the airport, or a shoebox?”
“That was our safety net in case we got caught. Look, the way a casino works isn’t theftproof, but they do give it their best shot. What we were doing was extremely high-risk, and if we were going to get caught, they wouldn’t have nabbed us first thing — the Gaming Control Board would’ve had us under surveillance awhile. So if I’m making trips to a locker, they know where the money is. If it’s in my apartment, their goon squad tears the place apart. If I keep it in a U.S. bank, the account can be frozen just like that.” Boyd snapped his fingers. “And I can’t get to it. This way, it may be inconvenient, but at least it’s accessible in the end.”
“Assuming you aren’t rotting in jail.”
“Well, I took precautions there, too. Some nights I’d skim a few hundred directly off the drunkest players. You can tell when they’re having too good a time to count their chips. You have to be careful of the eye-in-the-sky cameras in the ceiling, but I’m good enough with my hands. Palm one, or skip it back into the chip rack and block the view with my arm. So if I was ever caught, what I was hoping might happen would be, okay, I lose my job and they take away my sheriff’s card to deal and maybe I get blacklisted by the entire industry, but they’re reluctant to prosecute because I’ve been doing the public, too. Skimming off the casino, that’s one thing, but the players…? I go to court over it, then it’s public information, and they’ve got a public relations nightmare on their hands. I mean, we’re talking about people who went ballistic when the stuffed elephant lost a tusk and made some kids cry. How many changes of underwear you think they’ll go through if it gets out one of their dealers has been skimming the gamblers? Fruit of the Loom doesn’t even make enough.”
Derek congratulated him on how well he had thought it through and immediately asked how he planned on keeping Madeline from accessing the money. Boyd told him how he’d closed out the local dummy account before leaving Vegas — Madeline’s signature being one of the easier to forge he had come across, unlike Allison’s, with all her loopy letters — and he’d destroyed her bank statements the previous afternoon following the fit Allison had thrown.
“I grabbed them while Madeline was picking cactus spines out of her foot. She had a load of laundry going and I stuck them down in the wash.” Boyd shrugged. “It was an impulse thing.”
“And you’re counting on her not raising a fuss at the bank?”
“It might look awfully suspicious on her part, wouldn’t you think? Drawing attention to herself like that?”
“Could be, but I’m thinking you shouldn’t underestimate this woman.” Derek tapped his anvil of a chin. “Clear something up for me. Madeline scouts you away from Cactus Dirk’s and gets you on at the Ivory Coast. Okay, now: How long before she hits you with this idea to skim your table?”
“A couple of weeks.”
“And she’s got these two water sport enthusiasts on video already, before you ever got there. Right?”
“Right.”
“How long before you first shtupped her?”
“A week,” Boyd grumbled, disliking this what-have-you-done-now tone of voice from his bone-headed Goliath of a brother.
“And you don’t see what she’s up to the whole time? Guarantee you she was trolling the grind joints for just the right guy. You stupid weenie, she must’ve turned cartwheels the day she met you. When your pants drop, you turn into a pull-toy. Well, it’s a good thing you’re sticking it to her right now, because she’d’ve been sticking it to you one day, and probably with that big blond dude she never let you meet.”
Boyd huffed with indignation. “I made the earth move for that woman. She wouldn’t dare.”
“No? Nothing I’ve heard about this woman reminds me of sainthood yet. You’re better off rid of her.”
Derek had a point again. Not
“That was our safety net in case we got caught. Look, the way a casino works isn’t theftproof, but they do give it their best shot. What we were doing was extremely high-risk, and if we were going to get caught, they wouldn’t have nabbed us first thing — the Gaming Control Board would’ve had us under surveillance awhile. So if I’m making trips to a locker, they know where the money is. If it’s in my apartment, their goon squad tears the place apart. If I keep it in a U.S. bank, the account can be frozen just like that.” Boyd snapped his fingers. “And I can’t get to it. This way, it may be inconvenient, but at least it’s accessible in the end.”
“Assuming you aren’t rotting in jail.”
“Well, I took precautions there, too. Some nights I’d skim a few hundred directly off the drunkest players. You can tell when they’re having too good a time to count their chips. You have to be careful of the eye-in-the-sky cameras in the ceiling, but I’m good enough with my hands. Palm one, or skip it back into the chip rack and block the view with my arm. So if I was ever caught, what I was hoping might happen would be, okay, I lose my job and they take away my sheriff’s card to deal and maybe I get blacklisted by the entire industry, but they’re reluctant to prosecute because I’ve been doing the public, too. Skimming off the casino, that’s one thing, but the players…? I go to court over it, then it’s public information, and they’ve got a public relations nightmare on their hands. I mean, we’re talking about people who went ballistic when the stuffed elephant lost a tusk and made some kids cry. How many changes of underwear you think they’ll go through if it gets out one of their dealers has been skimming the gamblers? Fruit of the Loom doesn’t even make enough.”
Derek congratulated him on how well he had thought it through and immediately asked how he planned on keeping Madeline from accessing the money. Boyd told him how he’d closed out the local dummy account before leaving Vegas — Madeline’s signature being one of the easier to forge he had come across, unlike Allison’s, with all her loopy letters — and he’d destroyed her bank statements the previous afternoon following the fit Allison had thrown.
“I grabbed them while Madeline was picking cactus spines out of her foot. She had a load of laundry going and I stuck them down in the wash.” Boyd shrugged. “It was an impulse thing.”
“And you’re counting on her not raising a fuss at the bank?”
“It might look awfully suspicious on her part, wouldn’t you think? Drawing attention to herself like that?”
“Could be, but I’m thinking you shouldn’t underestimate this woman.” Derek tapped his anvil of a chin. “Clear something up for me. Madeline scouts you away from Cactus Dirk’s and gets you on at the Ivory Coast. Okay, now: How long before she hits you with this idea to skim your table?”
“A couple of weeks.”
“And she’s got these two water sport enthusiasts on video already, before you ever got there. Right?”
“Right.”
“How long before you first shtupped her?”
“A week,” Boyd grumbled, disliking this what-have-you-done-now tone of voice from his bone-headed Goliath of a brother.
“And you don’t see what she’s up to the whole time? Guarantee you she was trolling the grind joints for just the right guy. You stupid weenie, she must’ve turned cartwheels the day she met you. When your pants drop, you turn into a pull-toy. Well, it’s a good thing you’re sticking it to her right now, because she’d’ve been sticking it to you one day, and probably with that big blond dude she never let you meet.”
Boyd huffed with indignation. “I made the earth move for that woman. She wouldn’t dare.”
“No? Nothing I’ve heard about this woman reminds me of sainthood yet. You’re better off rid of her.”
Derek had a point again. Not
Similar Books
