Lost In Vegas

by Ian Jones

  ‘What concerns Pablo? Honeys is making a loss in excess of a quarter of a million per year to date. I see no other lines of income.’

  ‘I have many business interests. Like I said, I’m a businessman. Like my father.’

  ‘You are nothing like your father.’

  Pablo stood up outraged.

  ‘Well if you flew out here just to insult me then …’

  ‘Then what Pablo?’

  Shaun sat, perfectly relaxed, unnerving Pablo even more.

  ‘As I said, you’ll get your money. By 2pm today. Then you can get on a plane.’

  ‘Right. So, just how much will you be paying us today?’

  ‘Two million dollars,’ Pablo announced triumphantly.

  ‘Hmmm.’

  Shaun slowly leafed through some paperwork, and then removed yet another detailed sheet and glanced at it, then turned it around and carefully placed it in front of Pablo, who also looked at it but it made no sense to him; it was just numbers. Lots of red ink.

  ‘Yeah, so what?’

  ‘That shows you currently owe us over twenty-one million Pablo. Twenty-one million dollars.’

  The paperwork swam in front of Pablo’s eyes and he gripped the edge of the desk. Twenty-one million? How the fuck did that happen? This had to be bullshit, those motherfuckers in New York were treating him like he was some kind of asshole. But he knew that there had been no payments for a while, and that there was a strict agreement. There always had been. Reluctantly he had to admit to himself that the finance guys had been on at him, and he had been ignoring phone calls for longer than he could remember. He recovered, all he had to do was put on a front. Two million and then Shaun would leave him in peace. He would work out the rest.

  ‘Yeah, yeah, of course, I am aware of that. Business is tough right now. I’m doing what I can with my hotel. What can I do?’

  ‘Your hotel? Pablo, you do understand our relationship, right? We own this building. You don’t. It is ours, we bought the land, and we built it, all paid for. You have entered into a contract with us to run the hotel, that is what your company does, you are the CEO. In return, you take a share of the profits, the numbers are previously agreed in the contract, all the percentages, expenses, repairs, dilapidations, everything. In turn, we pay out to our shareholders, one of which is of course your own father. Now how can we be expected to make our payments, when you are not making yours.’

  His father. Getting paid all the time he was in prison.

  ‘Yeah, about that, my father thought his share should come to me for the time being, you know, as I turn this baby around.’

  Shaun flicked through more paperwork.

  ‘No, the instruction is to pay into a fund, which was established, what, three years ago. No changes have been requested, and I am certainly not about to take your word on anything. Now, getting back to the reality of the situation, what do you propose to do about the fact you own us twenty-one million dollars?’

  ‘Well, yeah, but this is business and I was thinking that I could pay two million now, and …’

  ‘Pay us another two million next month, and so on? On top of the scheduled payments, which you have been missing.’

  ‘Maybe not in a month, but soon. You know. Like I said, business is bad, but I’ll turn it around.’

  ‘How will you do that? Pablo, let’s just go back to basics. I’m not sure you completely understand the situation, which is actually perfectly clear. Let’s assume, that I want to drive a cab, right here in Las Vegas, but I don’t have a car. So, let’s say you loan me a thousand bucks, for a year. I get the cash, and buy a car. But then I find out I’m one cab in hundreds of others, and I’m not making the money. Now, where does that leave you?’

  ‘What?’

  ‘What happens to your loan? Does it get repaid?’

  Pablo was sweating even more now, but then he realised that Farley had let him off the hook, the dumb asshole.

  ‘Well, I would extend it. I’d help out.’

  ‘Would you? So I don’t make my monthly repayment. You wouldn’t request your eighty-three dollars and thirty-three cents, you would let me off it completely.’

  ‘Well, no, but I would accept less, I would be helpful, give you time to pay me back.’

  That should shut the ginger midget up. At last.

  But Farley stared back at him.

  ‘OK, I see, I understand it now. Right, yeah, I see that you would be reasonable. Like maybe say, somebody giving someone else time to make payments, for example, despite not hearing a damn word. And let’s just say you discovered that actually I did have it, but frittered it away on endless crap, buying and selling and losing every time, just to try to impress people, which effectively, you are funding. What would you say to me then?’

  Fuck. He’d walked right into that. Why didn’t he keep his goddamned mouth shut?

  ‘Er, well I ….’

  But Farley, clearly bored by now, cut him off.

  ‘I could ring New York now, but we both know what they will say. Two million is not enough.’

  ‘OK, two and half.’

  Pablo cursed inwardly as he spoke, hating it that he had no other choice. He desperately needed the half million just to keep his few remaining people onside.

  Shaun stood up.

  ‘I’ll make the call. Stay here. You’re going to have to tell me exactly how you will raise the remaining eighteen and a half million, plus interest, and when we should expect it.’

  He left the room. Pablo stood up, indignant at being treated like a child, but realised there was nowhere he could go. Irritated he paced the room checking the time. It was gone eleven, in a couple of hours this crap would be behind him.

  Shaun returned all too quickly and closed the door quietly behind him. He sat down and waited for Pablo to do the same.

  ‘Two point five today. Then the same within sixty days, and then a repeat. And you make the payments on time. The current debt is to be paid within the next thirty-six months, along with all the normal amounts. No payments can be missed, and that has to be understood. And there will be interest, this has become a loan. I don’t believe I need to explain to you that this is the last chance you will get. We’ve been trying to discuss this problem with you for months.’

  Pablo looked at his watch; time seemed to have frozen still.

  ‘Fine,’ he replied dully. ‘That’s fine.’

  ‘Pablo, if you do manage to make this payment today, which I have to say I doubt, then how will you raise two and half million dollars in sixty days?’

  ‘That’s my problem.’

  Shaun stood up and leaned over the desk. Pablo warily moved back, hating himself for doing it. He could break this skinny Irish motherfucker into pieces, and he was very close to doing it. Not him personally of course, but Stefan would soon get it done. If only he could get the hell out of this office.

  Shaun spoke patiently, as if addressing a wilful child.

  ‘No, it’s mine Pablo. It means I will be back, and I won’t be alone. I am truly sorry for your father, he hasn’t done anything wrong other than try his best for you. But next time things will be very different. I have some more work to do, I will be waiting.’

  Shaun left the room and Pablo sat for a while, as the situation he was in sunk in.

  Now, he stood on the balcony up in the champagne bar on the fifteenth floor looking out over South Las Vegas Boulevard. He watched a Ferrari accelerate away from the lights further down and wished he was driving it. He had owned a Ferrari once, but that was gone; sold like everything else. More cash that had disappeared. He sighed and looked back into the bar, seeing the empty chairs and tables and the tired façade properly for the first time. He remembered when the Acropolis first opened, this balcony was full of the beautiful people, and they would take bookings for seats outside right where he was standing. Now, at lunchtime, he was the only patron. He rested his head on the glass and peered over the balcony wall at the roof of the Acropolis Dome bel
ow. He couldn’t remember the last time there had been a show on; he had last been in the Dome at Christmas a few years ago. For the millionth time that day he checked his watch. Tony and Skinny would be there by now. This would soon all be over.

  Stefan didn’t like Honeys, and went out of his way to avoid going there. But right now, he was just happy to get away from the Acropolis, Pablo was driving him crazy with how he was dealing with everything, or not dealing with anything at all, and the New York situation was only going to worse.

  He sat at a table to one side on his own, nursing an orange juice. There were only another five or six customers there, a couple of them watching a moody looking girl with long black hair wander around the stage in bright green hot pants, the rest sitting round the bar chatting to Ron. He’d been surprised when Stefan had walked in, and immediately wary. But Stefan had done nothing more than ask him for an orange juice and then gone and sat down.

  Fifteen minutes later Leon Vries walked in, and dropped into a seat opposite.

  Ron appeared immediately, Leon asked for a beer.

  ‘Sorry I’m late Stefan, fucking traffic is even more shit than usual.’

  Stefan was annoyed, but said nothing. Instead, he pulled out the photo of John Smith.

  ‘I need you to find out all about this guy Leon. His name’s John Smith, he’s from London.’

  Leon looked at the picture.

  ‘He causing you trouble? Doesn’t look the type.’

  ‘Yeah, well, I got to know.’

  ‘He ain’t the guy? The one that fucked up Robert? It can’t be him?’

  Stefan pursed his lips.

  ‘Yeah, it’s this guy. Look Leon, I just need this doing OK? We don’t know nothing about him, all we got so far is bullshit it seems.’

  Leon sat back while Ron placed a bottle in front of him, and then took a drink.

  ‘If you ask me, Pablo had this shit coming a long ways. But just if you ask me.’

  ‘I ain’t arguing with you Leon. But this is for me.’

  ‘Pablo don’t know you’re here?’

  ‘No.’

  Leon raised his eyebrows.

  ‘Well, OK. Cos I ain’t doing nothing for that motherfucker Pablo, and I told you that already. If he gets himself fucked up then I’m real happy about it. He owes me money, and that’s just for starters. And you know all about that Stefan.’

  Stefan sighed.

  ‘He owes everybody money Leon.’

  ‘Yeah I heard that, and he needs to learn respect. But OK, as it’s you I’ll see what I can find. But this is just for you, understand?’

  Stefan stood up and shook the other man’s hand.

  ‘Thanks Leon, I better get back to the hotel.’

  He walked out of Honeys leaving Leon to start tapping into his mobile. Hopefully he would find something out and soon.

  Chapter Eleven

  An hour later back at the Acropolis and Stefan got the call. Leon had found out exactly who John Smith was, and it was not good news, not good at all. Stefan was getting more irritated by the second. No sign of Tony or Skinny and no answer from either of them on their phones so once again Pablo had asked him to distract Shaun, which just as before was impossible. Shaun sat perfectly still in the VIP lounge with a glass of water and waited, completely disinterested in Stefan who gave up and stood at the entrance looking out. This was getting tedious he thought. As he stared moodily across the casino he suddenly caught sight of Skinny slouching across Reception and without saying anything to Shaun set off after him.

  Skinny made his way straight to Pablo’s office and Stefan followed him in through the door. Pablo looked up as they entered but his beaming smile dropped when he saw the livid marks on the side of Skinny’s face and the dishevelled clothing.

  And nothing in the man’s hands.

  ‘It’s gone boss. Taken. It was Smith. He came out of nowhere.’ Skinny looked like he was about to cry.

  Pablo just sat there frozen, staring at nothing, his mouth opening and closing like a goldfish.

  Stefan ignored Skinny completely.

  ‘Boss. This John Smith. I found shit out about him. He was special forces. This is not a guy you fuck with.’

  Pablo shook his head.

  ‘No, bullshit. Nobody fucks with me. Not in my hotel, in my town.’

  ‘Pablo …’

  ‘What! What do you want for Christ’s sakes, I’m thinking here.’

  ‘You need to speak to Shaun, and right now. This can’t carry on. New York need to know the truth.’

  Pablo looked up at him feverishly but said nothing. He began drumming his fingers on the desk, then stood up and sat straight back down again.

  Stefan watched him impatiently.

  ‘Pablo …’

  ‘No, what I need is to get Shaun fucking Farley out the way. Take care of it Stefan; make sure he’s never found. It’ll buy us time until we get hold of Smith, then everything will take care of itself,’ Pablo spoke fast and breathlessly.

  Stefan stared at Pablo incredulously.

  ‘Pablo, just wait … what! … are you telling me to kill Shaun Farley?’

  ‘Of course! Don’t you see, it’s the simple solution. Just get rid of him, and quick. Just do it. Then you and Skinny drop him somewhere in the desert. Make sure the little Irish shit is never found. Who cares.’

  ‘Pablo, I don’t think that you understand what you’re saying. You need …’

  Pablo interrupted him raising his voice.

  ‘No Stefan! You don’t tell me what I need! I tell you! You listen to me! Listen to me! I’m in charge! You do what I say! I am telling you to kill him. Do it, go!’

  Stefan stared at him, and then smiled. He stepped forward, pushing Skinny to one side. He reached in his jacket and took out his Glock and mobile phone. Calmly, he laid them out on the desk. Pablo looked down at them as if he had never seen them before.

  ‘That’s it Pablo. You can have these back. I’m out. It’s all gone to shit. You are seriously asking me to kill someone, and not just anyone. Shaun is New York. Fuck that. This job ain’t doing any of us any good, and I don’t want it anymore.’

  Skinny saw his chance and jumped in immediately, this was a distraction from him losing the money and Stefan always gave him a hard time.

  ‘Good riddance Pablo, we don’t need him. First out the door when things get tough right?’

  Stefan grabbed Skinny by the lapels and pushed him against the wall.

  ‘Job’s yours Skinny you prick. All yours.’

  He kicked out Skinny’s ankles from underneath and the fat man fell to the floor with a loud thump. Stefan reached down and grabbed hold of his hair, then leaned in close to his face.

  ‘Tell you what tough guy. Make it that the first thing that you do is throw me out. Do it.’

  Skinny wouldn’t meet his eye.

  Stefan thumped his head back against the wall and let go, then pulled open the office door and left without looking back.

  Pablo sat very still watching and then suddenly snapped and jumped out running after him into the corridor.

  ‘You fuck off Stefan! Fuck off! You’re nothing! I made you, where you gonna go? Fuck off then,’ he shrieked, shaking and eyes wild with fury.

  Stefan ignored it. He had known for longer than he cared to admit that it had only been a matter of time. He had been hanging on out of a crazy sense of loyalty to Francesco, who had requested something of him, something which was now too much. He knew that he was just one of many others who had been asked to look out for Pablo by his father. But not any longer, enough was enough. John Smith and Shaun Farley had been a long time coming, Pablo had been getting away with it forever. The debts were piling up, and he either ignored or dismissed them. It was time to go. He walked out into Reception and made his way through the casino to the VIP bar. Shaun Farley was seated in the same place, and watched Stefan calmly as he threaded his way over.

  ‘I’m sorry Shaun. This is all bullshit, but I suspect you alrea
dy know. There’s no money. It’s over,’ Stefan told him simply and then left.

  He crossed back through the casino and used his pass key to walk into the cashier’s office. The staff there looked at him curiously as he opened the safe and took out twenty thousand dollars. He hadn’t been paid properly in three months, and the balance he would give to Robert and Jimmy. He shoved the cash into his inside jacket pocket, threw his pass key on the floor and walked out of the office and then left the hotel.

  Outside he walked to the bottom of the steps and stopped. He turned around and looked up and stretched his arms out wide smiling. The world had been lifted from his shoulders.

  ‘Goodbye.’

  Pablo walked back into the office and slammed the door. He sat down hard at the desk breathing deeply. That fucking Stefan. No loyalty. Well he would show him, he would come crawling back. This was just a temporary setback. But right now he needed help. Only one thing to do, and maybe he should have done it in the first place.

  Skinny puffed himself up and told Pablo he would take care of Shaun, but Pablo came to his senses. That would just be a disaster. Skinny would fuck it up and there would be even more heat he didn’t need.

  He told Skinny to go and find Shaun Farley and apologise for the delay. Just make up any old bullshit, and then come straight back. Once he was alone he picked up his mobile and went through the phone book.

  Chapter Twelve

  Frank MacMillan walked into the precinct building and crossed the squad room, helping himself to a couple of doughnuts on the way. He glanced at his watch, it had gone three already. Excellent. By five he could be out the door. Have a couple at Circus Circus on his way home. As he sat down behind his desk happily wondering how he could waste the next couple of hours his private mobile began to vibrate in his pocket.

  Frank MacMillan was a lieutenant in the Las Vegas police department. He was fifty-four years old, overweight, lazy, and corrupt.

  He could have retired six years ago after twenty-five years in but the benefits were just too good. Turning a blind eye, hiding various incriminating details, losing evidence, tipping off certain individuals. Everything worked out very well for MacMillan, he had been cultivating it for years. He was protected of course, by the badge he wore but more by the very people that he was supposed be keeping on the straight and narrow. He had moved out to Vegas in 1992 as a detective from Seattle, where he was already making a few dollars extra here and there. He calculated, rightly, that there would be even more opportunities further South and had ended up staying, winning promotions by making sure he was right at the forefront with his name involved somewhere of any actual arrests and ensuring he was always in the right place at the right time. The new Las Vegas South Precinct had opened in 2011 and MacMillan had immediately put himself forward. The precinct was a lot quieter than the day to day machinations of the Metropolitan Precinct, so MacMillan was able to take it even easier. The overall crime rate in Las Vegas had been dropping for two years, but there was a growing gang problem in the city that he was glad to get away from, there was nothing to be earned from those guys. Visitors to Vegas only really saw the strip, but there was a maze of suburbs behind the scenes, with bars, strip joints, night clubs all presenting not only a constant source of crime, but a substantial source of additional revenue if you knew where to look and who to nudge. South Precinct was built in expectation of growth, the houses and apartments were more expensive here; the streets around were quiet and the PD there only dealt with that end of the strip. There were only thirty full time officers at the precinct; he had a team of three detectives under him, all young guys. He kept them well away from anyone that mattered and let them deal with the domestic problems, car crimes, street robberies etc. All in all, MacMillan had it all sown up.