Super Con (Billy Cunningham Book 3) by James Swain

Author:James Swain [Swain, James]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9781542046404
Publisher: Thomas & Mercer
Published: 2017-12-05T07:00:00+00:00

THIRTY-ONE

Leaving Royal Links, Billy rolled down his window and let the desert air warm his skin. When he’d first landed in Vegas, he thought he’d walked into a pizza oven. Over time he’d gotten used to the intense heat and found himself looking forward to days when it broke a hundred degrees and the grass turned brown before his eyes.

He got a call as he pulled into Turnberry Towers. It was none other than Mags. Just yesterday she’d proclaimed that she never wanted to lay eyes on him again, and here she was, giving him an old-fashioned phone call. He answered with a cheerful, “Hey there.”

“You stupid little bastard,” she swore.

The valet approached. The valet liked his job too much, leading Billy to assume the residents’ cars were being taken for unauthorized spins. He waved him away and parked in the building’s shade. “I missed you, too.”

“Fuck you, Billy. And the horse you rode in on.”

“Are you going to explain what I did or just curse at me?”

“Frank Grimes just paid me a visit. Frank tracked down the Gypsies to a rented house on the north end of town. He went out there to arrest them, only your friends were gone. But they left behind a calling card in the grass next to the driveway.”

“What kind of calling card?”

“Excuse me. You left a calling card in the grass by the driveway.”

“I did?”

“Yes, you little turd. Remember the surveillance photo I gave you? Well, it must have fallen out of your pocket onto the grass.”

He shut his eyes and took a deep breath. He’d given the photo to Tommy Boswell, who must have let the photo slip out of his pocket while he was climbing into the trunk of the getaway car. Even the best crooks screwed up and became complicit in their own demise. To make matters worse, the photo had landed in the hands of Frank Grimes, who prided himself on making cheats’ lives miserable, one day at a time.

“Can the photo be traced back to you?” he asked.

“It sure can. You need to fix this, Cunningham. Right fucking now.”

Mags was on tilt and running off at the mouth. He needed to look her in the eye and calm her down. Having her come to his penthouse was not a good idea, since she might say something out of line in front of the desk clerk or a resident and blow his cover. And then he’d have to go to the trouble of finding a new place to live.

Across the street, a brand-new joint called SLS shimmered like a mirage in the desert. He’d recently checked out the casino and found the pit bosses and dealers so green that they could have fallen off the backs of potato trucks. There were loads of dining options, ranging from super expensive to el cheapo, and he decided to meet Mags there.

“Meet me at Umami Burger at the SLS Hotel in half an hour. And don’t be late.” It was a crass thing for him to say.

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