The Take (25 page)

"So, uh, what’re you gonna do now? I mean,
now that you’re back."

I took another sip without taking my eyes off him.
"You know what I want."

He paused and looked at his cigarette, but he didn’t
flinch.

"Sure, I know what you want. You want about
two hundred thousand that you think you’ve got coming to you from our Vegas
swindle."

"
Think
I’ve got coming to me?
Think
I’ve got
coming? I don’t think anything. I
know
we got nearly a half a million from it. Take out our planning costs, including
the fake diamonds, and that leaves about two hundred K apiece."

He leaned forward in his chair and looked straight
at me. Then he said in a voice as cold as his eyes, "Yes, it does. But let
me tell you something, boyo. There
is
no money."

The Bushmill’s suddenly ignited in my stomach.

"What do you mean, there is no money?

"I mean, it’s not here. I invested it. My
share, too!"

"Invested it? What the fuck are you talking
about?"

"I’m telling you straight. I washed it
through the club and then, you know, I gave it to a legit guy, an investment
counselor up in Miami, and he put it to work for us in straight-up investments.
Like these groups that invest in apartment complexes and office buildings and
shit."

"Office buildings? You’re telling me my money
wound up in some fucking office building somewhere?"

"It went into a tax-sheltered corporation
with a bunch of other people’s money. It’s like an investment. Look at it as
planning for your retirement. I can’t have that kind of cash just lying around
here. This way, you actually own part of these properties. I think he said
there’s one up in North Carolina, and another one somewhere near Houston … or
was it Dallas?"

He gazed off toward the ceiling while he dragged
another deep one on his cigarette.

Now it was my turn to lean forward. I did, all the
way across the desk. I opened my mouth, then pulled back my cheek, showing an
empty space where quite a few back teeth used to be.

"Look at this, motherfucker! Are you telling
me that I fought off niggers and Mexicans for three years so I could come back
and hear this bullshit?"

"Hey, I know it was tough for you. But don’t
forget, I took a big chance. When we got ratted out, you may have taken the
fall, but I snuffed the rat. A capital offense, in case you’ve forgotten."

I swept my arm hard across his desk. His fancy pen
holder, his desk calendar, his telephone, the picture of his wife, it all went
flying across the room.

"Fuck that! You think I did that bit so you
could sit around here on your skinny little ass hauling in dough night after
night? All I understand is that my cut is in someone else’s pocket! Probably
yours. Now cough it up!"

He stayed cool. "Hey, my man! I don’t have
your money. I told you, it’s all tied up. You can’t get to it. And neither can
I."

He took a slow drag off his dwindling cigarette,
examining the tip as he brought it down from his mouth.

"I want you to think back, Don Roy. Remember,
after you left Key West, you scrounged around Vegas for what — two or
three years — working these nickel-dime mail order scams and other
bullshit routines. You were nowhere till we pulled that diamond sting."

My voice barely contained my rage. "And I was
the one who took down the mark."

"
I’m
the one who set that score up,
and it took me, like, six or seven months. This was the take of a lifetime,
boyo! What do you think, I’m gonna turn over two hundred dimes in cash to you
in a brown paper bag so you can run around buying cars and shit? I’m protecting
us, you understand? Now if you got a problem with that, take it up with the
investment counselor."

He went back to his cigarette.

When it came to brass balls, I had to hand it to
him. Here I was twice his size, plenty hot, and ready to tear him apart. But he
was still jacking with me.

I reached across the desk, grabbing him by his
silk shirt.

"Open the safe."

"Hey, what —"

"Open the fucking safe!"

I poised a big fist in front of his face. I saw
the beginnings of a quiver. About time.

He got up. I led him by the shirt over to the
safe. He opened it, revealing a wad of cash in there, what looked like about
seven or eight grand, along with a couple of passports. I took the cash.

"Hey, wait a second! That’s —"

"Let’s call this the vig," I hissed,
shoving him up against the wall. I got right in his face.

"Today’s Wednesday. You got one week to come
up with my money, the full load. You better know I mean business, Sully. You
don’t deliver and a couple of Cubans are gonna come calling on you one night,
and the next morning you’re in the fucking breakfast sausage up in Little
Havana. Got it?"

He got it. His fear-filled eyes said so. No more
of his cockiness.

"Y-yeah, Don Roy. I got it. You’ll get the
money. You’ll get it."

I finally released his shirt with one final push.
His back hit the wall.

"Remember, the full load by next Wednesday,
or else. And no bullshit stories."

I headed downstairs, out the back door.

The night was still warm but no longer hot. It
felt good. Back here behind the building, the Duval Street racket was muffled.

I reached under my guayabera, fingering the scar
on my side. I thought about the nigger who shanked me two years ago because I
turned the channel on the rec room TV. That’s how they do it in there. No
warning, no nothing. The minute I turned off his cartoons, he came up behind me
and let me have it.

I dropped him in secret last week, just a couple
of days before I got processed out.

I had one more stop to make. I decided I would
make it, then go back to my nice cool room to watch TV.

Whatever shows I wanted.

OTHER BOOKS BY MIKE DENNIS

The Key West Nocturnes
Series (all novels)

SETUP ON FRONT STREET

THE GHOSTS OF HAVANA

MAN-SLAUGHTER

THE GUNS OF MIAMI (coming
soon)

Available in digital and
paperback

The Jack Barnett/Las Vegas
Series

TEMPTATION TOWN
(a novelette)

HARD CASH
(a novelette)

THE DOWNTOWN DEAL
(a novel)

Available in digital and
paperback

BLOODSTAINS ON THE WALL

Three
stories from the dark side

Available in digital and
paperback

CADILLAC’S COMIN’

A
rock & roll novel

Available in digital and
paperback

BETWEEN THE DEVIL AND

THE DEEP BLUE EYES

A
Las Vegas noir short story

Available in digital only

THE SESSION

A
short story of broken dreams

Available in digital only

ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

It's been a long time since I sat down and wrote my first word of fiction.
But that word would never have been written, nor any of the ones that followed
it, had it not been for the urgings of Marda Burton, New Orleans writer. It was
Marda who convinced me that I could fill up hundreds of pages with made-up
stuff, and somehow make it all sound like a real story. Her influence was so
strong that all these years later, I can draw a straight line from this novel
all the way back to her.

Morgan St James made invaluable contributions to this work. As my beta
reader, she found things I never could have spotted, first by reading it on her
own, then by reading it aloud with me. Without Morgan, this novel would not
have the shape it has today. I owe her big time.

I became a better writer by belonging to the Casa Marina Group and the
Henderson Writers Group, critique groups of Key West and Las Vegas,
respectively. Their many sharp eyes and ears provided exactly the fresh look
that every novel requires in its early stages.

There's a guy out there somewhere who came into the Landmark Hotel piano
bar on Bourbon Street one night many years ago. I never knew his name, nor did
I ever meet him. He looked like a young Jack Palance, only without the swagger.
He tried hard to impress the girl he was with, but she only yawned, turning him
away at every opportunity. The guy just didn't have it, but for some reason,
his memory stayed with me, so much so that when it came time to write this book
years later, he became the inspiration for Eddie Ryan.

Finally, I owe a debt of gratitude to the late, and very great Marty
Robbins, whose timeless classic song,
El
Paso
, gave me two standout lines which formed the basis for this entire
novel.

This book is a work of
fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either products of the
author’s imagination or used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events,
locales, or persons, living or dead, is unintended and entirely coincidental.
All Rights Reserved. No part of this publication can be reproduced or
transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, without
permission in writing from Mike Dennis.

Published by Mike Dennis

Copyright 2009 by Mike
Dennis

ISBN
13: 978-1603182775