A few weeks ago, I'd met up with Rebecca on her break. Nothing out of the ordinary; when she's on days we try to eat lunch together. So at exactly two-thirty in the afternoon I went to meet her. She was leaning against the railing of one of those bridges that cut over the Bellagio fountain pool, sucking on a cigarette. Deep in her own world, staring at the sunlight glinting off the dancing water streams. Both of us could stare at that forever, so that's why we always met there, in case one of us was running late. Don't you whatever me, Jimmy. Anyway, before she could catch sight of me, I ducked out of her view, went around the back way and snuck up behind her. Placing my hands firmly around her waist I said, "If I didn't know better, I'd think you were scheming."
Rebecca turned around so cool to face me. She ain't the kind who startles easy; I can never scare her. She smiled slyly, releasing a plume of smoke out the side of her red lips. "What gives you that idea?"
I joined her in leaning against the rail, staring out over the fountain, squinting in the dazzling sunlight. That place is like heaven for me. Especially when she's at my side. For some moments I took in the view, eying her sideways and I knew I was gonna have to pry it out of her. "Are you going to tell me or do I have to guess?"
"I was just thinking ..."
I chuckled at her. "You never just think." Seriously, she doesn't. She has the impulse control of a two-year-old.
"I was. It's funny how the law is," she said. "You go to the same jail whether you steal ten grand or ten million. Why do people bother for just ten grand?"
My jaw almost hit the ground. She was scheming and it involved amounts I'd never imagined her scheming about. Without her needing to tell me, I damn well knew she'd just overheard something – something so exciting she had to act straight away – though she had the sense to want to pick my brain about it first. Otherwise, she'd have gone to eat by herself or with one of her girl friends and wouldn't have called me telling me to come meet her in half an hour, right? Yeah, I forgot. We originally weren't planning to meet up until that call.
"So where's this ten million?" I asked.
Jimmy buried his face in his hands. "Wasn't my dad's Cardinal rule that you don't hit your own employer because it's too fucking obvious?"
"Let the man finish!" Robbie said. Frank bobbed his head.
Anyway. Rebecca pulled me away from where any potential eavesdroppers would be standing and gestured up and down the strip at the surrounding casinos. Speech time. She loves to pontificate and she likes to stretch out the tension, build on the drama and I had to suffer through it, tease she is, until she chose to reveal her Big Idea. A cluster of Wal-Mart dressed tourists waddled past the fountain area, gawking, snapping pictures, scratching themselves, ruining the paradisaical scene for me if I'm honest. I wouldn't have noticed them, probably, if her extended arm and finger hadn't been pointing straight their way.
"Nowhere is the class system in America more pronounced than right here," she said, as usual somehow echoing my own thoughts. She does that a lot. It's kinda freaky. "The masses and their six-ninety-nine buffets, pretending they're big players because they tried a five-dollar slot machine."
With her still directing the scene, I turned my attention to the endless stream of luxury cars flowing along the boulevard. "Then we have the weekend high-rollers in their leased Mercedes who pretend they don't care how much their suite costs when they hand over their gold card."
I waited patiently like I always did. She'd get around to whatever point she was making. Eventually. So long as I can look at her I never get bored anyway.
"Perfect timing." She aimed a manicured finger tipped in bright red nail polish at a yellow Lamborghini zooming north. As it cruised up the strip, the rest of the traffic parted around it like the Red Sea. She then tapped my shoulder and pointed up to a private helicopter hovering over the rooftop of the Excalibur. "Arabs is my guess. Those sheiks don't even see the same city as the rest of us. Even so, everybody likes to check out the new place."
"Is there a point you're going to get to sometime this afternoon?" I asked, the heat starting to get to me. You know me, I hate being outside in peak sun for long.
Gripping the lapels of my jacket, she smiled devilishly. You know that smile––the way the corners of her mouth curl up like the Grinch who's just figured out how he's gonna ruin Christmas in that old cartoon, and her eyes narrowed at me.
Frank finished his story. Jimmy leaned forward, his elbows on the table, his eyes wide. "Cash?"
Frank nodded. "Ten people, ten million buy in. Some big guys from Europe and the Far East."
"They don't got casinos in Europe?"
"Of course they do," Robbie said. "But hey––Vegas is still Vegas. You know?"
Jimmy shook his head, wondering how either of them had managed to dodge decades-long prison sentences. Oh yeah, 'cause cops were usually dumber than the crooks. "Cash is never cash in those amounts. It'll be numbers on some wire transfer."
"Anonymous bank account numbers to be precise," Robbie said.
"More to the point," Frank added, "their codes. Have that, and it's as good as any signature. Plus, each player also has to put up a cash deposit of ten percent. Ten percent of a million times ten ... you do the math."
In his hungover state, Jimmy didn't have the brains to total the price of his coffee and BLT never mind working those kind of numbers. Didn't matter anyway; fake numbers added to other fake numbers were no less fake. He pressed his fists into his cheeks and eyed each of them in turn. "Bullshit."
"Listen to me," Frank said. "For once in your fool life."
Mist from the Bellagio fountain cooling my skin, I gazed at Rebecca incredulously. God, I love that woman. And face it, her plan is genius. "You're just a front desk clerk. How on earth did you–"
"You're forgetting, honey. I'm the front desk clerk who knows all the prettiest girls in town." Rebecca dragged her long red fingernail up my chest and tapped my nose. "As the front desk clerk who knows all the prettiest girls in town, I hear everything that goes on."
See Jimmy, an ordinary shift at the Golden Dunes Resort Hotel as head of the front desk goes something like this: Rebecca's standing either behind the reception area, or at the concierge desk in the hotel lobby. And let's face it: as the new game in town, this joint outclasses even Caesar's Palace or the Wynn. Caters to more suburbanite tastes if you ask me––not the artsy stuff you see in the Bellagio or nothin'––but every touch boasts crass luxury from gleaming marble pillars, furnishings made of poached tropical timber, crystal chandeliers larger than most people's living rooms.
As the head manager, every inch of that lobby falls under her domain. Standing in front of her is usually some wealthy businessman pretending he hasn't just been checking out her cleavage. Although some of them ask outright, a lot of them are coy about what they're looking for. They test the waters by starting with a compliment to her, usually her hair or one of her chunky bracelets, then something like, "Know of a good place to find some company? I'm a real sucker for red heads."
Rebecca would then give them a slight, knowing smile and slide a business card to him under his key card. Only once did she ever get it wrong and he was secretly trying to find out where his fiancée's hen party might be so he could spy on her. Even then, he may have been offended, but he was just as easily placated. Enough free drink and meal coupons will do that no matter how rich you are. Hell, you'd be amazed by how cheap some billionaires are.
Anyway, her cards direct clients to this reception area in a building a few blocks away that to you and me could easily be any corporate headquarters in the world. A real estate office or a bank. All glass and steel, twenty or so stories. In the penthouse suite is an escort agency her sister Janet runs with the help of their cousin Emerald. Obviously it's the one thing she doesn't divulge to Jeannie––that poor child would have a heart attack if she knew! She knows about the agency and Jan and Em of course, just not Becks' role in it. Only at the doors to the rooms themselves is there any hint of Victorian-style boudoirs. In the hallway, you'd think you were going to a dentist's office. For men who like her, she'd always suggest Amber, this red hot redhead in red lingerie with fiery hair and a body that's smoking–"
"Enough with that." Robbie swatted him with the paper tube he'd just taken out of his satchel.
"Long and short of it, she runs an escort agency out of there. A very discreet escort agency."
Robbie removed the elastic. On the table between them he rolled out blueprints for the top floors of the Golden Dunes casino. Noticing Jimmy's knitted brow he said, "What, you really think a guy pays fifteen hundred dollars an hour just for a blow job and a fuck? It's to ensure that--"
"No," Jimmy said, "What's with that map or whatever?"
"My buddy in planning got me this."
Jimmy pushed his plate aside and tossed a five and a couple of ones on top of Frank's papers. If he came up short, they could cover it. For once he didn't give a shit. "Have fun, I'm heading home."
Robbie gripped his wrist. "Last night you were all for it."
"Last night I was drunk. And now I'm hung over and probably still a little drunk and I would love to be able to sleep it off before my shift tonight."
"Yeah, just go ya fuckin' pussy." Frank used a salt and a pepper shaker to hold two of the corners flat. "I'll talk to you when you're sober."
Jimmy leaned over him and said, "Nice try. If you're ever expecting an answer other than 'no', you are shit outta luck." Proud that he'd put his foot down, he strode out of the place, his head held high. What a sad thing to be proud of, he thought with dismay as he began walking up the dusty road toward the auto body shop. I want the life back that I had two years ago. I liked that life.