King Con (24 page)

“This is the Sabre Bay Club on Grand Bahama. We’re doing a credit check on Mr. Harry Stanton Price. He told us he banks with you.”

“That’s correct. Let me get his account on screen. Do you have an International Verification Number?” Victoria asked.

“Two-four-five-nine-eight double-zero.” Angela gave the number from memory.

“Thank you. How can I help?”

“He’s requested a loan from us of two hundred thousand dollars. We need verification up to that amount.”

“Is this a casino hotel?” Victoria asked.

“Yes, it is,” Angela responded.

“Both Mr. Price’s personal account and his Price Is Right Automotive Center bank with us. Mr. Stanton has a net worth in excess of ten million dollars. His cash-on-hand balance is well in excess of the required two hundred thousand. We can reserve it here, but would rather not wire it unless it becomes necessary.”

“That’s fine. Reserve it and we’ll issue the credit and settle with you if need be when he checks out.”

Buzini was out of the office before Angela hung up. He made his way across the carpeted casino to where a small crowd had gathered to ooh and aah as Duffy threw his money away with stupid bets on table three.

“New dice,” Duffy yelled after each miserable roll. When Buzini got to him, he was down to less than five thousand dollars, and half of that was scraped away two rolls of the dice later.

“Sons-of-bitches,” Duffy scowled at the dice. “Losing’s worse than a Communist dictator.” He looked up at the casino Shift Manager through bloodshot eyes; his head lolling badly to the right side, he had let a fine line of spit drool down his chin.

“It’s a pleasure to have you at the Sabre Bay Club,” Buzini said, smiling at the horrible-looking cripple, praising his good fortune and thinking the old man would be better off in some vegetable ward at a mainland hospital.

“Goddamn dice, can’t
buy
a fucking winning number,” Duffy complained.

“Sir, I’m sorry you’re experiencing a run of bad
luck,” Buzini purred, “but Sabre Bay would like to extend you the courtesy of one of our priority suites. Everything that’s here, dinner, the shows, all of the resort amenities, will be complimentary.”

“How’s my credit check coming? Need more cash,” Duffy wheezed.

“I’ve checked that, sir, and your credit has been approved to two hundred thousand dollars.” He smiled, hoping the old leaker didn’t croak before he had a chance to lose it all.

“Harry, can we get out of this casino for a while? You’ve lost enough for one sitting,” Beano moaned. “Let’s go before you lose the whole car business.”

“Goddamned whining and complaining. All you do is groan an’ moan an’ ruin everybody else’s fun.”

“Sir, would both you gentlemen honor us by being our complimentary guests for as long as you’d like to stay?” the Buzzard said, exposing his carrion smile.

“Damn right I’ll stay, bet yer ass I’ll stay. I gotta get even here. Luck’s bound ta’ change. Bound ta’ change.”

“Can we at least get something to eat?” Beano whined.

“Our Pelican Room is excellent; the dinner menu is exquisite. I’ll bring your room key over to your table. Allow me to make the reservation,” Buzini said, wringing his hands and reminding Beano of the manager who ran Rings ‘n’ Things in Atlantic City.

Tommy finally agreed with his brother, Joe, that Calliope Love was a head-splitting pain in the ass. They were sitting in the bar at the Sabre Bay Club. Tommy had the gunfighter seat, with his back to the wall so he could scope out the hot-looking talent coming up from the pool. His eye had locked onto a brunette in a yellow silk dress the minute she arrived. … He could barely pull his gaze away. The dress was little more than a
nightgown and his sexual imagination was filling his loins with lust while Calliope’s flat Boston vowels were filling his ears with complaints.

“All them little kids down by the pool, screamin’, throwin’ their Frisbees,” she complained, while Tommy was studying the beauty sitting alone at the bar. Several men offered to buy her drinks or to dance to the music of the small calypso band that was set up next to the dance floor. The brunette spurned them all. “You should make it an adults-only hotel, Tommy, I swear,” Calliope continued. “It’s a casino. Them little brats can’t gamble. Why they gotta be here? You just know them little shits is pissing in the pool.”

“This was your idea, comin’ down here,” Tommy growled. “Why don’t ya shut yer yap for a while? All you fuckin’ do is gimme a fuckin’ list a’things that piss you off; I ain’t the fuckin’ complaint department, okay?” His gaze was focused past Calliope as the brunette at the bar crossed her legs and the slit dress fell away, almost exposing her. Tommy’s expert eye had already determined she wasn’t wearing anything under the silk dress … no outline of underwear, nothing. She was naked as an egg under there. The only thing keeping his pecker down was Calliope’s constant braying.

“The hamburger was absolutely ruined,” she observed. “You should talk to the guys that cook at the grill. Tell ‘em we don’t need our meat burned to charcoal, for Christ sake.”

“Why don’t you give it a rest?” Tommy sighed, hoping to shut her up.

“I’m only trying to help improve this joint. They overcook everything,” she said, pouting slightly, “but maybe the only meat you give a shit about is that tube steak between your legs.”

“Stop talkin’ like a whore. Joe says you talk like a street hooker and he’s right.” Tommy moved slightly to
his right, so he could see better over Calliope’s shoulder. A red-haired man came into the bar, walked up, and started talking to Tommy’s almost-naked fantasy Goddess. She made no move to pull her dress back over her legs or to cover her exposed thighs. She also didn’t wave the guy off like she had the others. He was too handsome and too tall and Tommy hated him on sight. Then the redheaded man committed the ultimate sin: He put his hand on the Goddess’s shoulder and leaned down and whispered in her ear. Tommy dug into his pocket and put five hundred dollars on the table.

“Why don’t you go play this?” he said, and Calliope snapped up the money like a hungry tree lizard, tongue-zapping an insect.

She got up and faced him. “Y’know, Tommy, you don’t always have to treat me like I’m some kinda rental. I have feelings.”

“Right, but ya don’t give a shit about mine. You’re in my ear all day long. … ‘Do this, change that.’ This ain’t my hotel.”

“You said it was. …”

“Joe makes all the decisions.”

“You let him boss you around. He’s your little brother, you should stand up to him. He’s not so smart.”

“Just go blow the five benjies and stop chewing on me.”

She turned and walked away, swaying her ass, trying to cool him down by giving him a show, but Tommy missed it. His eyes never left the girl at the bar. When the tall, redheaded guy turned and left her, she immediately motioned for the bartender to get her check. Tommy waved to the bartender, shook his head, then pointed to himself. The bartender nodded, then leaned down and spoke to the girl, who glanced at Tommy. Then she deliberately opened her purse and paid her bill anyway. She got up from the bar stool, started to leave,
then abruptly turned and moved toward him. He could see the sway of her hips, see the outline of her nipples through the translucent fabric of her gown. She moved to him, stopped, then put one hand on her hip and smiled.

“I can afford my own drinks. But thanks,” she said; her seductive voice whistled like a cold wind blowing across smooth marble.

“They’re complimentary,” Tommy said. “Compliments of the casino. I’ll have the money returned to your room if you give me the number.”

“You work for the casino …?”

“I own the casino. … From now on your money is no good in this place,” he said softly. Then he followed that with his best smile, which would qualify at most hangings as ghoulishly speculative. “Thomas Rina,” he said and stood, putting out his hand. She was almost four inches taller and he had to look up at her, but for once he didn’t mind being shorter because he was too busy admiring her. She was the best piece of free-floating pussy he had seen in his entire life.

“I noticed a lotta guys asked you to dance. … What’s wrong, you don’t like to dance?”

“Wrong verb,” she said coolly, and Tommy’s grin widened.

“How’d you like to join me for dinner on the High-roller floor?” he said, thinking he could get her out of here and take her to the private dining room on the key-locked High-roller floor on ten, and avoid running into Calliope. He hadn’t given Calliope a key to the High-roller floor because she would probably spew out her complaints and upset the thousand-dollar bettors. He also didn’t need her up there dressed in short-shorts and heels, pissing on him in public. This Goddess was different. She was sexy and classy at the same time. “How ‘bout you join me for dinner?” Tommy pressed.

“I’m with some people,” Dakota smiled.

“Friends?”

“Not exactly … I met ‘em in Vegas, flew down here with ‘em on their private plane. Now I’m kinda stuck.”

“What’s your name?”

“Dakota Smith,” she said softly, her husky voice sensual and full of promise.

“And that guy you were with over there … he’s not your boyfriend?”

“I don’t know what he is right now … a mistake, probably.”

“Well, things’re definitely looking up,” Tommy said, again smiling unattractively.

“You own this place? Really?” she said, and he nodded. Then a thought seemed to hit her. “Douglas and his Uncle Harry have a table in the Pelican Room for dinner. They paid my way so I better join them, but I’ve never been to the High-roller floor. Maybe I could ditch them and meet you for a drink later.”

“How ‘bout right here, ten-thirty?”

“Make it eleven,” she said, smiling at him. “Am I dressed okay for the High-roller floor?” she asked.

“Baby, if you were dressed any better you’d set off the fire alarm.”

She smiled and walked out of the bar, turning every head. Tommy didn’t usually connect so easily. … He had sometimes dated beautiful women, but they were pros and Tommy always had to pay, but luckily, this Goddess was different.

The Pelican Room overlooked the ocean on the mezzanine level. It was elegant, with off-white carpet and dark wood antique tables and chairs. The silver was authentic. Buzini gave Beano and Duffy a key to Suite 10-B. He told them it was one of their best High-roller suites and was on the key-locked tenth level. After he
left, Dakota joined them at the table in the magnificent dining room, but was strangely silent.

“You hook up with Tommy?” Beano finally asked.

She nodded. “We’re meeting later. He looks worse than I remembered. A housefly in loafers.”

Beano nodded and started to say something. …

“Don’t, Beano. Okay? I’ll do my end, you do yours. It’s about Carol, not about you and me.” She looked at Duffy. “You get the perfects?” she asked, referring to the casino dice.

“Twelve sets. I’m blowin’ farts on ‘em right now t’keep ‘em warm,” he grinned.

They ordered dinner but said very little. There was a strange tension between Beano and Dakota that cut through the air like words screamed in silence. Finally, after they finished their coffee, the beautiful mack put down her napkin. “If you’re looking for company, you should take Victoria out. Show her your multi-terrain personality. Might stir up some of her bottom sediments.”

“Maybe I’ll do that,” Beano said.

Then Dakota turned and walked out of the restaurant. … Neck cartilage snapped all around her.

“You two should lay off,” Duffy said.

“I fell in love with her once. She spit me out like fish bones.”

“So it’s over.”

“I know.” He tapped his head. “At least in here, I know.” Then he got up, pulled Duffy away from the table, and pushed him out of the room.

V
ICTORIA WAS STILL DOWN BY THE GOLF SHOP, WAIT
ing with Roger, when Beano finally called and told her to get Duffy’s overnight case from the car and come to the fire door on the east side of the hotel. The little terrier followed her as she got the small blue canvas bag out of the van and went off in search of the door. She found Beano standing outside, looking out at the moonlit ocean.

“How’d it go?” she asked, handing him the bag.

“We got the casino perfects. We’re comped into a High-roller suite on ten. It’s a key-locked floor. How you doing, Rog?” he said, and the little dog looked at him and cocked his head as if he wasn’t certain. “Come on,” Beano said.

He opened the door, which he had propped open by leaving his shoe in the threshold. He removed the loafer, slipped it on, and they climbed the stairs to the third floor. He opened the door there and checked the hall before leading Victoria and Roger-the-Dodger out to the elevator. They got in and he used his key to activate the button to the tenth floor. They rode up without speaking as calypso music from the recessed speaker washed over them.

Victoria followed him out on the tenth floor and over
to Suite 10-B. Beano knocked on the double doors and Duffy opened one a crack and peaked through before opening it wide. Victoria walked into a magnificent beige and white suite with a twelve-foot exposed-beamed ceiling, a wide balcony, and louvered windows to deflect sunlight. The furnishings were tasteful, but slightly bland, the major exception being several pieces of Bahamian metal sculptures of native spear fisherman that she thought were truly stunning. Beano and Duffy had ordered caviar and champagne which they had barely touched and, since she was starved, she took several toast squares and loaded them with the tiny black fish eggs, wolfing it down. She fixed one for Roger, who sniffed it before looking up at her with wise eyes that seemed to say, “What, are you kidding me?”

“It’s an acquired taste,” she said to the dog, while Beano handed Duffy the blue canvas bag. Duffy opened it and started laying the contents out on the blond-ash dining room table. The plug-in drill and bit were very small.

“Dentist drill,” Duffy explained as Victoria wandered over, holding the last toast square with caviar. He laid the drill carefully on the table. Then he unpacked an assortment of blades, several dark glass vials that Victoria assumed contained the cellophane gas, and a jar of epoxy, plus a bottle of white paint. The last thing he removed was a small case that contained several tiny single-hair paint brushes.