One of the Wicked: A Mick Callahan Novel

by Harry Shannon

  "You listening?"

  "Yeah. So what happened when he turned eighteen?"

  "Faber decided to be all he could be."

  "The Army took him?"

  "You know how it was, Mick. We'd just gone into Iraq. They would have taken Paris Hilton if she'd buffed up and sworn off pink."

  "He got sent over there?"

  "Quicker than a politician can lie."

  "Combat?"

  "He saw some action backing up the locals in and around Basra. Faber got one purple heart."

  "IED?"

  "Strangely enough, the kind where you actually get shot. Incident report says insurgents ambushed a truck he was driving. The unit got into a firefight."

  "How did Faber do?"

  "No John Wayne-heroics or anything, but they wrote him up okay. He returned fire, may have hit one of the insurgents, that sort of thing. His commanding officer skimped on praise all the way around. Maybe the boys half-assed it."

  "Can you find out more?"

  "Not without risking prison."

  "Screw it, then."

  "Here's something interesting, though. Just a few weeks later they changed his papers and sent him home."

  "Any reason given?"

  "None."

  "So you figure . . . ?"

  "That he got in hot water, of course, kind of like you and the SEALs."

  "As in fighting?"

  "Bet on it, because there are write-ups after he came home, both for fighting and boozing. Army records show him reprimanded three separate times, and he finally got a Dishonorable Discharge after doing less than two years."

  I drummed my fingers on the desk. "Wonderful. A violent drunk with military experience."

  "Alert the media. And hey, you turned out okay."

  "Funny. What happened to him after the service?"

  "I lose him for a year or so, but then he turns up in Nevada."

  "Go on."

  "I tracked him through the next period off credit card receipts, parking tickets, the post office and stuff like that. Faber started in that little dump near the California border, the one by the lake, and then bounced around working at a few different casinos. You know, Jackpot, Elko, Sparks, Lake Tahoe, and finally Vegas."

  "He lives in Vegas?"

  Jerry chuckled. "You were expecting maybe Little Rock? The guy is mobbed up, Mick. Are you going to tell me what's going on soon, or what?"

  "Or what."

  "Prick."

  "Look, I just expected him to be located here in LA for some reason. Who does he work for in Vegas?"

  "The last couple of years he's been working for an outfit called The Valley of Fire Corporation. According to their payroll records, Faber works in security. I guess they own some new casino and resort that's going up in a toilet called Loose Change, out by the Paiute Reservation near Moapa."

  "Did you run down who owns this Valley of Fire Corporation?"

  "Does a bear shit in the Vatican? Is the Pope living in the woods? If you dig through a mountain of legal bullshit, Valley of Fire turns out to be run by a very bad individual. The guy is one of the last of the outlaw Italian boys, from what I can tell. The rest have gone legit or caved in to the mobs from Russia and Eastern Europe."

  I leaned back in the chair and examined patterns in the ceiling. "Okay, so we're looking at Big Paul Pesci."

  "So you already knew that. Now you're beginning to piss me off."

  I took a few moments and filled him in on Bone's story, though I knew Jerry should stay out of it. He'd already had my back a number of times; maybe too many. And this situation felt like it could go south in a hurry.

  "How do you figure on handling this one, chief?"

  I shrugged. "I called Larry Donato to put someone on the girl. Beyond that, who knows? I just want to gather information and see where it takes me. The only thing I see for certain is that I can't let my friend go down hard, not without trying to lend a hand."

  "Donato already has that biz up and running? Cool of you to toss him some work. All his guys are qualified cops and ex-cops."

  "That's what I was thinking." I rubbed my temples slowly, and my weariness probably showed.

  Jerry cocked his head. "You have a lot on your own plate these days, Mick. How's it going at work?"

  "It doth proceed. Excrement inevitably rolls downhill, yes?"

  "Now you sound like Hal."

  "I learned pedantry from a master."

  "You wouldn't be looking for something to distract you from the mess at the station, by any chance?"

  "There's that. But Bone is an old buddy, Jerry. You know how it is."

  "I know. And if you need me, I'm in. I just don't want you trying to handle too many problems at the same time, especially if it gets hairy."

  "Tell me about the other guy, Frank Toole."

  Jerry shuffled papers. "He's a 'Southie,' born in the slums around Boston. No juvenile record I could find. Did one bit in the Marine Corps, got an Honorable Discharge. Two arrests, one for assault and battery, charges dismissed when the victim refused to press charges. The second beef went to trial. Toole was nailed for contracting to do a hit, but a high-powered Vegas lawyer named DeMartini got his ass out of that one by claiming it was entrapment. Oh, and that Toole was actually looking to get evidence on the guy who wanted to whack his wife and planned to turn him in and write a book about the experience. The jury bought it. The scum bag walked."

  "Easy on the tough-guy talk, Jerry."

  "Why? Can you tell I've been practicing?"

  "Toole was already connected by that point, is that what you're telling me?"

  "No way Toole could have afforded DeMartini on his own, Mick."

  "And this attorney does a lot of work for Pesci."

  "Give the cowboy a prize."

  "You have addresses and other information on these clowns if we need it, right?"

  "My man, I could steal their identities and fuck up their credit in a heartbeat, just say the word."

  "Who knows, maybe we will." I got up, paced and stretched. "Okay, likewise the stripper?"

  The picture arrived a second later. She was a real looker.

  Jerry said, "Brandi DeLillo was born Barbara Ann DeLillo, in Newark, New Jersey. She's twenty-eight years old. Brandi dropped out of high school, moved to Atlantic City, then Nashville, and finally Vegas. She did a six-month stint in drug rehab, under court order. Prior to that, our girl had a couple of busts for prostitution and some speeding tickets, but other than that she's clean."

  "Credit history?"

  "Brandi tends to live large, but you'd expect that from a working girl. In the past few months she has paid off and closed down some credit card accounts, downscaled to a less expensive apartment. She's drawing pay as a waitress, so maybe she dumped her sugar daddy and plans on going back to college to become a surgeon."

  "What?"

  "Hey, she's probably got great hands, right?"

  "Very funny."

  "Thanks. Oh, and Larry Donato just e-mailed me. He's going to give us Dave Lopez to watch out for the girl. Lopez has a lot of free time the next couple of weeks and needs the extra money."

  "Sounds good." I sat down again. The computer announced that I had mail, too. "Thanks, Jerry. Great job, as usual. I'll look this stuff over and let you know when I decide my next move."

  "Our next move?"

  "Jerry, I have a bad feeling about this one," I said. "Other than hiring Lopez, I'm thinking maybe I'd better keep this one simple and take care of it on my own."

  Jerry shook his head. "What was that? You're cutting in and out. Can't hear you. I'll call back when I'm packed and ready to drive up."

  "Hold on a second . . ."

  The screen went dark. Jerry was gone.

  Six

  "You must understand one thing," Nicky said. "An organization such as ours survives by demanding absolute loyalty." He held up his glass of red wine, swirled the glass and sniffed the bouquet before continuing. "And absolute honesty as we
ll."

  "Honor among thieves?"

  "Quite."

  The young attorney nodded vigorously. His collar was overstarched so the action made his neck itch. The two muscle men on either side of him did not respond. They were too busy searching the restaurant with lidded, suspicious eyes. They reminded the attorney of giant lizards. Maybe aliens from a dinosaur planet.

  "Very nice," Nicky said. He put the glass down without finishing it and tapped a brief note on his BlackBerry. "I shall have to order a case for my collection. Are you sure you don't want to try it? This is a fine California Cabernet. It would be superb with any red meat."

  Jacob Mandel shrugged. "I've never cared much for alcohol."

  "But a man must have a vice. Yours?"

  Mandel weighed the question, visions of a fat retainer dancing in his head. "I've been known to smoke a bit."

  "Marijuana?"

  "Never," Mandel lied. "Only tobacco. I have a weakness for Cubans."

  "Wonderful. I have a few aged Cohiba in my cellar. As you know, they are exceptional, and no longer manufactured."

  "I'm impressed. They're impossible to find these days."

  "I'll send some over before the ink is dry on our agreement."

  The taller of the two bodyguards sat up in his chair. At six foot two, Lucky was still several inches shorter than Nicky. He stretched, popped his neck, and spoke through clenched teeth. "Three o'clock."

  Nicky sighed. "Lucky, what is it now?"

  The second man got up, as if to head for the bathroom. His name was apparently Andy. He answered the question. "That couple over there, pretending to be cuddling? They're cops, Nicky. The broad works vice."

  "I shall refrain from asking how you know that, Andy. Sit down and relax, please. I was almost finished anyway." Nicky snapped his fingers, and a waiter appeared from nowhere. "Check."

  Mandel squirmed in his chair. He hadn't expected the police to be on to their arrangement, at least not so quickly.

  "Relax, counselor," Nicky said. "It's not you. We're often followed and photographed. In our organization, we consider this a badge of honor."

  Mandel focused on the fat, six-figure retainer again. What the hell. He leaned back in his chair.

  "Do you know Shakespeare?" Nicky asked.

  Mandel shrugged. "Not much call for him in law school."

  "A man in our line of work should be wel rounded, Mr. Mandel. He should know his classical music, Shakespeare, some poetry. This is in order not to become an absolute barbarian." Nicky fixed his gaze on Andy, then Lucky, as if to say, You see what I have to put up with?

  "Makes sense, Nicky. Where would you suggest I begin?"

  "I enjoy the tragedies myself," Nicky said. "Macbeth, Othello, and Hamlet in particular. They are studies in human weakness."

  "Mel Gibson did a Hamlet movie once, right?"

  Nicky looked pained. "Please. Watch Sir Laurence Olivier's Hamlet, even the old BBC version with Christopher Plummer if you must, but not Mr. Gibson. That one was edited to shreds, just butchered."

  Andy decided to chime in. "I saw some of that on cable," he said. "It's about a crazy guy wants to fuck his mommy."

  Nicky lowered his gaze, studied the wine again. Some time passed. The three men with him began to perspire. When he raised his head his eyes were flat, his mood obfuscated. "It is about quite a bit more than that, actually. I should not expect you to understand, Andy. Shall we go?"

  Mandel blinked. "Go where?"

  "I thought you might want to take a run out past Moapa to see our new hotel and casino, Mr. Mandel. We're calling it Valley of Fire. After all, it will soon be your primary client."

  A quick glance at the undercover cops. "But they'll follow us."

  "Relax. They'll be taken care of." Nicky snapped his fingers. The sound made all three men jump. "Andy, go over nicely and have a chat with them. Lucky, you go outside and cut their tires."

  The goons rose and left without looking back. Nicky smiled, shrugged. "Such morons must be good for something, yes? Violence is unpleasant, but one never knows when it may become necessary." His piercing eyes pinned Mandel to the chair, then a half smile caressed him with cool fingers. "To be candid, sometimes I feel like I am living in a Godfather film."

  Mandel swallowed. "Can't imagine why." He started to get up, but Nicky waved a finger. Mandel sat.

  "We still have a few moments," Nicky said. "Tell me about yourself, Mr. Mandel. What made you decide to practice the law?"

  "My parents," Mandel said. He flushed, embarrassed by the involuntary honesty. "I got okay grades, but I was drifting. My dad was a police officer, and my uncle went through Special Forces and worked for the government."

  "Special Forces? Impressive."

  "I thought so. Those guys are tough."

  "Go on."

  "Well, in families like mine, you get pressure to be a cop, a soldier, a doctor, or at least a lawyer, and since I can't stand the sight of blood, I passed on the first three."

  "Is that so? The sight of blood makes you queasy?"

  "My own, anyway," Mandel said. He tried to grin. The big man did not smile back. The look in Nicky's eyes made Mandel shiver.

  "Ha!" Nicky suddenly got it, laughed and looked around the room as if inviting everyone else in on a great joke. "My own! Ha! Go on, go on. About the law."

  "I did really well on the LSAT, and got into UCLA. From there I went to Ross, Goldfarb and Kramer in Century City. I left there to work for Mr. DeMartini, which is how I met Mr. Pesci, and now I've been on my own for about a year."

  Nicky nodded. "It is good to be king, no? I mean, to employ one's self."

  "Yes," Mandel said cautiously. "Although I still take orders from my clients, naturally."

  "Ah, this is the way of the world. No one is ever completely free, yes?"

  "Indeed."

  Nicky slapped the contract on the table with an open palm. Mandel jumped an inch up and two more back. "This agreement says you work for us, for Mr. Pesci to be exact. Most of the time you will be left alone to do your job, because we respect a man who has the eggs to start his own company. However, if we ask for a specific thing at any time, you will do it without question. This is understood?"

  "I understand."

  "And we do not need to be concerned that members of your family have worked in law enforcement?"

  "No, not at all."

  "Mr. Mandel, your face asks a question."

  Mandel swallowed. "Well, as for that last thing, please understand, I will keep your business confidential at all times, but I don't know that I can personally do anything illegal, Nicky. I don't mind bending rules, of course, not so long as I still have plausible deniability, but I cannot promise to flat out commit a crime. You'd have way too much on me, then. Besides, I could lose my license. I'm sure you can appreciate that."

  Nicky cocked his head. His lips pursed. "How sad."

  "Excuse me?"

  "Your hearing problem. So sad in a man of such tender years."

  Mandel summoned courage, started to rise. "I don't wish to disappoint you, Nicky. So perhaps we'd best shake hands and call off the transaction while we can still be friends."

  "Sit."

  Again, Mandel sat.

  "We shall put our differences to one side for a few moments. Why, you ask? This is because I have something to show you before we consummate the deal, something that should clarify the circumstances and requirements better than anything I could personally do or say. Let us go."

  "Just to the casino, right?"

  Nicky did not answer. The bodyguard named Andy quietly seized Mandel's Armani-smothered sleeve. They all rose as one, shoved aside tourists, crossed the nerve-jangling, blindingly patterned carpet and rode down in an elevator that seemed silent as a tomb after the clang and clatter of the slots. Time seemed to speed up.

  As he got into the long, shiny limo with Nicky and the two stereotypical goons, Mandel couldn't help but recall that in every mob movie he'd ever seen the victim wa
s hustled into the backseat of a car and driven somewhere.

  Don't think like that. . . .

  They left the strip and went north and east on the 15, to the edge of the Wildlife Range, past very long stretches of shadowed sand and dots of dried sage that clawed at the sky like fingers. The night was bleak, black, and speckled with stars that seemed like pinpricks of clear ice. Time slowed down again.

  Nicky cleaned his fingernails and listened to some music via satellite that sounded both faint and classical. Mandel studied the night sky. Lucky drove the limo while Andy worked feverishly on what appeared to be a zit at the back of his neck. A few words would have been nice; something to break the strained silence, but no one said a word. Perhaps no one dared.

  Now it seemed like a very, very long drive. Mandel wondered how the hell they expected to entice tourists to wander such a distance from the strip. Then it hit him that they must be figuring on the unique angle: high-stakes gaming, luxury suites, glamorous shows, but also legal female and male prostitution, all located in one, convenient resort. Hell, it would be one-stop shopping for everybody with the money and the hormones.

  Mandel did not know whether to be excited or frightened when several tall, dinosaur-like shapes appeared on the horizon. He knew they were the metal girders of a complex still under construction. Although its casino and hotel were both soon to open, the full Valley of Fire resort would not be officially completed for another six months. The metal skeletons would soon become the rest of the huge resort.

  As they parked, Mandel squinted and made out that the place had been carefully sculpted into a reasonable facsimile of a mountain. This establishment would have outdoor swimming pools placed on several plush levels, with flowing waterfalls lushly connected to one another. The area below the hotel, soon to be a bright red and orange casino lit by flames, would then become the proverbial Valley of Fire.

  The site seemed deserted. Lucky drove the limo off the highway and onto a bumpy dirt road. Only every other streetlamp was operational. The visual effect was disconcerting—pools of yellowing light followed by ribbons of darkness. They bounced along through potholes. The rocking motion somehow allowed Andy to finish popping zits. He emitted a simian grunt of satisfaction.