The Emperor of Vegas

by Ryan Stygar

  What a mess I’m in. What an absolute fucking mess. Adam was still shaking his head as he placed his first bet. He lost a thousand dollars in a matter of seconds, which was scary enough to make him step away from the table to catch his breath. He hoped he’d be able to hold onto the money until Ty called. Better yet, he hoped against hope that he could just win enough to skip out of town before things got worse.

  Adam tried to play slowly to cut his losses, but he never found a lucky streak. By the time the phone in his pocket buzzed with a message from Ty Marcus, he was down to his final thousand dollars. “Saved by the bell,” he sighed as turned away from the table to flip open his phone. Darlene handed him another gin and tonic as he sat down at the lounge to read Ty’s instructions.

  “Meet in bathroom. Cobra has a gift for you. Code word is badger. Answer is honey.”

  Adam texted back “OK” and shut the phone with a shudder. This is some CIA-level shit.

  The restrooms were luxurious in the way a Gilded-age gentlemen’s lounge might be, with large silver windows adorned with golden frames and expertly polished stone counters by the rosy brass sinks. Adam stepped lightly inside, noting with a hint of unease that the bathroom was empty. He looked around and saw one stall was closed and, behind it, a pair of legs wearing brown leather shoes was waiting for him.

  “Badger,” Adam whispered.

  “Honey,” replied a deep voice from behind the stall. The door opened and a black man about six feet tall wearing an expensive brown suit with a light blue tie stepped forward.

  “Are you Cobra?” Adam asked, feeling more than a little silly when he did. Cobra nodded.

  “I have some venom for you.”

  He held out a hand with too little glass vials. It was just clear liquid, completely unassuming despite its deadly purpose.

  “Shit,” Adam whispered, looking around his shoulder while he snatched the poison from the man’s hands and jammed it into his pocket. “You want me to poison him? Are you crazy?”

  Cobra shook his head. “I don’t want anything. Ty Marcus commands on behalf of Dimitri Jordan and so we must obey.”

  “Two vials?” Adam asked, incredulous.

  “The first vial is Jordan’s wrath, use it to kill Mikhail. The second vial is Jordan’s mercy. If you’re captured the Russians will torture you for weeks; drink the poison for a swift and peaceful end,”

  Adam opened his mouth to say something, but only managed to gulp like a fish.

  Without another word the man called Cobra slinked past Adam and left. Adam’s heart thumped hard against his ribcage. He was so anxious that he jumped when his phone buzzed in his pocket.

  “One vial in his cocktail. Death is almost immediate,” read the text from Ty. The phone buzzed again. “Call when he drinks it. Ambulance is ready.”

  Adam just stared at the screen. He didn’t want this. His gamble to bait Ty into coming to the Aria so that the cops could nab him had failed. Ty was pulling the strings to Mikhail Petrov’s murder from far away – and Adam was attached to those strings. He splashed some water on his face to calm down and the phone buzzed again.

  “OK?” said the text.

  Adam shook his head, not really, he thought. He texted “OK” back and headed back to the high limit room.

  Mikhail Petrov was teetering in his seat at the Baccarat table when Adam entered. A drunk with a borderline gambling addiction, Mikhail was guzzling down cocktails like water and throwing chips on the table like he was trying to get rid of them. He was on a hot streak (whether he was aware of it or not was up for debate) and the colorful pile in front of him seemed to grow no matter how recklessly he wagered his bets.

  When Darlene passed the table, Mikhail shot out an arm and pulled her uncomfortably close to order more drinks. He squeezed her bottom as she turned to fulfill his order, then laughed as he threw more chips on the felt.

  Adam was ready to accept that people handled grief in their own way, but the laughing, drinking, gambling Mikhail Petrov looked nothing like the bereaved father he had met previously. Something wasn’t right, Adam knew, but his mission was the same nonetheless; Mikhail Petrov had to die.

  Darlene bustled away from the gaming tables and approached the wide U-shaped bar that separated them from the high rollers lounge.

  Adam followed.

  With one hand feeling the vials of poison in his pocket, a plan was forming in his mind. The bar had only a single bartender and Darlene was busy shuttling drinks to the guests; he needed only a brief distraction to make his move. Adam walked quickly to the bartender and got his attention.

  “What will it be?” he asked. Adam pointed to a table full of older Asian men who were smoking and laughing over a game of Pai-Gow poker.

  “Those are some business friends of mine. I’d like to send each of them a glass of uh… Old Southern Belle Whiskey. They’ll love it.”

  The bartender cocked his head sideways. “Old Southern… I don’t think I’ve heard of it.”

  “Oh I’ve had it here before, it’s very good,” Adam insisted. “Can you check for me?”

  The bartender shrugged and set to work looking for the imaginary liquor. While he was distracted, Adam turned his attention to Darlene on the other end of the bar. She had just unloaded a tray of empty glasses and was preparing fresh drinks for the guests.

  “Why, hello beautiful,” Adam said with a cocky grin. Darlene was making drinks beside her tray when she looked up to greet him.

  “You’re sweet,” she chimed. “What can I do for you?”

  “I’d like to order a drink, but I’m not sure what it’s called.”

  He walked closer to her and angled his waist so that the poison vials in his pocket were facing the tray of drinks. Edging closer made him feel like a creep, but he had to get as close to her tray as possible to pull this off.

  Darlene was used to getting hit on by the patrons, and truthfully she didn’t mind. When a guy hung out for more than a few hours in a high limit suite it usually meant two things: he was lonely and he was loaded. Either of those meant a good tip was forthcoming if she only humored him a little. Darlene put on a flirtatious smile.

  “Well what is the drink, darling?”

  Adam pointed to Mikhail. “I like what he’s having, what was that?”

  She smiled and nodded toward a Y-shaped cocktail glass filled with brown liquor next to her serving tray. “It’s our house special, it’s similar to an Old Fashioned and its very popular here.”

  Noting glass destined for Mikhail, Adam stepped closer to Darlene and leaned against the counter. “Yes I would like that please.”

  His hand was sweaty as he touched the little vial in his pocket. He smiled at her and turned as if he was about to leave – that’s when he made his move.

  With an awkward step he pretended to slip and shoved Darlene’s serving tray off the bar. The empty glasses toppled from the bar and cracked against the floor below.

  “Oh my goodness I am so sorry!” Adam said as she knelt down to clean up the mess.

  “Not to worry, it’s quite alright, Sir,” she said with unflinching courteousness. Adam seized the opportunity to uncap the vial and drop the poison into Mikhail’s drink.

  “Please,” Darlene said, “I’ll take care of this, go make yourself comfortable and I’ll serve your drink in a minute.”

  Adam smiled and retreated to a corner of the lounge so he could watch his dirty work play out.

  His phone buzzed again with another text from Ty.

  “Ambulance is outside. Uniforms with Hope Ambulance patches are our guys. Call when MP is down.”

  “OK” Adam texted back.

  He watched as Darlene loaded her tray with drinks. A tingle of discomfort crept up his spine as she walked to him. He nervously eyed the black camera lenses watching him from the ceiling and tried to act naturally.

  Adam watched Darlene carefully to keep track of the poisoned drink. When she arrived to serve him, he quickly snatched the untainted drin
k from the tray and sent her off with a tip.

  Darlene smiled and headed toward the gaming tables. Adam sipped his cocktail and watched as “Jordan’s wrath” approached its victim. Then, to his horror, Darlene floated right past the Baccarat table and deeper into the high limit area.

  “Shit!” Adam hissed under his breath and sprung up from his seat to catch her.

  Darlene arrived at a group of young men at one of the Black jack tables. Each had a bit of a hot-shot vibe to them. They all had identical, expensive-looking haircuts and large gold watches. To the obvious annoyance of the dealer who was stuck with them, they were having a very loud conversation about how much money they were all making in “finance”. Adam found the whole group repulsive, but he wasn’t about to let a guy drink a glass full of poison simply for the crime of being obnoxious.

  He walked to the table so fast he was nearly running. When he arrived he tried to recover the deadly cocktail while Mr. Expensive-Haircut was flirting with Darlene. Adam leaned over to grab the glass.

  “Hey!” Haircut shouted. “What the hell do you think you’re doing?”

  “Uh…” Adam stuttered stupidly. “I think uh… this is my drink?”

  Haircut scoffed and shoved him away with an elbow. “Piss off loser.”

  “Hey wait a minute,” Adam reached for the drink again.

  Haircut looked to his buddies. “Wow this guy just doesn’t get it does he?” The young hot-shot stood from his seat and glared at Adam. “Do I need to teach you a lesson?”

  “If I could just –

  Haircut slapped Adam’s hand away from the drink. “I said piss off!”

  Darlene intervened.

  “Gentlemen, please,” she said diplomatically, then she turned to Adam. “Sir, all the drinks are the same, I assure you.”

  Adam had made much more of a scene than he intended. Embarrassed, he looked around to see how much attention he’d drawn to himself, then nearly leaped out of his skin at the sight of Mikhail Petrov waddling toward the exit. No! Where the hell are you going old man?! Adam was quickly losing control of the situation.

  “You heard her, move it!” Haircut flung his hand down and slapped Adam right in the balls.

  “Ohhhh!” Adam buckled over while Haircut and his friends laughed at him.

  “Move along little bitch,” Haircut laughed and picked up his drink. While Adam’s groin throbbed in pain, he decided he had bigger problems than trying to rescue the world’s biggest asshole.

  “You know,” Adam said icily. “It wouldn’t kill you to be a little nicer to people.”

  Haircut and his buddies laughed even harder. Adam took off to follow Mikhail Petrov, who was making his way to the bathrooms. Mikhail was grumbling to himself in Russian as he waddled over to a stall and shut the door. Adam watched the old man’s pants bunch up around his ankles as he sat to do his business. Panicking, Adam flipped open his phone and called Ty.

  “Is it done?” Ty asked when he picked up.

  “We have a problem!” Adam hissed as he turned out of the bathroom to keep an eye on the High Limit Lounge. Haircut was halfway done with his poison cocktail.

  “What do you mean?”

  “I mean I messed up! The wrong guy drank the poison.”

  “WHAT?!” Ty exploded.

  “I poisoned the wrong guy! It was an accident!”

  Haircut started gagging. His friends stared at first, confused by what was happening, then started screaming for help when he clutched at his throat and tumbled out of his chair.

  “Someone call 911!” a voice screamed.

  “Oh God…” Adam whispered. “Oh my God I just killed him!”

  “Did anyone see?” Ty asked.

  A crowd of at least twenty people was gathering around Haircut’s convulsing body. Two or three were whipping out phones to call 911.

  “Oh yeah… people are noticing.”

  “You need to fix this!”

  “What do I do?”

  “What do you do?” Ty huffed. “Kill Mikhail Petrov. I don’t care how, just make him dead. I’ll send in the medics to pick up the body.”

  “There’s gonna be real medics in here any minute.”

  “Well you’d better hurry up then!”

  “Shit!” Adam cursed as he snapped the phone closed. A toilet flushed behind him, signaling that Mikhail was about to emerge from his stall.

  “This is insane…” Adam whispered while he frantically looked around for something – anything to help him take Mikhail out.

  39

  A dam’s hand brushed against his belt and an idea came to him. He was shaking his head and cursing his awful luck as he unfastened the leather belt and pulled it from his pants. Get ready, he thought, wrapping the ends of the belt around his hands. Get set.

  The door to Mikhail’s stall opened and the Russian headed to the sink. Go!

  Adam threw himself bodily into Mikhail Petrov and shoved him back into the toilet stall.

  “Gahhh!!!” the Russian screamed. He stumbled back through the door and fell against the toilet. Mikhail fought hard to get back on his feet. Inside the tiny stall, the men battled each other like fighters in a cage match.

  Mikhail threw a fist into Adam’s gut. Before the Russian could hit him again Adam kicked up a foot and buried his heel into Mikhail’s face like a Tae-Kwon Do champion. Adam lurched forward to finish the man off. Their limbs and heads slammed against each other in a death struggle as Adam forced his way on top of Mikhail and wrestled the belt around his neck. Mikhail tugged at the belt like crazy to pull it away, but it was too late. Adam snapped the leather tight around his throat and yanked back as hard as he could.

  Mikhail thrashed about like a wounded bull. In a spitting, gurgling rage he threw Adam left and right against the stall’s walls, but Adam held tight. Without losing his grip he pulled and squeezed harder and harder to choke the man to death.

  His victim gurgle-yelled and his face turned red, then purple, then dark blue. After what felt like forever, Mikhail Petrov convulsed one more time and then slumped over – dead.

  Exhausted from the fight, Adam stumbled back and released his grip on the old man. The corpse slumped over against one of the stall walls. It was hard not to feel bad for the old man, being strangled to death in a bathroom was not the way Adam would want to go.

  “Sorry it had to be this way,” he said to the corpse. “Nothing personal.”

  He was still breathing hard when he pulled out his phone to dial Ty.

  Ty was frantic, “We’re running out of time Adam! The legit medics are on their way!”

  “It’s done!” Adam panted. “I’m in the bathroom, hurry!”

  A minute later Adam heard a commotion outside.

  “EMTs are here!” a woman’s voice shouted. “Hurry he’s over here!”

  “Sorry ma’am,” a male voice said. “We’re here for another patient –another crew is on the way,”

  Four seconds later a pair of men rushed into the bathroom with a stretcher in tow. They wore light blue uniforms with Hope Ambulance patches on their shoulders.

  “Badger,” one called.

  “Honey,” Adam answered. The pair of men hurried to Adam’s stall and helped him hoist Mikhail’s body onto the stretcher.

  “Ty Marcus wants you to come with us.”

  Adam didn’t protest, truthfully he was ready to take just about any ticket he could to get away from that casino. On the way out Adam saw that the crowd around Haircut’s body had grown considerably.

  Adam felt curious eyes lingering on him and the medics as they hauled Mikhail out on the stretcher, but sighed relief that many seemed to lose interest after a minute or so. When they were within twenty feet of the door Adam could see Ty Marcus wearing an EMT uniform and waiting for them in an ambulance.

  “Let’s go!” Ty said as he ran around to open the rear doors. Not even a full block down the Strip, wailing sirens and flashing lights were quickly closing in on them.

  “The real
thing will be here soon, move it guys!” Ty said. He and Adam helped the “EMTs” load Mikhail’s body into the van.

  “Where did you get an ambulance?” Adam asked as Ty shut the doors.

  “Decommissioned van – you’d be surprised how easy it is to get one of these.”

  “So fast?”

  Ty smiled. “Dimitri Jordan’s network is extensive; they don’t call him the Emperor of Vegas for nothing.”

  The sirens were getting closer. Ty’s men gave a thumbs up to signal that they were ready to roll out and Ty made his way to the driver’s seat.

  “By the way, there’s a birthday party for one of the Lieutenants at the Sumatra tomorrow. I suggest you come by with a gift. As a sign of respect it will go a long way to earn you some good will within the Sumatra. Take this.”

  He handed Adam a red poker chip with a gold elephant painted on it.

  “Admission token,” Ty explained as he scooted into his seat. He shoved a thick white envelope into Adam’s hands before he closed the door.

  Adam looked up in surprise.

  “Twenty grand,” Ty said, turning the ignition. “You’ve earned it; Mikhail Petrov was at the top of our list. We’ll be in touch.”

  Ty shut the door and peeled away from the Aria moments before the real deal pulled up. Adam watched Ty’s ambulance speed down the Strip and then take a hard right to get away from the main boulevard – no doubt in search of a shallow grave for their Russian cargo.

  Adam fumbled with the money as he ran away from the Aria. Twenty thousand dollars was a bit shy of what he needed to make a clean getaway, but it was still a lot of money. If he could get the rest of his cash back from the cops then he might just be able to pull off his escape. Given how things seemed to be getting worse for him with each passing day, he figured he had no choice but to risk giving up Ty Marcus. He flipped open his phone and dialed the number that Captain Williams had shoved into his hand.

  “Wyatt here,” answered the voice.