Gorilla Beach (15 page)

Usually, his particular con was Seduce and Siphon. He'd charm rich divorcées and widows and slowly bleed them of cash in the form of goods and services. And they'd enjoy the goods and services he provided for them. He saw it as an honest exchange, a fair trade. Some might say he had a grift gift, or that he was grifted.

But, however successful he was, his reserves were running low.
Ponzi was under pressure to make a sizable score. He knew he was a wanted man up north and was playing with fire by staying in the country, much less the state of New Jersey. While he watched this girl, Gia, rake it in last night, he decided to change his approach to Seduce and Steal. New suits and gold watches wouldn't get him safely out of the country. He needed cold, green cash. He wouldn't mind seducing Gia for some of hers.

If he weren't planning on robbing her blind, Ponzi would probably have gone after Gia anyway. She was definitely his type. Petite, busty, and dark. He'd put in too many years charming the pants and wallets off middle-aged fatties and slumming dyed-blond sorority girls on spring break. They were the type of women who loved a beefy devil like him. But he wasn't really attracted to them. He deserved to have sex with a girl he actually desired, too. He'd been thinking about how to meet the roulette goddess when he came up to the roof pool for a swim. And there she was, splayed out on the lounge chair, as if she'd been deposited directly onto his lap.

Sometimes, he got the feeling God loved swindlers, too.

Ponzi had spent the afternoon at the pool bar, sipping seltzer, watching as his new mark told a few hopeful horny chodes to get lost. She'd shuffled in her flip-flops to the bar twice already, and Ponzi tried not to stare at her one-piece bikini that stuck to her curves like wet paint. When she flung out her towel on the lounge once, she bent at the waist. Her bathing suit rode up the crack of her ass.

Ponzi's breath caught.

He broke out in a sweat.

Then he recovered his composure. That was bizarre. He'd had a spontaneous involuntary reaction to the sight of a woman's tush? Cruising the casino capitals of the world, Ponzi had seen more ass than a New York City subway seat. Many of the booties he'd beheld (and held) were bolder than this girl's. So why in hell had he reacted so strongly?

She seemed clueless of her wedgie. The black suit, the tanned, sweetly rounded butt, and her adorable artlessness struck him in a tender spot, the place where Ponzi used to have a heart.

Careful to keep her from noticing him (as females tended to do), he watched her out of the corner of his eye. She flipped through magazines and put them down. She played with her flipflips and floppy hat, wiped a trickle of sweat off her nose and from between her boobs.

He'd been smooth when he finally talked to her. Now he just had to keep it going. The bartender brought their drinks. Ponzi turned back around, flashy smile on his lips.

Then he saw her. While his back was turned, she'd rearranged herself in a sexy pose that, frankly, stunned him. His jaw dropped, and the cocktails slipped out of his hand. The glasses shattered on the pool patio.

Gia laughed at him. He wasn't sure if he should give up now for being so uncool. But, no, he realized. She liked his lapse of composure. She smiled at him, long and slow. Oh, yeah, she was definitely his type.

“I swear, I would've
smushed him right there by the pool, but he had a poker game to get to,” said Gia that night, on the cushioned chair at the mirror in their luxury-suite bedroom. She was flat-ironing her hair, getting ready to go out for dinner. “His last name ends with an
i
. Madame Olga called it. He wants to meet up later tonight in the casino.”

Bella nodded, perfecting her makeup. “I was back there today, and I ran into that kid who painted Maria's portrait. Will Lugano. For a punk, he's not bad. I invited him out with us tonight, too.”

Stopping mid-bronzer-spray, Gia turned toward her cousin. In the tan fog of her own new crush, she'd failed to pick up on Bella's smitten vibe. Now that she did, Gia felt both excited and wary. Bella had had a stinker year. As tough as she looked and acted, Bella was an easy mark for guys. They got their hooks in her and didn't let go. Gia opened her frosted-pink-lipsticked mouth to say something, but then decided, for once, to keep her mouth shut. Their luck had obviously taken a turn. They deserved to enjoy it.

Gia would try to get to know Will tonight. If she got a bad feeling about him, she'd say something then.

“Ready for dinner?” asked Fredo, coming out of his bedroom wearing the freakin' black suit, with the same droopy hair.

“Not again,” said Gia. “Sit down. First, the hair. Then we're going shopping. After we get you some new clothes, we're going to burn that suit.”

The kid was clueless! She had to take control of his look, for his own sake. And, heh, Gia had some personal motive, too. She couldn't resist a guido makeover.

“I like my hair,” Fredo protested, but gave in anyway.

“I've got scissors,” said Bella. “I used to cut my ex-boyfriend's hair. I can do a five-minute special.”

Gia nodded. “Let's do it.” She threw a towel over Fredo's shoulders and fastened it with a tramp clamp behind his neck.

“I'm not sure about this,” he said. Bella came up behind him, smiling. “Are you positive you know what you're doing?”

“Just hold still,” said Bella. “Trust me.”

After only five minutes, Fredo looked ten times better. Bella got to the close work, snipped a tuft near his ear, and—

“Arghhh!”
Fredo screamed as if he'd been stabbed with a hunting knife.

“Sorry!” gasped Bella.

“You cut me!” he ranted, and clutched his ear. “Am I bleeding?”

Checking his ear, Gia didn't see a thing. Maybe a tiny dot. Bella leaned in to look.

Gia patted Fredo on the back. “Don't worry about it. You don't need both ears, right? That's why God gave us two of them.”

Fredo went white. Whiter. He swooned. “I'm Vincent van Gogh!”

Bella groaned. “Now that dude was pale. Stop it, Fredo. You barely got nicked. You're not bleeding. Now sit still and let me finish.”

Gia kept a hand on his shoulder to calm him, and Bella made a few more snips. After a bit of hair spray, Gia said, “Whaddaya think?”

“It's okay,” he said.

“It's fresh to death,” said Gia. If Bella ever needed a fallback career, she could always work as a barber. Except for the suit and his pale skin, Fredo looked … well, he still looked pretty twisted. But progress had definitely been made.

The trio walked along the boardwalk to the Pavilion Pier Shops, a mall of about a hundred stores. Gia said, “I grabbed two grand out of the safe, and we're spending it right now on you, Fredo. First stop, Lucky.”

They went into the jeans mecca. Gia felt as if it were an episode of
What Not to Wear
. She made Fredo try on jeans, then explained to him what was good and bad about each pair. “Those are too tight in the crotch. I can see your braciola!” or “Those sit nice and low on the hips. You have a nice belly, Fredo. You should let the girls know.”

They settled on three pairs of inky-blue jeans. Next stop, a shoe store, where Fredo put down a few benjamins for two slammin' pairs of Pumas, black and white. They blew through a few menswear stores and bought T-shirts, button-downs, a black belt, and a new leather jacket. Lacking big muscles, Fredo's body looked rock-and-roll cool in black leather. Although Gia loved big muscles on guys, when a huge juicehead wore leather, it was like he was impersonating a bull.

“Something's missing. Besides a tan and any muscles,” announced Gia, sizing up Fredo in his new clothes. “You need bling.”

“One signature piece,” agreed Bella.

They found a jewelry store on the second level, nestled between a Bebe and a Victoria's Secret. Gia almost lost interest in her makeover project when she walked by the Bebe windows. Ohh, there was a gold-lamé, off-the-shoulder dress with keyhole cutouts all over it. Ponzi's eyes would explode out of his head when he saw her in that.

But first, Fredo. They tried on a bunch of gold chains and gold-filigreed pendants. “They're too heavy and long,” he complained.
After some coercion, he agreed to buy a midlength chain with a lightning-bolt pendant. “Like Jupiter,” he said.

Gia said, “That's nice. Er, look, Bella and I need to run next door for five minutes, okay?”

“I'm starving!” said Fredo. “Does shopping always make you hungry?”

Bella said, “I'm kind of hungry, too.”

“Are you shop-blocking me?” asked Gia in shock.

“You look smokin' hot,” said Bella. “You can get that dress tomorrow.”

True, Gia thought. She was wearing a black leather corset minidress with gold studs around the waist. “But, but …”

“I've got a great idea,” said Bella. “Let's get gyros to go and eat them on Gorilla Beach.”

“You bitch,” said Gia. “You know all my weaknesses.”

It was still, just barely, light outside. The sun was falling. They had to hurry to get to the beach before the gorillas scattered for the night. Fredo carried their food, and his shopping bags. The girls carried their shoes. Gia's shoes—clear-plastic platforms with rhinestone-encrusted straps that wound halfway up her calves—took some time to remove. Bella slipped off her stiletto sandals in a flash. Her black tube dress, Gia noticed approvingly, was so short, you could see every inch of Bella's long legs. They both wore their hair long and straight, the red, white, and blue streaks adding pops of color to their all-black outfits.

“Here?” asked Fredo. They found a spot on Gorilla Beach that was close to the water, right between two different minipacks of guidos. “Sit on my old suit.” He spread out the
Reservoir Dogs
jacket and trousers on the sand.

Gia said, “Thanks. Now, Fredo, I want you to look around. Tell me what you see.”

“Ocean. Sand. Garbage. Drunk people. Hot girls in bikinis.”

“Very good,” said Gia. “Now, take a look at the guys.”

“Eww. No way.”

Bella laughed. “Just do it, Fredo. It doesn't make you gay to look.”

“I want you to see how hot guys behave in their natural habitat.” Gia glanced around. “Observe.” The gorillas in their midst were both easygoing and tense with alertness. They carried their extreme bulk with savage grace and lightness.

Fredo said, “They're tan.”

“Oh, yeah,” said Gia, spying an especially tan, beefy guido on a nearby blanket. She smiled and waved.

“They're hairless.”

Bella made a yummy sound.

“They have really white teeth,” said Fredo. “Which I can see because fifteen of them are grinning at you two like they just found diamonds in the sand.”

“They did,” said Gia.

“More like rhinestones,” said Bella.

“I want you to come here every day, Fredo. Observe and learn. Get it in your head to think, ‘What would a gorilla do?' We could get you a rubber bracelet with the intials WWGD. By the end of the week, you'll be as crazy cool as any guy out there. You're already fifty times sexier than when we got here. We've got a sweet, uh,
suite
. We've got cash. You've got new clothes.”

“And gyros,” said Bella. “Speaking of, can you pass one over here, please?”

Fredo passed around their spicy sandwiches. “I want to thank you guys. I know we've only known each other for a few days, but I already feel really … you know … like we're becoming … that's not to presume you feel the same way about … oh, shit.”

Gia could see how hard it was for the kid to say what he felt. It made her like him even more. “Do you think any of these juice-head gorillas would hesitate to tell the girls in their lives how they really feel?”

“No. But I'm not them!”

“Try it,” said Gia, smiling at him, willing him to make that leap, to trust her enough to express himself.

“You can do it,” said Bella.

Fredo took a long, deep breath. “I'm just happy that we're all … that we've become … friends.” He got the word out. Poor kid was visibly exhausted from the effort.

Gia said, “We are friends, Fredo. You bet your ass.” She held up her gyro. “To new friends!”

Bella and Fredo lifted their sammies. In unison they said, “To new friends!”

Erin Gobraugh surveyed her
domain. All four of her roulette tables were surrounded with suckers and drunks—happy drunks, the best kind. She made a silent prayer none of them would get weepy or angry as the night wore on. The gamblers could not
wait
to drop chips on the felt. When each round was done, the operators swept a clicking mountain of chips back into the casino coffers. Maybe one gamer would hit a number and win big. Meanwhile, fifteen others would lose, then try again.

Although her standing wasn't connected to how much revenue her particular casino turf generated, Erin was on a mission to double and triple her station's take.

Peeking at the black-glass bubble affixed to the ceiling right over her head—aka the eye in the sky—Erin tried not to look smug. Inside the glass bubble were four cameras, one aimed at a roulette table. They never blinked, never rested. It was almost like being on a reality TV show. Cameras rolling 24–7, someone watched her every move.

It might seem paranoid. But the casino had to be careful. Despite the triple-checking of employees' backgrounds, an honest dealer or operator could succumb to temptation. Seeing all that money move around so quickly, Erin felt a natural impulse to pluck, say, a $100 chip from a pile of them. What stayed her itchy fingers? Stories about pit bosses and dealers who got caught.