by Ryan Stygar
Ramirez stood to leave with the others but the Sheriff seized him by the shirt collar and shoved him back down.
“Not you,” he said through gritted teeth.
“You got a problem with me?”
“What the fuck did you do?”
“I was attacked and I defended myself. That’s what I did,”
“You’re so full of shit. You wanted this to happen, you couldn’t wait to take a shot at the Sumatras because of what happened to your house and you forced this, didn’t you?”
“They’re a bunch of gangsters! It’s our job to get them under control,”
“Your job is to keep the peace! Antagonizing Dimitri Jordan is not the way to do it!”
“His Lieutenants opened fire on me and my officers twice – twice! Do you really expect me to just sweep that under the rug?”
“I expect you to get with the program,”
“The program?” Ramirez said. “What program? You mean the one where my reports just disappear anytime a Sumatra guy gets named? Is that the program you want me to get with?”
Wyatt got in his face. “There’s a dead police officer lying in a morgue right now, I expect you to get with whatever program I say if it keeps that kind of shit from happening again,”
Ramirez had murder in his eyes. “You’re blaming me for what happened to Brett?” he snarled. “After everything the Sumatras have done, you’re putting this on me?”
“Better you than the most dangerous man in the city! We can’t possibly survive a war with Jordan, but we can sure as hell survive without you,”
“Jesus Christ,” Ramirez scowled. “You care more about him than you do about your own officers,”
Wyatt shoved Ramirez in the chest. “Brett Li’s blood is on your hands!” he bellowed. “Don’t you forget that!”
Ramirez’s rage reacted before his mind could temper his response. With a mighty thrust he shoved Wyatt so hard that the old man fell flat on his back. Wyatt gasped from the ground. “Why you insubordinate –
Ramirez bent down and seized Wyatt by the shirt. He shook the Sheriff violently and glared at him. “I want you to think carefully about who you are dealing with, Sheriff. Look at me… look at my face. I know you’re in Jordan’s pocket. You can try whatever you want with me but mark my words I won’t let you get away with it,”
Wyatt threw a punch but Ramirez caught his fist and twisted his arm so hard that he yelped like a wounded dog.
“Resign!” Ramirez hissed. “You’re not worthy of that badge! Resign and that will be the end of it. Walk away,”
“You have no idea what you’re stirring up,” Wyatt snarled. “I’ll have you thrown in prison for this!”
“For enforcing the law? Is that what you’ll put me in prison for?” He threw Wyatt back down to the ground. “You have nothing on me you vile snake,”
Ramirez stood and brushed off his wrinkled uniform. “I’m going upstairs to pay my respects to a fallen brother. You should just crawl back to Dimitri Jordan’s lap where you belong,”
Ramirez spit on Wyatt’s shirt and turned to walk away.
Wyatt laughed, then howled, then cackled like a maniac. “This isn’t over. I swear to God I’ll have your heart on a plate you self-righteous piece of shit,”
“I’d like to see you try,” Ramirez said. “When Jordan is gone you’ll have no one left to protect you, then Las Vegas will see you for what you really are,”
He turned, left the room, and slammed the door shut behind him.
When Ramirez was out of sight Wyatt panted heavily, then sputtered. It took every ounce of his strength to put on a fierce face while Ramirez pounced at him. Adrian Ramirez was easily the most aggressive officer on the force. He was borderline insane, and Wyatt feared that he might be crazy enough to really kill him if he got the chance.
Jordan would save him, it was the only way. He had to get Ramirez silenced before he could do any more damage.
35
Dimitri Jordan’s Office, Sumatra Hotel, 9:15AM
O mar Khalid had been working in Dimitri Jordan’s office since sunrise. Born in Iran, Khalid’s family emigrated to the United States just days before the start of the Iran-Iraq war. His father was a skilled engineer and quickly found work in Las Vegas during the mega-resort construction boom of the early nineties. Omar followed the family legacy and joined his father’s engineering firm where he personally worked on the Palazzo and the Wynn. He was fluent in English, Farsi and, most importantly to Dimitri Jordan, Arabic.
Khalid learned early on not to ask questions. He also learned to never disclose anything he saw or heard while working for the most powerful man in Vegas. It was an important lesson to remember as he worked through the pages of the Russian opium binder. Each page had instructions laying out detailed plans for the cultivation and distribution of Taliban-controlled opium supplies. Pickup dates and encrypted satellite phone numbers were written into the margins.
Khalid pointed to a passage. “It says here that a C-17 Globemaster Three will be arriving at Nellis. There will be four tons of pure opium aboard. All of it is spread out in crates.”
“Does it say when the plane arrives?” Jordan asked, taking notes.
“It’s scheduled for tomorrow night. It says that the flight crew will store all four tons in three empty cement trucks that are scheduled to be released from a tarmac maintenance project,” Khalid tapped on four photographs. “These are the guys you’ll need to meet. It says that they each get fifty thousand for their cut.”
Jordan nodded. It was a bold move going after the Russian opium trade, but it was all about to pay off. Once he cut the pure opium down and turned it over to his dealers he would reap millions in profit. With Khalid working as a translator, he could then secure all the information he needed to keep the Petrov opium empire humming along as usual.
He looked to Khalid. “Thank you very much Omar. We are about to make a lot of money.”
Khalid smiled uncomfortably. Jordan had brought him close over the years, but never this close. This was an international narcotics deal with a terrorist organization; the Taliban of all things! He shuddered and silently begged Allah for forgiveness. Surely the great and forgiving God would understand that Dimitri Jordan was not a man he could say no to.
Still, Khalid had family who lived in constant fear of the violence wrought by the Taliban. He could send whatever money Jordan paid him to help his relatives, but it seemed like small consolation for such a betrayal.
A guard knocked and poked his head inside the office.
“Mr. Jordan, Sheriff Wyatt is here, he says it’s urgent.”
Jordan rolled his eyes. “He thinks everything is urgent. Send two Lieutenants in first. I want him to see that we are still strong despite our casualties from last night. Bring him in once they are ready.”
The guard bowed. “Very wise, Sir.”
Jordan then dismissed Omar Khalid, who left in such a hurry that he nearly collided with Jordan’s incoming Lieutenants.
Jordan curled his finger in a come hither motion toward his guard.
“Yes, Sir?” the guard asked.
“Did Mr. Khalid seem a little squirrely to you?”
The guard shrugged. “He seemed uncomfortable, yes; our business can be alarming to some people.”
Jordan stroked his chin. “I want you to keep an eye on him for a few days. Make sure he doesn’t do anything stupid,”
“Of course, Sir.”
The two Lieutenants arrived at Jordan’s desk with their silver .45 pistols ready.
“How is Watson doing?” Jordan asked them.
“Some cuts and bruises but nothing serious,” answered one. “He crushed a police officer with his car but we were able to pay off the witnesses.”
“And the others?”
“Kellen is dead, Sir,” he replied sadly. “He was shot through the head by Adrian Ramirez, the sergeant with the scar on his face, our men saw him fleeing the scene.”
“Kellen W
ayward is dead,” Jordan said. “And Watson can’t walk across the street without Adrian Ramirez popping up to harass him. It seems to me that the police are becoming an increasingly difficult problem for us.”
“What do you want to do, Sir?”
“Let’s see what Wyatt has to say for himself first, I’ll have a decision shortly.”
The Lieutenants stood upright at the sound of Wyatt cracking open the door. They took up posts behind Jordan’s desk like a pair of guard dogs.
Wyatt looked frazzled as he shuffled toward Jordan’s mahogany desk. “We have a big problem.”
“I heard,” Jordan said. “Two LVMPD officers attacked my men last night.”
Wyatt started to say something but Jordan held up a hand.
“I don’t want to hear excuses. Just tell me what happened.”
“Excuses?” Wyatt scowled. “Who the hell do you think you’re talking to?”
“I’m talking to the guy who let two little pigs off their leash. Now one of my Lieutenants is dead. How could this happen?”
“You know I’m still the Sheriff, Dimitri,” Wyatt huffed as he pulled a chair in front of Jordan’s desk. “A little respect would go a long way.”
“Burying good, loyal men doesn’t put me in a very respectful mood, James.”
Wyatt brushed off Jordan’s hostility. “Look, you lost a Lieutenant last night. I know that hurts, I’m sorry. But you need to empathize with me for a minute; we both took casualties. I have to bury Brett Li without stirring up more shit than we already have. Do you realize how hard it’s going to be to keep his widow and his kid from asking questions? On top of that I have a sergeant who just went totally rogue on me. I do not have an easy job here!”
“Adrian Ramirez,” Jordan said bluntly. “I know it was him who killed my Lieutenant. He’s become a liability for both of us and he needs to go.”
“How did you…?”
“My guys saw him put two bullets into Kellen’s skull,” Jordan shook his head angrily. “We can’t allow that to go unanswered. Lieutenants are not to be touched.”
“Fine by me,” Wyatt said. “Ramirez is out of control; I need you to take him out. I don’t care how you do it just get rid of him.”
Jordan laughed. “Are you serious? I was about to ask you to take him out. I’m not executing a police sergeant – not in this climate,”
“Oh but you’ll sign off on a drive-by shooting at his home, is that how this works?”
“The intent was to scare him straight, not to kill him. This is an entirely different situation and it falls in your lap, not mine.”
“Do you realize what you’re asking me to do?” Wyatt stuttered.
Jordan turned his head to face his Lieutenants. “What was the point of getting into business with Mr. Wyatt in the first place? Do either of you remember?”
“To keep the police in line, Sir,” one answered. The Lieutenant had a stone cold glare that made Wyatt shiver.
“Ah yes… I remember now,” Jordan said. He turned to look at Wyatt. “If you can’t do that, then I think I might need to find someone who can. Do I need to put out a wanted ad for a new Sheriff?”
Wyatt’s jaw dropped. “Are you kidding me? After all these years I ask you for one thing –
“One thing? I remember sending you a lot of money very recently.”
“Your Lieutenant caused that, not me.”
“Well what about the investigation? Is it dead?”
Wyatt shook his head. “We were too late to fix the witness statements. I can’t use a skinny white kid when there are four official reports describing a black male in a white Range Rover.”
“Then go find a black male in a white Range Rover.”
“That doesn’t cut it. I’ve got Feds breathing down my neck, I have attorneys covering my desk with letters, and to top it off I have an internal menace to handle. I’m getting clobbered on all fronts and I need your help here.”
“I already gave you a lot of help,” Jordan said coldly. “It’s not my problem that you don’t seem to know what to do with it.”
“You paid half of what I needed! I need at least another five hundred to get clear and even that will only buy me time. Do you think I’m pocketing all that cash? You have no idea the kind of heat all these shootings are causing me!”
Wyatt was so upset that he was hopping up and down in his seat. “Dammit Dimitri! I have to arrange a public funeral for a cop that was killed by one of your guys. I need money and I need a scapegoat or we are both going down for this mess!”
Wyatt was panting at the end of his plea but the words seemed to finally get to Jordan. The mighty gangster leaned forward in his seat and waved at one of his Lieutenants to step closer to him. They whispered for a few seconds and Jordan tapped on a piece of paper on his desk. The Lieutenant nodded and stood back up. Wyatt tried to crane his neck to see what they were looking at but shrunk back in his seat when Jordan looked at him.
“I’ll meet you halfway,” he said. “When is the funeral procession?”
“In a couple days. I’ll be giving a speech at headquarters. What does this have to do with–
“You still sit on the board for the Friends of Law Enforcement Fund, yes?” Jordan asked, talking over him.
“Well… yeah I still have some pull there. Why?”
Jordan simply nodded. “I know what people think about me – they think I’m the modern Al Capone. The only reason I’m not in prison is because I pay so much money to keep it that way. Your little problem presents an opportunity to win some goodwill.”
“It’s not a little problem,” Wyatt protested. “Ramirez is dangerous, so is the fallout from the shooting on the Strip. I can’t stall much longer.”
Jordan stood from his seat. “Then stop stalling and get to work. I will make a sizeable donation to the Friends of Law Enforcement Fund. I’m also going to give a speech since I’m guessing now is a good time to show the city that I’m not such a bad guy after all. I assume you can skim what you need from the fund?”
“I mean, I’ve done it before, but it’s incredibly risky…”
“I didn’t ask if it was risky, I asked if you could do it. Yes or no?”
“Jesus…” Wyatt whispered to himself. “I can’t believe I’m about to do this again. Yes.”
“Good.”
“What about the scapegoat?” Wyatt asked.
Jordan shook his head. “Halfway means halfway. You’ll get your money but I’m not giving up a Lieutenant alive; that’s not how this works. If you need a warm black body to throw in jail then go find one on the street and lock him up. This isn’t complicated.”
“But Dimitri –
“We’re done here.”
The Lieutenants left Jordan’s side and began to usher Wyatt out the door.
“We need to work together!” Wyatt called as he was pushed outside. Jordan held up a hand.
“Wait a minute, gentlemen,” The Lieutenants stopped in their tracks. “Sheriff Wyatt,” he began. “I feel now is a good time to remind you that my Lieutenant’s silver guns outrank your officer’s silver badges. I am going to give you all the money you need. Make the problem go away.”
Wyatt was visibly insulted. “I wear a gold badge, Dimitri. At some point you need to take some advice from me. I’m not one of your subordinates,”
Jordan reached behind his back with a smirk and drew a gold-platted 1911. “That’s why I carry this,”
He pushed the Sheriff out the door with a single hand. “Make the problem go away,”
Once the Sheriff was outside Jordan’s office, the Lieutenants could not help but laugh. “That was good, Mr. Jordan. I think he might have pissed himself.”
Jordan gave his Lieutenant a sideways grin. “Hopefully it sets him straight. I’m afraid Mr. Wyatt might have outlived his usefulness. What do you think?”
“He’s costing us a lot of money without any results,” one of the Lieutenants said.
“I agree,” added the other.
“Wyatt’s more trouble than he’s worth.”
36
St. Judith’s Home, 11:00am
A dam sat against the headboard of Lily’s twin sized bed as he rocked her back and forth against him. When she was peacefully asleep Adam patted down her messy tufts of blonde hair and tucked her in for her nap. Vince sipped his coffee as he cleaned up the coloring books that the trio had played with during their visit.
“She’s lucky to have you, Adam,” Vince said as he dropped a handful of crayons into a box. Adam took a seat at one of the two chairs by the foot of Lily’s bed.
He frowned, “I wish I could do more. All this shit from the past few days... If I knew what was going to happen–
“But you didn’t,” Vince interrupted, “and there’s no way you could have known. I’m just glad you’re okay.”
“For now,” Adam replied. “I don’t want to do the deal for the cops… it just… it didn’t feel right man. There’s something fishy about that Sheriff. I don’t want to get caught up in it,”
“Well, what other options do you have?”
“I don’t know,” Adam said. “I can make sixty grand if I do the job for the hot Russian chick, but then I have to sneak around Jordan’s guys and that might get me killed.”
“We have to get you out of town. This whole situation is spiraling out of control.”
“Tell me about it,” Adam puffed. “But how? I already cashed Viktoriya’s check, so that’s ten grand. Other than that all I have is a totaled pickup truck.”
He nodded toward Lily. “And I can’t take her anywhere until I pay off the debt and make arrangements somewhere else. Do you know how much money that’s going to take?”
“There has to be a way to get some cash without killing anybody,” Vince said.
“I can only think of one.”
Vince knew what that meant, and he didn’t like it.
“Don’t,” he warned him. “How many times are you going to lose before you realize the casinos aren’t the answer?”
“The only alternative is to murder a guy or jump into bed with a dirty cop!” Adam retorted, a bit louder than he’d intended. He softened his tone, “I don’t see another way to get the money fast enough.”