Chapter Thirteen
It was dead dark and the stars were all staring at him and Ang Wang was freezing his nuts off. He felt like an astronaut pissing off the wing of the space shuttle, instead of a photographer pissing off the side of the rooftop on the 20th floor of the Native Sun Casino.
It wasn’t easy to zip up his pants with the climbing harness strangling his crotch. Not to mention the Jumar SRT ascender thingy dangling between his legs. But he did manage to get the other thingy dangling between his legs out of the cold and back into his pants.
Crunching across the drainage stone on the rooftop he got that creepy feeling that he was going to get caught. It was some latent Catholic-God-is-watching voodoo from his childhood. Still he imagined that at any moment security was going to come pouring through the small rooftop access door and start yelling like movie cops; Hit the deck! Halt! Freeze!
Well, he was already freezing.
Nighttime in the Connecticut woods in September was similar to a night spent in a walk-in refrigerator, only the view was slightly better. Moonlight on treetops. It was almost romantic. He enjoyed the view but he had to get to work. He was the Kamikaze Cam! Sneaking across a rooftop twenty stories high at midnight – who else did stuff like this in real life? Who else got paid to do stuff like this?
“Kamo-kah-zee!” He pumped his fist in the air and hopped up and down like he was going to take off into the stars.
Well, sort of. He was actually going to try and get a picture of the stars taking it off. Fat, fighting or fucking. That was how you wanted to shoot the stars. Those were the pictures that printed just like money, and Shanndon was the FortKnox of fuck pics. If he got a picture of either one of them even half naked he would be set through the following year. If he caught them in the sack he might have to actually hold an auction.
The roof he was walking across wasn’t much bigger than half a high school gym. He’d noticed the little notch in the side of the building when he was scoping out the Sachem Suite before spending the night getting butt-raped by the pedestal safe in the armoire. But that was the secret to his success. It wasn’t Plan A that got him the pictures, it was usually Plan B, C, or even D…he never stopped until he got what he wanted.
He clicked on the flashlight and shined it up the side of the building. The Sachem Suite had two balconies, on the 23rd and 24th floors of the hotel. He’d been on both of them last night. On the 24th floor balcony he’d clipped a rope to the metal railing. On the end he’d clipped a ten pound weight and swung it over to land on the rooftop, where it sank into the four inches of drainage stone. Everything was still in place.
Plan B.
Chapter Fourteen
Seemingly it was an evening predestined for repetitive actions. For the second time in the same very long night, Antonio was having an issue with expelling one of his VIP guests from their limousine.
“No way.” Brandon sat on the bench seat of the limo, arms crossed over his tattooed chest. “I ain’t going in the same door as the trash.”
“Technically, Bran,” said Marty. “This is where the trash comes out.”
The black stretch limo was parked in the third bay of the Recycle Dock. With the aid of the State Police the limo had made its way around the building to the truck road, past the water processing plant, through a guarded checkpoint, and down the access road that lead to the truck docks used to transport all the dumpsters and recyclables from the casino. Now the bay door was closed and the limousine was safely ensconced within. On either side of the limo were green dumpsters. Directly in front of the limo were stairs leading to a concrete landing where two casino employees were dumping a tilt-truck full of wet plastic bags into the nearest dumpster. The aromatic ambience was something between raw meat and mop water.
“This is the safest way into the casino,” said Mark Ford. Into his cuff mic he said, “Stand-by. He’s on his way.”
“No I’m not.” Brandon waved his hand through the open door. “And get those weird guys outta here. They keep lookin at me.”
Mark, Antonio and Marty all turned to look at the two men dumping trash. The men froze in their bent positions, one of them holding an engorged bag that was dripping something onto his shoe.
Mark walked closer to the landing and said, “Are you men just about finished?”
Neither of them spoke.
Antonio asked the men, “¿Cuándo terminaran?”
The employee holding the bag said, “Un minuto, Señor.”
“Gracias.” Antonio turned back to the limousine. “They will be done shortly.”
“See Bran?” Marty lifted his laptop bag. “We’re almost outta here. Then you can see Shannon and I can hit the sack. In the morning we’ll go to the club and look it over. Okay?”
“I’m a pop star, Marty. Do you know that?” Brandon stabbed at the air with his finger. “Do you think Kanye or Lil’ Waynewould put up with this shit? I should have a fuckin entourage. I should be walking right in the front door surrounded by bodyguards. Why don’t I have bodyguards, Marty? What kind of manager are you? You should be worried about my safety and shit!”
“Brandon.” Marty closed his eyes and took a deep breath. It didn’t seem to calm him. “We’ve been over all this. You released one single, Bran. Just one.”
“Just one single they play all the time on the radio.”
“Radio doesn’t pay. It’s free.”
“We sold the download rights.”
“Yes, and ringtones. And you have another single coming out next month. That means you’re on your way to rich. But you’re not rich yet.”
“It’s my image! You should be worried about my image, Uncle Marty!”
“You’re dating the most beautiful young actress in Hollywood. You’re in all the magazines. That’s good enough for now, isn’t it?”
“I’ll ask Shannon. She’ll buy me bodyguards.”
“Okay, okay, good. Let’s just get out of this loading dock.”
“Take me to the front door.”
Antonio cleared his throat, somewhat discreetly, and gestured to Marty for permission to speak. Receiving a nod he began. “Perhaps I can explain, sir. At the Native Sun Casino we have numerous celebrities visit us, as well as many significant individuals of some wealth, power, and reputation. In these specialized cases we must use the utmost discretion and bring them into the building via surreptitious routes. This is to save them from the unwanted attentions of admirers and fans, some of which can become unruly in large numbers, as witnessed by us all in the valet port.”
Brandon sneered at him. “You talk like a butler.”
Antonio bowed. “I am in fact your butler, sir, as I was the butler for our most famous visitor to the casino, Mr. Frank Sinatra.”
“No shit,” said Marty.
“There is none, I assure you. He came to our Grand Opening and entered through this very dock. He had no one with him save his driver. He carried nothing but a Jack Daniel’s bourbon, which he called ‘gasoline’, and a pocketful of cigars. He shook everyone’s hand that happened to be working down here at the time and gave them each a cigar. He tipped his hat to the women and gave them a wink. There are still employees who talk about that day. They day they met Frank, which is how he introduced himself. ‘Hello,’ he said. ‘I’m Frank.’”
Brandon looked at his Uncle Marty. “What the fuck does that have to do with me?”
“The point is,” said Antonio. “It’s not the door, but how you walk through it that is important.”
Brandon’s eyes slowly slid back to Antonio. He chewed on the inside of his lip. Pulled a pair of sunglasses from his pocket and slipped them on. Grudgingly, a bright white tennis shoe stomped onto the cement floor of the loading dock. “Just get me outta here,” he said.
Sonny was waiting for them on the landing with two golf carts. Three suitcases were loaded on. Brandon scoffed at the Native Sun Casino jacket and baseball cap that Sonny held for him.
“To disguise your identity,” expla
ined Antonio. “It will expedite our passage.”
Brandon punched his arms into the jacket and yanked on the baseball cap before slouching into the passenger seat of the lead golf cart.
Antonio turned to Sonny. “We’re taking the freight elevators to the room service hallway, and then we’ll transfer to the back-of-house hotel elevators.”
Mark directed one security officer to go ahead of them and secure an elevator, leaving one to walk behind the golf carts. “Make sure you keep up,” he said. “We’ll be moving fast.”
The freight elevators fit both carts snugly side-by-side. The security escort pressed the button and wire gates closed, then the inner doors.
Brandon answered his cell phone. “What’s up? Uh-huh, I saw you baby. Did you throw that bra at me? Was that you?”
Marty looked at Antonio and rolled his eyes.
The freight elevator lurched to a stop and the inner doors banged open while the wire gates retreated. Once the security escort gave them the nod, they drove the golf carts out into a nondescript hallway. They rode the short distance to the employee elevators, the escort jogging behind them. Employees only gave them a passing glance. Some of it was due to the speed of the carts, but the disguise helped as well. At the elevators another security officer was waiting next to an elevator that had been keyed out for their use. Antonio and Sonny transferred the luggage to the elevator while Brandon continued to talk on his cell. Marty held his laptop case and yawned. Mark spoke into his cuff mic and told the officers on the 23rd floor that they were on their way up.
The elevator next to them dinged open and two young female coin cashiers stepped out. One of them was talking on her cell phone, the other drinking a soda. The cell phone girl grabbed her friend’s arm so she didn’t bump into the golf cart. The girl drinking the soda just happened to look in the right spot at the right time and choked on her Diet Coke.
“Ohmygod,” she said.
The girl on her cell phone said, “Ohmygod.”
“Brandon.”
“Ohmygod.” The girl lifted her phone to her mouth. “You won’t believe who I’m looking at.”
Brandon peeked out from under his baseball cap. “Yo girls.”
“OhmyGOD!” The girl hopped up and down and sloshed her soda on the floor.
Her friend said into her phone, “I gotta go I need the phone.” She held up the phone to Brandon. “Can we get a picture with you?”
Mark ushered Brandon into the elevator while Antonio stepped in front of the camera phone.
“Ladies,” said Antonio. “You know better than that.”
“What?” The young woman’s face grew red.
“We just wanna picture,” said the other one. “For my Facebook!”
“Enjoy your lunch break,” said Antonio.
From inside the elevator Brandon called out, “Come to the club tomorrow!”
The girl clutched the phone to her breasts and called back, “OK!”
The other girl added, “WE LOVE YOU!”
Antonio walked backwards and stepped sideways into the elevator. The security officer outside smiled at the girls and said, “How about a pic with me?” just as the doors closed and they began their ascent to the 23rd floor.
Brandon continued to talk on his cell. “Yea. Yea. ‘Course, baaabeee…tonight. I’m in an elevator or something. They brought me in the back. Like Sinatra. He’s like, an old famous guy. Yea. Okay. I’ll call ya.” He dropped his cell to his lap and said, “I’m going out tonight.”
Marty instantly said, “No.”
“You’re my manager. Not my mother.”
“If I was your mother I’d be an alcoholic. Which I’ve considered, believe me.”
“I want to gamble a little. Ain’t this a casino?”
“No.”
“What the fuck is it?”
“Yes it’s a casino. No you cannot go out and meet up with that slut you had on the phone. Shannon is upstairs waiting for you.” He looked at Antonio for confirmation.
Antonio nodded.
The elevator stopped on the 23rd floor. The party exited en masse with security leading the way. Antonio timed his departure to coincide with that of the tour manager.
“If you don’t mind, Mr. Kramer,” said Antonio, slowing down to allow distance to build from the group. “There is something we should discuss regarding this evening’s events. Miss Moon was under the impression that Brandon would be spending this evening with her. She arranged for a romantic dinner to be served en suite.”
Marty sneered down the hall at the swaggering pop star. “Maybe he’ll see the setup and get the message that he should stay. Then again, he’s an idiot. Maybe I should say something to him before he goes in there.”
“I was hoping you would reach that conclusion, sir.”
“I wouldn’t want him to shit all over her dinner.”
“A striking metaphor.”
“Even though he’ll just escape later and do whatever the hell he wants.”
“I have an idea for that as well.”
“I like having you around. Shoot.”
“I can arrange a private room in which Brandon can play high stakes Black Jack.”
“What about his groupies?”
“I can instruct security to only allow admittance to certain individuals. Everyone else will be escorted away.”
Marty thought a moment. “Set it up. Better to be safe than sorry, right?”
“I feel it’s better to err on the side of caution.”
“You say it better. Okay. Let me go talk to my nephew.”
“I’ll be right behind you sir.”
In the suite Shannon greeted her boyfriend by leaping into his arms and wrapping her legs around his waist. He immediately fell backwards onto the leather couch.
“Shit babygirl,” he huffed. “You gaining weight?”
She laughed. “I did drink about a gallon of champagne. You can blame Antonio.”
Brandon’s eyes narrowed. “Who the hell is that?”
Shannon pointed over her shoulder. “Our butler. Well, not our butler, his name is Max. But this is the head butler, Antonio. He’s awesome.”
“Thank you, Miss Moon,” said Antonio.
Brandon ignored him and said, “Babygirl, I need some bodyguards.”
Shannon looked momentarily disoriented. “Huh?”
He pouted. “All those crazy people out there. You should have seen them…”
“Oh, I’ve seen them alright. Too much of them.”
“What if one of them was a nutjob? Tried to attack me?”
“With what? A retainer? They’re all fourteen, babe.”
He pushed her off his lap. “I thought you would understand.”
Antonio gestured to Mark that they should leave.
Shannon draped her legs across Brandon’s lap and snuggled up to his side. “Don’t be mad. I have a surprise for you!”
He stared straight down at the floor and mumbled, “Is it an entourage?”
“Noooo.” She waved towards the hallway that led to the dining room. “We’re having a private dinner for once! Just me and you. No fans. No crazy people.”
“Good thing. Since there’s also no bodyguards.”
Marty stepped forward and said, “Shannon, give me a kiss so I can get outta here.”
“Sorry Uncle Marty!” She hopped up and wrapped her arms around him. “Missed you.”
“You too.” He patted her on the back and turned to his nephew. “Enjoy your dinner with the most gorgeous girl in Hollywood. Be glad you’re not Brad Pitt. You could be eating Cheerios for dinner in a house full of kids.”
Brandon pulled Shannon back down to his lap. “Let’s eat quick. I want to go and gamble a little.”
“Brandon! I came up here so we could spend some time together!”
“Well start spending it babygirl…I got to be seen. You know?”
Marty met up with Antonio and Mark in the entryway foyer. “He’s just as dumb as I thought h
e was going to be.”
“I’ll call the Director of Gaming and get him a private room and deliver the details through the security officer posted on the door.”
“Good,” said Marty. “I don’t want to know about it. I want to have a drink and pass out.”
Antonio handed him an envelope. “Your room key. The suite is just down the hall. The service bar has been arranged. I took the liberty of adding a Macallan single malt. You’ll find the ice bucket is full, and two rolls of your brand of antacid should be found on the sink in your bathroom.”
“Antonio, you’re a helluva guy.”
Mark Ford said, “We like him too. We think it’s the bowtie that does it.”
“Good night fellas.” With that, the tour manager carried his one piece of luggage down the hall, waving over his shoulder.
Sonny stepped out of the suite and closed the door behind him. “I put the luggage away. They’re still arguing about dinner.”
Antonio shook his hand. “Thank you for all your help tonight, Sonny. I truly couldn’t have done it without you. Why don’t you go home and spend some time with your wife? I’m sure she’s waiting.”
“Thanks Antonio. I’ll see you tomorrow.”
“Give her my best.”
As Sonny strolled away, Mark said, “I just sent you those pictures of Ang Wang’s broken furniture.”
Antonio opened the attachments on the email and scrolled through them. “A broken chair. A lamp. What’s this one?”
Mark looked over his shoulder. “That’s a dry-cleaning bag that he stuffed down the toilet. Flooded the bathroom, soaked the carpet in the bedroom. It was even a little squishy out in the hall right around the door.”
“Water soaks rapidly if left unattended. Do you have any idea why he might have done this?”
“Retaliation for catching him in the armoire, then locking him in a limo.”
“I wonder.” Antonio studied the pictures.
“Maybe we scared him off. Big strong security guy, smart and tricky butler. Hey,” he gestured toward Antonio. “You’re eyebrow is doing that archy thing.”
“I’m only thinking.”
CASINO SHUFFLE Page 10
