The only sure bets in life: death, taxes, and mobsters worshipping Martin Scorsese films.
Frank Brunetti’s yacht was called Aces High. That made sense, given that it was a licensed offshore gambling boat, but the true inspiration actually came from Brunetti’s obsession with the movie Casino. As he explained to Allen Grimes, the boat was named after the talk show hosted by the character that Robert De Niro played. “I’ve watched that flick a hundred times, easy,” Brunetti went on to say in the interview.
I could only imagine how many times he’d seen Goodfellas.
“Welcome aboard,” said the chief steward, or so read his shiny nameplate, as Elizabeth and I stepped out of the cold and onto Aces High a few minutes before it left from the North Cove Marina in Battery Park at exactly 8 p.m. That was another thing I’d read about Brunetti. Like Jimmy Hoffa, he was big on punctuality.
There were roughly eighty to a hundred people on board, all of us gathered in a posh stateroom with blue velvet curtains that had been converted into a bar and lounge and, of course, a cozy, high-stakes casino. There were four blackjack tables, two roulette tables, and one craps table, all of which had to remain empty until we reached international waters three miles offshore.
Everyone around us looked as if they had a lot of disposable income, although not necessarily any of it earned legally. Meanwhile, Elizabeth simply looked stunning.
“Check out the stares. I’m the envy of every man here,” I said, as she and I hung out in the corner, nursing our glasses of the champagne that had been passed around.
She glanced down at her very form-fitting red dress. “Too much?”
“Just right,” I assured her. “Very Christmas-y.”
“So what’s the plan now?”
“We’re doing it.”
“You mean, waiting? That’s the plan?”
“Grimes got us the meeting. We just don’t know when it will be.”
“Are we even sure Brunetti is on the boat?”
“I’m not sure of anything right now,” I said. “But he’s supposed to be.”
“In other words, we’re betting on the come.”
“Wow. Someone did her homework.”
“It’s a common expression.” She cracked a smile. “Okay, maybe I did a little light research on casino games this afternoon. Betting on the come. It’s a bet you can make on a craps table.”
“I’m impressed,” I said. “Did you also read that the game of craps has the smallest house advantage of all table games, with 1.41 percent on pass-line bets, or 0.606 percent if you combine it with a standard free-odds bet?”
With one look Elizabeth made it very clear that she 100 percent didn’t care. “I don’t get this whole attraction-to-gambling thing that people have,” she said. “There’s too much risk.”
“So says the woman who basically risks her life for a living.”
“That’s different.”
“Is it?” I nodded at the craps table. “No matter how big you lose over there you’re still only losing money.”
“Great,” she said, letting that sink in. “Now I’ve got to go find a new line of work tomorrow.”
“Assuming we make it through the night,” I said. “Did you see those two bags of concrete mix on the deck when we walked on?”
“Very funny.”
In a perfect world, Brunetti would have made some grand entrance at that moment and said a few welcoming words to his guests before heading over to Elizabeth and me with an invitation to some discreet parlor room for our meeting. But this was Brunetti’s world. His boat, his timetable. Our waiting. And waiting, and waiting…
Two hours later, with the casino in full swing but still no sign of Brunetti, it was time for a different plan.
“Let’s go play some blackjack,” I said.
“You’re joking, right? The minimum is a hundred dollars a hand.”
“Even better.”
“Better for what?” she asked.
“For how we’re going to win.”
“And how’s that?”
“It’s simple,” I said. “We’re going to cheat.”