“That’s crazy and way more than the project is worth,” says Carol. “Prez is sharp. She’d never go along with that.”
“There are three other Native American casinos that are almost in the same boat as Coyote River. We will give her a year to turn Coyote River around. If she does that, she can have the others for a dollar each after paying off their debts.”
This proposal is outrageous, outlandish and a stroke of genius.
“What if someone objects?”
“You mean someone like the federal government?” smiles Sandy.
“Them, among others,” says Thomas.
“Let’s pass this now. By the time the objectors get their ducks in a row, it’ll be too late. The thing would get caught up in appeals for years, and by the time the decision was made, the state and feds will be so addicted to the additional revenue, they’ll have no choice but to let it keep going.”
“How about due diligence?” asks Thomas.
“How about we let Coyote River slide into bankruptcy and have Oregon taxpayers pay out the debt because we are the guarantors? The whole state will throw all of us out because we couldn’t make a decision?”
Five minutes later, there is a unanimous vote six to zero in favor of the proposal.
The day is done. It takes half an hour to draft a two-page document that they all sign off on.
***
Tuesday 7 p.m.
I have some good news. Signed, sealed and delivered. Got a copy with me.
Sandy shoots off the text message.
Thirty seconds later, she gets a response from Prez.
Fantastic. Can you deliver it?
Sandy can taste Prez’s lips through the words of the text.
As long as we make out like minks for the rest of the night.
Ten seconds later.
Who needs minks when you can have a dragon? The Tilbury Industrial Park. 20999 South Bend Highway.
Sandy looks at the text. Dragons? There was one etched on Prez’s right breast and another just above her navel.
Chapter 14
Tuesday Evening—Oregon
The 2009 Tesla Roadster seems entirely out of place in this industrial area, especially at 9:15 in the evening. Sandy checks her cell phone texts again.
The Tilbury Industrial Park. 20999 South Bend Highway. It’s the right place but in the middle of nowhere?
Sandy enters the complex and starts looking for Unit 297.
There. At the end of that row. Hmm. It’s got fifteen cars in the front. She’s definitely crazy. Who the hell is coming here at this time?
Sandy shakes her head, gets out of the car and goes to the strata warehouse’s door. It’s unlocked, so she enters.
Two things hit her as soon as she enters the building. First is the horrible stench that is coming from who knows where. The other is a weird cacophony—it’s partly chanting, partly out-of-tune singing… there’s even something that sounds like the pained roars of some kind of animal.
Sandy makes her way behind the service counter and follows the direction of the sound to another closed door.
She opens it and…
OMG. Have I arrived in a nuthouse?
There is no sign of Prez, but there are thirty crazies in the room. Some do the weird singing, others stand together and chant and a couple are the source of the roaring. Some wear kabuki masks, others have ghoulish makeup and others look they’re ready for a day at the office.
And the dress is bizarre. Loincloths, ballroom gowns, bondage ropes—and many with nothing at all.
Some are having sex. Twosomes, threesomes in all combinations of genders. Sandy can’t help but gawk. On the butt cheeks of everyone are tattoos of dragons.
Not to mention dragons all over the place. Pictures, statues, videos, holograms… totally insane.
Suddenly, someone beats on a gong. Six times in a row, spaced about fifteen seconds apart. All stop what they are doing and move to the front where they kneel and create a semicircle. All extraneous sounds have stopped except for those doing the animal roaring.
As the last hit of the gong reverberates throughout the room, Prez, the Dragon Goddess, enters the room.
All sound stops. All eyes transfixed.
Sandy’s body starts quivering. She didn’t think it was possible, but tonight Prez looks even more desirable than she did the previous night. Then, there were shadows, dim lights and to be honest, Sandy wasn’t really looking but was just totally engaged in sexual ecstasy.
Tonight, the moody, vacillating light shows every nuance of Prez’s body. Dressed, if you call this dressed, with thin leather ropes, she looks every part the dominatrix, a woman who controls, a woman who must be obeyed.
And if someone chooses not to accede to her wishes, well—she carries two leather leashes in each hand. At the end of each leash is a muzzled Komodo. Even though the dragons cannot open their mouths, Sandy now knows the source of the terrible stench in the air.
Prez sees Sandy at the door and silently curves her fingers, beckoning her to step forward.
Sandy strides to the front and stands before Prez.
“What do you want me to do now?” asks Sandy, her voice a mixture of fear, anxiety, and lust.
Prez slaps her—hard.
“Do not speak to me unless spoken to,” commands Prez.
Sandy begins to moan. No one has ever dominated her before. She has always been the one operating from strength. To be a slave, not the slave driver, is a new experience—and she loves it.
“I’m sorry,” whispers Sandy. “I live to serve you. Anything you want. Anything.”
Prez sneers. “Do you think that means anything to me?”
She takes Sandy’s blouse and rips it. Sandy murmurs with growing passion.
“Finish it off,” commands Prez to her gathered followers.
Immediately, several men and women step in and rip off Sandy’s out clothes, her bra and her panties.
Sandy has never had a turn-on like this before.
And then, the shock of her life.
Prez grabs her by her hair and lifts it up over her head, exposing Sandy to all. “She’s middle-aged and dumpy. Boobs sag. Skin’s not tight. Paunch on her tummy. Cellulite on her ass.”
Sandy feels like she’s two inches tall. What really stings is that all the statements are true.
“And she’s miserable in bed. She needs to be taught. Any volunteers?”
Men and women come up to Sandy, examine her like she’s a piece of meat. Some squeeze her breasts; others prod her not-so-private parts.
All have disparaging comments about her body. Even worse, nobody wants to go to bed with her. It’s the most embarrassing day of Sandy’s life.
“Give her to Alfie,” says one very hard man.
The others concur.
Four men carry out a cage with a large Komodo dragon inside—this is Alfie. Sandy’s eyes widen with fear, and she screams in objection as she is tossed into the cage.
Fortunately, for Sandy, Alfie’s teeth have been removed, and he has been declawed.
Like last night, tonight will be a night she will never forget.
***
Prez did not have sex with Sandy that night. Not because she didn’t want to, she really didn’t care. For Prez, it’s all about control and how to keep it. If she slept with Sandy, that would have been two nights in a row, enough for Sandy to think that Prez might actually have feelings for her.
Or even worse. Sandy might see that Prez’s body was not quite so perfect. She might have seen those tiny, tiny lines that were beginning to form around Prez’s eyes. She might notice that even though Prez spent hours in the gym and spa, her body was not as taut as a teenager’s. And while Prez’s breasts are ample and voluptuous, they are no longer perky.
When she sees Sandy, she sees herself, and there is no way Prez will put up with that kind of personal humiliation.
This is also why Prez is so anxious to consummate the arrangement with the Coyote River
Tribe. Within a year or so, her body will no longer be the magnet that it is now. When that happens, she will be just another has-been with a gimmick. A frumpy broad with a dragon? Give me a break.
In the privacy of her apartment, Prez stares at the two-page document again. She doesn’t know what to think. It’s a disaster and windfall at the same time.
She picks up her cell phone and makes a call.
“Yes, Prez.”
“I’m going to need more money,” says Prez on the phone to Chin.
“Why?” asks Chin.
“Sandy managed to change the bill so that I can buy the Indian band outright.”
“One hundred and fifty million.”
There is silence.
“You said you would help me,” says Prez.
“I would help you for two or three million. I don’t have that kind of money anymore.”
“What do you mean?” screams Prez. “This is the deal of a lifetime. I’ve worked for years to put this together.”
“Prez, this is not what we talked about.”
“No, it is a hundred times better. There are three other Indian casinos that are on the verge of going under within a year. I can turn this place around in six months. They will be clamoring for me to take over the rest of them once I prove myself. I’ll get those for a dollar each.”
“It is too expensive.”
“What do you mean? Between all four casinos, there are almost six hundred hotel rooms. Half a million square feet-plus of casino gambling space, not to mention restaurants, convention rooms, banquet halls. Replacement costs for all that is way more than two hundred and fifty million. Which means we get the casino licenses for free.”
“Let’s not think of them all right now. Just focus on Coyote River. Who is going to go there? It’s in the middle of nowhere.”
“We’re going to make it sizzle. Just like your Tiger Palace in Macau, I’m going to create the Dragon Palace. No more of this Indian bullshit. Just borrow money against the Tiger Palace.”
Another silence.
“I don’t have official ownership. Garret did not have my name on any papers. With both him and Tommy dead, I could never prove ownership. But even if I did, the place was so heavily borrowed against, that it has gone into receivership. I’ve lost it.”
“If you can’t get it to me, I’ll go elsewhere. I’m not letting this deal go.”
“I wouldn’t advise that.”
“Why? You going to kill me?”
There is a tense few moments of silence.
“How did you pull this off?”
“I followed your advice. I put the screws to number two and nailed her.”
“The dyke?”
“Yes. I nailed her and then some.”
Another silence.
“I will get the money.”
“You damn well better.”
CLICK.
***
Chin is furious. His own daughter. Ungrateful bitch. How could Prez even think of going to someone else?
But he knows the answer. She learned from him. That’s what he’d do. If he knew who his mother was, he would cut her off at the knees to do this deal.
Chin doesn’t blame Prez, but that doesn’t mean he has to like it.
But things have changed. He longer is the man he used to be… and he no longer has the funds he used to.
Before, he would never have borrowed money from anyone. He wanted complete control of his destiny, and being indebted to anybody would compromise that autonomy.
He wasn’t really happy about the original offer that Prez had suggested. Yes, he could afford the two or three million that she said she needed in order to get a piece of the action.
But he hated that. There was no control, and worse, there would only be a fraction of the profits available, plus he would have to split them with his daughter who controlled the deal.
Prez is right. What is being offered is an unprecedented opportunity. It goes against the gambling laws; it goes against the constitution of Oregon.
It continues to amaze him what man or woman will do to satisfy their lust.
Helen of Troy. The woman who launched a thousand ships. Delilah. The temptress that brought down the strongest man alive—and he let her do it. Or in modern times, Marilyn Monroe and Monica Lewinsky—women who almost brought down American presidents.
Prez is in that league of women, and if Chin cannot perform, his daughter will surpass him in money, prestige and power.
Some fathers would be proud of their children for that.
Not Chin. Not the Tiger Master.
So where will Chin get the money?
It’s not easy. Once a minion dethrones a king, that leader loses the respect of the rest of his subjects and his peers. Because of Chin’s defeat by his trusted lieutenant, Garret Southam, and Noah, Chin cannot go to anyone he knows for help, even if he wanted to. Chin’s judgment would be questioned, and it is unthinkable that Noah, the most junior of lawyers and hardly a Shaolin martial artist of ability, could best Chin. No one of substance will ever do business with Chin again, and it would be humiliating for him to ask.
There is an even more demeaning possibility. His former colleagues, seeing Chin’s predicament, would lend the money to him or even more degrading, give him the money. They need not say a word, but all would know that Chin would be in their debt forever. Privately, they would laugh at him and revel in the fact that if push came to shove, Chin would have to kowtow to them.
No, Chin would never seek outside funding. But it goes deeper than that. It’s not just his colleagues who would doubt his ability to rise to the occasion—it’s Chin himself.
He has doubt in himself to pull it off. Noah has bested him and four of children four times in a row. He and each one of his children were grandmaster material of the animal techniques that they trained in. Tiger. Snake. Crane. Leopard. Four of them are dead. Only Prez, the Dragon, is still alive.
And he fears that if Prez stood up to Noah, she would meet the same fate.
Now, Chin is at a crossroads. Two days ago, he admitted defeat, that he would never recover his fortune from Noah.
With that decision, he ordered the hit on Noah’s helicopter when it went to the Yellow Mountains. When the signal from the helicopter he hired disappeared, Chin assumed it was mission accomplished and that both choppers were destroyed.
Now, he’s got to hope like hell that somehow Noah survived because if Prez’s deal is finalized and accepted at tomorrow’s tribal council meeting, he definitely wants a piece of the action, and the remaining funds from the Chad Huang Foundation is his only possible source for funds.
Chin picks up his cell phone and makes a call. “Find Noah Reid for me as fast as you can.”
Chapter 15
Wednesday Morning—Oregon
At 3 a.m., it’s pretty hard to see on this unlit highway—especially when one is jet lagged, thinking about a wife with a difficult pregnancy and has traveled back and forth across the Pacific twice in three days.
Otherwise, there would be no way that Noah could make a morning meeting. After the call from Chief, he found that there were no direct flights from Shanghai to Portland, but he could catch a flight to Seattle in two hours. Taxis never came down the street where Mrs. Wang lived, so Noah had to run out to a main drag to find one and get to Shanghai International. He made it, but just barely.
It was a twelve-hour flight to Sea-Tac, and he got in around midnight. There were no planes or buses to Portland or anywhere close to Cedarville, so Noah rented a car and drove the four hours to Coyote River.
The first thing Noah notices when he gets there is that there are very few lights on anywhere in the casino or hotel. Next thing he notes, courtesy of driving into a few, are the potholes in the asphalt driveway.
He parks the car and steps into the hotel lobby, but there is no bellman, no one to greet him. We are definitely not in Vegas or Macau—two cities he’s been to recently with glamorous, glitzy casinos.
At the counter, Noah wakes up a sleeping reservations clerk. The disgruntled employee processes the paperwork as quickly as he can.
Noah drops off his one small suitcase in an antiseptically clean room, so much so that Noah wonders if the cleaning crew knew that they had overdone it. Not a big deal, but he wasn’t too thrilled to see the cobwebs in the closet.
Not at all sleepy, he takes a little tour.
No one in the casino, no one in the bar, no one in the coffee shop.
Noah steps outside and continues his exploration—it’s a tired facility. Weeds grow through cracks in the walkways. There are hairline fissures throughout the exteriors of the buildings, which by the way, are badly in need of a paint job. There’s a thin film of algae on the swimming pool.
But that’s not the worst of it.
Noah hits the back of the main kitchen area. There are a dozen kids sleeping close to the rear exit. What bothers Noah is that there are four odors that are very strong: 1. Body odor. These young people likely haven’t bathed in days, and who knows the last time someone washed their clothes. 2. There is the pungent aroma of marijuana. While small amounts of weed is not illegal in the Beaver State, it is the combined smell of it plus the third item that cause Noah concern. 3. The toxic vapors of glue coming from little plastic baggies strewn beside the conked-out kids 4. The smell of booze coming from a half-dozen empty Costco-sized bottles of gin and rum.
Noah kneels down to take a closer look at the kids. He’s not good at judging ages, but to him, most are about the same age as his fourteen-year-old-buddy, Sam, or Sam’s sidekick, Walrus.
The Chad Huang Foundation was formed for kids like Sam—and for kids like the ones sleeping on the pavement in front of him.
Time to head inside. Noah starts to get up, but there’s a sudden change of plans.
The kid that Noah was leaning over, Brad, whips out a knife and tries to stab Noah. “Get out of my way, pervert.”
RITUAL SACRIFICE: The Ultimate Alpha Female & Political Corruption on the West Coast (Noah Reid Action Suspense Thriller Series Book 5) Page 11
