by Ryan Stygar
Silent.
His scowl was subtle. In normal circumstances, perhaps one of the Lieutenants would have sensed Jordan’s anger. But the haze of alcohol and beautiful bare bottoms clouded their vision. Jordan’s temper smoldered unnoticed.
“Is it true that you guys killed Lukas Petrov?” a Lieutenant who missed the battle asked. “Mikhail Petrov’s heir, you really killed him?”
“I saw it with my own eyes. Lukas Petrov is rotting in a pit as we speak!” another Lieutenant answered.
“It’s true! That white boy, Adam Friend, he put two bullets into Petrov as he tried to get away!” Jacob added.
“No shit? I thought he betrayed you?”
“That’s what I was starting to think, but it looks like he was just playing the game close to the vest all along! I have to admit, that kid has some balls on him. Ah look! More champagne! Come closer baby, I won’t bite …. too hard!” Jacob smacked her butt and cackled like a hyena.
It had gone on long enough.
At last the Emperor raised a palm. It was a subtle move, but his power was so great that an instant hush settled among the men. The red-headed girl took the opportunity to retreat from Jacob’s grabbing hands.
Jordan said, “Many of our comrades wet the sand with their blood today. They died fighting to protect their Lieutenants. Brave, loyal men like them form the backbone of our organization. Honor them,” Jordan raised his crystal glass and the Lieutenants followed him; good men had died in the name of their noble cause.
“Today, the Russians were dealt a major defeat at our hands. And the whole world saw it. Today the entire city watched as Lukas Petrov was destroyed in my name,” Jordan said. Jacob had a smile stretched ear to ear, but some of the other Lieutenants began to look uncomfortable.
“The world saw our victory today,” Jordan continued. “On the news, on the internet, the headlines are everywhere. Victory is ours, and everyone knows it. We are celebrities now.”
Silence.
“Almost twenty years ago, I brought order to a city infested with thieves and murderers. Everywhere I looked there were lawless junkies and disease-ridden whores. I civilized them. I gave them peace and prosperity and in their gratitude they swore unquestioning loyalty to me,” Jordan’s voice then sank into a low, thundering growl. “Today that peace was broken … and it wasn’t the Russians who fired the first shot.”
Jacob went pale. The men who had eagerly toasted him just minutes ago were now inching away to avoid becoming collateral damage.
“Today, the whole world witnessed our… victory. They watched as one of my Lieutenants shot at Lukas Petrov, in broad daylight, on Las Vegas Boulevard.”
He hurled his crystal glass over the edge of the building.
“ON LAS VEGAS BOULEVARD!!!”
Jacob lost control of his bladder and pissed himself under the water.
Jordan was enraged. “Your bodyguard was shot and killed in the middle of the busiest street in Nevada! Your bullets struck and killed a woman on the sidewalk. A woman! An innocent tourist! And now everyone knows she was shot by a man from the Sumatra. Do you have any idea what your foolishness has cost me? Do you?!”
Every man was paralyzed. The Emperor of Vegas could easily crush a man’s skull with a single hand, but at that moment, the rage in his eyes was enough to break a man’s soul.
“… and the world saw it happen. They saw you. They saw your face, Jacob.”
The Lieutenant was doomed.
“M-Mr. Jordan! I’m sorry!”
“You’ve created two disasters in a single week. There will not be a third!”
Jacob begged and reached for Jordan’s hand. “Please! Please forgive me!!”
Jordan refused to look at him.
“I’m afraid it’s too late for that now… goodbye Jacob.”
Jordan snapped his fingers. Right on cue, two of his guards rushed to the side of the spa.
“No! No! Noooo!!!” Jacob shrieked.
The two men seized him by the head and shoulders as he tried to leap from the water. In seconds he was overpowered and dunked below the surface.
Like fish fleeing from a frenzy of hungry sharks, the other Lieutenants scrambled away from the struggle. Jacob fought with all he had, but the pair of muscular guards held firm, pressing him deeper and deeper below the surface. At one point he managed to wrestle his head up to gasp for air, but his head was quickly forced back down with a splash. They held him there, allowing each passing second to take its lethal toll.
Stunned silence swept across the patio. What unnerved the witnesses most was not the execution, dreadful as it was, but the cold, unfeeling look on Jordan’s face as he watched it happen. When the last twitches of life left Jacob’s body and the final bubbles had disappeared, the guards hauled his limp, dripping corpse out of the spa and carried him away.
The Lieutenants were frozen in their seats. The servant girls, although typically immune to Jordan’s wrath, did their best to hide behind the white linens that swayed in the wind. Only the trickle of Club Nariphon’s fountains broke the uneasy silence.
“We operate in the shadows,” Jordan said in a quiet voice. “Fighting in the streets… to outsiders it looks like we can’t control our own territory. Don’t you see what has happened here? Lukas Petrov dangled a piece of bait out in the open and Jacob fell for it like a fool.”
Jordan slapped the water in anger. “A shooting on Las Vegas Boulevard! How could one man possess so much stupidity?” he wondered aloud.
“When I last gathered you all for council, I said that no retaliation was to occur without my direct order. Have I made myself absolutely clear this time?”
Jordan allowed the seriousness of his command to sink in for a few moments.
The remaining Lieutenants and the small crowd of associates around the pools murmured among themselves. Jacob’s lifeless body was no doubt being loaded into a van destined for some godforsaken corner of the desert.
Less than ten minutes ago, he was a prince, second in power only to the Emperor of Vegas himself. Now he was just another soggy piece of meat to be discarded. It was a rude reminder that no amount of wealth or power could protect them from the whims of their Emperor. They all kept a wary eye on the submachine guns held by Jordan’s troupe of body guards.
After a few minutes, Jordan appeared to be satisfied that discipline had been restored among his ranks. Sitting up in his place he signaled that it was time to return to business as usual.
“It appears our circle has an opening,” he said, gesturing toward Jacob’s vacant seat. He waved to summon a shuddering, terrified-looking concubine over to him. The pretty red-head was no older than nineteen and looked about a quarter the size of the mighty gangster. Without looking at her Jordan said, “Bring Ty Marcus to me, now.”
The girl nearly slipped as she ran off to find Ty. Within a minute she returned with a well-dressed, well groomed, and well-mannered man in his early thirties. His emerald green eyes shined brilliantly against his light-black skin, a feature that had a dazzling effect on women. The petite red-head looked on anxiously, hoping that Jordan did not plan on harming such a beautiful man.
“Ty Marcus…” Jordan began. “You have worked for me for a long time, yes?”
“N-nearly eight years now, Mr. Jordan,” Ty answered, stuttering a bit before gaining his bearings.
“Eight years is a long time in this business,” Jordan replied. “It takes a precise combination of intelligence and ferocity to last that long.”
Detecting no malice in Jordan’s voice, Ty began to relax. The fear that he may have been next on Jordan’s kill-list was rapidly evaporating. He eyed the empty spot in the royal spa. Had his time finally come?
Jordan asked, “How many men have you killed for me, Ty?”
“Four, Sir. Well… five actually. I killed a Russian at the battle today,”
“It’s true,” one of the older Lieutenants said, verifying Ty’s claim. “I saw Ty’s bullets strike and kill one o
f Petrov’s gunmen,”
Jordan nodded approvingly. “Very good. While I am displeased with Jacob’s tactics, I do appreciate your willingness to follow orders. That will go a long way in the years to come.”
A small grin was spreading across Ty’s face. What happened to Jacob was unfortunate, but the fool had his chance; now it was Ty’s turn to write his own legend.
Jordan leaned closer. “Would you die for me, Ty?” he asked.
Ty answered without hesitation. “With honor, Sir.”
Jordan looked him up and down. Ty was dressed to impress – something he always did in the presence of the Emperor of Vegas. The bespoke suit he wore had cost him a fortune, but he knew that if he ever wanted to become a Lieutenant, he would have to start by dressing like one.
“Very well, Ty, your eight years of hard work shall be rewarded,” He gestured toward the empty space in his private spa. “Please, have a seat; you are now a Lieutenant and a member of my inner circle. Congratulations.”
Ty began removing his shoes and jacket, but Jordan halted him. “No Ty, that’s a very nice suit,” he said through pearl-white teeth. “You should keep it on, please, take a seat.”
Ty Marcus may have made it to the inner circle, but he was still Dimitri Jordan’s property, and the Emperor of Vegas was not about to let him forget it.
Jordan’s newest Lieutenant slowly entered the hot water, first with his expensive leather shoes, then his custom tailored pants, then finally, his torso and the fine ensemble that clothed it. Water soaked through his clothes up to his shoulders. When he sat in his place he looked more like a man who’d been conquered rather than elevated to the upper echelons of organized crime.
It was calculation, not sadism that motivated Jordan. Ty Marcus was a good man, but once upon a time, so was Jacob. Jordan was determined not to allow all the wealth and power to spoil his newest Lieutenant like it had done to Jacob. Anything he could do to stem the growth of Ty’s ego, however small, would surely be good for the young man.
Then Jordan changed gears.
“Now that Jacob is dead, all that remains is the mess he left behind,” he said to the Lieutenants. “Time to clean it up. Watson Lafayette, you are now my number two; I want you to move into Jacob’s villa today. Ty will take residence in your old penthouse,”
He turned to the redhead, who appeared greatly relieved that Ty had not been killed. “Bring Adam Friend to me.”
24
A fter the battle in the desert, Jacob and his men had made a beeline for the Sumatra Hotel and Casino. Adam’s hands jittered the whole way. How he survived the morning’s violence without getting shot was beyond him. How he was going to get through the rest of the day alive was even harder to figure out.
The convoy of white Range Rovers pulled into the private section of the Sumatra parking garage where Jordan’s personal vehicles were kept. Ferraris, Lamborghinis, and even an ultra-rare McLaren F1 were lined up in perfect rows all the way to the door. Two expressionless Samoans, each weighing nearly three hundred pounds, took charge of Adam at the entrance.
“These men are Tua and Natano,” Jacob said before heading up to Club Nariphon. “They’ll prepare you to meet with Mr. Jordan. You’ll do exactly as they say and you won’t utter a word unless spoken to. Don’t even think about trying to make a run for it, either. If you do… they’ll cut your dick off.”
Tua chuckled through his rotten yellow grin and brandished a long serrated blade. Natano held out a finger and mimicked sawing it off his hand. Adam gulped and shuffled along beside his new friends.
The Samoans wasted no time stripping off Adam’s clothes and hosing him down with cold water. A housekeeping cart loaded with towels and a light gray suit was delivered and within minutes Adam was swatted dry, stuffed into the suit and whisked to the top floor.
In the elevator he reexamined the label sewn into the lining of his coat. Giorgio Armani. It must have been a thirteen hundred dollar outfit that the Samoans had dressed him in. Would they go through all that trouble if they were planning on executing him?
Tile mosaics swirled with color in the elevator lobby at the very top of the Sumatra Hotel. Red paint adorned the walls, broken only by a series of intricate wood carvings. An imposing doorway dominated the room. Club Nariphon a sign above it read in golden letters.
Adam tried to stay positive as the Samoans pushed him down onto a bench outside the doorway. Jacob could have had him killed, but he didn’t. Instead he was dressed in an expensive outfit and made ready to meet Dimitri Jordan in the most exclusive rooftop pool in Vegas. Jacob was happy, why would he want to hurt him now? Surely he was outside singing Adam’s praises at that very moment.
Club Nariphon’s doors swung open.
Two men with soaked sleeves hurried through the door. Adam’s jaw dropped at the sight of Jacob’s limp, dripping corpse hanging between their shoulders. Nothing was said as they hauled the body to a service elevator and then disappeared to dispose of Jacob in some secret place.
Adam groaned and buried his face into his hands. He was next, he just knew it.
Someone tapped his shoulder a moment later. When he looked up a petite red-headed girl was beckoning for him to stand.
“Mr. Jordan will see you now,” she said, her angelic voice belying the horrible meaning behind her words.
That’s it, Adam thought as he lifted his head from his palms. I’m a dead man walking on the green mile. The red-headed angel padded lightly behind him as he approached the doors of Club Nariphon.
Two fresh guards met Adam at the door and gave him yet another pat-down. Before Adam could register what was happening, his wrists were yanked behind his back.
“Hey! What’s going on?”
His attempt to wriggle free was met by a sharp punch to the ribs. Over his yelling a pair of metal handcuffs locked behind his back. It was all he could do to keep from whimpering as he was hauled through the doors, helpless.
25
E verything outside seemed to glow. Flaming red and orange flowers burst from the green planters floating in the pools like small tropical islands.
Adam sighed jealously at the abundance of life. Bright green palms swayed to the rhythm of thumping house music. Drinks of every variety were served by Dimitri Jordan’s personal harem of beautiful girls. Brightly colored sarongs around their hips caused Adam to nearly stumble over himself. To top it all off, the faint scent of coconut and vanilla seemed to hover over the entire area. If not for the handcuff’s stern reminder that he was still confined to his mortal body, Adam would have thought he had already died and gone to heaven.
Dimitri Jordan’s corner overlooked the Bellagio Fountains, the replica Eiffel Tower and the shimmering glass towers of the Las Vegas City Center. Craning his neck around, Adam took note of the people within the VIP area. Twelve men sat in the jacuzzi before him and they all looked positively morose. It made sense, Adam thought, since they’d all probably just witnessed Jacob’s execution moments before. A younger-looking man in the spa caught Adam’s eye.
Who the hell wears a full suit and tie in a jacuzzi?
One of the guards kept a tight grip on Adam’s biceps while the other rushed beside the royal spa and whispered into the ear of a man with deep black skin and glimmering diamond earrings. It was the Emperor of Vegas, it had to be.
Adam studied the black titan with awe. His skin was wrapped tightly around powerful muscles that steamed from the heat of the jacuzzi. Jordan stepped from the water and accepted a crystal glass of vodka while two topless attendants toweled him off and dressed him in a white robe. Under the shade of his private tent, there was a massive chair carved from one solid piece of marble and adorned in purple and white cushions. A table between Jordan’s throne and a row of smaller seats overflowed with colorful arrangements of beef kabobs, caviar, lobster tails, sushi rolls, fruit, desserts and just about anything else that could be desired. Jordan plucked a cigar from the buffet arrangement and eased into his massive chair.
/> “Bring him to me,” Jordan scowled. Adam was pushed forward and then down onto a small, un-cushioned bench just three or four paces away from Jordan’s throne.
“Get our guest something to drink; a glass of my favorite on ice,” Jordan said.
A silver tray was laid out before the prisoner. Ice clinked and a slice of lime bobbed in the crystal glass. Adam sat there with his wrists cuffed behind his back and just looked at the drink, confused. Well, he thought, this is a little awkward.
Jordan let him sit for a moment. “Adam Friend,” he finally said, “I’m sure you realize how lucky you are to be alive,”
Adam wasn’t sure what to say, so he said nothing.
“I know what you may be thinking,” Jordan said. “I can assure you that I’m not a violent man, despite what you may have seen or heard.”
A servant lit his cigar for him and he puffed it casually.
“It pains me to bear witness to all this bloodshed, Adam. Today I had to bury good men. Men I cared for dearly. It breaks my heart. But the Petrov Family has made their choice. I must respond accordingly.”
Sweat formed on Adam’s brow and trickled down his cheek. The heat of the day was at its peak, and even in the shade it must have been over ninety degrees. Adam eyed the cold beverage in front of him. How long had it been since he’d last had a drink of water? Jordan’s voice boomed again.
“It’s a hot day, aren’t you thirsty?” the gangster inquired.
Jordan read the confusion in his captive’s eyes and then dramatically feigned surprise that his guest had been handcuffed. “Oh of course, please forgive my men; it’s just a standard precaution.” He snapped a finger, “The cuffs won’t be necessary, release him.”
A guard slung his submachine gun over his shoulder and placed a key into Adam’s cuffs. With a click the metal clasps opened and he was free. Adam tenderly rubbed the pink creases in his skin. Jordan smiled and magnanimously gestured that Adam should take a drink from his beverage.
An alcoholic burn singed his mouth when he sipped from the cold glass. Vodka. Adam hated vodka, especially when he was so parched. Suppressing the urge to cough, Adam sucked on an ice cube to quench his thirst after politely draining half the glass. Considering all the exhaustion and terror he was feeling, the liquor was probably good for his nerves, even if drinking it was unpleasant. Jordan leaned forward to speak.