Sin City Homicide (5 page)

9

Bill James woke with a start. His eyes darted open to see himself looking back at him. He realized he was lying on his back in his bed, looking up at his mirrored ceiling. The two women next to him wore nothing but high heels, and he watched them for a while, running his eyes over the perfect curves of their bodies. He had seen a thousand girls like them. They came to the city, looking for success, only to learn that the way to achieve success in Vegas was to sell everything—not just their bodies, but also their souls. Soon, they would be burnt-out junkies like the thousands who were already plastered all over the city, for sale to any psychopath who had a mere sixty bucks. But for now, they had youth and beauty, and he took them in.

He rolled out of bed and
into his slippers. James glanced out the windows at the city below. His suite was made up of all windows with only one solid wall, a design specification he had requested. He wanted as much sunlight as he could get during the day and as much neon light as he could get during the night. He guessed from the dimming daylight that it was probably around five or six o’clock.

He used the bathroom, showered, and pulled out a Polo suit with purple pinstripes from his enormous closet before heading down to the casino floor.
When he was depressed or anxious, he went there to watch the action. He hadn’t gambled in over thirty years, and he didn’t see the draw of it, but he knew it didn’t need a draw. He watched people’s eyes. They were almost in a trance.

“Boss.”

He turned to see his floor manager, Timmy Rodriguez, come up beside him.

“Heard you had a scuffle
,” said James.

“Nothing we couldn’t handle. Just some drunk redneck who got pissed off. We got a bigger problem
, though.”

“What?”

“High rollers’ room. Guy there’s playing blackjack hard and fast, fifty- or sixty-thousand-dollar hands. House is down over a million bucks.”

“Who is he?”

“Never seen him before. He wasn’t in Vanessa.”

James
pulled a thin cigar from a gold case he kept in the inside pocket of his jacket and lit it as he headed to the human resources office. Vanessa was the computer database they used to keep track of the proficient gamblers, usually just the whales—the high rollers—who came, gambled big and fast, and left with his money. There was only one way to beat the casinos: quit while you were ahead. The longer gamblers played, the longer the casino’s edge wore them down. If this man wasn’t in Vanessa, he was either getting lucky, or he was a new whale on the scene.

The HR’s room was elegantly designed. James had brought the designer from Paris after he had designed the Prime Minister’s vacation home.
The designer was a jerk, and James had nearly thrown him out on his ass, but his work was so good that James tolerated him until the project was complete.

The room had a type of soft lighting that was rar
ely found outside of the best five-star restaurants in the world. The rugs had been imported illegally from Iran because of an embargo. The tables were handmade with the finest wood available. The glasses were crystal with a hint of sapphire that glinted blue in the right light. The felt on the tables was handmade specifically for this room. He’d spared no expense.

Three tables were in play
—two on the far right and one on the left. A crowd surrounded the one on the left, and a man was seated in the middle. James came up behind him and softly brushed aside some of the spectators. Timmy hadn’t been exaggerating. The man was currently betting over one hundred thousand dollars on this hand. He was betting big and fast, hitting a hot streak, and he probably knew when to quit. He was up by almost two million dollars—two million dollars of James’s money.

James
went around the table and looked into the man’s eyes. He could find what he was looking for there. The face could smile, the hands could rise in triumph, the voice could cheer, but the eyes couldn’t betray what someone actually felt. And his eyes told James, “I don’t care.”

That was a hallmark of a degenerate gambler
: the thrill of winning didn’t matter anymore. They gambled to gamble. Winning wasn’t the goal. They were the gamblers who lost homes, retirement accounts, college funds, cars, and grocery money.

James relieved his dealer and
took his place. “That’s quite a hot streak you’re on,” he said.

“When it hits, it hits.”

“Bill James.” He held out his hand.

The man shook. “Jim Fontenot.”

James expertly shuffled the cards and dealt the hand. “Where you from, Jim?”

“Dallas.”

“Really? I own some property in Dallas. Try to get up there every so often.”

Jim stayed at eighteen. James hit at fifteen and got the ten of hearts. The crowd cheered and clapped. A woman wrapped her hands around Jim’s shoulders and kissed him on the cheek.

“Jim, you don’t enjoy this game. I can tell. For real gamblers like us, this isn’t it. How ’bout we show these folks what gambling really is?”

“How’s that?”

“Those chips you got there, I’ll match ’em. One hand. Winner takes all.”

“Don’t do it, baby,” the woman said
. “Let’s take what we got and go.”

The woman was clearly his wife, but in that moment
, James understood him better than she did. James had looked into his soul and seen what was there. His wife only saw what Jim wanted her to see.

“Let’s do it!
Let it ride!”

The crowd cheered as his wife tried to talk him out of it, but she was too late. His eyes were wide
, and he was staring at the table as though he wanted to make love to it. In fact, James wouldn’t have been surprised if Jim were sexually aroused. He’d seen it before.

James turned to Timmy. “How much does he have in chips?”

Timmy counted. “One million, eight hundred, and twenty-six thousand.”

“Get me a marker for that amount.”

Timmy wrote something on his iPhone, and another dealer ran in thirty seconds later with a slip, which he handed to James.

James put the slip on the table. “You ready?”

Jim looked as though he might faint. He was filled with lust, excitement, and avarice. His wife was yelling at him, physically attempting to pull him away from the tables. He pushed her away aggressively.

James smiled
and dealt the cards. Jim glanced at his hand but had no reaction. James peeked at his cards. Jim brushed toward himself on the table, indicating that he wanted another card. James dealt it: the six of clubs. That brought Jim’s hand to twenty.

“I’ll stay.”

His wife gasped, her fingers turning white from squeezing his shoulder. James could tell that even a tractor couldn’t have pulled her away from the table right then.

James flipped his cards
, revealing the three of hearts and the Jack of spades. He pulled out the next card slowly, enjoying the look of panic and ecstasy on Jim’s face. It was the eight of hearts.

Jim folded as if the air had been knocked out of him. His wife slapped his face and stormed away.

“Nice playing with you,” James said as the dealer began collecting the chips.

James walked away
, and Timmy followed. He walked across the casino floor, excitement in his belly.

“The gambling commission’s not going to like that,” Timmy said.

“Call Mike Connors over there. Tell him to take care of it.”

Timmy made note of it in his phone then said, “That would’ve been a big hit
. Four million dollars.”

“Most gamblers get their training from other gamblers. You know where they should start?”

“Where?”

James stepped into the corner near the men’s room, where he knew the eye in the sky wasn’t monitoring. “A magician.” He pulled out a ten of clubs, a two of diamonds, and a five of diamonds from his sleeve. “Get rid of these.”

Timmy smirked. “Yes, sir.”

James took a quick piss
then washed his hands. He was excited; that was sure. He had actually enjoyed that hand, but it still felt empty to him. Regardless, no one was going anywhere with four million dollars of his money.

As
James was stepping out of the bathroom, Milton Henry approached him.

“There you are. Where you been?”

“Didn’t know my CEO got to ask me that and treat me like some asshole.”

“I didn’t
… I wasn’t saying—”

“I’m just kidding, Milt. You need to relax. What do you need?”

“Cal Robertson’s here, and he’s causing a scene. They called me down to take care of it, but he threw a drink in my face and called me a kike.”

“Where is he?”

“Near the stage.”

James walked briskly through the casino and
across the bridge over the strip. The casino occupied two buildings; he and Raj had come up with the idea together. One contained all the shops, shows, and attractions. The other was solely for gambling, a place where the hardcore gamblers could be alone while their families whittled away their time watching dance numbers and magic shows.

He made his way past the act on stage and saw that several of his guards had cornered Cal. He was ranting, flailing his arms, and shouting so loud that people were turning to look at him. James brushed past his men and grabbed Cal’s arm.

“What the fuck are you doing? Are you drunk again?”

“You son of a bitch,” Cal said, ripping his arm away. “You son of a bitch. I’ll have your ass, you cocksucker. She was nineteen, you motherfucker.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Fuck you
. Fuck you!”

He spit
in James’s face. Milton handed him a handkerchief, and he calmly wiped the spit off.

“You need to calm down, Calvin. I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“I’m meeting with the board. You’re a psychopath, you cocksucker. We’re throwing your ass back to the ghetto you came from. And maybe I’ll have a talk with the cops, huh? I know what you did to Daniel, you fucker.”

“I had nothing to do with that, Cal.”

“Bullshit. You always hated his guts. You’re a murderer on top of a fucking cocksucker.”

“Get out of my casino.”
James glanced around quickly and saw that only a handful of people were watching.

“It’s not your casino, you—”

Before Cal could finish his sentence, James bashed his fist into Cal’s jaw, knocking him back. One of his men grabbed Cal, and before he could open his mouth, James had struck him in the genitals and uppercut him in the face.

“Get him outta here.”

James watched as his men dragged away a barely conscious Cal Robertson. He put his hands on his hips and swore under his breath.

“That’s not good, boss.”

“You don’t need to tell me. Um, get… um, fuck. First, get me some fucking ice for my hand, then get the board on the line.”

“Everyone?”

“Everyone.”

10

Leaning against the Cadillac, Stanton waited for Marty out on the curb. He was reading on his iPhone when a valet came up to him.

“Nice car.”

“Thanks. It’s not mine. Just a rental.”

“Still, all a man needs is to drive that around for a little bit.”

“You think so?”

“I don’t know. You seem happy enough.”

“Thanks.”

“Whatcha readin’?”

“Ecclesiastes.”

“Who wrote it?”

“It’s in the Old Testament. It’s my favorite book from the Bible, actually.”

“Oh, you a Christian man? Well
, that’s cool. We see a lotta your folk down here. I’m Baptist myself. You?”

“Mormon.”

“No shit? Let me tell you, man, I went down to Park City for that Sundance Film Festival. Ain’t never been treated better by folks in my life. You Mormons is okay with me.”

“See any good movies?”

“Nah, I go for the food and the sight-seein’. Them movies is all messed up. Made by the celebrities I see up in here every day, and them folks is
really
messed. Like someone said, ‘They walk around like they so fine, but their assholes smell just like mine.’ You know what I’m sayin’?”

He smiled. “Yeah, I do.”

Marty pulled up in a police cruiser. He rolled down his window and shouted, “Should we take your car?”

“Yeah.” Stanton turned to the valet. “Is he okay to park out here?”

“Yeah, just leave it over there. I’ll keep an eye on it.”

Stanton handed him a twenty
-dollar bill. “Thanks.”

Marty parked then hopped into the passenger seat of the Cadillac as Stanton adjusted the mirrors and put on his seat belt. He pulled out of the Mirage
’s lot and onto the strip. It was beginning to get crowded.

“Where we going, Marty?”

“You ever seen Patton Oswald?”

“No.”

“He’s a comedian. He’s really funny. We can get dinner and watch his show at the Havana. It’s a hotel just up the street by the Luxor.”

They drove past massive screens displaying women in
G-strings and leotards dancing on a stage, videos of Jerry Seinfeld making crowds roar with laughter, and magicians making explosions on stage while lions and women ran around behind them. To Stanton, Vegas always felt like a city crafted for sin. There were few places like it. Some cities’ residents focused on the tourist trade to make their living, but Las Vegas was something else entirely. From its very inception, Las Vegas hadn’t had its inhabitants in mind.

“There it is.”

The casino was large and connected to another building by a bridge that went over the street. It lit up the evening sky and had lights that shot straight up from the top of the two buildings, seemingly into space.

“Crazy, huh?”

“That’s incredible. They were still building it when I was last here.”

They pulled up to the valet and got out. The valets
, who were dressed all in black, addressed everyone as “sir” or “madam.” Stanton followed Marty through the large doors with gold leaf trim into the building.

Inside, it
looked like a carnival. In fact, rides were set up for the children, and arrows pointed to hallways that led to magicians, comedians, dancing shows, and restaurants. Most of the people were with their families. Stanton noticed many of the groups were missing men.

“Is this the casino?” Stanton asked.

“No, that’s the second building. They keep everything separate here.”

He followed Marty up a hallway past a stage. Several men in suits and a couple of uniformed officers
were standing by. An older gentleman was shouting and swearing while a younger man tried to calm him down. Stanton couldn’t hear what was said, but he saw the older man throw a drink into the younger man’s face. The younger man wiped it off with a napkin and walked away.

They headed up the hallway to the comedy theater and took their seats near the front.
A black-and-white checkerboard served as a curtain, and a spotlight shone down on the microphone.

Marty motioned to a vendor who was standing
near their seats and ordered a couple of popcorns and Cokes.

“Diet Coke please,” Stanton said. “Caffeine free.”

“Um, we don’t have that.”

“Water’s fine.”

The popcorn came, and it was drizzled with butter. Stanton took a few bites and could taste sugar on it, as well.

“I know Mindi brought the file to you,” Marty said, his eyes focused on his popcorn.

“I didn’t ask her to.”

“It’s okay. She can do things I can’t do. If we can find the person who did this, it will be better.”

“Marty, I want you to listen to me. You are no different than anybody else, okay? Don’t ever let anyone tell you that you are. We all have our strong points and our weak points. That’s what makes us human.”

“I can remember what I was like before. I was really smart. Now it’s hard to think. My words are good, but I can’t concentrate
, and I forget everything.”

“You’re doing just fine.”

“I was married once, you know.”

“Really? What happened?”

“She left me. She said she didn’t want to take care of me and that I wasn’t making her happy. I don’t blame her.”

“I was married
, too. And she left me as well.” He held up his water in a toast. “To not finding another wife who’ll leave us.”

Marty tapped his Coke against
Stanton’s water bottle and smiled. He turned back to his popcorn with zeal, and he seemed to be in a better mood.

“I gotta use the bathroom,” Stanton said
. “I’ll be right back.”

He walked outside and down the hallway toward the restroom
, where he heard someone shouting again. He walked out to the main lobby and saw the same older man yelling at another man, who was much older than the man Stanton had seen him shouting at before. This man was dressed impeccably, with his balding hair slicked back and a thick mustache.

Suddenly, the
mustachioed man looked around then belted the shouting man in the face. Then he kicked him in the groin and struck him again. Stanton ran over. The two uniformed officers who were standing by immediately blocked his way.

“Back off,” one of them said.

“That guy just hit that old man.”

“I said back off.
I’m not gonna ask you again,” he said, pulling out his Taser.

Stanton watched as the old man was dragged from the building. The two men he had seen speaking to him were talking now
, and the younger one was taking notes.

The older one ran his hand through his hair and adjusted his suit. He glanced at Stanton then
looked away before walking out of the building.

“Nice to meet you,
officers
,” Stanton said. “Keep us safe tonight.” He turned and walked back to the show.