Ill Gotten Gains: Diary of a Gentle Grifter, page 8
This is not your backyard on a hot summer afternoon, Goober.
Anyway, while I was consistently betting on the plentiful spots on the wheel to maintain a respectable pile of chips, this dude was throwing all his money on the more improbable options, and he was losing almost every time.
That was the case for some time until, of course, he hit for four grand. And naturally, Goober hooted and hollered and jumped out of his damned flip-flops. He bellowed for his wife who was parked at a nearby slot machine nursing a Michelob Ultra. She seemed unimpressed and unwilling to “come see! come see!” as he kept screeching at the top of his lungs.
I hated him because, obviously, he wasn’t an idiot. And because he got super lucky at my table.
Pissed off and royally annoyed by the classless guy who refused to calm the hell down—he even slapped me on the back once, like I was ever going to be his ‘bro’—I tipped the uber-patient dealer and extricated myself from the low-class ruckus.
I found myself asking myself all the time: why, oh why, dear casino gods, can’t modern day Vegas be like a tasteful James Bond movie? Tuxedos and martinis. Elegantly dressed women standing stoically behind their men, high-maintenance showpieces there for good luck. Equally grand Bentley Flying Spurs and Lamborghini Huracáns parked out front. It seemed idealistic to me, if not chauvinistic, disgustingly snobbish, and hopelessly out of date.
But I liked the idea of it all nevertheless.
Yet, could I live in a place like Monte Carlo? Would it fit my style? My brand? Could I mix with royalty? Would I be comfortable drinking in the sophistication? The panache? The gobs and gobs of money?
And, more importantly, could I get away with grifting in Monaco?
Decidedly not. My schemes wouldn’t work there.
Plus, I always feel as if I look like a restaurant waiter when stuffed into a monkey suit. I can’t pull it off no matter the occasion. And I’d certainly never be able to struggle into one every single night just to do a job.
Snapped back into the reality of that moment, I realized Mandalay Bay—while nicer than most in town, it was no Casino de Monte-Carlo—had become more bustling and much louder. So, I cashed in my chips and headed back to my suite at the Excalibur where I pulled out my notebook and began formulating a plan of action for the weekend.
I’d wasted enough time. I needed to figure out how to collect my fifty thousand in cash, not kill a man, not get killed by one of Lucia’s thugs, and still manage to convince one Peter Kimball to fork over seventy-five percent of his hotel so I could hand it off to Mother...and hopefully be done with the mob forever.
Easy.
If I couldn’t disconnect myself from the Marinelli’s world, I feared I’d have no choice but to leave my beloved Las Vegas. Because if I succeed in the task at hand, Lucia or her successor, whoever he, she, or they might be, will inevitably hand down more near-impossible jobs to perform on their behalf. But if I refused and took off for parts unknown, what would become of the Lences? Would I be forced to put my parents in hiding to save their lives, too?
My parents!
I rang my mother’s cell phone.
“Macon, honey. How are you?”
“The bigger question is, how’s Dad? I forgot to call him.”
She sighed the disappointed sigh I knew so well. “Yes. And he was a bit upset about that. But I suspect he’s over it now, because they released him early. He’s here at the house. I’ll put you on speaker.” She seemed to be struggling with something. “How does this cockamamie thing work? Jim! Honey?”
My father piped up. “Come on now, Carol, it’s this button on the right. See it here? Right here! No…yes, that one. Geez.”
I giggled. This was altogether typical. Jim, Carol, and technology didn’t meld.
After a few frustratingly long moments, the speaker finally engaged.
“Can you hear us?” my mother shouted. “Hello?”
“Yes, ma’am. Now stop screaming please. I can hear you fine.”
“How are you, kiddo?” My father sounded strong.
“I’m fine. But how are you? Are you doing okay?”
“Better than new. Really, Macon. Modern medicine is something, I’ll tell you that. It was a very mild attack, they say. Nothing at all to worry about. The doctor even said I could travel if I wanted to.”
I stood up, switched the phone from one ear to the other, and walked to the window. “Travel? That can’t be a good idea, Dad. Not so soon anyway. Where would you go anyway?”
“Well, out there to Las Vegas, of course,” my mother chimed in. “We’ve never been to Nevada, and we thought it was high time we came out and saw this manufactured world you claim you love so much. And your cute little house, too, of course.”
My cute little house!?
Holy crap. I’d all but forgotten about that deception—once upon a time I told them I bought a single-family abode. I even went so far as to email them digital photos of the place. But I didn’t own a house. The pics I sent were taken from a vacation rental site I found online. At the time, I probably thought they’d never make the trip since they hardly ever left Virginia. I guess I thought they’d never be the wiser.
Stupid me.
“We’re coming out on May 21st. That’s a Tuesday, Macon,” my father said flatly. “Flights are much cheaper on Tuesdays, as you know.”
“I hope that date is good for you, honey,” my mother said. “Because your father went and locked it in without asking you first. I told him not to but…”
“Macon.” My father seemed to get closer to the phone. “I’m sorry, but I couldn’t pass up the deal. It was a steal. But don’t fret—we don’t need to be entertained. We know you’ll have work to attend to and your backyard looks like a wonderful place to spend some time while we wait. And the weather in May, well, you said it was the best of the year, didn’t you? I think you told us that.”
I closed my eyes. “May. Yes. Lovely. Springtime can be quite lovely here.” You locked it in already, Dad? Seriously? What is wrong with you people?
“You don’t seem too excited about this idea.” My mother sounded sad.
I placed one of my palms on the window, followed by my forehead. Why me, God? “That’s not true. Not at all. I’m just tired, is all. I’m thrilled you’re coming to visit. I really am. And May 21st will be perfect,” I lied. “That’s a slow week for me.”
“Perfect,” they said in unison.
“And we’ll only stay five nights. That’s our maximum for any one place,” my father said. “Is that okay with you, Macon?”
Like I really have a choice at this point, Father dear. But instead, I said, “Sure, Dad. That sounds fine.” I flopped down on the couch. “Hey, I have a quick question for y’all. Has anyone strange been by the house lately? Snooping around? Have you met anyone recently you didn’t already know?”
“What? What did he just ask?” my father growled. “Macon, what are you talking about, son? How could we meet someone we already know? That makes no sense at all. But, no, no one has been to the house who we don’t already know. I do know that.”
My mother chimed in, “Well, we did meet a good number of wonderful doctors and nurses this week at the hospital. And there were the paramedics at the golf course, too. They were saints, those young men. Saved your father’s life. But lurkers? Here? No. Why are you asking such a thing, honey?”
Why indeed. “Um, I don’t know. I just read something in the news. People scamming old people of late. Home invasions are on the rise with old people. That kind of thing.”
My father wasn’t happy with that. “Old people! Seventy is the new fifty, boy. Honestly. Old people. You don’t need to worry about us. We’re not fools. We’re not old. And we can take care of ourselves.”
“I didn’t say you were a fool, Dad. Come on. It’s just that…”
“And your brother is just down the street.” My mother said it sweetly, but I knew it was a little dig at me living over two thousand miles away. She made a habit of it. They both wanted me closer. “Randy watches over us, even though we don’t need it.”
I took in some air. “Okay. Forget I said anything. I’m excited you’re coming out here.”
My parents were coming to Las Vegas for the first time to stay in the house I didn’t own. I didn’t even know where the damned house was located. I knew it was in the valley somewhere, but it had been over two years since I copied the photos from a random website. It might not even be a rental anymore; that’d certainly be my luck.
What have I done?
Jim and Carol, the amazingly good-hearted people who created me…the people who Lucia threatened…are flying directly into the lion’s den.
And I seriously didn’t have time for any of it.
I decided I’d fret about my parents’ visit after the weekend.
I called my old friend Moxie. I hadn’t seen or spoken to him in a year or so, but I knew he was living in Los Angeles, and had reportedly connected himself to a slew of Hollywood entertainment types. I hoped he’d have some ideas for me.
According to my notes, he knew me as Macon, for better or worse.
“Dude,” he said when he picked up. “I thought you were dead.”
Dead? Maybe soon, but not yet. “Why would you think that?”
“Kidding. I just haven’t heard from you. I invited you out here, didn’t I? To come lay out by the pool. Macon, man, I have my own swimming pool! Can you even believe it? I grew up in a friggin’ trailer park. We had a pink plastic kiddie pool when I was five. I still remember that thing. It was pink, Macon. My sister insisted.”
“That’s nice.” I hardly had time for his rags to riches backstory. “I’m sorry I’ve been missing in action, man, but I’ve been laser focused on work here in Vegas.”
“Work, my ass. Have you ever worked an honest day in your life?” He followed that up with a maniacal laugh.
Of course, I felt compelled to laugh right along with him. “You know the answer to that. Hey, Moxie, listen, I need a little bit of help. Or at least, some thoughts.”
“All ears. But I only have a few minutes, kiddo. I’ve got to get cleaned up. I’m attending a movie premiere tonight. Walking the red carpet with Cameron. It’s gonna be the real deal. Can you even imagine such a thing? Little ol’ me!?”
Who are you talking about? Cameron Diaz? Cameron Crowe? James Cameron? Like it mattered. I seriously didn’t care. I’d wasted enough time. “That sounds fun,” I lied. “I’m on a burner phone. Is your end safe?”
“Relatively. I can call you back on one of my burners though, if it’s super sensitive. What have you gotten yourself into, buddy boy?”
I gave him a new number. “Call me back.”
When he did, I gave him the run-down of my impossible situation.
“Oh, fuck, kid,” he said. “That’s quite a pickle. I’ve never killed anyone. I just couldn’t. I wouldn’t. Naw…I don’t think I could go through with it. Unless I was defending myself, of course.”
“That’s the exact same thing I said to her. Seriously, I just can’t do it.”
“Do you think she really has a line on your ‘rents back east?”
“I think so, yeah. She does know a helluva lot about me and my early life. She’s done her homework. It’s scary, to say the least.”
“Lucia isn’t the one to fuck with, Macon. We all know that. She’s the number one reason I left Las Vegas to came to L.A. She’s everywhere there. It became too much for me. She’s terrifying.”
I sighed. He wasn’t telling me anything I didn’t know. “She keeps saying she’s going to retire soon.”
“She’s been saying that for years,” Moxie said. “Listen. I’ve got to jump in the shower. How do you think I can help you with this crazy-ass situation?”
“Do you know a talented television or movie makeup artist? I’m talking, like, I don’t know, someone from The Walking Dead universe. Someone with real chops. Super realistic. And it needs to be someone I can trust. Someone who won’t talk and isn’t easily ruffled. Obviously.”
“Obviously,” he repeated slowly. “And I see where you’re going with this. You’re a smart cookie. And when Lucia thinks the mark is dead, what do you do then? You’ve got to follow through. How do you ensure she’ll get the money from the hotel?”
“Yeah. There’s that. I’m still working on a plan for part two of this insanity.”
“You’re going to need a large chunk of cash to get ‘er done, I suspect.”
“I know. I’ve got to start working on that, too.”
“Like yesterday.” Moxie sounded like he was climbing a set of stairs. He seemed to be out of breath all of a sudden. “I’ll ask around,” he huffed. “I’ll find you someone. I can do that for you. But it won’t come cheap on such short notice. People are busier than ever out here. So many shows in production, like never before, because of all the streaming services these days.”
“I figured. And thank you. I appreciate anything you can do.”
“I’ll call you tomorrow morning. You’re gonna be okay. You’ll figure it out. You always do.” He hung up without saying goodbye.
Why does everyone do that to me all the time?
11
FLO’S RIDER
After another mostly sleepless night, I surfed the news and social media for hours before the sun came up, forcing myself to wait until a respectable hour to call Florence. When I did finally speak with her, she seemed excited that I was inviting myself over for coffee. I got the sense she didn’t entertain at home much anymore and would appreciate the company (as long as I didn’t stay three weeks).
At about half past nine, I arrived at her upper-middle class stucco house in the gated Southern Highlands community well south of the city. The neighborhood was as south as you could go in the valley without running into the mountains—too far out for me to live, but idyllic, I guess. I parked my rental car in the short driveway, picked up her newspaper, and made my way to the front door. She answered via one of those electronic doorbell camera thingies.
“Who’s there?” the device squawked.
“It’s Jimmy.” I probably sounded a little more annoyed than I meant to. “Who else are you expecting?”
“One can never be too careful.”
“You just buzzed me through the front gate ninety seconds ago, crazy lady.”
“All right. Keep your pants on, smart ass.”
I heard a few clicks, then a moment later the door swung open.
“Welcome, welcome.” She ushered me in to a gleaming front hall with twenty-foot-high ceilings.
I handed her the newspaper. “I didn’t peg you as a Wall Street Journal type.”
She held it tightly to her bosom. “I hardly ever read it, but I just don’t have the heart to cancel the subscription. It’s my husband’s, bless his heart. He can’t comprehend the text anymore.” She meandered into the kitchen, and I followed until she abruptly stopped and turned back toward me. “He can’t talk either. Doesn’t know me. Or anyone, for that matter. It breaks my heart, Jimmy.” She looked sad, but at the same time, I knew she was slowly coming to grips with it. His disease had been progressing steadily for years, she’d said. And I knew Flo was all out of tears.
“It’s a sick and cruel disease,” I offered.
“Darned tootin’.” She then brightened. “But let’s not dwell on that. What brings you to my house on this fine Friday morning? This is very unlike you, Jimmy boy. I’ve been inviting you down here for years.”
“It’s a very nice place.” I scanned the great room and updated kitchen. “Looks and smells new. How’s that possible? Haven’t you been here forever?”
“Not forever. We moved here in…what was it now?...1993? Yes. ’93. The house is not new, but most of the surfaces are. Just finished a major interior renovation. I thought I deserved it. I’m not going to live forever, and I have the means, so why not?”
“Well, that’s why I’m here.”
“You want my means?”
I laughed. “Yup. But just a small part of them. Without going into all the gory details, I’ve been tasked with pulling off a contract job down in the California desert this weekend, and I need some cash to float me. I’m kind of strapped at the moment. I can pay you back next week, for sure.”
She nodded. “You’re in luck. The Bank of Florence is open today. I’ve always trusted you, you know that.” She used her head to gesture toward the back hall. “Come see. No one has ever seen this before, except the guy who delivered it.”
We went to the master bedroom and she got down on her knees in front of the dresser. “This is a false drawer. See here?” She pressed against the wood and a panel popped open. “This is where I keep my treasures. Well, for now. I’ve ordered a wall safe. It’ll be here next month. Custom job. I’m very excited.”
Inside her hiding place were several stacks of hundred-dollar bills, an open shoe box filled with expensive watches and jewelry, a tiny handgun, and a pile of brand-new Apple iPad Minis still in their boxes wrapped with cellophane.
“Florence! This is a gold mine. Why are you holding on to all of this stuff?”
“I was waiting for you, mister.” She sat back on the floor and crossed her legs. I thought her quite fit and limber for a woman her age. “I don’t know anyone who can move this stuff. What am I going to do with seven tablets all on my own? I did keep one, though. I read the news and play the Wordle and the slot machine games on it when I can’t sleep.”
“Where did you get them?”
“Caesar’s Palace. The other day. I did it on my own when you unceremoniously stood me up.”
I was more than impressed. “You never cease to amaze me, Flo. You’re quite talented.”
She sighed. “I’ve told you this a million times—I’m bored. I need action. What else am I going to do? Play bridge or that damned mahjong tile game with the old fogies here in the neighborhood? Am I going to take up knitting? Go on endless cruises? None of that old lady stuff is for me. I have my nest egg from Harold—he was a real estate investor back in the day, before his mind up and went. He made millions. He was a day trader, too, toward the end. That’s why we moved out west, so he could start at the crack of dawn when the markets opened in New York. Then he’d be all done by early afternoon, and we could go have lunch and spend the afternoon together.”
