“Does your boyfriend like cats?” Crystal’s smile was wicked. “Or does he love you so much it doesn’t matter?”
Ethan grinned back. “Both, maybe. I think. I hope.”
“Then what you really want is this.”
She led Ethan around the corner to a wall display of nine windows. Each and every one was full of cats.
Ethan balked. “I don’t think—” He stopped as he spied the adult calico with a bent ear looking out at him. Her shoulders were hunched, and her whole existence seemed lost and forlorn.
“Oh.” Ethan started toward her. She blinked then hesitantly pawed at the glass. Ethan’s heart clenched.
“That’s Daisy. Would you like to meet her?”
Ethan knew then it was already over. He just hoped Randy truly did love him because otherwise he’d probably kill him.
ETHAN PRETENDED HE wasn’t adopting Daisy by declaring he was “thinking about it.” Of course, he’d also left Salomé at the store’s boarding department for the afternoon, where the indomitable Crystal had arranged to have Daisy and Salomé housed in the same cage. When Ethan left, they’d been curled up together in the ultra-soft plush pink cat bed he’d purchased, grooming one another contentedly.
He hoped Randy loved him a lot.
With Salomé properly settled, Ethan headed over to the casino, where he confronted the real demon of the day: Billy Herod.
He had a vague memory Billy had told him to “stop by the office sometime,” but this was the best sense of instruction he had, and even this he couldn’t say for certain had actually happened, so he decided he would start by doing that. If Billy wasn’t there, he’d figure out a new plan. But before he could start searching for the owner’s office, a vaguely familiar man came up to him, mouth set in a grim line before he dug into his pocket and pulled out a stack of chips, thrusting them at Ethan. “Your money from the bet.”
Bet? Ethan turned the top chip over in his hand, watching the Billy’s! logo rotate.
The man seemed nervous. “Tell Mr. Crabtree too, yeah? Tell him I was honest by his man.”
At last Ethan placed him. “You’re the bartender from the first night.”
“Scully’s my name, sir. If I’d known you were with Crabtree, I’d never have bet against you. Nothing personal, okay?” Mumbling a goodbye, Scully hurried into the casino. It was then, finally, Ethan realized this was all about the kiss bet, which he had lost. Which this man thought he had won.
Which meant Randy had lied.
Grimacing, Ethan pocketed the chips and resumed his hunt for Billy’s office.
With some trial and error Ethan made his way up through the maze of offices on the sixth floor—he stopped by Crabtree’s, but the gangster was still not around. Eventually he found an efficient-looking woman at a desk. She was of an indeterminate age, professionally and elegantly dressed in a plum-colored suit coat and skirt, hair swept up in a tidy bun. She looked like a less siren-version of Joan Harris from Mad Men. When Ethan approached, she glanced at him severely over the top of her glasses. “May I help you?”
“Ethan Ellison. I’m looking for Mr. Herod.”
The woman’s expression changed from severe to glowing. “Mr. Ellison.” She stood and held out her hand. “My name is Sarah Reynolds. I’m the office manager for the casino. It’s a pleasure to meet you, sir. I’ve heard so much about you.”
“From Billy?”
Sarah laughed. “No. From Mr. Crabtree, of course.” She stepped away from her desk and led him to a potted silk plant covering a large portion of the wall beside her desk. “Right this way, Mr. Ellison.”
“Please, call me Ethan.” Ethan frowned as the office manager struggled with the plant. “Can I help you?”
She beamed at him. “Please. Just shift it about a foot, would you?” She waited until Ethan rose then inclined her head in thanks before pushing against a panel in the wall. It swung open.
“A secret room?” Ethan felt foolish when the door only revealed a narrow closet with shelves full of, of all things, towels.
“It was, once. But Billy Jr. wanted a bathroom in his office, and since we don’t do the skim anymore, the actual room wasn’t necessary. Once upon a time, though, this is where Herod’s kept the cooked books and the cash that hadn’t yet been sent out for laundering.” She shifted several of the towels to a lower shelf, reaching far into the back. “Now it’s mostly real laundry. We still keep the safe in here, though, and some things from the old days, because Mr. Crabtree likes to remember.”
“Where is Crabtree?”
Sarah only gave him an enigmatic smile. She leaned in a little farther before withdrawing a large envelope and handing it to Ethan. “He wanted you to have this. I think you’ll find everything you need in there. The keys are to your office, which is on the seventh floor. I’ll warn you the air conditioning is a bit dodgy, but I have a maintenance order in. If you use the box fan and keep your door open, you should be fine.”
“My office?” Ethan peeked into the envelope and immediately dropped it on the floor. Several thousand dollars and an array of credit cards fell out, as well as a folder welcoming him to Bank of Nevada Checking.
Sarah gathered the loose items together and handed them over with a stern look. “Really, Mr. Ellison, you should be more careful.”
“Why are you giving me all this?”
“You are the new casino manager, Mr. Ellison. Crabtree said you’d had a little bit of trouble, and so he’s set up these accounts for you. He said you didn’t need to be bothered with that sort of thing because you have a lot of work to do. Which is true. I’ve laid it all out for you on your desk.”
Casino manager? Ethan blinked for several seconds then gave up. No, nothing was going to make sense. “Mr. Herod also opened an account for me. I made a few purchases on the promise of it last night. Which reminds me I need to write some checks. Would it be all right to use this one, since they’re ready?”
“Oh, you mean the limo? I took care of it already. Crabtree instructed me to combine Billy’s account with the one he opened for you. You’ll find everything to be in order, I’m sure, and if not, please don’t hesitate to call me. I’m extension number one on the casino line. Would you like me to show you upstairs now?”
“I can find it, thank you, if you give me the number.”
“Oh, it’s the only office up there. This elevator goes to the corporate areas. Get out on seven and head three doors down, just past the closet and the bathroom. Can’t miss it. Welcome aboard, Mr. Ellison.”
“Thank you, Ms. Reynolds.” Ethan tried to sound professional and not bewildered.
He wandered down the hall to find the elevator, clutching his envelope. The elevator was slow in coming, so he took the stairs instead.
His office was the approximate size of a postage stamp, and every available surface was full of ledgers.
There were three tall empty bookcases along the walls, leaving just enough space for the door and the small, depressing window looking into the back alley. There was, as Sarah had promised, a box fan against the wall. It was, also as promised, fantastically stuffy inside the tiny room.
Ethan sat down at the desk and took in the tower of ledgers. Then, almost as an afterthought, he opened the envelope again, nudged aside the cash—there had to be at least three thousand there, as every bill was a hundred—and opened the folder for the checking account. He scanned through until he found a listed balance. When he did, he stared at it for a few minutes, then closed the folder and put it in the middle desk drawer.
Bending over, he put his head between his knees for some time.
When he was fairly certain he could sit up without vomiting, he opened the first ledger with a shaking hand. He read. Then he opened another ledger, and another, and another. When a knock sounded on the door, it startled him, and he glanced up at the nervous-looking young man standing in the doorway holding a paper sack.
“Ms. Reynolds said you might want this, sir?” He held out
the sack a little farther but didn’t step into the room. He seemed afraid to. “It’s lunch, Mr. Ellison.”
“Oh.” Ethan glanced at his naked wrist. He pulled out Randy’s phone instead and blinked again when he saw the time. “Oh. Yes. Thank you.”
The boy scuttled in, left the bag on top of a stack of ledgers before bolting into the hallway. Ethan ate the sandwich absently, not even aware of what he was eating. He’d finished most of it and a good bit of the accompanying cup of lemonade when Billy Herod let himself into Ethan’s office.
“God, it’s stuffy in here.” Billy leaned over and turned on the fan, aiming it at himself as he sat opposite Ethan. He sprawled out as best he could in the uncomfortable chair. “Well?”
Well, what? Ethan took another sip of lemonade, swept his eyes over the ledgers again and decided, fuck it. “Your finances are a mess.”
Billy shrugged. “Yeah.”
“The casino isn’t making any money. It is bleeding money. If things go on the way they are, you’ll be bankrupt by the end of the year. It’s October right now, if you recall.”
“That’s why I want to sell it.” Billy nudged a ledger with his foot. “So. Can you move stuff around, so it looks okay?”
“No, Billy, I can’t. No one can. You can’t sell the casino until it’s making a profit, or until it appears to someone it possibly could.”
“So make it look like it could. Honestly, you’re a little disappointing for being Crabtree’s whiz kid.” He snorted a laugh. “Well, you’re not really a kid, are you? Make it work. Because I have a plan.”
“Do you now.”
Billy either missed Ethan’s derision or ignored it. “I’m going to get out of this goddamned casino, that’s what I’m going to do. This place is going down, and I don’t want to be here when it crashes. The whole town is in the shitter. Vegas isn’t any fun anymore. It’s worse than when they had this being a ‘family destination’. It’s dead and done. I’m going to get my money, and I’m going to get out of here. I’ll leave the country if I have to. Just so long as I don’t have this albatross around my neck.”
Ethan stared at Billy in disbelief. It was amazing to believe someone could live so far outside of reality, but Billy managed it. “You must have quite a trust fund already. Why not let it go bankrupt? Why all this work?”
“Yeah, I’ve got a trust fund. Three hundred million. Except it’s all tied up in this fucking place. I can do whatever I want with the money, so long as Herod’s Poker Room and Casino is up and running.”
Three hundred million? “Then why don’t you invest—”
“Because it’s my money. It should be, anyway. It’s not fair it’s all tied up in this shit hole. I’m not spending a single dime on it out of my trust fund.”
Three hundred million. The number kept echoing in Ethan’s head. “What happens to the money if the casino goes bankrupt?”
“It goes to some cat sanctuary outside of Boulder City. But it isn’t going to go there, because you’re going to help me sell it. If I sell it, then I get to keep the money. So. Work your magic or whatever, and let me know when it’s ready.”
Ethan flipped through the ledger in front of him. “Billy, this place hasn’t turned a profit since 1992. If you had reserves, that would be a different story, but you don’t. I’m sorry, but you’re going to have to invest some of your funds into the casino, or you will lose it all. I’m an investment broker. This means I invest. I do not conjure money out of thin air. To make money grow, I have to have something to start with.”
“What do you need, then? A million?”
“Ten.” Ethan looked down at the figures. “At least. And that’s just to even out the debt. If you want to actually start turning a profit, you’re going to have to bring in customers again. Many of them. For a sustained amount of time.”
“No.” Billy leaned over the desk. “I want to sell this place by the middle of November. Sell it as a bargain, I don’t care. It just has to be at a profit, even of a dollar. If you do that, then I don’t care what else happens. You’re my man now, Ethan Ellison. I paid you. I bought your ass, and now it’s mine. And I want your ass to sell my casino.”
It would have been a powerful, almost frightening speech, except Billy always managed to look and sound like a spoiled child. “I can do it, Billy—if you give me access to thirty million dollars.”
“Thirty?” Billy’s cheeks were red. “You just said ten.”
“Ten to break even. If you want the kind of miracle you’re talking about, I need thirty. To make a profit right now, you’d need to sell this place for twenty-five million dollars. That means to get this place up to the mark, in addition to a miracle, I’m going to need that much money as padding in the assets, or no one will bite.”
“What the fuck is the other five for?”
“The miracle. We’re going to need at least a million dollars’ worth of sequins to start. I’m going to need an assistant too. And is there some reason the casino manager is located up here in the dust in the smallest office in the building?”
“The casino manager is my best friend Mark Simmons, and his office is on the sixth floor, next to mine. But he’s on vacation until the end of November.” Billy gave him a funny look. “Why did you think his office was up here? This is the only office up here.”
Ethan kept his face carefully blank. “I assumed all these ledgers would be in the casino manager’s office.”
“You’re funny, Ellison. Anyway, I gotta go—told this chick I met downstairs I’d show her my suite. She probably thinks I forgot her by now.” He shrugged. “Okay. You win. Your thirty million will be moved over to the assets account by tomorrow morning. But I warn you, that’s the last you’re getting. You will deliver. You won’t like what will happen if you don’t.”
Ethan tried to make sense of the chaos. Crabtree had authored this scheme. Sarah Reynolds had called him the casino manager. Sarah Reynolds, who knew about the secret door and who dismissed Billy and who knew all about Crabtree—she had handled all this. But when he asked Billy about Sarah, he laughed.
“She’s nothing. Nobody. She’s Crabtree’s daft old secretary. Thinks this place is still run by the Chicago Outfit.” He patted the doorway. “Do me proud, Ellison. Remember—you’re my man.” He paused, looking like he wanted to qualify that, then shrugged and went down the hall to the elevator.
The conversation rolled like a loose marble in Ethan’s head. Finally, he picked up the phone and dialed extension one.
“Yes, Mr. Ellison?” Sarah answered. “May I help you?”
“Would it be possible, Ms. Reynolds, for me to get a laptop up here with a wireless connection?”
“Absolutely, sir. I’ll send Fitz up with one right away.”
Less than five minutes later the same gangly, nervous youth from before hovered in the doorway, this time bearing a gleaming MacBook.
“Thank you, Fitz.” Though Ethan could have crossed the room to take it from him, he waited for the young man to bring the computer over.
Sarah Reynolds, who was clearly the exact opposite of what Billy had painted her as, had named him the casino manager. He thought it was probably best to act like one.
After opening the laptop, Ethan pulled up the internet and began to surf, his focus on one thing—the presence of organized crime in Las Vegas. He got far more on the past than the present, but this was an education within itself. As Randy and Crabtree had hinted, there’d been two distinct mob presences here. First was an Italian/Jewish organization based out of New York who had first monitored sports races but fell into the casinos like fish into lakes. Then the Chicago Outfit had arrived in the sixties and stayed through the eighties. Some said there was a third mob starting now. The current mob was considered base and crass, especially compared to those before.
There was no question which mob was the most dangerous, the most brutal and the most brash—the Chicago Outfit. Of course, that was Crabtree’s.
Ethan looked for a re
ference to the gangster, but he couldn’t find any. He found William Herod Sr., but nothing on Crabtree. There were pages and pages on Spilotro, whose brutality was not comforting. Rosenthal had somehow come semi-clean and died in his bed of natural causes. Evelyn Carter—he was hard to pin down, but he didn’t seem terribly pleasant. His reports were shadowy, mostly cloaked in rumor, but he was nasty. He’d also died in 1991, gunned down in the desert. Before that, however, he was the manager of Herod’s.
He was also one of the last men to oversee the mob’s skimming a take off the casino’s income pre-taxes, and millions and millions of dollars from the casino vanished with him. Most assumed this was why he’d been killed.
Billy Senior had died in a car accident, like Crabtree had said. He’d spent most of the nineties in a mountain cabin. No foul play at all, but then Billy Senior hadn’t been much for that sort of thing. He just liked to play poker and hang out in his casino.
Nothing on Crabtree, though. Which was frustrating, because Ethan was certain the gangster—or alleged gangster—was the key to everything.
Ethan was almost relieved when his cell phone rang. It was, of course, Randy. “You still want to go shopping, or what?”
“I want to go shopping, but there had better be some poker first.”
“Well.” He could hear Randy relax. “I suppose it could be arranged, if you insist. Have you been to Bellagio’s tables yet, Slick?”
Ethan smiled. “I can’t say I have.”
“Get your ass downstairs. I’ll be by on my bike in ten minutes.”
“I’ll be waiting.” Ethan didn’t bother hiding his eagerness. Sometimes he didn’t want to bluff. He just wanted to enjoy the game.
Chapter Fifteen
RANDY TRIED NOT to feel relieved when he saw Slick, an emotion he realized he’d suffered since his blurted confession of love. This is what therapy fucking does to you. And he had another dose of it coming in two days. He revved the bike a few times, making the bell captain glare at him, but he just gave him a smirk and did it again, louder.
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