by Ryan Stygar
“Sheriff Wyatt? I have Special Agent Klein on the phone.”
“Special Agent?” Wyatt asked. “What agency is he with?”
“It’s a she; Patricia Klein. She says she’s with the DHS. She also said it was urgent,”
“Urgent? Feds always think their shit is more important than everyone else’s,” he huffed. “If it’s an inter-agency issue then put her through to Deputy Chief Miller, I’m busy.”
Wyatt took another sip of his tea and returned his attention to the IRD on his computer.
“She asked for you specifically; it’s something to do with the murder of a federal witness.”
Wyatt slammed his glass of tea on his desk. “Dammit, Holly, I don’t have time for another one of these inquiries. Tell her I’m in a meeting and put her through to Deputy Chief Miller’s office.”
Poor Holly winced at the outburst. “Oh… okay, right away, Sir.”
She fiddled with her dark-rimmed glasses a moment before retreating from Wyatt’s office.
“Beset on all sides by incompetence,” Wyatt muttered to himself.
15
Sumatra Hotel & Casino, Executive Office, 55th Floor
W hile Adam was busy parking cars for tourists, the Emperor of Vegas met with his council.
His name was Dimitri Jordan.
It was a name that made grown men tremble like children. Standing at a towering six feet, five inches tall and as muscular as a titan, he projected dominance before speaking a word. Dimitri wore expensive bespoke suits and a one-of-a kind, white-gold watch the size of a small saucer. Flawless diamond earrings, each the size of a large pea, glittered like stars against his black earlobes. The man’s office boasted a commanding view of the Las Vegas Strip with floor to ceiling windows fifty-five stories above the boulevard.
From the comfort of his Italian leather chair, he sipped expensive vodka and surveyed his domain. Armed guards stood at each side of his solid mahogany desk with fully automatic MAC-10 submachine guns slung over their shoulders. Around them, wood paneled walls were adorned with photos of Jordan shaking hands with various celebrities and politicians. A massive oil painting dominated the wall to his right and depicted his gold-painted mega yacht, the Invictus, cutting through a dark and stormy sea. Of course the two hundred and eighty foot long ship was docked in Los Angeles and had never even seen such a storm, but Jordan felt the image was a perfect metaphor for his life, so he kept the painting.
DimitriJordan’s criminal career began right at birth, when his parents used him as a mule for running heroine throughout Los Angeles. They were ruthless abusers who beat him frequently and neglected even his most basic needs. When he was around thirteen he scraped together enough money for a one-way bus ticket and ran away from home. Once he got as far as Las Vegas, he decided to settle down. Right away he got to work building a fortune in the only business he ever knew; the drug trade. Jordan kicked off a ruthless campaign to monopolize the city’s narcotics economy one block at a time.
Within seven years, he expelled the seemingly invincible Mexican cartels from the city. A year after that, no drugs were bought or sold in Vegas unless Jordan himself approved the transaction. His scope of business practices was expansive and diversified. The man had a financial stake in everything from his core business in narcotics to prostitution, weapons, and even exotic animals.
Jordan used his monopoly of power to build a staggering fortune for himself. In the beginning he was frugal beyond belief. For ten years he conducted almost all of his business from beneath a dry aqueduct which he called home. It was an odd sight at times, seeing hardcore gangsters draped in gold chains grovel at a homeless man’s feet. But Jordan’s aura of power was irresistible; his authority was never questioned.
Fifteen years after arriving in Vegas, Jordan broke ground on what would become his most profitable money-making machine yet; the Sumatra Hotel and Casino. It was not until the first quarterly profits came rolling in that Jordan finally indulged in the luxuries his immense wealth and power afforded him. He bought himself a nice wardrobe of clothes, a fleet of imported cars, and took up residence in a penthouse on the 55th floor of his building.
Jordan’s success did not go unnoticed and the source of his wealth was no secret to the police. Despite this, he remained untouchable. Any eager detective who foolishly sought to take down the Emperor of Vegas was immediately thwarted. A lucky few retired from law enforcement after “coincidentally” winning a fortune in the Sumatra Casino.
Most simply disappeared.
That evening, Dimitri Jordan had summoned the twelve men of his inner circle to his office. These men were collectively known as “Lieutenants”. A Lieutenant, once promoted, held his post for life. Openings were rare and competition to be among the noble twelve was fierce.
The job came with its perks. Instant millionaire status was awarded, plus each Lieutenant received a luxury villa in the Sumatra Hotel and a pearl-white Range Rover from the White Fleet. To symbolize their status as men above the law, each was given a silver-clad, .45 caliber 1911 pistol, which they wore at all times with pride.
The life of a Lieutenant, however, came with serious risk. Dimitri Jordan’s moods often determined the difference between life, death, and all levels of suffering in between.
That night, his dark mood loomed like a thundercloud, ready to release a flood of misery at any moment.
A bodyguard handed Jordan a folder, the contents of which he laid on his desk page by page. Photographs of two burned corpses were included with pictures of the destroyed Sunset View Motel. Jordan studied the pictures for a while, his face revealing little about his internal thoughts. He then picked up a typed fire marshal’s report and read it with a single eyebrow raised high. Jordan laid down the paper and looked to his Lieutenants.
“When a lion eats his meals, what do the hyenas do?”
The question was odd, and clearly rhetorical. Pens scribbled furiously to record whatever wisdom would follow.
“They wait. They wait and they take what the lion leaves after he has had his fill. That is his right as the lion; to eat first and to eat all he desires. The lesser animals will take what the lion gives them and be thankful for it.”
He clasped his mighty paws over his table.
“You see gentlemen, hyenas do not interfere with lions. Even the simplest hyena understands his place beneath the lion. This city is a jungle. It has many hyenas which I, the lion, must rule. It is a harmonious circle of order that I have built, and every one of my subjects knows the hell that awaits them if they disturb it.”
Dimitri was referring to the scores of local gangs which he ruled. Each had its own parcel of turf allotted to them and they paid a hefty tax for the privilege of operating there. It was unheard of, unthinkable for them to act against Dimitri or anyone under oath to his empire.
He pressed a finger to the pile of pictures “Whoever did this to us… did this to me, is clearly not a hyena,” He paused and looked around the room. “Does anyone know what he is?”
An experienced Lieutenant spoke up. “He must be an outsider, Sir. Your subjects know their place.”
“Exactly,” Dimitri nodded. “This is deliberate defiance. The audacity of which exceeds the capacity of the lower animals. An outsider has stumbled into our kingdom gentlemen, and he wants what we have. He wants a war.”
Dimitri took a sip from his special vodka then turned his attention to a nervous looking Lieutenant in a gray suit.
“Jacob,” he said coolly.
“Yes, Sir?” the Lieutenant answered. With nine years’ experience, he was Dimitri Jordan’s second in command.
“This dead man they found in the ashes of my motel, he was your employee, correct?”
“Yes, Sir. Ian was working for me,”
“The motel was managed by you, yes?”
“It was, Sir,”
“This city is governed by the unwritten law that any man who swears allegiance to me or to one of my twelve Lieutenants will be
safe. We are all that stands between anarchy and prosperity, chaos and order. Las Vegas is a better place because we are its rulers. Do you all understand the seriousness of this matter?”
All nodded. Jordan turned to face Jacob.
“Please explain to me how a man under your supervision, working inside a property under your protection, could suffer a fate like this?”
Every pulse in the room stopped and the group faded to an uncomfortable silence. Dimitri Jordan’s complete control of the city revolved around the notion that all who were loyal to him were untouchable. The consequences for accidental breaches in the code were horrifying enough. This time, however, Jordan had been intentionally violated… someone was going to pay.
Jacob cleared his throat. He was visibly afraid but he also knew how to stand trial with dignity; his high rank was not unearned.
“Ian was ordered to purchase the book used by the Petrov Crime Family to run their opium operation. He was to meet…” Jacob quickly looked through his notes. “Andrew Kremenski. Kremenski was a long time personal friend of Ian’s. Kremenski claimed that he could steal the book from Red Star Tower and deliver it to us in exchange for five million dollars. It was a fair price to pay, considering the tremendous profitability of the Russian opium business. Also, avoiding direct confrontation with Lukas Petrov was a priority for this job.”
Jordan held up a hand. “Hold on Jacob. Can someone tell me where we are with Lukas Petrov?”
Jordan’s fourth in command, Sterling Jules, stood to deliver the intel to his boss.
Sterling said, “As you all know we have been purchasing opium from the Petrovs for several years. We know that the Russians were unhappy with the deal, but our control of the key distributors left them with no choice but to cooperate.”
Sterling pulled out several sheets of paper with bank statements recorded in red and black ink.
“Our accountants found that Lukas Petrov was running some of the money we paid him through an account associated with the Friends of Law Enforcement Fund. We believe that the Russians struck a deal with someone in the LVMPD as part of a protection racket with the police. There’s no other explanation for these transactions.”
Jordan pulled out a pen and took a few notes at his desk while he considered the new information. “And the connection to Andrew Kremenski?” he asked.
Jacob stepped in. “Lukas Petrov was Kremenski’s immediate supervisor at Red Star Finance Company, the shell corporation used by the family to launder their opium money. They trusted Kremenski with protecting the master binder, but he was not loyal. Andrew liked money, Sir. He was happy to sell the heart and soul of the Petrov’s business for the right price.”
“It appears that the Petrov Family has a greed problem,” Jordan commented. A few polite chuckles signaled that his men agreed. Greed was the number one cause of death in their line of work.
“Very well,” Jordan said. “The Petrovs are of minor concern to us now. The book please.”
Jordan stretched out a hand expectantly. Jacob shifted uncomfortably on his feet.
“Ahem?” Jordan prompted.
“We don’t have it.”
Jordan’s eyes narrowed. “Excuse me?”
“We couldn’t get the binder… the Russians didn’t have it.”
There was an awful moment of silence.
“You shot at police officers today…” Jordan said slowly. “Now you have nothing to show for it. Is that what I’m hearing?”
The temperature in the room plummeted. Jacob nodded meekly and broke into a cold sweat. Jordan said nothing for a while, which was a thousand times scarier than if he had just started screaming at Jacob right there. That wasn’t Jordan’s way. His was a calculated form of anger.
“In your eagerness do to this job quickly, it appears you failed to do it properly. That is a grave error,” Jordan said coldly.
Jacob responded, “I agree, Sir, and I apologize. Initially we made several attempts to capture Lukas Petrov, but he was too well-protected. Seeing that Lukas couldn’t be cornered, I tried a more subtle approach by instructing Ian to bribe Andrew Kremenski for the binder.”
“Where were you when the deal was taking place?” Jordan demanded. “You took five million dollars for the purchase of a binder, yet here you are with empty hands.”
“I was monitoring Lukas Petrov’s activities that night,” Jacob said in defense. “He’s a dangerous man, we all know this. I thought that the best way to protect Ian was to ensure Lukas Petrov did not try to interfere with the deal.”
“And how did that work out for you?” Jordan replied with a damning tone.
Jacob took a breath; he knew that the next few words he spoke could possibly be his last.
“Mr. Jordan, an unknown person was present during the transaction. I can tell you that it wasn’t Lukas Petrov, but that’s all I know right now. Whoever he was, he killed both Ian and Andrew Kremenski. To cover his tracks he set the Sunset View Motel on fire. The following day, thanks to your quick thinking of course, we were able to catch a pair of Russian agents fleeing the scene. We executed them as you ordered, but they didn’t have the binder.”
Jacob signaled to another Lieutenant who quickly produced two duffel bags of cash and laid them at the Emperor’s desk. Jordan, who had extensive experience in estimating sums of cash based on the size of the stacks, noticed immediately that the bags were too small.
“Two of your men died fighting with the police today, Jacob,” he growled. “You have no binder for me. And now you insult me with this… this… refund. Where is the rest of my money?”
“Whoever has the binder probably has the rest of the money,” Jacob said quietly.
“Who is that? Do you have any leads?”
“We don’t know who the assassin was, yet, but the exceptionally brutal nature of the job leads me to believe that the Russians hired an outsider. Someone who could send a message without truly understanding the consequences of what he was doing.”
A dozen pairs of eyes turned to Dimitri. There was an uncomfortable silence while the men awaited his verdict. Jordan’s eyes narrowed at Jacob.
“I expected better from you, Jacob. Your plan was flawed from the start and we suffered not one but two successive defeats because of it. You alone are responsible for this disaster and you will be disciplined immediately. After you have been punished you will resume your search for the binder.”
“Yes, Sir,” Jacob whispered. It wasn’t a death sentence and for that he was grateful. Whatever torture was to follow, Jacob could take comfort knowing Dimitri Jordan valued his Lieutenants too highly to allow any permanent damage to befall them. An audible sigh of relief filled the room. Jordan’s merciful treatment of Jacob’s blunder was a boost to the men’s morale.
Dimitri stood from his chair and turned his broad back to his audience. The stone-faced bodyguards moved from their place at Jordan’s side and escorted Jacob from the room to carry out the punishment in privacy.
“There is rogue hyena in my jungle; the Petrov Crime Family.”
He swirled the ice in his drink and thought a moment. “The Petrovs hired someone to send us a message. Well, I hear that message. I hear it loud and clear; they want a war.”
His deep brown eyes glared out his window and scanned the glittering lights below as if he was searching for signs of his new enemy.
“Our first order of business will be to hunt down and recover the master binder. Use all resources at our disposal in your search. Second, I want all of you to consolidate your control over our clients. You are to personally meet with the heads of every gang within your jurisdiction to ensure their readiness for the coming conflict. I want our empire united as ever before we embark upon this crusade against the Petrov family. Once we have the master binder we will exterminate the Russians one by one.”
“Finally, and I cannot stress this enough,nno further retaliation against the Russians is to occur until I order it, none. Jacob’s missteps today will cause a grea
t deal of noise in the LVMPD and we must get the police under control before we resume hostilities. Are there any questions?”
There were none.
“Good night, gentlemen,” The Lieutenants gathered their things and shuffled out in silence. Dimitri returned to his grand chair. He took a final sip from his glass before picking up the gold and ivory phone on his desk.
“Connect me to Sheriff James E. Wyatt,” he ordered.
“Right away, Mr. Jordan,” the operator replied.
16
“I ’m serious mister; you better find that nametag! We have an image to uphold, we represent the Sumatra experience!”
“Goodnight to you too, jackass,” Adam muttered.
Keith was four years younger than Adam but rose quickly through the ranks to become the valet manager, a position which he held with a great sense of accomplishment. He was demanding, obnoxious, and easily earned the ire of most of his staff. His unwavering loyalty to their employer was sad if not entirely off-putting. Adam wondered if Keith had the Sumatra Employee Mission Statement tattooed on his chubby body somewhere.
When the beady-eyed boss finally waddled out of the breakroom, Adam was alone. It had been a long shift – just over nine hours were spent on his feet and bustling about for demanding guests. When the door shut behind Keith’s back Adam held up a middle-fingered salute.
Good riddance.
At the end of each shift Adam liked to spend a little extra time in the small employee breakroom to sip down a cup of coffee before leaving. Coffee was free to all employees and it was the same coffee that the casino served to its guests. The stuff was like black gold.
Adam was pouring another half cup for himself when the door flew open. Keith’s explosive re-entry caused him to jump and spill scalding hot coffee all down his front.
“Dammit Keith!” he shouted and hurried to the sink to run cold water over his burned hand. “What gives man?”
“Don’t give me that attitude! I need you for some overtime right this instant. Get out there!”