Regan Harris Box Set

by Kelly Wood

  “You have to wear more clothes than what you have on.”

  Chapter Thirteen

  I left Gray with Grandma and Passion. I sent up a little prayer for his sanity. Gray had the patience of a saint, but I feared those two together would wear him down. Even little ol’ me alone brought him to the edge of sanity sometimes. Gray planned on taking them to the buffet for a nice long brunch and then for a walk until I could get back to them. I planned on enjoying my alone time for now.

  I found Vivian behind the information desk at the library, just like last time. I still had the urge to hug her.

  “Hi, Vivian, do you remember me?” She glanced up from her desk. I didn’t know why I thought she would remember me. She probably answered thousands of questions each day from strangers.

  “Of course, dear. You were here looking at the history of Las Vegas. What can I help you with today?” She reached over and patted my hand. Joy flooded through me.

  “I was hoping you’d be here. How long have you lived in Las Vegas?”

  “Fifty years, give or take.”

  “I loved reading the books and articles, but I’d really love a personal history of Vegas. Could you or someone else here help me with that?”

  “Tell you what. Give me fifteen minutes until my shift is over and I can spare an hour or so for you.”

  “Thank you.” I headed over to the reference section again, intending to read a little more until Vivian was done. I picked a book on the seedier side of Vegas, The Mob and Las Vegas. I read the back cover. The book claimed to cover the rise and fall of mob culture in Las Vegas proper. I flipped through and stopped on the last chapter.

  The fall of 1988 was a tough one for Las Vegas mobsters. Three families remained, all fighting for control of the city; the Bianchis, the Costas, and the Milanos. Through a series of events, the families all fell. Trials were ongoing, putting family members away, Antonio Bianchi’s son disappeared, and the Costas tucked tail and ran. The Kefauver Trials of the 1950s did not compare to the witch hunt going on in Las Vegas. The mobsters were being shipped to the big house or were shipping themselves off to other cities.

  Antonio Bianchi pulled himself out of the limelight of mafia life after the disappearance of his son, Guy. The Milanos were killed off and the Costas were never heard from again. Even during the writing of this book, I was not able to locate a sole surviving member of their family. The City of Las Vegas took the opportunity to keep the city clean of the seedier influences. The Mayor and city council members worked to keep mobsters from New York, Chicago and Los Angeles from moving in on the open territory.

  The future of Las Vegas could be seen as a bright and entertaining vacation spot for adults. Every aspect of the culture and surrounding areas was advertised to draw rock climbers, kayakers, gamblers and drinkers to the city...

  I sat the book in my lap and let my mind wander. Gray said two families remained in Vegas, even though the author thought otherwise. Clearly, the man did not do his research. How have they stayed hidden? Where did the Costas go? How did the Thomases enter the picture? The only thing I was sure of was that Frank Donato took over for the Bianchi family. But the author didn’t even put that fact together for the book. If the author got that wrong, then what else? Were the Costas still in the area? Did Gray’s family take over from them? Or, was the author right and the Costas just left? Leaving an opening for Michael Thomas to step in? I made notes in my notebook intending to look through the newspaper archives. Vivian found me a few minutes later.

  “Put that rubbish away. A six-year-old could’ve written a more accurate account.” Vivian took the chair next to me.

  “It seemed a little farfetched to me.”

  Vivian reached down and grabbed the book off my lap. She had it closed, put away, and was walking off before I could comprehend what was happening.

  “It’s not accurate?” I asked as I rose from the seat and started to follow her.

  “Some of it is, but not the important parts.”

  I followed Vivian out of the library parking lot and across to the University of Nevada campus. In Chicago, I would’ve walked the distance, but here, in Nevada, walking was frowned upon unless you were on the Strip. Gray and I had spent hours hiking here in the past to only see two or three other people on the trails, too. I found it mind-boggling. Beautiful weather for most of the year, but everyone stayed indoors in the air conditioning.

  Vivian led me to a cute outdoor café flooded with students. The students here were of varying ages, but with a majority in their twenties. I loved the feel of a college campus. The excitement and hope for the future was intoxicating.

  Vivian chose a table in the corner while I ran in for our drinks. To the locals, the seventy-degree weather was considered a cold front. Evidence of that was everywhere. Students were wearing sweaters and light jackets with jeans. To me, it was warm, perfect. I stood out in my sleeveless shirt. The milder weather sent everyone outside to enjoy it, but they were all drinking coffee. The sudden drop from one hundred degrees to eighty must have felt chilly. I chose a nice, refreshingly cold lemonade for myself.

  “So, what brought you here, Vivian?”

  “The sun. I grew up in the Pacific Northwest. We see the sun there about four times each year. It made me depressed. I wanted somewhere where the sun would shine, but the humidity was low. So, voila, Vegas it was. I never meant to stay, but the place grows on you.”

  “What was it like here then?” I asked. I leaned back in my chair, with the sun on my face and the sound of her voice lulling me into a dream-like state. I could almost picture the city back then. Not as busy, not as crowded, but still fun and exciting.

  “It was a different time. I saw you reading a bit on the mobs. Back then, they ran everything, and everyone knew who they were. The mob guys were mini celebrities. The Strip was home to most of them. You couldn’t walk down the street without bumping into someone from one of the families. I worked as a dealer then. It was rare for a woman, but I loved it. I loved the excitement and I especially loved hearing the men talk while at the tables. We were invisible to them.”

  “What hotel were you working for?”

  “The Milanos’ old place. It was torn down a few years ago to make way for some new condos going in. It was the ‘it’ place for a while.” Vivian’s eyes glazed over as she remembered that time in her life.

  “The Milanos were at the top of their game when I worked for them. Nobody was bigger or more powerful. There were two other families back then. The Bianchis and the Costas, neither held a candle to Old Man Milano.”

  “How do you know so much about all of them?”

  “Back then, everyone knew about them. The police and politicians were all in Milano’s pockets. He could do whatever he liked, whenever he liked. It was a mix of exhilaration and fear, almost terrifying to watch. Milano always got what he wanted.” The way Vivian emphasized ‘always’ made me think that she had firsthand knowledge of it.

  “The book said the Milanos were killed off,” I said.

  “They were. Murdered, really. The Costa and Bianchi families were not pleased with Milano. Milano was very old school. He would order a death and not think twice about it, while Costa was subtler.” Vivian wagged a finger at me. “That good-looking man you were with yesterday is the spitting image of his father. I knew who he was the minute I saw him.”

  “Gray?” I asked. Gray wasn’t the spitting image of his father. “You know Mr. Thomas, too?”

  Vivian watched me with a knowing look in her eye but didn’t answer the question. I felt like I was missing something but couldn’t place my finger on it. I prompted her with another question, hoping my well of information wouldn’t dry up.

  “You knew Costa, too?” I asked. I leaned forward, intent on her answer.

  “Everyone knew him. Who do you think killed Milano?”

  “What? Why would he do that?”

  “Why wouldn’t he? He was running the second-largest family. Costa was you
ng and wanted to prove himself. What better way than killing off the Milanos? He and Milano didn’t see eye to eye on a few things. From what I understand, Costa wanted all the power, but his way. Killing Milano was just the easiest way to go about it.”

  “How? Why isn’t he in jail if this was such common knowledge?”

  “Just because it was common knowledge doesn’t mean there was evidence or witnesses. Costa was sharp. He made a plan and knew what he was doing. You need to know what you are doing.” Vivian sipped her coffee and set the cup back down. “Why does this interest you?”

  “I’m here to do an interview with Frank Donato about the remodel of the Magari for a travel magazine. What happened to Costa?”

  “He’s still around. Changed his name and his appearance some, but he’s still out there.”

  “Still involved?” I asked. I sipped my lemonade. A cool breeze ruffled my hair. I dug around in my purse for a hair tie. I quickly braided my hair and secured the end.

  “It’s not like it was then. Back then, it was a point of honor for people to know what family you belonged to. Now, it’s all hush-hush. They’ve gotten slicker.”

  “You said Costa was young. How was he in charge already? Or was that normal?”

  “Not common, at all. He was ruthless. Most of the men involved with the family only thought about what the next day would bring. They made money, and they spent money. Life was a big party. For Costa, it was a long game. His goal was always the top. He was a chameleon. He could blend in with the younger street crews and with the politicians. His personality changed based on his surroundings.”

  “What do you mean? How do you know?”

  “When you work a table, you see and hear a lot. Most of my shift at work was spent listening. Here I was, sober, while the men around me were drinking and having fun. They talked. Men gossip just as much as us women. Remember that.” Vivian drank her coffee, pausing in her thoughts. “I’ve always loved history. The stories, the people. I’d read a book and imagine myself in other places and times. I realized early that I was living Vegas history as it unfolded, so I paid attention.” Vivian dug around in her purse, pulling out her wallet. She fanned it open across the table showing a photograph in a clear pouch.

  I leaned over and inspected the image. Vivian, beautiful and smiling, stood behind a blackjack table. Two men had their backs to the camera but their heads turned to the flash. I gasped. I touched the photo. The man staring back at me could pass for Gray’s twin brother.

  “Who’s that?” I asked.

  “Costa and Milano. Look, I’ve said enough. You be careful. Got it?” Vivian rose from the table.

  “Wait. Tell me about the Magari. And the Bianchis.” I threw it in as an afterthought. I just didn’t want her to walk away, yet.

  “The Magari used to be a dump. Old Man Bianchi made a place for himself out of sheer grit. I’m glad to see it remodeled. But, in my opinion, it’s putting lipstick on a pig. Who knows how many people are buried in the walls there?”

  I sat back in defeat but I didn’t let go of Vivian’s arm. How was I going to finish this interview about a stupid hotel when all I really wanted to ask Frank was “how many people have you killed?” That was the easy question. The harder ones involved Gray. When Gray said his family was the mob, I pictured a cartoon version. I didn’t take into account that his father would have killed people. Or worse. And how much did Gray actually know? He left his family years ago to live separate from them because he didn’t believe in their lifestyle. I’d always assumed it was their shallowness he deplored, but now I was realizing that it may have been much more.

  “Where was Bianchi in all of this?”

  “He was around, but his heart wasn’t in it any longer. Look, I gotta go.”

  “I read that his son disappeared. Was that it?”

  “I think so. He loved all of his boys fiercely, but especially that one. Guy was special. There was something magical about him. People just liked to be near him. I know when he sat at my table for a night playing blackjack, I’d leave lighter, happier. I can’t explain it. That man had what others refer to as star quality.”

  “What happened to him?”

  “Nobody knows. Well, somebody does, but nobody else has ever found out. Bianchi turned over the business to Frank and within two years he was dead. Most around him said he died of a broken heart. I’d hear the men at the table discuss Antonio.”

  “The book said that Costa left town. Why would the author think that? And, why would the book suggest the mob was no longer in Vegas if that clearly is not true?”

  “Last question, I need to leave. Costa did leave town. For a while. He came back with a new last name and an altered face. People didn’t look too closely. He and Frank cleaned up the businesses and made them look pretty. As long as others didn’t look too closely, for all intents and purposes, they are what they seemed; rich and powerful business men.” Vivian pushed her chair back and rose from the table. “My advice, don’t look too closely, honey. Thanks for the coffee.”

  Vivian’s parting words had touched my innermost psyche. They were words that I should take to heart. My sister, Peyton, would say that they were words I lived by. That I only saw what I wanted to see. That I glossed over the surface. Most of the time that was true. But, every once in a while, something struck a chord in me. Something that I couldn’t let go of. This was one of those times.

  While I appreciated Vivian’s time, she left me with more questions. She said Costa left and came back with a new name. Who was he now? Would I be able to find him? Did I want to find him? I didn’t need him for an interview. It was just an old story. The one question that was weighing on my interest, what happened to Guy Bianchi? That one I would have loved to know the answer. It would make a great side story to the hotel remodel.

  I drove back to the hotel. I sent up a quick prayer Gray was able to handle Grams and Passion together. I weaved through the crowds in the hotel lobby. Some TV personality stood in the corner speaking into a camera. Up close, her face looked frozen in place. Behind her, a barrier stood blocking the entrance to the workout room hallway. I caught bits and pieces of her dialogue as I waited for the elevator.

  “...pool flooded the facility. Crew are working feverishly to correct the problem before the opening night gala. This follows yesterday’s news report about a man who jumped from one of the hotel balconies...”

  I stood in front of the elevator doors, pushing the up button multiple times. I knew it didn’t make the elevator come faster, but the action itself helped with my nerves. The doors opened, people flooding out. The hum of conversation blocked out the rest of the news report.

  Multiple police officers exited the building with an elderly woman walking in the center. She stood tall and straight. As tall as an eighty-something could, anyway.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Franky July 1988

  Franky ran his hand through his hair to smooth it down. The new, shorter haircut, felt weird to him. His whole life he had been the ratty kid with overgrown hair and dirty clothes. Today, he could’ve fit in as one of the Bianchi boys’ cousins. Frank resisted the urge to scratch, the new clothes left him feeling itchy. The pants were tight around the waist, but the sales lady swore that these were in style. The matching jacket was loose through the shoulders. Franky had insisted on a size larger in case he had another growth spurt in him. Long gone was the rangy kid with pencil-thin arms and legs. Franky could pass for a grown man now, well beyond his years.

  For the last month, Franky had used the extra muscle and size to prove himself with Bianchi. Antonio still took to calling him Dickweed now and again, but usually, it was shortened to Franky DW. Franky had a good month pulling in money, hustling up new jobs and driving Antonio around. Today the hustling was going to pay off.

  Besides hustling, Franky spent the last month learning everything he could about Eva Grace Williams. Some of the information came through his snooping, but most came from their lunches together
. Their first meeting had been an awkward starting and stopping of conversation, but they spoke more freely now. Franky pretended to “accidentally” bump into her at the country club and a friendship was born. Grace was seventeen and preferred to be called Gracie. An only child, orphaned when her parents died in a car accident, her cousin Mary Francis, offered to take her in. From what Franky could gather through rumors on the streets, Mrs. Costa had a love/hate relationship with Gracie. Mary Francis was just as beautiful, if not more so than Gracie. But Gracie was kind. Genuinely kind. People were attracted to her because of it and it irked Mary Francis to no end. No matter how hard Mary Francis pretended, she would never be described as kind. Nice? Eh, maybe. Kind? Never. Kindness came from the heart. It was an act that Mary Francis would never be able to perfect.

  Franky learned through the Costa’s driver, Gracie liked to sit in the park by the country club to have lunch. She never ordered her food from the club, but rather packed a lunch daily. Franky found it endearing. Having grown up poor, a peanut butter sandwich filled the belly just as well as snooty food. That’s how he thought of the country club food, anyway. Snooty. Guy Bianchi would bring him here sometimes for a meal on his dad. Franky always felt out of place and uncomfortable. Like he was wearing a bright sign announcing he didn’t belong.

  Franky shouldn’t be too hard on them. Thanks to driving Antonio here and dining with Guy sometimes, nobody realized that he didn’t belong when he met Gracie in the park. Franky watched Gracie now as she sat on a blanket. She looked lost in thought gazing at a faraway point. Franky could sneak up on her, and she wouldn’t even notice. He smoothed his hair one more time and headed her way. He’d saved up for the new clothes and haircut. He wanted to look his best today. Today was the day Franky hoped to move their relationship from friends to something more. He practiced his speech one more time in his head before finding the nerve to speak. His plan had come together at the two-week mark, just as he hoped. With one last deep breath of encouragement, Franky found the nerve to speak.