Sixteen #2
“Not really. Marcy talked a couple of friends into investing. They also lost everything.”
“And where is this asshole now?” Irene asked.
“Vegas. He’s making a splash with his plans to make the Pelican the first-ever crypto-only casino.
He’s lined the pockets of Nevada politicians, and he got the legislation he needed to go ahead.
I read an interview where he said he plans to convert everything to crypto just as soon as his crypto machine is ready to go.
Once it’s up and running, they will take the cash reserves from the casino and bank it all. ”
“How much is in the cash reserves?” Frances asked.
“I’m not sure. You know the gambling on the floor must be backed up with cash.
So, every casino has a full vault. One article I read said the Pelican has anywhere from twenty to seventy million on hand.
Now, a few casinos are allowing people to use bit-coin to pay for everything but the gambling—food, lodging, etc.
There is some speculation that slot machines will be available for crypto accounts by the end of the year.
There are even bitcoin ATMs where you can withdraw from your bitcoin account and receive cash.
All that to say, he wants to get his casino up and running before anyone else. The clock is ticking.”
“Wow,” Frances said. She closed her eyes as if the entire discussion pained her and pressed two fingers to her temple. “What is the heist, exactly? How do you steal crypto?”
“Stay with me,” Edie said. “We aren’t going after the crypto. We’re going after the cash.”
“In the vault?” Irene asked incredulously.
“In the vault,” Edie confirmed. “In that Rat Pack–era safe with the wheel lock that supposedly no one can crack.”
The four of them sat in utter silence for a few moments.
It was a big ask, Edie knew. She imagined they had in mind something a little tamer—a painting.
Some jewelry. But twenty million in cash?
Four women in their seventies weren’t exactly the black body suit, vault-cracking, cash-stealing crew one would imagine.
But they were more than capable, and if there was one thing Edie was certain about, it was that Rocco knew how to bilk people.
He was a natural. He was begging for a takedown.
“That casino is sitting on a huge, unmarked cash reserve. The more crypto he uses in his casino, the less actual cash he needs on hand. He’s going to move that cash out to the bank for his own personal use, and I want to get there first. I want payback for his being a dick in general and to make Marcy and her friends whole. The rest, we would keep.”
Frances carefully closed her folder.
“So, what do you think?” Edie asked. “I know it’s a lot. But it’s Vegas. Remember our summer in Vegas? We had the best time.”
They’d gone to Vegas a couple of summers after Sweden.
A couple of summers after a few other jobs.
They’d been free spirits, dressing like Stevie Nicks and Pam Grier.
They acted like rock stars, with money to burn and nothing but time.
That summer lived fondly in her memory—there was nothing more alluring than being young and beautiful and living with absolutely no fear.
“This is all so interesting, Edie,” Frances said. “It looks like you’ve put a lot of thought into it.”
“I’ve done a lot of research. That’s the hardest part, right?”
“Well. Cracking a safe is no picnic. I’ll be honest—taking down a Vegas casino might be the most ludicrous thing I’ve ever heard. You realize, don’t you, that the odds of us pulling anything off at this age, with these bodies, is slim to none, right?”
She was repeating what Edie had said in the gazebo. “Yes, Fran, I know. But I have faith in us.”
“What if we’re caught?” Joan asked. “What about your husband and what he knows? Isn’t he so dangerous?”
“And you surely don’t want to give up all that you’ve got just for old times’ sake, right?” Irene added, smiling.
They were teasing her, throwing her own words back at her.
Edie felt something warm spread through her chest. What was that?
Love? It was love. She’d always loved them.
She could feel the years peeling off and away, one by one.
She could picture them all in the run-down beach house they’d shared one spring break.
None of them were in college, but that didn’t stop them from pretending they were and lifting wallets and watches and jewelry during parties.
She could picture Frances in a bikini, Joan in a sundress, Irene in sailor pants.
She could picture them passing a joint around, listening to music on an 8-track player.
(What had happened to that thing? She’d lugged it around along with her case of 8-track cartridges.) She could see them laughing, the sun coming in through the open windows and glinting off their skin that, in her memory, was dewy and soft and so firm. Why did old skin have to sag so much?
She remembered how they lifted payroll checks that Moze Guidry wrote out once a week.
He ran the dirty diner where Frances and Irene worked.
He was such an idiot; he would stack all the checks on the corner of his desk, waiting to distribute them at the end of the night.
One week, they took the checks for each time he put his hand on their breast or their ass.
For each time he tried to force his tongue down their throat or press his dick against their butts.
They spread the checks across the city, cashing them before anyone became the wiser, before computers could shut down that sort of operation in a few seconds.
Edie smiled and tucked her hair behind her ears. “It’s funny, isn’t it, how so many things change and some things never change at all? Like friendships and the ability to bust someone’s balls. It never gets old.”
Frances laughed.
Joan grinned and leaned forward and held her hand out. “I’m scared but excited. Let’s get this guy,” she said. “It’s Vegas. We’re due to go back.”
Each of them stacked their hands, like they used to back then, before they thought about consequences or longevity or life’s accumulations, or anything but the next meal, or the next day.
Before life seemed like it was something that could be lost. They would circle around, put their hands in and say, with all the conviction and belief and bravado of youth, We win or we die trying. As they said now.
And then looked at each other uncertainly.
“Hmm,” Edie said. “I can see how the dying part might come to pass.”
“Maybe we try for something not so … doomsday?” Frances suggested.
“How about Best of luck?” Joan said.
They wrapped their hands around each other’s again and said together, “Best of luck!” then burst out laughing.
“It doesn’t have the same punch,” Irene said.
But Edie guessed they were all thinking the same thing—that they were going to need all the luck they could scrape together.