The Emperor of Vegas

by Ryan Stygar

  The Emperor of Vegas

  Ryan Stygar

  The Emperor of Vegas

  1

  Marquee Day Club, Las Vegas, 1:15pm

  B ubbles floated up from the sun-soaked pool as if it was a giant, fizzing cocktail garnished by rows of palm trees. The exclusive rooftop pool and dance club was connected to the Cosmopolitan Hotel and surrounded on all sides by the crystal-blue towers of the Las Vegas City Center. Deep house music thumped across the pools, carrying a sensuous charge of energy across a sea of youthful wet skin.

  Andrew Kremenski clutched two oversized vodka slushies and spilled icy-red globs of the red concoction on the ground as he careened away from the bar. The newly-minted soldier for the Petrov Crime Family was buzzing from a long day of guzzling cocktails on the boss’s dime. An average-sized man with dull, average looks, Kremenski was having a hard time stealing any attention from the women strutting around him.

  “Hey baby, come to my cabana!” he shouted to a group of college-aged girls. He received only a chorus of giggles in response.

  Soldiering onward, he stopped dead in his tracks at the sight of the most beautiful woman he’d ever seen.

  Platinum blonde hair swept down one side of her slender neck and several inches past her breast line. She wore a black one-piece swimsuit that did a dazzling job of showing off her fit-looking legs. Beneath two finely manicured eyebrows, her eyes were concealed behind expensive sunglasses. Andrew stumbled up to her like a moth to a flame.

  “Hello gorgeous!” he blurted, much louder than he had intended. “You want to dance?”

  With the swagger of a drunken pirate he rubbed against her hips and gyrated like a horny teenager.

  A swift knee to the groin was the immediate response.

  Andrew buckled over and lost his grip on the blended cocktail in his hand. At once the woman was covered in his sugary red slushy. Furious, she whipped off her sunglasses to reveal icy-blue eyes.

  “You had best learn your place, peasant!” she barked in her thick Russian accent. She left Andrew groaning in pain as she stormed away from him.

  Her father, Mikhail Petrov, witnessed the cringe-worthy encounter and motioned that Andrew should return to their private cabana before causing any more trouble. Scorned, Andrew drooped his head and quietly took his place next to Mikhail. When he sat he grabbed a fistful of ice from the cooler and rubbed it against his aching groin. At this Mikhail could not stop himself from chuckling.

  “Normally I would chastise you for coming on to my daughter so disrespectfully…” he said. His heavy Slavic accent slurred from the large quantities of alcohol he had consumed. “But it appears that Viktoriya can handle herself!”

  Mikhail threw his head back and let out a deep guttural laugh. When he settled down, he rocked the bulk of his body forward and plucked a flute of champagne from the central table. He took a deep swig of the fizzy gold liquid and looked at Andrew Kremenski.

  “Welcome to Las Vegas! Lesson one: Viktoriya is off-limits, but I think you’ve already learned that the hard way,” he chortled again and eased back into the plush velvet seats of the cabana.

  Andrew blushed from embarrassment. He had spent several years working for the Petrov Crime Family. Internally, he scolded himself for not recognizing Viktoriya Petrov, and he resolved to stop drinking for the rest of the day.

  Lukas Petrov, Mikhail Petrov’s son and second in command, slapped a hand on Andrew Kremenski’s back. “Do not fret, there are many other women for you to date in this city.”

  Athletically built, tanned, and brimming with confidence at just a few years north of thirty, Lukas Petrov had a magnetic presence that commanded the loyalty of his father’s employees. There was little doubt that he would be ready to assume his place at the head of the business once Mikhail formally retired.

  Mikhail and Lukas Petrov were both Russian army veterans. Mikhail served in the infantry during the Soviet invasion of Afghanistan, but he was never much of a warrior. What he lacked in military prowess, however, he easily made up for in shrewd business acumen. When his commanders weren’t looking, Mikhail Petrov was busy networking with the Mujahedeen, exchanging military information for shares of the lucrative opium crop. By the time he returned to civilian life, Mikhail had quietly staked out a multi-million dollar opium empire for himself.

  His son took military service much more seriously. Lukas easily outclassed his peers in the Russian army, displaying a formidable combination of intelligence and ruthlessness. It wasn’t long before he was selected to serve in Russia’s most elite special forces; the Spetsnaz. Eight years later, Lukas retired as a highly decorated Spetsnaz officer, accredited with over one hundred confirmed combat kills.

  Almost four years had passed since Lukas wore the red Spetsnaz beret. But there was still something formidable about the way he carried himself; the sharpness in his eyes, the subtle tension in his muscles, he was like a tiger ready to strike at any moment. Men admired him; women adored him.

  Lukas finished his flute of champagne. “Try not to get in too much trouble boys,” he said to his party.

  “Where are you going?” Mikhail asked from his plush seat.

  Lukas pointed to a pair of polka-dot bikinis dancing by the DJ booth.

  “I’m going to show those ladies how Russian men like to party. Gentlemen,” he bowed his head in a parting gesture before springing up to join the girls on the dance floor.

  Mikhail chuckled at his son and looked to Andrew. “Always young at heart that one… just like his old man, no?”

  Andrew’s attention was seized by some commotion near the west exit of the club, then the east exit. Amidst the crowd of dancing bodies, it was almost impossible to discern the change in activity concentrated at the doors, but Andrew’s instincts were telling him something was wrong.

  “You do not agree?” Mikhail continued, oblivious to the change in Andrew’s mood. With a chuckle he patted the mess of salt and pepper hair on his gut. “I suppose I am not quite as handsome as I once was, but my charm has never been so keen!” he laughed again, then squinted when the young man didn’t join him. “Andrew?”

  Andrew snapped up in his seat. “We have to leave. Like, right now. We have to leave.”

  “Leave? What on Earth –

  “They’ve found us! Come on!” Andrew snatched the old man’s hand and tried to drag him from his seat.

  Mikhail opened his mouth to protest but a woman’s scream drowned out his words.

  Two pairs of men wearing Las Vegas Metropolitan Police Department uniforms were ripping through the crowd. Like wolves charging through a herd of prey, they sent the crowd scattering in all directions as they closed in on the Russian gangsters. Mikhail shot up from his seat.

  “Lukas!” he roared over the noise.

  Lukas heard his father’s voice and snapped to attention mere seconds before one of the officers, a burly man with a bald-shaved head, lunged at him like a panther. Lukas spun left to dodge the attack and threw an elbow into the man’s spine. Although Big-Baldy was protected from any serious harm by his tactical vest, the force was enough to send him hurdling face-first into the pool with a splash.

  Lukas spun around and saw that a second officer had arrived to back up his partner. Whipping out his black baton, the officer raised his weapon and prepared to strike Lukas down.

  “Get on the ground now!” the officer ordered.

  “Niet!” Lukas snarled. “You get on the ground!”

  The officer swung his baton and Lukas quickly ducked to avoid being struck.

  Tapping into his Krav Maga training from his time in the Spetsnaz, Lukas jumped into the arc of the swinging baton. He caught the officer’s wrist and planted a foot between his ankles. Rather than stru
ggling against the policeman’s strength, Lukas followed the trajectory of the strike and then, with a firm grip on the officer’s wrist, threw his own bodyweight downward. The move expertly redirected the inertia of the attack and Lukas easily slammed the officer on the ground like an Olympic judo-fighter.

  The speed and skill of the Russian gangster caught the policeman completely by surprise. He hit the ground hard, but only emitted a quick grunt of pain before scrambling up to resume the assault. Within a second of getting back on his feet, the cop swung his baton low to take Lukas out at the knees.

  Again the weapon proved no match for the experienced Spetsnaz commando.

  Lukas caught the officer’s wrist mid-strike and spun inward toward his body, absorbing the force of the blow and disarming him in a single, precise movement. The defensive maneuver brought the combatants so close that their noses were nearly touching and, for a fraction of a second, Lukas saw a look of real fear in the man’s eyes. The cop had drastically underestimated his opponent, and he was about to pay for his mistake. In a flash Lukas threw an uppercut into the man’s jaw. A sickening crunch grinded against his knuckles as teeth were shattered by the rapid blow.

  The cop bellowed in pain and threw his hands up to shield his ruined jaw. Without wasting a moment, Lukas leaned back and fired off a kick right into the wounded man’s solar plexus, forcing the air from his lungs and sending him flying backward into the pool. He hit the water with a splash, landing right beside Big-Baldy in the waist-deep water.

  The violence sent a wave of panic across the crowd, which was now stampeding toward the exits. The flood of bodies seemed to crash against the walls like a sea of humanity against an impenetrable breakwater. Meanwhile, armed LVMPD officers kept tight control over every possible egress and allowed only a trickle of people to escape.

  Viktoriya Petrov was one of the few people to get away. Putting on her best performance, she screamed like a frightened damsel in distress as she ran from the mayhem. Her ploy worked and she easily slipped past the heavily armed police guarding the door. Lukas, Mikhail, and Andrew, however, weren’t so fortunate.

  Lukas’s eyes went wide when he spotted a team of four or five police officers converging on his position.

  Lukas waved at Andrew and Mikhail to catch their attention.

  “Through the bungalows!”

  Andrew nodded in agreement, then grabbed Mikhail’s arm and began tugging him through the crowd.

  Lukas started to run but stumbled when a wet hand clamped around his ankle and yanked him back. Big-Baldy had finally caught up with him.

  “Halt!” the soaked officer screamed. He was still waist-deep in the pool as he pulled hard to reel Lukas in like a fish.

  Lukas could feel that the policeman was much stronger than he was, so there was no use resisting. He didn’t struggle. Instead he allowed Big-Baldy to pull him closer. As Lukas was dragged backward, he snatched the long neck of an empty champagne bottle from an ice-bucket.

  The last thing Big-Baldy saw was a glint of sunlight reflecting from the bottle as Lukas swung it back. There was a crack followed by a nanosecond of shooting pain, and then the policeman went out cold. His heavy body sunk back into the pool like a slain sea monster.

  Lukas didn’t take a second to celebrate. With the police presence growing stronger by the minute, time was running out to make an escape. Lukas watched as Andrew scaled the wooden gate that separated the private bungalows from the pool-club. Once Andrew landed on the other side, he rapidly unlocked it from within so Lukas and Mikhail could get through. The move didn’t go unnoticed, and an LVMPD officer jabbed a finger in Andrew’s direction to alert his companions. In seconds, four men armed with tactical shotguns were charging at the Russian gangsters.

  Lukas sprinted through the gate seconds before the police could catch up to him. Skidding to a halt inside the private patio, he slammed the gate shut before any police could get in. Mikhail and Andrew got to work throwing all the patio furniture against the door to form a barricade.

  Andrew wedged a wooden stool against the pile of debris and looked to the other men. “It won’t hold them for long, but it will give us a head start,” he said. Behind him, Mikhail tried the glass door to the bungalow and cursed when he found it was locked.

  “Stand back!” Lukas shouted. He picked up a chair and threw it through the sliding door, completely shattering it. “Come on!” he called back to the others.

  They pushed through the broken glass one at a time, grunting in pain as their bare feet were sliced open by the shards on the ground.

  Behind them, the wooden gate was splintering as it was rammed over and over again from the other side.

  “We’re on borrowed time here!” Andrew said.

  Lukas led them through the bungalow’s living area, past a full kitchen and toward the main entrance. Lukas threw open the door and ran out into the hall, but a series of thundering blasts caused Andrew and Mikhail to freeze in their tracks before they could follow him.

  “Shit! Shit! Shit!” Lukas yelped. An instant later he came barreling back through the door. “They’re in the hallway!”

  A small, bright pink object flew past the open door frame and punched an inch-wide dent into the stainless-steel refrigerator in the kitchen.

  “What is that?” Andrew asked.

  Mikhail stooped to pick it up. “Bean-bag round,” he said.

  Filled with heavy lead shot and capable of being fired at over three hundred feet per second, bean-bag rounds were a formidable weapon despite their benign-sounding name. Although designed to be non-lethal, it was still possible for the rounds to crack bones and rupture vital organs. Mikhail warned the others not to underestimate the little pink squares.

  “A direct hit from one of these bastards will ruin your day,” he said. “I fear they mean business this time.”

  “Where do we go now?” Andrew asked.

  With all other escape options exhausted, the three men simultaneously looked to the stairs.

  “Going up I suppose?” Mikhail said with a shrug. He led the way up the stairs, grasping at the handrails to keep his bloody feet from slipping against the polished wooden steps.

  The men were stopped on the second floor when the bungalow’s guest, a white-haired man wearing only a silk robe, burst into their path.

  “What is the meaning of this?!” he bellowed. A completely nude call-girl shrieked behind him as he confronted the intruders. Mikhail threw a fist into the man’s face to get him out of the way.

  “Sorry buddy, express checkout!”

  He looked back at Lukas and Andrew as the man buckled to the floor. “Get it?”

  “Always joking around,” Lukas sighed as he stepped over the snoring man.

  Andrew caught a glimpse of sunlight pouring in from the second flight of stairs. “There is a terrace upstairs, perhaps we can use the roof to slip away?”

  Lukas rushed ahead of the group. “If we can make it to the top of the building then we might be able to drop down into the service centers through the ventilation systems. The service halls will offer several chances to disguise ourselves and get away. It won’t be easy, but we must try. Follow me.”

  Lukas’s heart sank when he reached the top of the bungalow. Throwing open the doors to the private terrace, he heard the ear-splitting roar of a police helicopter thumping overhead.

  An authoritative voice blared from helicopter’s megaphone. “This is the LVMPD! You are surrounded. Place your hands over your heads and drop to your knees immediately!”

  There was a crash down below and the three men rushed to look over the rails. Andrew pointed at the mass of police storming past their make-shift barricade.

  “They’ve broken through!” he said.

  “No time to waste,” Lukas answered.

  He looked up at the gap between the lattice shades over the patio and the roof of the building. It was just large enough for a body to wriggle through, each man would just need a little boost to make the jump.
<
br />   Lukas cupped his hands together to prepare to lift the others up onto the roof. “Andrew! You will go first. I’ll help you up and then you will help lift my father. Go!”

  In an instant Andrew planted a foot in Lukas’s cupped hands. With a heave Lukas assisted him to the top. Once he was on the roof Andrew leaned down to help lift Mikhail. Mikhail looked sheepishly at the distance to the top and frowned.

  “It’s no use, I’m too fat!”

  Lukas pushed him closer to the roof. “You can start a diet after we get away. Now come on!”

  Mikhail hesitated at first but was spurned to action by the pounding footsteps of officers charging up the stairs. He grasped his son by the shoulders and awkwardly planted a foot into his cupped hands.

  “Damn… you are one big boy!” Lukas growled as he struggled to lift the two hundred and forty pound man. Andrew reached down and clasped Mikhail’s hand to hoist him onto the roof. Once Mikhail’s chest was past the roofline he swung a leg onto the gravel roof and rolled over the top. Still panting from the effort, he quickly joined Andrew in reaching down to help Lukas.

  “Jump!” Mikhail yelled.

  Lukas made for a running start and lunged up toward them. They locked arms midair and, with a single heave, Lukas was hauled up. No sooner had he gotten to his feet than the SWAT team stormed the open patio below them.

  “That was much too close!” Mikhail growled, ignoring the pain from his bloodied feet as he and the others ran across the roof.

  Suddenly, the roar of the police helicopter’s rotors thundered directly ahead of them while a sharpshooter threw open the cabin doors and took aim at the fleeing gangsters. The thumping chopper drowned out the blasts from the sharpshooter’s rifle, so when he fired his weapon there was no more warning than the hair-raising whoosh of the bean-bags flying past their ears and pummeling into the ground. Though non-lethal at this range, a direct hit would easily take a man down with a single shot.

  Lukas ran ahead of the group to find a way to escape. Under the main tower of the Cosmopolitan he spotted a row of large ventilation fans. Although they were crisscrossed with protective bars, the ten foot wide exhausts were still large enough for maintenance workers to enter for repairs. It was a perfect opportunity to get away.