handle this. Where is it?” he said.

“Ralph’s back pocket.”

“Which one is Ralph.”

“The fat boy.”

Lopez retrieved the key from the overweight guard’s back pocket. He swiped the electronic lock to the suite and heard the door click open. He took a deep breath.

“Happy trails,” the guard said.

He entered the suite gripping his weapon with both hands. Electronic dance music played in the background, like a party was going on. He walked down a short hallway to a luxurious living room with an open floor plan, the furniture high-priced leather and chrome with desert plants scattered about. On a coffee table were two open Apple laptop computers, two small-caliber handguns, a stun gun, and Camera Lady’s handbag with the video camera taken out. Chau had put all of his cards on the table.

The slider to the balcony was open, and a chilly breeze washed over him. Chau, the two take-off women, and Camera Lady stood at the railing, gazing at the ocean of neon that defined nighttime Las Vegas. Each held a beverage in their hand. If they were fearful of their future, it wasn’t showing. He grabbed a remote off the coffee table and raised the music. He guessed that Glee! bugged their high-roller suites like the other casinos in town and he didn’t want their conversation being overheard.

“FBI. Come inside, and put your hands in the air,” he called out.

Still holding their beverages, they filed into the suite and lined up behind the coffee table. As if on cue, they dipped their chins in greeting. They were slightly built and looked utterly harmless, but he knew that was an illusion.

“You’re all under arrest,” he said.

Chau twirled the ice cubes in his drink. “Good evening. We wish to strike a deal with you.”

His English was flawless, without hint of an accent.

“You’re in no position to bargain,” he said.

“We have something of value to give you. In return, you go light on us.”

Lopez could hear himself breathing.

“What would that be,” he said.

Chau placed his drink on the coffee table. He still wore his dinner attire and looked like a movie star.

“Touch either of those guns, and I’ll shoot you,” he said.

“We have surrendered. Is that not clear?” Chau asked.

“I don’t trust you. Is that not clear?”

Chau smiled thinly. “You’re the boss.”

“Yes, I am. Show me what you’ve got.”

Chau spun one of the laptops around, so the screen faced him. He touched the keyboard, and a video played of Maggie tapping out the dealer. Billy’s crew did the bomb, then stalled until the new shift took over, letting Maggie escape. The video was in high resolution, and captured the faces of Misty, Pepper, Cory, and Morris. The rest of the crew had their backs to the camera and were hidden from view.

He decided to play dumb and see where it led.

“So what?” he said.

“These people were in the casino tonight,” Chau said.

He shrugged indifferently.

“We have seen them before.”

A stone dropped in his stomach.

“Where?” he asked.

Chau spun the second laptop and touched the keyboard. A video of Maggie using the chip cup at The Gold Rush began to play. This video was a collage and showed her working the scam with Billy over the course of an evening. Several times the video caught Billy dumping the stolen chips into his jacket pocket before using the cup again. All that was missing was a soundtrack.

“These people are very dangerous,” Chau said, making his case. “They are working with dealers and steal much more than we ever could. Isn’t that right?”

His three accomplices nodded in unison.

“Very dangerous,” Camera Lady said for emphasis.

“We will testify against them at trial,” Chau said. “You will have a slam dunk case. Much easier to prove than the one you have against us.”

“Why do you say that?” he asked.

“We were caught before in Singapore. The case fell apart, and the judge let us go,” Chau explained.

“Why did the judge do that?”

“Video tape of our scam was inconclusive. Nothing to see. Not like these people. You can see clearly on videos how they are cheating. Slam dunk.”

“Slam dunk,” Camera Lady repeated.

Chau was right. The case against him and his team would be difficult to prove in court, while the case against Billy’s crew would be easier, and more desirable to the district attorney’s office. Cheats who worked with crooked dealers posed a serious threat to a casino’s bottom line; putting them behind bars would be a feather in any prosecutor’s cap. But it wouldn’t stop there. Shit flowed downward, and it was inevitable that one of Billy’s crew would turn state’s evidence and rat him out. If busting Billy’s crew was a prize, busting a dirty FBI agent was the jackpot.

“Do we have a deal?” Chau asked.

“Sure,” Lopez said.

It was a lie. He wasn’t going to let Chau strike a deal with the district attorney. This shit was going to stop with Chau, and his murderous accomplices.

Chau smiled like a cat who’d eaten a canary. Chau thought he was the smartest guy in the room, but he wasn’t. Chau should have known something was wrong when only one FBI agent had come to arrest him.

Lopez moved closer to the coffee table. He leaned down as if to get a better look at the videos. Picking up one of the handguns, he placed it on the floor, and kicked it toward Chau with his foot. It spun like a top before stopping.

Chau’s eyes grew wide. “No!”

Lopez shot him at point blank range. The bullet blew a hole through his chest the size of a half-dollar. Chau flew backwards into the wall and sank to the floor. Blood soaked his pretty linen jacket, and his head flopped lifelessly to the side.

The woman in the middle lunged for the second handgun on the coffee table. It was exactly what he’d hoped for. He waited until her fingers touched the handle before shooting her. The back of her head blew apart and painted the walls.

Camera Lady broke to his left, while the other woman went right. They had drawn knives from their sleeves and were coming in for the kill. He was going to get stabbed, and he told himself he could live with that. It would make everything look more believable.

Two against one wasn’t great odds. But there was a way to fix that. He lifted his left arm like a shield, and without hesitation shot the woman on his right in the chest. The bullet went clean through her, and she spit up blood before falling.

Camera Lady was on top of him. She attempted to stab him in the ribcage and got a forearm in the face. It didn’t faze her. Leaping in the air, she came over his left arm, and buried her knife into his biceps. The pain was excruciating, and he thought he might pass out. With her other hand, she knocked his gun away. She had the advantage and started to pull the knife out. He knew what came next. She’d stab him until he couldn’t stand up and slit his throat. Maybe she’d cut his head off for good measure.

Or not. With his good hand, he grabbed Camera Lady’s wrist so she couldn’t pull the knife out. The move startled her. With a sick smile painting her lips, she plunged the blade deeper into his flesh, thinking he’d let go.

He didn’t. He fought through the pain and inched toward her. She had no choice but to back up. They shuffled across the living room in a macabre death dance.

She banged into a wall and brought down a painting. He pressed his body against hers so she couldn’t pull the knife out. Her eyes flashed fear.

He released her wrist, made a fist, and began pounding the side of her head.

He didn’t stop until he was certain she was dead.

He heard frantic banging on the door leading to the hallway. He grabbed a towel from the bathroom and made a tourniquet to stop the bleeding. His arm was throbbing, and he told himself he was almost done.

He rifled Camera Lady’s pockets, and to his relief found her cell phone. He put it on the coffee table with the laptops, went through the rest of their pockets, grabbed their cell phones, and added them to the pile. Just to be safe, he checked their pulses to be sure they were dead. Then, he stacked the devices and carried them into the kitchen with his good arm and nuked them in the microwave oven. They were still smoking as he carried everything onto the balcony. It was freezing, and the cold snapped him awake.

He tossed everything over the railing, stuck his head over, and watched the cell phones and laptops cascade through space and shatter on the unfriendly concrete below.

Euphoria came over him and eclipsed the excruciating pain wracking his body. He started to go back inside and saw Camera Lady’s cell phone lying at his feet and realized he’d dropped it. Maggie’s image was frozen on its tiny screen. He crushed the phone with his heel, and over the railing it went. He’d covered his bases and didn’t believe there was enough evidence for anyone to figure out what he’d done.

He collapsed into a chair in the living room. The banging had grown louder. He decided it would be better if they broke down the door and found him. He rehearsed the story that he planned to tell. He’d entered the suite to find Chau and his crew throwing their devices over the railing and had ordered them inside. They’d obeyed but then attacked him en masse. He’d had no choice but to defend himself. He ran through it a few times and decided it could work.

Pools of black appeared before his eyes and the strength left his body. His world changed, and he realized he was dying. He was no longer in a hotel suite but standing at home plate in his baseball uniform with a bat in his hand. The pitcher did his wind-up and let the ball fly. He took a short, compact swing and heard the sweet sound of the ball connecting. It flew through the air as if shot out of a cannon and found a home in the parking lot. It was the most beautiful of sights, and he could not help but smile.

53

Ten days later

All’s Well That Ends Well was a play by William Shakespeare that could be defined in six words. Troubled start, rocky middle, happy ending. The message was clear; it didn’t matter how you got there, so long as the ending was a satisfactory one.

From her office window, Pressley gazed at the cloudless sky. Earlier, she had emailed her staff with exciting news. Ray Lopez had been released from the hospital that morning and was in fine spirits. Ray’s condition had been critical for several days, his loss of blood severe. But he’d rallied, and his doctors expected a full recovery. The Las Vegas office had only lost one agent in the line of duty, and the building was named after him. Ray would not be joining that woeful club.

A knock on her door broke her concentration. “It’s open.”

Her new assistant tiptoed into the room. “There are two men here to see you.”

She glanced at her desk calendar. “I’m not expecting anyone, am I?”

“No, ma’am.”

“How did they get upstairs?”

“They bullied their way past reception. They’re from the gaming board.”

Her last encounter with gaming agents had left a bitter taste in her mouth. They’d barged in without an appointment and made a number of baseless allegations. Now that the dust had settled, perhaps they wished to make an apology.

“Send them in.”

The agents entered wearing smug looks on their faces. She pointed at two chairs before sitting herself.

“Sorry, but I don’t remember your names,” she said.

“I’m Grimes, he’s Kehoe, and we have a problem,” the bald one said.

“What might that be.”

“Ray Lopez.”

Pressley bristled. They were making another run at Ray. It was clear they held a grudge and she decided to shut them down. “Special Agent Lopez is a bona fide hero. I hope that whatever claims you are about to make are backed up by facts this time.”

Grimes’s eyes narrowed. He paused to collect himself.

“I’ll start from the beginning,” he said.

“That’s usually where most stories start,” she said.

“Ten days ago, Special Agent Lopez busted a crew of North Korean roulette cheats at Glee!. We all know the story of how he fought them off, and nearly died for his trouble. Here’s the story that people don’t know. While the North Koreans were scamming Glee! another crew of cheats was ripping off a blackjack game. They stole two point eight million, and it’s taken us this long to figure out how.”

“What does this have to do with Special Agent Lopez?”

“He was part of it.”

She paused. “You can prove this?”

“We wouldn’t be here if we couldn’t.”

The looks on their brutish faces said it all. They had the goods on Ray and were sharing their findings as a professional courtesy. She had no choice but to listen.

“Proceed,” she said.

Grimes held a folder under his arm. He removed a four-color photograph and placed it on her desk. Taken from an overhead surveillance camera, it showed a blackjack table occupied by seven players. Standing beside the table was a man wearing biker colors. A time stamp said the photo had been taken the night of Chau’s bust.

“This is the blackjack game that got scammed at Glee!” Grimes said. “The guy dressed like a biker is the ringleader. The folks at the table are members of his crew.”

More photographs followed. They were in sequence and showed a platinum- haired woman in a dealer’s uniform crossing the casino. In the last photo, she was standing at the dealer’s position at the scammed table.

“This little lady is also part of the crew,” Grimes said. “She brazenly entered the blackjack pit a few minutes before the shift change and tapped out the dealer. She took over the dealer’s spot and switched out the six decks in the game with a cooler.”

Pressley shook her head, unfamiliar with the term.

Kehoe jumped in. “A cooler is a deck switch. This dealer and the players at the table are what’s called a cooler mob. They switched in six decks that were stacked in a prearranged order and have secret marks on their backs.”

“This lets the cheats beat the game until the cards are changed the next day,” Grimes added. “Cheats call this scam the bomb.”

Pressley studied the photos before replying. “Do you have a video of this switch taking place? It would help me visualize what you’re describing.”

“I’m afraid it doesn’t exist,” Kehoe said.

“This happened inside Glee!?” she said.

“Yeah. The surveillance cameras didn’t catch it.”

“May I ask why not?”

“Glee!’s surveillance uses rotating cameras to watch the blackjack tables. A call was made from the floor, directing the observer to pull the camera away, and watch a player at another table. We believe that’s when the switch took place.”

“You believe that’s when this happened? What kind of detective work is that?”

“It’s the best we can do,” Kehoe mumbled.

Grimes jumped in. “The caller from the floor was Ray Lopez.”

“So what?”

“Lopez was part of the scam.”

“That’s absolute nonsense. Special Agent Lopez was on the floor working undercover and was talking to his supervisor. He was doing his job,” she said, having signed off on Russo’s final report a few days ago.

“There’s more,” Grimes said.

“Please share.”

A new photograph hit her desk. It showed a man standing on a blackjack table dressed in a superhero costume. Two security guards were about to haul him away.

“Last year, this joker jumped on a craps table at a casino in Lake Tahoe,” Grimes said. “While the surveillance cameras were recording him, his partners switched six decks at a blackjack table. Looks familiar, doesn’t he?”

She quickly made the match. The man dressed in the comic book costume was the biker from Glee!. It was clear that he was a participant in both scams.

“You still haven’t shown me evidence proving Lopez was involved,” she said.

“The bomb only works if the surveillance camera is diverted away from the table when the switch is made,” Grimes explained. “Lopez was the diversion at Glee!.”

“Because he made a call upstairs,” she said.

“Correct,” both men said.

“Special Agent Lopez was doing his job. Nothing you’ve shown me has proven otherwise. Come back when you have more evidence.”

Kehoe lost his patience. Leaning forward, he pointed at the man in the biker outfit. “Let me connect the dots for you. This little bastard is the one and only Billy Cunningham, the most wanted cheat in Las Vegas. It was Cunningham’s crew that orchestrated this scam. Is that enough evidence for you?”

Pressley felt like she’d been hit by a cattle prod. The evidence was no longer circumstantial. Lopez had wanted Cunningham to remain an informant, and now she understood why; Lopez was working with Cunningham and was involved in the theft. Grimes and Kehoe grew in their chairs as the surprise registered on her face.

“We want you to confront Lopez,” Grimes said. “We know Cunningham is hiding somewhere down in Tijuana. The Mexican Federal Police have agreed to find him for us. If Lopez is smart, he’ll cut a deal, and save himself before it’s too late.”

Pressley stared at the photos spread across her desk. If she’d learned anything running the Las Vegas office, it was that temptation that brought most people down.

“Do you have any idea the damage this could cause your reputation?” Kehoe said. “Put Lopez on administrative leave. It will show you’re cooperating with us.”

“You need to save yourself,” Grimes added.

They had painted her into a corner. She needed to save herself before it was too late. She rose from her desk.

“Thank you for sharing. May I keep these photos?”

Grimes shot her a wicked grin. So did Kehoe. She walked them out.

“I’ll get back to you,” she said.

She shut her office door and swore under her breath. Then, she got on her laptop. She pulled up Russo’s report of the bust at Glee!. It took a minute before she found Billy Cunningham’s name buried in its pages. Cunningham was credited with providing the tip that Alan Chau and his crew were staying at Glee! and was in line to receive a reward.

“Goddammit,” she swore.

Lopez had used the roulette scam to divert attention away from Cunningham’s crew. All it had taken was a simple phone call. She poured through the report and saw that Lopez’s call to the surveillance room had been taken by Russo, who’d told a surveillance observer to divert the camera. Ray had played Russo like a fiddle.

She shook her head in disbelief. Lopez was about to go down in flames, and she and Russo needed to devise a strategy to insure they didn’t go down with him.

Grabbing the photos off her desk, she took the emergency stairwell to the second floor, and barged into Russo’s office. It was empty. The desk was clean, the computer gone. At the window, she saw Russo in the parking lot, lugging his things to his car. She banged on the glass with her palm and got his attention.

“I’m coming down,” she said through the glass.

54

Russo was loading the trunk of his car with his things when Pressley reached him. She’d gone outside without a jacket and her teeth chattered from the cold.

Russo slammed the trunk. Then, he gave her a bear hug. Russo wasn’t known for displays of affection, and the gesture surprised her.

“What’s that for?”

“My promotion came through. I’m going to be running the South Lake Tahoe field office in a few weeks. Thanks for putting in a good word,” he said.

“You’re more than welcome. We need to talk.”

“Can it wait? I want to go home and share the news with Elizabeth.”

“We need to talk now. I just met with two gaming agents. The shit is about to hit the fan. They’ve got the goods on Ray Lopez.”

They climbed into Russo’s car. He blasted the heater so they wouldn’t freeze to death. Pressley struggled with an opening. It was common for agents who worked together to form a special bond, and she knew that Russo and Lopez were close. At the same time, there was no doubt in her mind that Ray had helped Billy Cunningham scam Glee! and she did not want these crimes to harm the office’s reputation or her own.

“What are those clowns accusing Ray of this time?” Russo asked.

“While Chau’s crew was scamming the roulette game at Glee! another crew was taking down a blackjack game. The gaming board’s convinced Ray was involved.”

“That’s horseshit.”

“The other crew was being run by Billy Cunningham.”

“The informant?”

“Yeah. The gaming agents said Lopez called the surveillance room, and had you divert a camera from a blackjack table so Cunningham’s crew could rig the game.”

Russo closed his eyes, thinking. “I remember that call.”

“What happened?”

“There was an Asian gambler that was acting suspicious. Ray asked me to take a look at him. I instructed one of the surveillance observers to watch the guy.”

“Did the request seem legitimate?”

Russo’s eyes opened and he nodded.

“Was this Asian gambler part of Chau’s crew?”

“No, he was a regular player.”

“This could have been a diversion, as the gaming board is alleging.”

“Alleging? Do they have proof that Ray was involved?”

“They have nothing concrete except Cunningham and his crew being in Glee! that night. They’re going to haul Cunningham in and make him talk. They’re convinced he’ll implicate Ray. They want us to talk to Ray and cut him a deal.”

Russo’s face turned to stone. Pressley could almost hear him thinking.

“Fuck the gaming board,” he said resolutely.

“Excuse me?”

“You heard what I said. Fuck ’em. This is the biggest bust in years, and those pencil dicks were asleep at the wheel. Instead of thanking us, they’re trying to make it seem like one of our agents is in cahoots with a gang of cheats.”

The promotion letter was sticking out of Russo’s breast pocket. If Lopez got dragged through the mud, so would Russo, as he was the one who had instructed the observer to turn her camera away from the table. That made Russo complicit, and he wasn’t going to let that happen without a fight.

“Ray isn’t dirty,” he added.

“You’re sure about that,” Pressley said.

“On my son’s grave. This is a bluff.”

“How so?”

“If the gaming board had a case, they would have arrested Cunningham first, and gotten him to implicate Ray. They’re on a fishing expedition and want you to pressure Ray into admitting something they can’t prove.”

“What should we do?”

“Wait them out. Let the gaming board prove their case. Is there a surveillance video of Ray consorting with these cheats?”

“If there is, they didn’t show it to me.”

Russo snorted contemptuously. “They don’t have a leg to stand on.”

Pressley fell silent. She was stuck. Without Russo’s support, she couldn’t confront Ray, and would have to ride out the storm.

“You don’t agree with me,” Russo said.

“You’re right, I don’t. I think we should confront Ray.”

“Why?”

“Because of Cunningham. If the gaming board makes Cunningham talk, he could implicate Ray, and that would be bad for everyone.”

“Meaning you and me.”

“Especially you and me.”

Russo softened, seeing the big picture. “Can the gaming board prove Cunningham was in Glee! that night?”

Pressley had brought the gaming board’s photos with her. She passed Russo the shot of Cunningham dressed in biker clothing.

“That’s him,” she said.

Russo blinked. It was the same guy who’d kept a compound on his wound until the medics had arrived. He’d lost a lot of blood that night; anymore, and who knows what shape he’d be in now. He passed the photo back to her and shook his head.

“You don’t want to confront Ray,” she said.

“I won’t confront Ray,” he corrected her.

This was going to end badly; she could feel it.

“The gaming board isn’t going away,” she said.

Russo laughed under his breath. “No one ever cried when a casino lost money. Mark my words. This thing will blow over before you know it.”

Pressley disagreed. She had seen the looks on the gaming agents’ faces. They were not going to go quietly in the night. Ray had a target on his back, and eventually they were going to take him down. She opened the passenger door and got out.

“Call me if you change your mind,” she said.

Russo backed out with a squeal of rubber. He did not say goodbye.

55

Two days later

Billy had spent months looking for a hideout south of the border. Like any smart crook, he knew that one day, the law would catch up to him, and he would need to hide. Before making a purchase, he’d drawn up a wish list. He wanted a new house with all the amenities, including high-speed internet and state-of-the-art security. He also wanted to be near the beach, in a town with a laid-back vibe. Why not enjoy his time away from home? Most of all, he wanted neighbors who minded their own business.

Playas de Tijuana had fit the bill. It was a happy beach town with a wide boardwalk and plenty of good-time bars. Most of the waterfront homes were owned by ex-pats looking to escape the California rat race.

His house was the size of a B&B. Three stories, eight bedrooms, located on a wide section of beach, a steal at a million five. Despite Tijuana’s reputation for crime, the local police force was excellent, and kept things safe. Just to be safe, though, his neighbors paid for guards to patrol the neighborhood at night. He’d happily kicked in his share.

Gabe was living at the house when Billy and Maggie arrived. His gaffer had made himself at home and stocked the fridge with prime cuts of meat and poultry, the bar with top shelf brands. The first night, Gabe had prepared a gourmet dinner which they ate on the rooftop patio while watching the sunset. Although a warrant had been issued for Gabe’s arrest, his gaffer wasn’t concerned. Billy had decided to give Gabe a cut from the heist as payback for getting rid of Tony G. With the money, Gabe could live in Mexico for years and not have a care in the world.

Cory and Morris arrived the next morning, fresh off a bender. While purchasing tourist visas at the border they’d met a pair of USC co-eds looking for a good time. They’d partied for two days before going their separate ways.

Misty and Pepper showed up that afternoon driving a Mercedes AMG with money they’d scammed off their former business partner Glen. They’d also purchased tourist visas and planned to stay in Mexico for a while.

Hing and Lilly Ann had grabbed Bobbi and were vacationing in Vietnam. They also planned to stay out of the country for the foreseeable future.

It was all going according to plan. They’d gotten out of Las Vegas with their skins. The money they’d stolen from Glee! was sitting in offshore bank accounts and could not be touched. The surveillance cameras outside their houses and in Billy’s penthouse showed zero activity. The gaming board wasn’t banging on their doors.

Billy had called Lopez a few times to see how he was doing. As a precaution, they’d spoken on burner phones. Lopez was at home doing physical therapy, his spirits good. The gaming board hadn’t knocked on his door, either.

Billy couldn’t have been happier. The buzz he’d gotten from scamming Glee! hadn’t gone away. It was better than the high from a thousand-dollar bottle of wine, or great sex. It also lasted a hell of a lot longer.

Then, it all came crashing down.

His housekeeper’s name was Maria. Working for him, she was able to feed her five kids, and was loyal. She appeared on the rooftop while he was working on his tan and whispered that he had visitors. He’d questioned her with a raised eyebrow.

“PFM,” she said nervously.

The PFM was a federal agency tasked with fighting organized crime in Mexico and was modeled after the FBI. They were the good guys in a system plagued by bad cops, or so people wanted to believe.

He got out of his chair and slipped on his shirt. His crew were in lounge chairs taking siestas, and he did his best not to wake them.

Three uniformed PFM officers awaited him in the foyer. Sharply dressed, they wore black hats, black neckties, and black leather gloves, their eyes hidden behind shades. He dismissed Maria and she scurried away. The officer in the middle stepped forward. His name was Calderon, and he had no neck and was built like a bull. Billy had made his acquaintance not long after purchasing the house.

“Good morning. I hope we are not disturbing you,” Calderon said.

“Not at all, Officer Calderon. I was on the roof enjoying the beautiful weather. What can I do for you?”

“We have a problem.”

Calderon waited for him to say something. Billy knew how the game in Mexico was played. He raised an eyebrow, the same as he’d done with Maria.

“Two Nevada gaming agents are in Tijuana looking for you,” Calderon continued. “The chief inspector assigned them to me. These gaming agents claim you and your friends cheated a casino in Las Vegas. They want to bring you in for questioning.”

“I see. Are these agents outside?”

Calderon shook his head. Billy again raised an eyebrow.

“They are in the hospital,” Calderon said.

He feigned surprise. “How did they end up there?”

“We took them to a bar in Zona Norte. We told them this was where you and your friends hung out. The gaming agents identified themselves to the bartender and showed their badges. Several members of a drug cartel were inside the bar doing business. They drew guns and started shooting.”

Tijuana was the murder capital of the world, with five people dying every day. Most of these killings took place on the city’s east side, with Zona Norte at ground zero.

“How badly were the agents hurt?” he asked.

“Both men were shot in the leg. They will live.”

“They got lucky.”

“That is one way to look at it.”

“Do you have a picture of these agents?”

Officer Calderon showed him an unposed photograph of the gaming agents on his cell phone that had been taken outside their hotel. To Billy’s surprise, neither were Frank Grimes. Grimes had been chasing him for years, and he knew how the man thought. Sending underlings was out of character. It was a scare tactic, designed to shake him up. Thanks to Calderon’s quick thinking, he’d dodged a bullet.

From the pocket of his shorts, he removed a wad of cash. The average Mexican policeman made three hundred fifty dollars a month and got by on the generosity of the cartels and criminals like himself. He generously rewarded Calderon and his men.

“Thank you for the information,” he said.

“Our pleasure, Mr. Cunningham,” Calderon said.

When the PFM officers were gone, Billy found a burner phone, and dialed Lopez’s number. There could only be one reason why Grimes hadn’t made the trip. Grimes had his eye on a bigger target, which was Ray. It made him wonder if they’d screwed up and left a clue at the scene that would implicate the FBI agent. Reception was lousy south of the border, and it took several tries before his call went through.

“Damn it, pick up,” he swore.

56

They decided to take the Strip. Normally, that was a bad call, with traffic so heavy it could take an hour to travel a few short miles. This morning was a different story. The town was taking a breather; except for a handful of yellow cabs trolling for fares, the six-lane stretch that defined Las Vegas was empty.

Lezli manned the wheel. She had gotten dressed up and looked radiant. She’d lived in the ICU during his recovery and done everything she could to keep his spirits up. The time had come for him to make things right by her. It was long overdue.

Lopez rode with his arm in a sling. During his recuperation, he’d had time to think about the things he’d done. The conclusion he’d reached was identical to the premise that he’d started with. The laws were meant to protect the innocent, not the criminals and institutions that broke them. The people he had stolen money from had gotten what they deserved. He felt no remorse for anything he’d done.

The casinos were quiet, the little city-states of pleasure resembling ghost towns. Without the waves of energy given off by tourists, the town had no meaning. Soon they were speeding through the desert. They passed walled subdivisions with seductive names like Roaming Acres and Rancho Springs. Until now, the south side had been out of their price range. Lezli had squealed with delight when he’d suggested looking there.

WAZE said their turn was ahead. She pulled up to a guardhouse. A uniformed guard found their name on his clipboard, and waved them in.

“Have a nice day,” the guard said.

They drove down streets of Spanish-style homes with majestic palm trees shading manicured front yards. Tami Dill, their real estate agent, awaited on the lawn of a home with a For Sale sign planted by a stone mailbox. Lezli parked in the driveway.

“How does your arm feel?”

The painkillers were wearing off and his arm was throbbing. If he told her that, she would turn around, and drive him home.

“Never better,” he said.

“You’re not just saying that, are you?”

“My arm is fine. I had a dream about this house last night.”

“Was it calling to you?”

“Yes.”

Lezli beamed. It had been a long time since she’d done that.

They both got out.

They’d toured the house online and it had everything they wanted. But viewing it in person was different, and they let Tami earn her commission. The house had 2,800 square feet of sumptuous living, with four bedrooms, three bathrooms, a remodeled kitchen with granite counter tops, a working fireplace, an entertainment room with a Bose surround system, and hardwood floors throughout the downstairs. Like any good salesperson, Tami saved the best for last, and stood dramatically in front of the curtained living room sliders. “The owners recently made a dramatic improvement to the back yard which isn’t featured on our website,” she said. “I know it’s none of my business, but are you planning to start a family?”

“We’re working on it,” Lopez said.

“Good answer! If you decide to have little ones, imagine the fun they’ll have playing in their very own Disneyland.”

Tami drew back the curtains with a flourish. The backyard looked like something out of a kid’s fairy tale. There was a kidney-shaped swimming pool with a water slide, a fenced-in basketball court, and four holes of mini-golf. She directed their attention to the batting cage on the side of the house. It even had netting.

“That’s for your future full-ride scholarship recipient,” she said.

Lezli squeezed his good hand. “Oh, my God. Can you believe this? Did you know that my husband played baseball at UNLV, and was nearly drafted?”

“I may have read that somewhere,” Tami said with a smile.

Lopez was blown away. He hadn’t picked up a bat since college. He could get his swing back and maybe one day teach his son how to play.

“It’s amazing,” he said.

“Here’s the best part,” Tami said. “This morning the owners dropped the price by thirty thousand dollars. They’re motivated to sell. The question is, are you ready to make an offer, and turn this into your dream home?”

“Can we take a look at the backyard?” his wife asked.

“Of course!”

Tami resumed her pitch in the backyard. Lopez’s cell phone buzzed. The screen said Caller Unknown. It was either spam or Billy calling on a burner.

“Excuse me, I need to take this.”

He slipped inside and shut the slider. “Hello?”

“Ray, it’s Billy.”

“I’m with my wife looking at a house. Can we talk later?”

“This can’t wait.”

“What’s wrong?”

“Two gaming agents came to Tijuana looking for me. My buddies on the police force dealt with them. I’m afraid you’re next, my friend.”

Lopez shuddered. For the gaming board to send agents into Mexico meant they were in trouble. The question was, how much trouble? How much evidence did the gaming board have against them?

“Did they have an arrest warrant?” he asked.

“Not that I’m aware of.”

It was a fishing expedition, designed to intimidate Billy and make him talk. The bad part was, they knew where Billy was hiding out, and would eventually be back. If they couldn’t make Billy talk, the crew would be next.

“Where’s your crew?” he asked.

“Three are vacationing in Vietnam, the rest are with me.”

“All of you need to leave Tijuana. Just to be on the safe side.”

“I was thinking the same thing. We’re going to a little place—”

“Don’t tell me. The less I know, the better.”

Lezli was waving to him to finish his call. He lifted a finger, indicating he’d be right out, and continued talking to Billy. “Are you planning to drive?”

“Got to. The local airport’s private. Why?”

“Get a rental. That goes for your crew as well.”

“Why?”

“Your buddies on the police force are corrupt. That runs both ways. The gaming agents may have paid them to stick tracking devices on your cars.”

“There’s a Hertz office in town. We’ll go there.”

“Do you have fake ID you can use?”

“Of course.”

He paused to see if he’d missed something. The only physical evidence linking them to the heist was Maggie’s dealer’s uniform. Billy had burned it before leaving town and sent him a video. He told himself that all of their bases were covered.

“I’ve got to run. Call me when you get settled,” he said.

“I will. Watch your back.”

Lopez’s heart was racing as he ended the call. He needed to pull himself together, and he spent a moment walking the downstairs. The house was everything he’d ever wanted, and he imagined his college friends coming over to work on their swings in the batting cage. Or sitting around the fireplace when his folks were in town, sharing stories. He imagined the children they’d yet to conceive playing with other kids, and their parents becoming their friends, and watching them grow up. These were the things he wanted, and it was now within his grasp. Best of all, he imagined a normal existence, where he and Lezli didn’t live in fear of being vandalized or harmed in their home. He didn’t think that was too much to ask for. If the road he’d taken to attain this dream was paved with blood, he would just have to live with it.

He joined his wife and their real estate agent by the pool.

“Is everything all right?” Lezli asked.

He nodded. “What do you think?”

“I love this place. It’s absolutely perfect,” she said.

“Are you ready to make an offer, Ray?” Tami asked.

Lopez wrapped his arm around his wife’s waist and gazed into her eyes. He could not remember ever seeing her so happy. This was how their life was meant to be.

“I sure am,” he said.

There was no time like the present. They decided to drive to Tami’s office so she could write up an offer sheet. She would present it to the buyers tonight and get them to sign. They walked down the front path holding hands and stopped for another look at the house. Tami was backing down the driveway and called out to them.

“You are going to be so happy,” she squealed.

They got into their car and followed their real estate agent into the street. Tami had stopped and was chatting to a pair of men sitting in a Crown Vic parked on the opposite curb. The woman was a nonstop sales machine.

“Are you excited?” his wife asked.

“How could I not be. It’s a dream come true,” he said.

“I feel the same way.”

Tami ended her conversation with the men and pulled away. Lezli followed her while talking about all the wonderful things they’d be able to do in their new home. Her eyes were glued to the road, and she didn’t pay attention to the Crown Vic’s passengers. The driver had a hideous birthmark on his face, his passenger mostly in silhouette, a shaven-headed figure with a camera with a telescopic lens slung around his neck. Sunlight danced off the gold, seven-pointed badges pinned to the lapels of their black windbreakers. They were gaming agents.

He locked eyes with the two men. As if on cue, their mouths twisted into cruel smiles. The bald agent made a gun with his thumb and forefinger and paused before pulling the trigger, just long enough for Lopez to know they were on to him.

Acknowledgments

A big thank you to Kevin Smith, Mark Torgove, and Laura Swain for their creative input during the early drafts of this book.

A number of published works proved invaluable while gathering research. These include How Casinos Enable Gaming Addicts by John Rosengren, The Atlantic; “Fear & Self-Loathing in Las Vegas: My Gambling Addiction Story” by Andy Bellatti, MS, RD, Medium.com; “How Casinos Use Rewards Programs to Track Everything You Do” by Emily Rea, Lifehacker.com; The Unexpected Gambler, A History of Casinos Cheating the Public and One Gambler’s Revenge by Robert Asiel; The Smart Money by Michael Konik, Simon & Schuster; American Roulette by Richard Marcus, Thomas Dunne Books; Gambling Scams by Darwin Ortiz, Dodd, Mead; License to Steal by Jeff Burbank, University of Nevada Press; Ace-Deuce, The Life and Times of a Gambling Man by J.E. Anderson, AuthorHouse; Bad Bet, The Inside Story of the Glamour, Glitz, and Danger of America’s Gambling Industry by Timothy L. O’Brien, Times Books; Beating the Wheel, Winning Strategies at Roulette by Russell T. Barnhart, Lyle Stuart; Gambling Wizards, Conversations with the World’s Greatest Gamblers by Richard W. Munchkin, Huntington Press Publishing; Neon Metropolis, How Las Vegas Started the Twenty-First Century, by Hal Rothman, Routledge; The Card Counter’s Guide to Casino Surveillance, by Cellini, Huntington Press Publishing.

It is impossible to write knowledgeably about casino cheating without referencing the work of Steve Forte. His books include Read the Dealer; Poker Protection, Cheating… and the World of Poker; Casino Game Protection, A Comprehensive Guide; Gambling Sleight of Hand, Volume 1&2; Gambling Protection Series (DVDs).

This book is dedicated to Tom Swain.

Content

James Swain
Sin City

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