by Len Maynard
The Rolls Royce took me to the harbor where the launch was waiting, a Riva Tropicana 43’. Nice boat, and fast, but a little flashy for my tastes. The pilot was a barrel-chested man who would have looked more at home on a harbor tug. His arms were awash with tattoos, and I glimpsed another on his chest as his shirt flapped open in the breeze. He welcomed me aboard with a grunt and ignored me for the rest of the trip out to Max’s yacht. I couldn’t really say it bothered me that much, as I wasn’t really in the mood for making polite conversation. Instead I sat back, closed my eyes, and let the spray wash my face.
The Minotaur was a beautiful boat…a one hundred and twenty-foot Picchiotti in steel and aluminum, with two 625hp diesels and two 80kw Caterpillar generators. She would cross the Atlantic with ease if Max had a mind to take her that far. I hadn’t seen her for a while, and from what I remembered she was impressive.
A ladder was thrown down for me to board her. Standing at the top of the ladder was a handsome young black man, in a uniform so white it hurt the eye. For a moment I thought he was going to pipe me aboard, but that was sheer fancy, although he did salute, and say, ‘This way, Mr. Beck. Mr. Donahoe will receive you in the stateroom.’ All very proper. You had to hand it to Max; he certainly knew how to impress his guests.
Max received me like a father welcoming a son who’d been away at war. He was positively beaming as he wrapped his arms around me and said, ‘Harry, bloody wonderful to see you again!’
‘Good to see you too, Max,’ I said, though I was a little taken aback at the warmth of his welcome.
Like his daughter, Max Donahoe was not very tall, but what he lacked in height he made up for in girth. He must have topped the scales at two hundred and thirty pounds, and he was quite bald except a trimming of white fuzzy hair that covered his ears. He wore gold half-rimmed spectacles on a round, pleasant face. It was only when you looked at his eyes you realized that behind the cherubic features lurked a very sharp mind. The eyes were blue and they flicked over you rapidly. It was quite disconcerting, as if a microcomputer was controlling them, feeding the information they took in back to the mainframe for analysis and evaluation. Which, I suppose wasn’t too wide of the mark, as anyone who’d had dealings with Max would ruefully tell you. In business Max Donahoe was a shark.
He released me and held me at arm’s length, looking me up and down. ‘You must give me the name of your tailor,’ he said with a chuckle. Then quickly, ‘No offence, Harry, we don’t stand on ceremony here.’ Which, coming from him in his ten thousand-dollar Savile Row suit and Gucci loafers, made me feel even more like a bum.
‘My bungalow was broken into,’ I explained. ‘They gutted my wardrobe.’
‘Then they did you a favor,’ he said with a chuckle, draped an arm across my shoulders, and led me across to a burgundy leather chesterfield. ‘Sit yourself down, Harry. Drink?’
The stateroom was about as big as the lounge and bedroom of my place combined. The chesterfield was prevalent, but there were also two matching club chairs, a low, marble-topped coffee table, and, against one wall, a bar that would have brought tears of envy to Jack’s eyes.
‘What are you drinking these days?’ he said, planting himself behind it and reaching for a glass. ‘Still whisky?’
‘That’ll be fine.’
‘I like that in a man. Consistency. It shows a man content with himself, who doesn’t have to keep chopping and changing, just to keep up with fashion or trends.’ He produced a bottle of Chivas Regal from a shelf behind him and started to pour a very stiff measure into the glass.
‘Used to have a business partner, Jake Goodwin,’ he said as he poured. ‘Solid type, no frills, bloody good polo player, but a bit unimaginative. A typical beer drinker really. Now old, solid, stick-in-the-mud Jake met this girl…a pretty little thing, but without too much upstairs, if you follow my meaning. Anyway, old Jake was so besotted by her he set about trying to live up to what she expected him to be. Started going to fancy nightclubs, dressing like a teenager, you know the sort of thing? Made a right bloody fool of himself, all for the sake of a piece of fluff. We ended up falling out and I dissolved the partnership. The last time I saw him was in a bar in Miami, sitting at a table, still dressed like a teenager…alone. The girl had left him for a lifeguard. I said to him, ‘Can I get you a beer, Jake, for old time’s sake?’ And do you know what he said to me? ‘I’d rather have a pineapple daiquiri, Max.’’ Max hooted with laughter. ‘A pineapple daiquiri, for Christ’s sake! I wonder what his fellow players down at the polo club made of that!’
I smiled at the story, more out of politeness than anything else.
‘Consistency, Harry. An admirable quality.’ He poured himself a gin and came round the bar to sit opposite me in one of the club chairs. ‘It’s a quality in you I admired when you were courting Katy.’
Ah, Katy. I’d been wondering when we were going to get around to her. Strangely though, he showed no desire to continue from that point. In fact, he changed tack completely. ‘Your place was burgled then,’ he said. ‘Did they get away with much?’
‘Nothing of any value. They just messed it up; busted up the furniture, that sort of thing.’
‘Probably kids, skylarking. No bloody discipline.’ And that was enough of that topic of conversation. ‘Well, how are you keeping these days? Still got that boat of yours?’
I said I was keeping well, and yes, I still had the boat. I was waiting for Max get to the point of why he’d asked me out here. He hadn’t laid on a jet, Rolls, and launch just to tell me a story about an old friend and to enquire after my health. The cogs were turning in that sharp old mind of his – I could tell by the way his eyes danced around – and I wanted to know what he was thinking.
17
He took a leather cigar case from his pocket and offered me a hand rolled Havana. When I declined, he lit one for himself and puffed on it contentedly for a few moments. Finally, he spoke. ‘I suppose you’re wondering why I asked you to come out here.’
‘It had crossed my mind.’
‘What would you say if I told you I was planning to open another casino?’
I said it wouldn’t really surprise me at all. Donahoe Holdings controlled four casinos in the US, one in Vegas, two in Atlantic City, and one, the showpiece of the chain, Boothe’s in Miami. I’d visited Boothe’s once, and had never forgotten my evening there. It was decked out like an old colonial gentlemen’s club. There was no glitz, no neon; even the slot machines had a special soundproofed room all to themselves. I went there not long after it opened, and thought at the time that it was just too conservative for American tastes. Which only went to prove what lousy judgment I had. Boothe’s took off and quickly became the most exclusive gaming house in the state of Florida, patronized by movie stars, rock singers, oil sheikhs; in fact, anyone who was vaguely anyone. If they had a taste for gambling, they made Boothe’s their first stop when visiting Miami.
As well as his American casinos, Max also owned two on the Islands. The Diamond in Nassau, and The Lucayan Star, which was a neighbor of Jack’s Jolly Tar pub.
‘So where do you intend to build this one, Max?’ I asked, still trying to work out what all this had to do with me.
‘Oh, it’s built already, Harry. My design team is there at the moment fitting it out. I tell you, it will be one of the finest casinos in the world by the time we’ve finished with it. It’ll make Boothe’s in Miami look like a gin palace.’
I found that hard to believe, but I urged him to go on. I was intrigued to know how I figured in this, though I was beginning to have a suspicion. I wouldn’t have been at all surprised if Max wanted the same kind of arrangement that I had with Alan. First refusal on The Lady, pleasure trips for his punters. I could imagine what Max was thinking. Poor old Harry Beck, still puttering around on that old barge of his. Perhaps I’ll toss him a few commissions, just for old time’s sake. Or perhaps Katy was behind it and had been priming Max to deliver my final humiliation. Wasn’t it enough t
hat she’d screwed around with half of the male population of Freeport behind my back, without this?
‘So how does your new casino concern me, Max?’ I said.
He took a long pull on his cigar and contemplated the glowing tip for a moment. Then he met my gaze and held it. I started to bridle in anticipation, and the refusal was already half formed on my lips. If he asked, I’d tell him to shove it. I didn’t need charity, especially Donahoe charity.
‘It’s quite simple really, Harry. I want you to run it for me.’
My jaw must have dropped open, judging from the amused look on Max’s face. I swallowed the whisky in one gulp and sat there staring down into the empty glass, until Max plucked it from my fingers and went across to the bar to replenish it.
‘Could you repeat that?’ I said.
He did.
‘But why, Max? Why me? I know nothing about running a casino. Besides, I’ve got the boat. I’ve got The Lady.’
‘And The Lady’s going to make your fortune, is that it?’
‘It’s a living,’ I said defensively. ‘Besides, there must be dozens, hundreds of people you could ask who’d be better qualified for the job than me.’
He sat back in his chair and appraised me over the rim of his glass. ‘Yes,’ he said. ‘I dare say you’re right….’
‘I know full well I am.’
He held up a restraining hand. ‘Quite. But I want someone in there who’s a little bit different from the normal run of the mill managers I employ. I like you, Harry, always have. What’s more I trust you. And that’s what I want from you. The other things, experience of running a large casino, knowledge of the intricacies of gambling, its laws and conventions, they’re all things that any intelligent man can pick up, providing he’s given the right tutelage. And I’ll provide excellent back-up. Your second in command will be Mike Somers, and he’s been in the game since he was weaned.’ He leaned forward and stabbed the air with the glowing tip of his cigar. ‘Believe me, Harry. I’m a good judge of people, and I think you’ll do just fine.’
Which was more than I did. I’d never heard a more ridiculous suggestion in my life. Me, running a top-flight casino? It was enough to give any hardened gambler hysterics.
With a shake of my head I stood up. ‘Thanks for the drink, Max,’ I said sourly. ‘Quite a joke. How long did Katy take to put you up to it?’
He frowned and said, ‘Sit down, Harry, before you make a complete bloody fool of yourself. I don’t think you’re another Jake Goodwin, do you?’
I glared at him and sat down.
‘Right, that’s better. Now let’s get one thing straight. No one has any intention of humiliating you. Not me, not Katy. I’m a businessman, Harry, and even if I do say myself, a bloody good one. Do you honestly think I’d jeopardize such an important investment as the casino for a joke? Credit me with more common sense than that, please.’
‘Okay,’ I said grudgingly.
‘Christ, you’re stubborn! Mind you, that’s another reason I like you. You’re a hard man, Harry…tenacious, that’s the word.’
‘So okay, I’m tenacious, I’m stubborn, I’m honest, and I’m trustworthy. That still doesn’t make me the ideal candidate for casino manager. At least not in my eyes.’
‘Yes, but you’re not sitting where I am. You can only have a subjective view of yourself, and, if you don’t mind me saying so, you put a pretty low value on your attributes. Give yourself a little time to think about this before you dismiss it out of hand. Besides, I haven’t finished.’
‘You mean there’s more?’
‘Harry, if I’d just wanted to offer you a job, I could have done it over the phone, or by letter. I wouldn’t have gone to the trouble of flying you over here.’ He chuckled again. It was beginning to get irritating. Like he was enjoying some private joke at my expense.
‘All right,’ I said. ‘What else is there?’
Max rested the cigar in a bronze ashtray and swallowed the last of his gin. ‘The deal is this, Harry. You come to work for me. Your salary is negotiable, but I had in mind a figure in the region of five hundred thousand dollars per annum, to start. You get a seat on the board of Donahoe holdings, and five per cent of the stock. You’ll have the title of vice-president. How does that sound?’
I opened my mouth to speak but nothing came out. Five hundred thousand dollars a year? I doubted I could make that kind of money in ten years running The Lady on pleasure cruises, even with the occasional fishing trip thrown in. But the sticking point was still, why me? Why had Max Donahoe decided to play fairy godfather to me, the ex-fiancé of his daughter, a man he hadn’t set eyes on for the past five years? There had to be a catch. Things like this just didn’t happen to people like me without there being some massive scam involved.
‘Let’s get this straight, Max. You’re offering me five hundred thousand a year. A vice-presidency with Donahoe Holdings, and five per cent of the stock…voting shares?’
‘Of course.’
‘And for what? Just so I’ll come and work for you? No, I’m sorry, Max. It just doesn’t hang together. How many other people have you started at Donahoe Holdings under such favorable conditions? I bet the answer is none. You’d start them at the bottom; unless, of course, you’d poached a top executive from a rival company. In which case I can understand you giving them the red-carpet treatment. But not me, Max. Not me. I’ve only ever been to a casino twice in my life, and I lost my shirt both times.’
‘Which makes you rather an expert. There’s nothing quite like losing a fortune to cure you of the desire to gamble. It’s the first lesson I teach my prospective managers. Gambling’s a mug’s game. Fortunately for us there are thousands of mugs out there. But yes, yes, I quite agree with you, Harry. I wouldn’t offer anybody else such terms…but then I wouldn’t allow my son in law to join my company with anything less.’
‘Your what?’
His eyes glittered. ‘My son in law, Harry. You’re going to marry Katy.’
I knew then what had happened.
Max Donahoe had gone absolutely, stark raving mad.
18
The Miami Post offices were air-conditioned, but the small cramped office Sam Goldberg was working in somehow always seemed hotter and more humid than any other part of the offices. The air conditioning unit was noisily buzzing away, there was no doubt it was switched on, but it seemed to fan out only warm air.
Sam was young, but he had a persona about him that suggested someone much older. He had little interest in his appearance. He had a clothes style that screamed thrift shop chic, and his interests were limited to researching for whatever story he was working on, and eating fast food.
His current story was being written as a series that was building up a head of steam. They had started as small pieces lost around page twelve, but as interest had grown so had the length he was allowed for the articles, and the pages got closer to the front; not there yet, but with every paper they appeared in, the emphasis was greater.
He was five-hundred words into the latest article when the door to the cramped office opened.
‘Sam,’ Larry Osler said. ‘Got a minute?’ Larry was deputy editor.
‘Sure.’ Sam knew what was coming.
‘Hot in here. You should tell someone.’
‘Who?’
‘I’ll get maintenance onto it. Or we’ll get you moved.’
This was a worrying development. Very little concern had been demonstrated towards him in the year or so he’d worked there. Osler showing this amount of interest, when he’d never even visited the room before, meant he was softening Sam up.
‘I’ve got another couple of hundred words to do and the story is written for this week.’
Osler found the view from the grime-covered window suddenly fascinating.
‘Is there a problem, Larry?’
‘I guess you’ve been irritated about the changes we’ve had to make the last week or so.’
Irritated didn’t begin to cove
r it. As a journalist basically working freelance for the one paper, with occasional magazine articles sold where he could, he was used to having his work edited, changed, revised, until he sometimes felt that what was left shouldn’t have his name on it at all. But it went with the territory.
The changes that had been made, without any reference to him, to the last two or three pieces he’d done for the Post had been unacceptable, and he was using the story he was writing up today as a way of putting back in the facts that had been removed. That was what they had done; not just re-written, but factually altered his work so it had a different meaning.
Larry took his silence as agreement. ‘You know how we’re funded. You know we need the advertising revenue. There’ve been complaints.’
‘Complaints?’
‘The stuff you’re writing, it’s unsavory.’
‘Unsavory…are you are fucking joking?’
‘Fact is, tone it down.’
Sam stood, his fingers moving as if they had a life of their own.
Osler was already turning away and the door was ready to close behind him. ‘Don’t bank on the heat getting turned down.’
19
‘You must be out of your mind,’ I said. ‘Me and Katy, married?’ I laughed, but it was harsh and brittle, and sounded strange to my ears. Despite the air-conditioning, the stateroom seemed as hot as an orchid house, and I dabbed at my sweating brow with a handkerchief.
Max Donahoe, however, looked cool, completely unruffled. ‘I assure you, Harry, I’m perfectly sane; though I know what I’m suggesting may sound a little unusual.’