Obsessive Surrender

by Bobbi Cole Meyer

  The ambitious bitch ain’t content gobbling up companies; she wants to control Vegas too! She’s probably got senators and congressmen in her pocket. All she has to do is make a phone call and viola, the fix is in and Littlefield gets his prime Vegas property or any other damned thing he wants. The Littlefields are like a black hole, sucking in everything from Wall Street to the Vegas strip.

  Struggling to remain calm, Carl reminded himself he had to tread lightly when it came to eradicating Ivan, but eradicating him was definitely at the top of his list.

  The question of how to do that had dominated Carl’s thoughts since his nemesis had appeared on the Vegas scene five years earlier, when Ivan had opened The Royale Flush and more or less gutted the Roman Spa Casino of disloyal employees.

  Ungrateful bastards. But at least I still have one of the most talked about lounge acts.

  Carl snorted a laugh, remembering how he had hooked recording star Roger Dalton into playing at the Roman Spa.

  The day Roger had ventured into his club, Carl had just seen him the day before on a TV interview explaining the debacle of his fight with his former agent and expounding on the fact that he was now a free agent, booking his own gigs.

  So, as Carl watched Roger lose heavily at the tables, he had extended two markers to him and when that money was also lost, he had set the trap. Via physical and mental persuasion, Roger agreed to entertain in the lounge in order to work off his exponentially increasing $200,000 debt.

  Yeah, I hooked him good. Getting Dalton in my pocket was a stroke of genius on my part. The handsome sonofabitch has the twits flocking back night after night to swoon over him. Yeah, all would be well in my world if Ivan Littlefield would just drop dead!

  While Carl slammed things around and cursed, his two bodyguards, knowing the minefield they would be stepping into should they try and talk him down from his escalating bad mood, waited for the tantrum to subside.

  Suddenly, Carl seemed to remember they stood there and glared at them. He decided to ask what they thought ought to be done with Littlefield. Not that he valued their opinions, but they were the only ones he trusted to keep his confidence; his only sounding boards.

  Earl McElheney was the epitome of a bodyguard, known around Vegas as Cothane’s muscle. A mountain of a man, at six-foot-four, Earl was almost as wide as he was tall, with no visible neck, his square-blocked head appearing to be attached directly to massive shoulders.

  Standing next to him and looking diminutive by comparison was Albert Tusser, reed thin at five-foot-ten. He was considered Cothane’s trigger man, although he had never actually used a gun to settle any argument.

  Both he and Earl had a license to carry a concealed weapon as legitimate bodyguards and Earl wore a Taurus Millennium PT145 in his shoulder holster, but Albert’s preference of ‘persuasion’ was a stiletto, filed to almost ice pick size, razor sharp and carried in a special made holster on his right side, positioned slightly to the front for a quick left-handed access.

  It was common knowledge that Albert thoroughly enjoyed his ‘work’, whenever he was called upon to exercise it in any way. Everyone who had ever crossed Carl Cothane, or Albert personally, realized the man was a psychopath; a loose cannon worthy of the wide berth given him.

  “So what the hell do we do about him? Either of you have a suggestion?”

  They both knew who the ‘him’ was because Carl had been raving about Ivan Littlefield for the last week, ever since the news surfaced that Littlefield was going after yet another prime piece of Vegas property that had recently come on the market.

  Albert shrugged. “I could let Sally pay him a visit.”

  Sally was what Albert had affectionately dubbed his stiletto. When Earl had asked why once, Albert had said ‘she’ was slick, sharp and the only companion he trusted to always be by his side.

  Carl snorted, “God, I wish it could be that easy. But that would immediately throw the cops onto me because everybody knows I hate the man’s guts and everybody knows you carry that damned shiv, so I don't need that now. I need strategy.

  “There has to be a way to take that damned Ivan Littlefield down before he gobbles up every last available inch of land between here and California! Looks like a done deal on the Wayfore property. Have you heard that?”

  He looked at them for a response. They both shook their heads, wanting to avoid the fallout should they admit they had, indeed, heard that.

  “Well, it is. And word is he’s planning on an elaborate casino with a mall and the equivalent of a damned circus! I should’ve stopped that bastard five years ago, when he first blew into my town and started to strut around like a damned rich peacock. It would have been simple then, before he became so well known. Now, it's complicated.

  “How the hell did he find out about the Wayfore property before I did? That’s what I want to know. Why can’t the greedy bastard ever be satisfied?”

  His two henchmen glanced candidly at each other, both thinking practically the same thing—pot calling kettle black!

  After all, Carl Cothane was the greediest, most unscrupulous man either of them had ever known.

  Earl and Albert, more than anyone else in Vegas, were aware of the long-standing and burgeoning rivalry between Cothane and Littlefield, consisting primarily of a lot of financial jockeying back and forth, fueled by verbal jabs and threatening innuendoes that sometimes spewed over publicly in heated arguments, especially during property auctions and the open bidding process.

  Carl stopped pacing before Earl and since he stood making eye contact, Earl felt he should comment.

  “I don’t think it’ll be easy, taking Ivan Littlefield down, boss, if that’s what you’re talking about.”

  “I never figured it would be easy. But dammit, that doesn’t mean it’s impossible. With a crafty sonofabitch like Littlefield, everything has to be planned right down to the last detail, that’s all. And nobody is infallible, Earl, not even Mr. High and Mighty Littlefield, with his unending Myerson slush fund. I just have to discover his weakness and use it against him. Every man has a weakness. When I discover his, I’ll cut him down to size with it. And I’ve been thinking hard about that. The only vulnerable point I think he might have now is that new young wife he’s taken. Either of you seen her?”

  Both shook their heads.

  “I don’t think anybody has. Littlefield’s keeping her shut in.” Carl snorted. “No doubt fucking her to death in that mansion of his in Seven Hills, but I can’t say as I blame him for that, though. From the picture in the paper and from what I’ve heard when I asked around, she’s a looker. Just a girl really.”

  Earl nodded. “Yeah, I heard that.”

  “Surprised me when I read he got married, being the stallion he is,” Albert said. “Guess marrying the twit was the only way he could tap that hot young stuff,” he snorted. “I can understand why he’d want to ‘cause there ain’t nothin’ better than young stuff! Wasn’t her old man, Benton, working for Littlefield at one time?”

  “Yeah, come to think of it he was,” Earl said. “Littlefield hiring that guy on as his accountant was a shocker because everybody in Vegas knew Benton was a drunk and a heavy gambler. Didn’t make sense then, but it does now. It was probably to get the girl.”

  Carl nodded. “Bet you’re right about that.”

  “Hey boss, maybe Benton’s the way to get at Littlefield,” Albert declared.

  Carl shook his head. “Naw, nobody’s seen him around in awhile. Word is he split. I would imagine Littlefield sent him packing after he married his gal. The more I think on it, the more I believe she’s the way to get to him. What I wouldn’t give to give that slick bastard a real wake-up jolt. If I couldn’t bring him down, I sure as hell would enjoy cutting him off at the knees, or the dick.”

  He laughed raucously at his own crude joke.

  ‘What do you mean?” Albert asked.

  “I mean turn a fox loose in his henhouse.”

  “You mean rape the girl? I don’t kn
ow, boss,” Earl protested. “I’ve got a sister about her age you know and…”

  “Yeah,” Albert piped in. “And that Rachel’s a young, hot catch herself.”

  “Shut the fuck up, Albert,” Earl warned.

  “Both of you shut up!” Carl sneered. “And I ain’t talking rape, you lunkheads. I’m talking seduction. Best way to bring a man down is to disillusion him; flatten his ego. Even an ego as big as Littlefield’s can be deflated. You just have to know where to prick it.

  “What better way than to violate his private snatch, make him realize the world does not revolve around him or his dick. That’ll make him drop his guard when nothing else will, I’ll bet. And while he’s concentrating on that problem, I can get a better handle on how to put a permanent halt to him.”

  Albert slipped the stiletto out. Fingering it, he said, “Me and Sally can put a permanent stop to him.”

  “Put that thing away!” Carl snapped. “I’m not talking killing, you moron. I just want the pleasure of seeing him broken. With the Myerson billions behind him, breaking him financially is out of the question. But a man focusing on a cunt loss is vulnerable and I want that sonofabitch vulnerable. For that I need just the right man.”

  Suddenly he stopped pacing and snapped his fingers. “I know who could do it, too. Roger Dalton. He’s my secret weapon.”

  “He is?” Albert asked.

  “Yeah. You’ve seen the way all the ladies go gaga over Roger. And since he’s still into me for a hundred grand, I can use that as leverage to persuade him to do what I tell him.”

  “You mean sic him on Ivan’s snatch? But how do you plan on getting the two of them together, if like you said, she ain’t even come out of that house?” Earl asked.

  “Well, when she does, we’ll be ready for her. Once she’s spotted out, that’ll mean the honeymoon is over and she’ll be venturing out again later, if we miss out on the first outing. When that happens, I’ll make sure the two of them meet.”

  Laughing, he added, “Yeah, the more I think about it, the more I know that’s the thing to do. It’ll be a thrill watching Romeo see his woman slip away. What would be even better would be if I could somehow record Roger screwing her then play it back for Littlefield. Hah! What I wouldn’t give to see his face then. That’d be great. Littlefield’s so damned cocksure.”

  “Well, the bastard is good looking,” Albert stated bluntly. “And word on the street is he’s hung like a stud horse and into the kinda kinky sex that drives cunts wild. I’ll bet you’re right about that gal getting slammed pretty good about now. When she does venture outa the house, she’ll probably walk bowlegged.”

  “But boss, have you considered a wimp like Roger Dalton might be too scared to butt heads with the likes of Ivan Littlefield?” Earl asked.

  “Well, you two will just have to convince him that Ivan is the lesser of two evils. Know what I mean? With us, Roger will know what he has to deal with, after you two get through having a little serious talk with him. Only don’t mess up his face.

  “With Littlefield, what he might suffer is only speculation. Tell me, with all the talk generated about Littlefield, do either of you personally know anyone he’s ever snuffed, or even had beaten up?”

  They looked at each other blankly and shook their heads.

  “Exactly. I’m thinking he’s all bark and no bite, nothing more than a fancy Dan living on the reputation he probably created himself as a front for his pussy center. Still, I wanta keep my name out of it. Impress that point on Roger when you ‘talk’ to him. If Littlefield goes after him, he’s gotta make him believe going after his cunt was all his own idea.”

  “We will, boss.”

  “Kinda wish now I had comped Roger that room like he asked for when I hired him on. He’d be on the premises now and we could just go up to his room and get the ball rolling.”

  Earl and Albert exchanged another knowing look, both remembering the way Cothane, stingy to a fault, had denied Roger the privilege usually afforded any noted celebrity, stating he was already so far into debt with him that being out one of his suites that could be used by a paying customer was out of the question. They knew he doled out only enough cash from Roger’s paycheck each week to allow the man to barely exist.

  “Roger will be showing up in an hour or so for rehearsal. Snatch him then and take him for a little ride. Soften him up to the idea, and then bring him back here to me,” Carl demanded, laughing, enjoying the mental image of Ivan turning red with rage, knowing his woman had cheated on him.

  * * *

  Roger shifted in the chair, nervously eyeing first Albert then Earl, trying to appear calm, his fractured mind going ninety miles an hour.

  At that moment, all he knew for certain was that Cothane had ordered him taken out in the desert and plummeted like a punching bag because he was, according to Albert, ‘unhappy with him’. But all the blows had been to the midsection and the kidneys, sparing his face.

  Roger knew that was by design, keeping him presentable for the shows. Now, he sat nursing his sore midriff and waiting for the verdict, wondering what it would take to make Cothane happy again and keep him alive and well.

  God, I don’t have his money if that’s what he wants right now.

  Roger shot Earl and Albert another wary glance as Carl entered the room and shut the door behind him. He trembled as he watched Cothane approach, puffing his cigar, obviously enjoying seeing him squirm before saying, “Now Roger, about that ever-increasing debt you owe.”

  Roger’s heart sank. “Jeez, I was hoping this wasn’t about that. I’m sorry Mr. Cothane. I—I told your two guys here that I don’t have the cash right now to repay you in full, but you know I’m good for it, sir. I—I’ve proved that to you, haven’t I?”

  “You know Roger, I was the first one to give you a break when the news hit you had been dropped by your agent because of creative differences. I took a chance on you and let you build another audience; restore your rep and I even let you indulge in your gambling habit. But I’ve been holding your marker for months, kid, and I don’t ordinarily extend credit that long. I think I’ve been more than fair with you.”

  “I know, sir, but I’ve been working it off like I told you I would. I mean, I show up for every night’s performance, don’t I? I’m not bragging, but I have definitely restored my rep, as you say, and I’ve been drawing record crowds, least that’s what the waitresses tell me. And I only take enough of my salary to keep me going, you know? The rest goes toward what I owe you, Mr. Cothane. That’s got to have paid off some of it.”

  Roger didn’t see the way Albert and Earl exchanged knowing looks. He had no idea they were thinking as one mind, that if he sang for the rest of his life, Cothane would never admit he’d paid off that debt.

  Cothane shrugged. “Some of it. But remember you racked up over two hundred G’s to start with so, with the accumulating interest, you are far from squaring your debt.”

  “But I’ve got it down to a hundred.”

  “Look kid, I’ve been giving the matter some thought. Roughing you up ain’t gonna get me my dough back. So, I’ve come up with a solution that I believe will satisfy us both.”

  Roger studied him with stricken eyes.

  “A solution?”

  “Yeah. There’s a project I’d like you to tackle for me. If you pull it off, your debt will be completely erased.”

  “What kind of project, Mr. Cothane? I—ah—I’ve never done anything illegal.”

  Carl spread his hands before him, shaking his head. “Who said anything about illegal? I run a perfectly legit operation here.”

  Albert and Earl both snorted. Carl shot them a disgusted look.

  “What I need you to do isn’t illegal, Roger. In fact, it’s gonna be downright pleasurable. Do you know Ivan Littlefield?”

  “I don’t know him, but I’ve heard of him. Who hasn’t?”

  “Did you know he recently got married?”

  “Yeah, I read about that in the paper
. But I don’t see what that’s got to do with my debt.”

  “Hold your water! I’m getting to that. Have you seen Ivan’s young wife?”

  “Only in that write-up.”

  “She’s quite a looker and she’s real young. How old are you, Roger?”

  “Twenty-five.”

  “Yeah, that’s what I thought. You’re a helluva lot closer to her age than Ivan. And I know by the way the gals flip out when you’re on stage that you can get a twit’s attention. Every time you sing those love songs I can tell you get the cunts creaming their panties.”

  Roger flushed. “Ah, I’m at a loss here, Mr. Cothane. What’re you trying to tell me?”

  “That I want you to get acquainted with Ivan’s little wife. So far, she hasn’t even shown her pretty little ass around. Guess Ivan’s been keeping it busy,” he said chuckling. “Tapping it good, you know what I mean? But if he doesn’t hump her to death, they’ve gotta come up for air sometimes, and when she does surface, you make it your job to get close to her—real close. You get my drift?”

  “Why would you want me to do that?”

  “No matter why,” he snapped. “I have my reasons. Don’t bother this head about that,” he indicated his meaning by thumping Roger on his head before pointing to his crotch and adding with a chuckle, “just get that head into gear. In other words, turn the fair Andrea Littlefield on with your, shall we say, abundant ‘charm’ and romance her away from old Ivan.”

  Seeing Roger’s dumbfounded look, Carl drew a disgusted breath.

  “By that I mean fuck her; break them up; mess up his mind. A man unhinged is ripe for the picking. That’s all you have to do to wipe your debt clean. Am I clear? You just have to fuck a good-looking gal. Now if that ain’t the perfect job for the likes of you, I don’t know what would be.”

  The possible consequences of what he was asking whitened Roger’s face and his voice quivered as he said, “But Mr. Cothane, from—from what I’ve heard about Ivan Littlefield, he’d—well—he’d probably kill me if I tried to do that.”

  Carl shot Albert a look. Albert pulled out the stiletto and laid it against Roger’s neck, applying just enough pressure to nick the skin and draw blood.