We both stare at it in wonder for a moment. All of our cons are small, petty-cash jobs that build to real money. It’s the first time we’ve held the real deal in our hands all at once.
“Here, quick!” My sister snaps opens her clutch and whips out a red and black fifty-dollar chip, exchanging it for the plaque, which she drops into her bag. “This is what was in your top.”
Our eyes meet, and hers flash with determination. “You think I can get away with it?” My voice is hushed.
“Who’s going to prove what he dropped? You already said you didn’t see what it was. He made the mistake. And who the hell is he anyway, to go around dropping shit down your top? He deserves it. Pervert. Now fasten up. Hurry!”
My heart beats faster as I do the buttons behind my neck. “If we get away with this, we’re driving to Fort Lauderdale tomorrow and chartering a sailboat. We’re going to spend the whole day on the water.”
“Good thing I bought a new bathing suit!” She steps to a small room and shuts the door. “I’ll meet you back at our hotel in an hour.”
“I’ll settle this then I have to meet up with Seth,” I pause before going to the door. “You did good tonight, Sis!”
“I got my bonus. Be careful.”
Three men glare at me expectantly when I step from the small room. I square my shoulders and push my hair back. Striding across the space to the men, I resume my offended act.
“I don’t know what kind of con you’re running, Mister, but that wasn’t a thousand dollar chip in my top.” Shoving the red and black plastic in his hand, I reach out for my clutch from the guard. “Nice try.”
“No!” Frenchie shouts. “This is not right! I did not drop fifty dollars down your shirt! Give me my money!”
“I will not stand here and be harassed any longer!” Flashing my eyes at the guards, I zero in on the weaker of the two. “I am not accustomed to such treatment, and I know this is not how the Hard Rock HQ expects their female guests to be treated. This is sexual harassment!”
Both guards look constipated and confused, and I don’t give them a chance to collect their thoughts. I’m making my way out the door while the Frenchman is still arguing, lapsing into his native tongue at times as they hold him from chasing after me.
Running out into the night, I wave at a yellow cab waiting on the corner. He lurches forward, and I jump in, slamming the door. “Ramada Hollywood Downtown!”
The cab heads south, leaving the Hollywood reservation and driving toward the coast. The radio plays softly, and the guy isn’t chatty. Looking in my clutch, the five hundred is still intact al
ong with a few hundreds I picked up playing blackjack. We’ll pool it all once I get to Seth’s place.
In minutes we’re turning into the cheap hotel parking lot. I pass a ten to the driver. “Keep the change,” and I’m out the door, slamming it behind me.
The air is heavy and thick with heat. It smells like rain and cooling asphalt, and I give the parking lot a quick scan. I’m alone, but I see Seth’s green Civic in the lot.
I pop open my clutch and pull out the door card he gave me, swiping it so I can enter the courtyard. Tall palm trees outline the perimeter, but I can tell it’s empty. A kidney-shaped swimming pool glows blue in the center. It’s also empty, but as I’m making my way to the balcony stairs, I hear a woman’s gravelly voice.
“Zee,” she calls. “Over here.”
Squinting in the dim light I see two figures sitting at a table in shadows. Hustling toward them, I recognize Seth. His coat is off, and the fake glasses are shoved up on his head. He’s counting out our winnings.
“Think it’s safe to do that here?” I pull out a heavy iron chair and drop into it with a sigh.
“What happened to you?” Helen takes a long pack of brown cigarettes from her bag and flicks her Bic. The small yellow light briefly illuminates her “May Contain Alcohol” sweatshirt, and I can’t help a laugh now that we’re safely away.
“Where the hell did you get that shirt?”
She looks down and coughs a congested laugh. “On the strip in Fort Lauderdale. This shop has every kind of shirt you can imagine.”
“I bet,” I exhale, but Seth leans forward.
“Okay, what you got Zee?” All trace of accent is gone, and he’s back to flat Kansas, as nondescript as you can get.
Opening my clutch, I scrape out all the contents. “The five hundred.” He takes it and adds it to the pile. “And a few hyundais I picked up at blackjack before you arrived.”
He grins and waves it away. “Keep ’em. Your winnings outside the con are yours.”
“Thanks,” I say, leaning back. I can’t help wondering if he caught what happened after his big win—my encounter with our foreign tablemate.