The Emperor of Vegas

by Ryan Stygar

  Lukas tilted his head. “How?”

  “When Jordan’s gone I’ll help you get all your opium business back. After that I can use my control of the police to help you lock down every other narcotics operation in Jordan’s empire. You’ll be billionaires.”

  Lukas thought a moment, then quietly told Wyatt to offer him more.

  “More?”

  Lukas shook his weapon at him. “I said more!”

  “Complete immunity!” Wyatt yelped. “Every time a police report is generated that incriminates Jordan or his men, I destroy it. Any man he wishes is released from custody with all charges dropped; he is literally invincible so long as I am the Sheriff. I will pass all these rights to you, you will be the new Emperor of Vegas.”

  “And what will this cost me?”

  “Nothing of any value to you,” Wyatt pleaded. “Just one man’s life; Sergeant Adrian Ramirez. He’s threatening everything I’ve built.”

  “How so?”

  “He knows too much. He’s caught me several times trying to help Jordan’s guys and just this afternoon I watched a bunch of Feds pick him up. Feds Lukas! If someone doesn’t take him out then I am royally fucked. Do you know what happens then? The entire Las Vegas drug empire will collapse piece by piece, then there will be nothing for you to usurp when Jordan is dead, understand? If Ramirez helps the Feds then all the drug distribution channels will collapse. I need Ramirez dead, you need Ramirez dead. Do this for me and I swear Dimitri Jordan’s crown will be yours for the taking.”

  Lukas thought for a little while. Wyatt tried to say something but the Russian gangster held up a finger to silence him. Without any sense of urgency Lukas drank the rest of his vodka and then stood from his seat.

  “I think we can make a deal. Follow me; I want to show you something.”

  Lukas led the Sheriff outside the study and down the long, wood-paneled walls of the top floor. Dark green carpets, oil paintings and warm lighting made Red Star Tower’s halls look like the interior of a luxury cruise liner. The Petrov Crime Family, though not as rich or powerful as Dimitri Jordan, was still incredibly wealthy. Lukas arrived at a solid wood door affixed with gold plate inscribed with Russian letters. He quietly cracked open the door so Wyatt could see the darkened interior of the conference room behind it. Seven cots were laid out in a neat row. Seven Spetsnaz soldiers were sleeping off their long flight, preparing for the battle to come.

  Wyatt peered through the dark and saw that each cot had identical weapons laid out beside it. Each man had a Russian-made, AKS-74U compact assault rifle with three thirty-round magazines, a Saiga semi-automatic shotgun with two fifteen-round magazines, a CZ-75 pistol with three spare magazines, a portable radio, a smoke grenade, and a tactical knife. At the end of the row of cots, two men had bags filled with Semtex plastic explosives and remote detonators.

  “Sweet Mother-of-Russia,” Wyatt gasped at the warriors and their weaponry. “You’re gonna turn the Sumatra into the Battle of fucking-Stalingrad with all that!”

  “Follow,” Lukas said, ignoring Wyatt’s remark as he shut the door.

  Wyatt followed him up a flight of stairs that led to the very top of Red Star tower. A wave of heat, followed by the sun’s fading afternoon light, greeted the men as they stepped onto the windy observation deck of the tower. Lukas pointed to the silver and blue sheen of the Las Vegas City Center.

  “Beautiful is it not? It was my father’s favorite place to visit. The Aria especially. He said that everyone was always so kind to him there…”

  Wyatt didn’t know what to say, so he simply listened as Lukas walked to the edge of the tower for a better look. “I will never forget the day you arrested us at the Marquee Club,” Lukas continued. “My father had a permanent reservation there. He loved all the modern towers – the Cosmopolitan, the Vdara, the Mandarin and such – he just loved how they seemed to loom over the pools. He loved the sunshine, the beautiful girls, the music…”

  Lukas was looking wistfully at the Strip as Wyatt cautiously stepped to his side. Lukas was clearly in a far-away place while remembering his father. The wind howling at the top of the tower didn’t seem to bother him, despite the tiny two-foot high barrier that protected the men from the twenty story drop to the concrete below.

  Lukas continued, “My father had such a wonderful love for life. I am sorry to say I never quite learned to be as happy or care-free as he was. My sister and I miss him very much.”

  Lukas took a deep slow breath of the desert air, noting the hint of humidity which heralded the approach of a distant storm.

  “Las Vegas is changing, Sheriff Wyatt. Hotels and casinos are growing larger and more glamorous every year. Themed attractions like Excalibur and Treasure Island are becoming like time capsules. The city is turning into a glass metropolis. Now it reminds me more of Dubai than the Las Vegas I used to see in travel magazines.”

  “I see it too,” Wyatt added, mostly because Lukas’s moment of reflection was unnerving and he wanted to say something, anything really, to keep Lukas from delving into any more thoughts of his dead father, which couldn’t possibly bode well for Wyatt. “I don’t know if it’s a bad thing or not, but it’s certainly changing.”

  Lukas motioned for him to step closer as he pointed out the latest additions to the skyline. “Come look. Two new mega-resorts are going up on the north end of the Strip. You see? Each is going to be nearly twice as large as the Sumatra. You say it’s hard to know if it is good or bad, but I think I know. New buildings, new businesses, and now a new Emperor of Vegas… I think it’s a good thing to replace the old with the new. That is called progress, and it’s a beautiful thing.”

  Lukas gazed at the fiery orange sun hovering above the mountains to the west. Wyatt stepped up to join Lukas at his side. He was surprised when Lukas gently wrapped an arm around his shoulders. “A new city needs new leadership, do you agree?”

  Wyatt smiled. “I agree, Emperor Petrov.”

  “Good.”

  Lukas pressed the barrel of his CZ-75 into Wyatt’s belly and squeezed the trigger.

  “Gyyyaahhhhh!!!” Wyatt shrieked and clutched at his bloody guts. “No! Please don’t! Please!”

  “A new Emperor will need a new Sheriff,” Lukas hissed. “Your time is finished.”

  Lukas gripped Wyatt’s shoulder and heaved him over the edge of the tower. Wyatt’s screams of bloody agony echoed for four seconds before abruptly cutting off. Lukas looked over the side to view the splattered remains of the evil Sheriff, then spat at the flattened corpse. He turned to face Ivan and Leonid, who had run up to the observation deck upon hearing the gunshot.

  “Put Wyatt’s body in the back of his Suburban. Leave him in front of his house then return here to prepare for tonight,” Lukas ordered.

  Ivan and Leonid gave a curt nod and hurried off to find a pair of shovels to scrape Sheriff Wyatt off the concrete.

  43

  Federal Building, Downtown Las Vegas, 5:15pm

  T he temporary command center occupied the entire fifth floor of the Federal Building downtown. Sergeant Ramirez was stunned; he hadn’t seen so many federal agents crammed into one place in his entire career.

  Special Agent Patricia Klein, who was in command of the operation, led Sergeant Adrian Ramirez and Special Agent Clayton Burns through the bustling rows of desks manned by federal agents preparing to take down the most powerful gangster in Las Vegas history.

  “How long have you been working on this?” Ramirez asked. He was impressed by the highly detailed organizational charts for the Sumatra gang and the Petrov Crime Family which were plastered on the walls.

  “Just under one year,” Klein said. She opened the door to a small conference room that was separated from the bustle and noise of the main command center. “We hit a road block when Andrew Kremenski was killed, but we caught a break when one of Jordan’s employees defected.”

  “Will it help any if I told you who killed Kremenski?”

  “Not really,” Patricia
Klein said, leading the way inside. “We are more interested in why Kremenski’s file kept vanishing from the LVMPD database. The US Marshall Service will deal with Kremenski’s killer; we’re going after the big fish.”

  “I have a few leads on who’s been messing with the database,” Ramirez offered. Klein smiled confidently and pointed at an arrangement of photographs on one of the conference room walls.

  “Way ahead of you, partner.”

  Ramirez let out a quiet gasp as he walked into the conference room and gazed at the pictures on the wall. A sign reading LVMPD Conspirators hung above a picture of Sheriff James Earl Wyatt, Captain Williams and a row of six or seven other senior LVMPD officers.

  Adrian pointed at the picture of Captain Williams. “I suppose you haven’t heard the news.”

  “What’s that?” Klein asked.

  Clayton Burns poured three cups of coffee for them.

  Ramirez accepted a warm Styrofoam cup from the hulking agent and continued. “Captain Williams was killed by a member of the Sumatra gang last night. Command is trying to keep it quiet, but Williams was my direct supervisor so I was one of the first to hear about it.”

  “That, we did not know,” Klein admitted, sipping her coffee and giving Clayton a nod. He stood from his seat and uncapped a magic marker. Under Williams’s portrait he scribbled the word “deceased”.

  Clayton looked back at Klein and Ramirez with a shrug. “In this game, friendships are short and breakups are bloody. Last I heard Captain Williams was seated right beside Wyatt on Dimitri Jordan’s gravy train.”

  Ramirez scoffed a bit under his breath; he was hard-pressed to mourn the loss of a dirty cop. In his mind, Williams got what he deserved. “If these guys were working with Dimitri Jordan then I think it’s safe to say that all might not be well in that relationship.”

  Agent Klein nodded. “Sheriff Wyatt’s been playing a very dangerous game of wheel-and-deal with the Sumatra and the Petrov Crime Family,” she explained. “If Jordan is ordering hits on guys associated with Wyatt then there’s no other conclusion except that they’ve had some kind of falling out.”

  “And what about the Petrov Crime Family?” Ramirez asked. “How do they factor into all this.”

  Clayton waved dismissively. “Middle men, not much else. Not to mention the fact that both the patriarch and his heir have been killed in the past week; whatever is left of the Russians is in tatters. We’re after the big money, namely, Dimitri Jordan and his Lieutenants. The Russian’s are at the bottom of my list until the big boys are in custody.”

  “Dimitri Jordan’s Lieutenants are supposed to be off-limits,” Ramirez said. “I’ve had my hand slapped a few times for trying to take them down. If you do this you’ll need to be sure you don’t catch any friendly fire, if you catch my drift.”

  “We’re aware of the internal threats facing Las Vegas PD. That’s why we want you to lead the local efforts,” Agent Burns said. “You’re the only officer in the LVMPD who has made any serious effort to bring them down, and you’re the only officer with access to SWAT resources who we can trust.”

  Klein slid a manila folder in front of Ramirez and opened it to reveal a list of names, locations, and time tables. “This is our target list. Again, I am sorry to spring all this on you at once, but since the LVMPD command-structure has been compromised it was critical that we play our hand carefully.”

  Ramirez sipped his coffee. “No need to apologize, I understand. So what happens now?”

  “We have a few hours to put the pieces together. DHS will be commanding the operation as well as providing two armored SWAT teams, the DEA will be providing a SWAT team as well. We need you assemble a Las Vegas SWAT team staffed with officers you know you can trust. Your job will be to provide tactical support at the Sumatra. We need people who can use their local knowledge to our strategic advantage.”

  Anyone else would have been stunned stupid by the sheer volume of resources being committed, but Ramirez was a hardened warrior and a deadly-serious officer with a gift for Special Weapons and Tactics operations. “How much time do I have?”

  “Go-time is at zero hundred hours tonight,” Klein said.

  “That’s not much time, but I can make it work with some help. I can get a team of seven ready to operate by then. I assume I can use your federal jurisdiction to bypass any bureaucratic obstacles to this?”

  “Of course,” Clayton answered. Pushing a manila folder toward Ramirez. “These documents will deputize you to work on behalf of the DEA. Costs for materials and personnel will be reimbursed by the DHS.

  “You’ve come prepared,” Ramirez smiled. “Alright, you’ve made this about as easy for me as you could. When can I start?”

  “Right away,” Klein said. “Your team will be assigned to Division Alpha; the apprehension of Dimitri Jordan.”

  “No shit,” Ramirez whispered.

  “Problem?” Agent Burns asked.

  Ramirez shook his head. “Quite the opposite. It will be an honor.”

  44

  Meanwhile, Oasis Motel, East Las Vegas

  “A ny luck?” Vince asked. He had his suitcase laid out on one of the twin beds in the small motel room when Adam entered from the hallway.

  “Nothing,” Adam said, shaking his head. “I’m really starting to think that the cops just took my money and ran.”

  “How many times have you called them?”

  “I lost count at ten. They said they’d call this morning.”

  Adam pulled out a soda from the mini fridge and sat at the couch across from the pair of twin beds. “I think we need to cut our losses and run; the longer we stay here, the more chances we have of getting pulled deeper into this mess with the Russians and Dimitri Jordan.”

  Vince pulled a white envelope from his suitcase and looked to Adam. “I have thirteen hundred dollars here. With the money you got from killing that guy in the Aria–

  “Oh man I do not like the way you worded that,” Adam groaned. “Makes me sound like some kind of hit man.”

  “Sorry, Adam,” Vince said. “But it’s true; that wad of cash is blood money.”

  “I hate that I got you into this. You know it’s not too late for you to just disown me and wash your hands of this whole mess...”

  Vince huffed and shut his suitcase. “I’ve got nothing out here. I’ve been working the same bullshit job for years and no matter what I do, I can’t seem to get ahead. Did you know that’s why I started working out so much? The gym seemed like the only place where I could work hard and actually see some results. Maybe there’s a better way to do this, but I don’t want to be forty years old one day and still be struggling to pay rent. I’m one hundred percent behind you.”

  Adam stood and wrapped his arms around his childhood friend. “When this is all over I’m going to find a way to pay you back for everything you’ve done, I swear.”

  Vince shook his head. “You’re my brother in every way that matters Adam, there’s nothing to repay.” Vince tapped the small stack of savings in his hand and handed half of the money to Adam. “Use this to get some one way tickets to San Diego. I have to stop by Chad’s place and get my supplies before we leave town.”

  “Supplies?” Adam laughed and squeezed Vince’s massive arm. “You can just call them steroids, you’re not fooling anyone.”

  Vince gave him a warm smile. “Go get your little girl. I’ll catch a ride and meet you at the airport.”

  

  Adam parked Vince’s yellow Miata in the lot of St. Judith’s Home and took a minute to count out all his money again. The latest bill from St. Judith’s was just a hair below twenty thousand, meaning he would have just enough money to get Lily out of there and then maybe treat her to some ice-cream on the way back to airport.

  As he looked at the single-story brick exterior of the place that had housed his daughter for years, he felt a tickle of excitement form in his chest. This was the day he’d always dreamed of. In a few moments he was going to pick up his
little girl and leave St. Judith’s forever. All the awful shit from the past week was about to be behind him; this was the start of something new.

  Nancy was at the front desk sorting papers when he entered the main lobby. She gave him a quizzical look and lowered her glasses.

  “Oh, hello Mr. Friend,” she said, standing from her seat. “Can I help you with something?”

  “Hi Nancy,” he smiled. He laid the envelope full of money on her desk. “I’m here to take Lily home, here’s the rest of the money I owe.”

  Nancy tilted her head. “Adam… you already paid us.”

  “Well half, yes, this is the rest. I want to take Lily home now,” he said. He was too wrapped up in the moment to really read Nancy’s confusion.

  Nancy looked at the money and then pulled out a filing drawer. Fingering through the tabs she found the file labeled “Lily Friend” and pulled it out. It was at that moment that Adam saw the big red stamp on the cover.

  “Released?” he asked. “What does that mean?

  Nancy opened the file and was sorting through the documents. “I don’t… hold on one minute.”

  She turned to go fetch the billing manager.

  “Nancy?” Adam called after her, but she didn’t reply. He was craning his neck around to look past Nancy’s desk and toward the children’s rooms down the hall when the billing manager came out to greet him. Nancy had a look of worry on her face, but the manager, a thin woman with bob-cut brown hair and cat-eyed spectacles, was smiling.

  “I am so happy for you and your family, Adam. You never told me you were engaged!” she said.

  “Engaged?”

  Adam’s pulse quickened with awful premonition.

  “Yes, dear. Your fiancée came and picked up Lily this morning. She’s absolutely gorgeous Adam, good for you,” she smiled.

  All the blood drained from Adam’s face. “Fiancée… are you telling me Lily isn’t here?”

  The billing manager wasn’t sure why Adam was acting so strangely. “Adam, are you okay?” she said kindly. “This is a very happy day for your family, your bill is settled. You can go home to Lily and Viktoriya now.”