The Emperor of Vegas

by Ryan Stygar

  Vince broke the silence.

  “Look, you’re my best friend. I don’t want you to be defenseless. Please take it,”

  “Vince, I can’t just walk around town with a gun in my pants,”

  “Sure you can! That’s why they call it concealed carry!” Vince patted his hand reassuringly. “Just keep it with you for a while. I’ll feel a lot better knowing you’re safe if someone comes after you again. I’ll even take you to the gun range this weekend for some practice. You’re not gonna say no to free lessons right?”

  Adam accepted the gun. “Well, no I guess not. Thanks,”

  Vince’s smile faded and he quickly swatted Adam’s hand. “Whoa! Whoa! Don’t put your finger on the trigger like that!”

  He grabbed the weapon and checked that the safety was still on.

  “Rule number one;” Vince recited, “never put your finger on the trigger unless you are ready to fire,”

  Adam laughed a little. “Sorry buddy,”

  They spent the remainder of the afternoon listening to music and chatting inside the apartment. When it was time for work, Vince insisted that Adam take the night off to heal from his injuries. Adam agreed. He figured that Keith wouldn’t be asking any questions about his absence, since the fat bastard was responsible getting him kidnapped in the first place.

  Back at the Sumatra, the friends said their goodbyes and Vince disappeared to start work.

  Adam had just sat in his S10 when he spotted something round, slow, and self-important waddling toward the employee entrance. Keith’s beady little eyes met with Adam’s ice cold glare. Keith jumped and turned on his heels to scramble away.

  Adam shuffled out of his seat in a hurry. “Surprised to see me alive, fatboy?!”

  “I had no choice! They were gonna hurt me!” Keith squealed.

  “You sold me out you little shit! I could’ve died!”

  Adam charged at him.

  Keith ran as fast as he could through the rows of cars. He was in such a panic to get away that every few steps he’d stumble against the side of a parked car, leaving a chubby, sweaty hand print behind him.

  “Stay away Adam!” Keith screamed. “I said stay away!!”

  He ran faster as Adam started to gain on him, but his wide hips slowed his progress by getting repeatedly wedged between the tightly packed rows of cars. Being slimmer meant that Adam could weave through the tight spaces much more quickly than his wide-load target, but his wounded leg made catching up to Keith difficult. Spotting a shortcut, Adam slid across the hood of a car to get closer. Keith panicked and darted left, running in a semi-circle around a large van. The two looked at each other through oversized windows on opposite sides.

  Sweat dripped down Keith’s chubby face. “I said I was sorry! They were gonna beat me up! What was I supposed to do?!”

  “You have no clue what I went through last night! Not a clue! I was tortured because of you!” Adam was determined to choke him out. Keith opened his mouth to retort but snapped it shut when Adam lunged at him. They ran in circles around the van, within a minute Adam was closing in. “Oh I’ve got you now fat-ass!”

  Adam’s pocket rang and he skidded to a halt. “Dammit! Not now!”

  He slapped the roof of a sedan in frustration. Jacob’s threat had been abundantly clear; he shuddered at the thought of what would happen if he didn’t answer that phone. Still, he fumed at the sight of his prey escaping him. Apologies and squeals for mercy trailed behind Keith as he ran like a hog escaping the hunt.

  “You’re not off the hook this easy, Keith! I’ll be seeing you again!” Adam took a deep breath to calm himself before flipping open the phone.

  “Hello?”

  “Mr. Friend?” It was Lukas Petrov’s voice. Adam wasn’t sure if he was relieved or not.

  “Speaking,”

  “We will meet tomorrow morning at eight, do you have something for me?”

  “Yeah, yeah I have what you asked for,” Adam’s eyes darted all over the lot. That crazy Russian could be hiding anywhere.

  Petrov didn’t reply right away. He seemed to turn away from the receiver. Adam heard Lukas chattering in Russian with a woman.

  “Umm… Hello?” Adam said.

  “This is very good news,” Petrov said. “Bring the book with you tomorrow. I will meet you in front of the Stratosphere Hotel. Questions?”

  Yeah, would you mind killing the guy that strung me up last night? That would be great.

  “No, I’ll see you – hello?”

  Petrov had already hung up.

  Settling his feud with Keith right then and there crossed Adam’s mind, but there were more pressing (and life threatening) concerns at the moment.

  Lukas Petrov wanted the metal binder and would likely hunt Adam down again if he didn’t get it. On the other hand, if he gave the book to Petrov, then Jacob would have no reason not to murder him. Whatever happened, Adam didn’t want to get stuck playing the “piñata game” with Jacob’s gangsters. Hopefully he could talk Petrov into protecting him.

  Then again, with the book safely in his possession, Petrov wouldn’t have any further need for Adam, so why would he help him? Adam shuddered at the thought of facing Jacob alone. It was going to be a tough sell, but his life depended on it.

  19

  Angels Strip Club, 10:15pm

  C ash rained down in great green sheets onto the velvet seats. Half a dozen dancers cheered and jumped onto the plush seats to start the party as the bills fluttered down.

  “I swear I keep falling in love at this place!” Jacob laughed. An angel-winged beauty danced against his lap while he poured another flute of champagne for himself and the two other Lieutenants. Angels was famous for its performer’s white-feathered wings – the only thing the girls ever wore. When Jacob arrived he paid cash for a private booth with enough space for his entourage to enjoy the company of two Angels each.

  Several bottles of champagne later, the red velvet cushions were littered with little white feathers and crumpled dollar bills. The past few days had been so stressful that Jacob couldn’t wait to log a few hours at his favorite hangout. Somewhere out there, Adam Friend was probably worried sick about getting that Russian book for him. Jacob snickered at the futility of the wretched little man’s task; Adam was going to get beaten and strangled to death whether he succeeded or not.

  Sure, Dimitri Jordan had ordered Jacob to find the book himself, but what did he look like, some kind of errand boy?

  Being a Lieutenant at the Sumatra made him one of the most powerful men in Vegas. That meant that he could have whatever he wanted, whenever he wanted. Right now what he wanted was champagne in his glass and bare breasts in his face. Jacob took a sloppy swig from his glass. Reaching past a pair of naked angels, he handed a stack of cash to his next in command.

  “Have some fun with this, Watson,”

  Watson Lafayette was the second most senior Lieutenant at the Sumatra, making him next in line for Dimitri Jordan’s throne after Jacob. More loyal than he was ambitious, Watson Lafayette served as Jacob’s right hand man in the day to day operations of the Sumatra empire. Watson giggled drunkenly as he took Jacob’s cash. Brushing aside his shoulder-length, neatly braided dreadlocks, he pressed a hand to his forehead and gave a silly salute.

  “Permission to make it rain?” he asked.

  “Fire away, Watson!” Jacob yelled back. With a whoosh! Watson launched four thousand dollars up into the air.

  Jacob grabbed a petite blonde by the bottom and pulled her close.

  “I want you all to myself,” he whispered.

  With a bit too much force he tugged her toward one of the private rooms. He was moving so fast that she was tumbling beside him more than she was walking. He only made it six or seven paces when bright flashes of light at the entrance swept left, then right, then converged right into his eyes. Dumbfounded, he squinted in disbelief.

  “What the…?”

  “LVMPD!” a harsh voice yelled over the music. “Party’s o
ver Jacob! Put your hands where I can see them,”

  The girls screamed and scattered away from the booth. The music screeched to a halt and the club’s bouncers forced all the guests out the door, careful to avoid the police at any cost. Within seconds, two Las Vegas Metro Police officers had cornered Jacob and his men.

  Jacob groaned. “Oh hell no… hell no this ain’t happening here,”

  “I said hands up!” the voice demanded. The sound of a Glock pistol being cocked announced that the intruders meant business. Jacob fumed while he held up his palms.

  The Angels manager peered sheepishly from behind the bar. Alcohol in a nude club was an egregious violation on its own, but the teenaged girls that Jacob was so fond of could get the manager locked away for a long, long time if he got caught. He slinked into a corner and tried to be invisible.

  Jacob swayed a little when he turned to confront the police officers. “You can’t just come up on me like this!” Jacob spat. Watson and the other Lieutenant rose from their seats and inched closer to the pile of jackets at the corner of their booth. Both of them had their silver 1911s concealed under the pile of blazers on the velvet couch. They were just drunk enough to consider making a move for the guns.

  Jacob was livid. “Do you know who I am?” he asked acidly.

  The police officers strode around them like soldiers surveying prisoners of war.

  “I just said your name didn’t I? Jesus you boys look like a bunch of chickens with all those little feathers on you…” the voice laughed. “Hey Brett, do these guys look like a bunch of chickens to you?”

  “Cluck, cluck, cluck,” Brett Li answered.

  The beams of white light separated as the police flanked the gangsters on each side of their booth. Jacob was outraged.

  “You know who I am, but you still have the balls to come here and embarrass me at my favorite club? You’d better have a damn good reason!”

  Sergeant Adrian Ramirez lowered his light, revealing his face to Jacob for the first time. “Reason? I think I do.”

  Jacob’s eyes narrowed at the sight of Ramirez’s unforgettable scar. “You again…”

  “Me again,” Ramirez grinned. “I wanted to thank you for the gift you guys sent me this morning.”

  “Glad you liked it,” Jacob scowled. “There’s plenty more where that came from,”

  “Unfortunately I think it’s the last gift you’ll be sending for a while, since you and your friends here are all going to jail tonight,” Ramirez said.

  “You have nothing,” Jacob said defiantly.

  “Oh but I do,” Ramirez pointed a finger at Watson. “Mr. Lafayette over there left his weapon at my house. Thank goodness you guys are arrogant enough to inscribe your names on those things. This will be the easiest conviction I’ve ever gotten.”

  Jacob shot an angry look at Watson, who grew a shade paler at his boss’s glare. Jacob then straightened up his shoulders and looked back at the policeman.

  “If you arrest me then your career is over. You have nothing. What happened yesterday… never happened; we made sure of it.”

  “Your gang shot at police officers yesterday,” Li said. “Then you shot up a sergeant’s house. Did you really think there wouldn’t be consequences?”

  “Even with Watson’s gun you can’t do shit,” Jacob said. “We’re out of your reach.”

  “Doesn’t matter,” Ramirez snapped. “We’ve caught you red-handed committing all kinds of felonies in here. A bunch of butt-naked teenagers drinking booze in your booth? That’s enough to get you behind bars while I find a way to nail you for good,”

  Terrified at the accusation, the Angels manager jumped from his corner. “Sir! They are of legal age I swear –

  Ramirez whipped his light around and stunned the manager with its bright glare. “I don’t want to hear another goddamned peep from you!” Ramirez roared. “I’ll deal with you in a minute!”

  The manager whimpered and shrunk back against the wall.

  Jacob shook his head. “Damn you have a lot of nerve,” he said. He was slowly lowering his hands toward his waistline when Ramirez got in his face. Inching his hand downward, Jacob slipped a finger into one of his pant pockets.

  “You’re under arrest,” Ramirez said. “Turn around and put your hands behind your back, this is your last warning.”

  Jacob held his silence, unseen, his fingers connected with a metal handle in his pocket.

  “Fuck you,” he snarled.

  In a flash he flipped open a razor-sharp blade and slashed at Ramirez.

  Ramirez’s Marine Corps instincts kicked into overdrive. Instantly he dodged the knife and threw a fist into Jacob’s gut. Jacob tried to stab him again but Ramirez stomped on his foot and threw another perfect punch into his kidney. The blow knocked the gangster flat on his back. Jacob’s blade sliced a thin red line across Ramirez’s knuckles as he fell. Ignoring the pain, Ramirez whipped out his baton and cracked it across Jacob’s wrist to disarm him. With a shriek of pain Jacob lost his grip on the knife and it skittered across the floor. When the blade was out of Jacob’s reach, Ramirez leaped forward to cuff him.

  “Gun!” Li shouted from the other side of the room. Watson had just cocked a Sig Sauer and was aiming it at Ramirez. Li fired several shots to keep him back, but the other Lieutenant leaped up with his gun and started peppering Li’s position.

  “Down!” Ramirez ordered. Li dropped and rolled away from the burst of bullets flying from gangsters’ pistols. Ramirez drew his Glock with the speed of an old Western gunslinger and fired to protect his partner.

  Watson threw himself behind the booth before the rounds barreled into the velvet seats. The three-second distraction was all Jacob needed to jump from the ground and throw a kick right into Ramirez’s groin.

  “Kill them! Kill them both!!” Jacob screamed. He was still clutching his wounded wrist as he scrambled away from Ramirez and toward the exit.

  Watson popped up from behind the booth and shot wildly at the stage where Ramirez was still reeling from Jacob’s sudden kick. Reacting just in time, Ramirez dropped to a knee and slid behind the elevated stage for cover. Watson’s bullets sent glass and splinters raining down on him for several seconds before the blasts from Li’s Glock drew his fire away. With his attacker’s attention re-directed, Ramirez kept a low profile and pressed himself against the wall. He ran behind the stage, then along the rows of tables against the wall and toward the gangsters. Pausing every few yards to deliver quick bursts of suppressing fire, Ramirez steadily worked his way closer and closer toward the gangsters’ position.

  Brett Li took cover behind the bar as Ramirez made his move. From his position, he could see Dimitri Jordan’s Lieutenants hunkered down behind their booth and taking turns popping up to fire at the police. Li was doing his best to keep the gangster’s bullets away from Ramirez, who was lurking in the shadows along the left side of the club. Jesus that guy’s insane, Li thought as he squeezed off several more rounds to cover him.

  Using the battlefield tactics he learned in the US Marines, Ramirez was able to advance undetected until he was right between the retreating gangsters and the exit. As they kept their guns trained at the bar where Li was taking cover, the gangsters planned their next move.

  Jacob ordered his men to leave. “Sterling, you go first! Watson will go next!”

  The Lieutenant named Sterling made a beeline for the door while Jacob stood up and fired wildly at Brett Li to cover him. Watson was the first to realize that only one of the police officers was returning fire. “Where’s the other one?” he yelled.

  “Right here!” Ramirez yelled.

  Ramirez exploded out from the shadows like a berserker. Leaping over the booth with his gun drawn, Ramirez kept a steady stream of fire aimed at Sterling Jules– who was forced to dive out the exit door to avoid being killed. A heartbeat later, Ramirez’s flying kick landed squarely against Watson’s chest. The gangster’s long hair flew back as the ex-Marine’s kick drove him to the ground.<
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  Halfway down the exit hall, Jacob whipped around to kill Ramirez once and for all.

  “Adrian! Get down!” Li screamed.

  Sergeant Adrian Ramirez looked up and saw Brett Li was rushing toward the booth with his Glock drawn high. Li fired three rounds, forcing Jacob to retreat through the exit door. Once he’d driven the enemy gunmen out of the hallway by the booth, Li keyed the shoulder mic of his radio to call for help.

  “Mayday! Mayday!” Li yelled. “Three active shooters at the Angels Strip Club, two officers involved, send back-up now!”

  “Coward!” Jacob yelled from just behind the exit door. “What’s the matter? Can’t fight your own battles?!” he rammed a fresh magazine into his 1911 and then fired blindly at the police through the doorway. Officer Brett Li quickly raised his weapon and returned fire to force Jacob to retreat further behind the door. Outside the club and by the exit door, Sterling Jules appeared at Jacob’s side with his own silver pistol ready for action.

  “We have to get Watson out of there!” Sterling said, flinching as the police officer’s bullets whizzed past him. Jacob waved him off.

  “They just called for help, we have to leave now!”

  Sterling yelped in pain and fell backward. Blood spurted out from the bullet hole in his shoulder, spraying Jacob’s face with a thin red mist.

  “I’m hit! I’m hit!” Sterling screamed.

  Jacob wiped the blood from his eyes, poked his gun around the door, and emptied his magazine at the police inside. He seized Sterling by the sleeve and started to pull him away from the club. “Watson can handle himself; we have to leave before we all get killed!”

  Sterling clutched his bloodied shoulder while Jacob helped him run back to the white Range Rover in the Angels lot. Sirens were blaring in the distance as they peeled out.

  Inside the strip club, Ramirez kept a knee pinned against Watson’s spine as he slapped a pair of cuffs around his wrists.

  “You’ll pay for this,” Watson cackled as the police sergeant stood over him. “You just signed your own death warrants!”

  Ramirez kicked him in the ribs to shut him up. “You just tried to murder two police officers; you’re the one who should be worried,”