Simon nodded. “Very good.”
Whitmore pulled the big boat of a car out of the parking lot of the La Fortuna onto Fremont Street. Even though there wasn’t much traffic, he bullied his way through what there was of it as he drove toward the main drag.
Elizabeth steeled her nerves and tried not to think about the inevitable outcome of an accident. Without a seatbelt, if they crashed she’d be Elizabeth Cross: Human Projectile.
“It was very kind of Susan to let us come to the party last night,” she said, hoping to divert his attention to something other than the cars blocking his way.
Whitmore pulled up right behind an old pickup truck, practically climbing into the flatbed.
He nodded and looked over at Elizabeth, and without looking back at the road, weaved into the other lane to pass it.
“She’s a good one, my Susan,” he said before finally looking back at the road.
Simon’s hand gripped Elizabeth’s. He cleared his throat. “It was quite a party.”
“My son-in-law doesn’t do many things right, but he knows how to spend money. Especially when it’s not his.”
Elizabeth knew that the mob had backed the building of the Paradise, but from the way Whitmore said that, there seemed to be more to it.
“He doesn’t own the Paradise?” she asked innocently.
Whitmore looked over at her. “The Paradise owns him.”
“I don’t understand,” she said.
He didn’t offer more of an explanation and instead turned into the entrance to the airport.
Simon looked around. “You’re selling the airport?”
Whitmore laughed. “No. But I want to show you somethin’.”
He pulled up to the fence that separated the cars from the planes. It was a modest sized airport and before the advent of jetways. A TWA plane had just pulled up to a stop and two men rolled out the stairs to meet it.
Whitmore parked the car and got out. Curious, Simon and Elizabeth followed.
“Now, you’re a man of the world,” he said to Simon. Simon nodded in agreement. “When you buy land, it’s not just the land that you’re buying, but the future of that land.”
He put on his big Stetson and pointed at the plane. “And that future is gonna come nestled between two of those big old jet engines.
“We do forty-five flights out of here a day. And we do all right. You’ve seen the casinos, the tourists. But that’s not good enough. County just passed a five-million dollar bond to improve the airport. Longer runways for the big jets, hundreds of people on each one of ‘em. Those forty-five flights will seem like the Pony Express. Hundreds a day. Tens of thousands of people coming into our town each day.”
“Impressive.”
“Just finished construction on a brand new convention center. One hundred thousand square feet. Every year those planes are going to bring plumbers and doctors and paper salesmen.” He held out his arms like an evangelist preaching to his congregation. “They’re all going to come here, to Las Vegas.”
He let his hands fall to his side. “So when you see a piece of land out here, you’re not just buyin’ what is, but what’s to come.”
No wonder the man was rich. He was one of the best salesmen she’d ever met.
“You have my attention,” Simon said, always the master of understatement.
Whitmore smiled. “Good.”
Elizabeth glanced at Simon. The plot of land Whitmore was trying to offload must be a real stinker if he was working this hard on the set-up.
They got back into the car and started toward town. “Now, everything has its drawbacks, but I think this just might be the exception.”
They drove another few miles and then he turned into the parking lot of the Paradise and pulled the car over.
“I don’t understand,” Simon said. “Where’s the property?”
Whitmore grinned and looked back at the hotel. “Son, you’re lookin’ at it.”
~~~
Jack leaned up against one of the pillars at the edge of the casino and lit a cigarette. If he wanted to have one he’d better do it before Simon and Elizabeth got back. For an ex-smoker, being in a 1960 casino was like an alcoholic swimming in a sea of gin. He was bound to take a few sips. A man could only take so much.
Jack took a long drag and glanced at the front door to the hotel. Elizabeth would give him Holy Hell if she found out he was smoking again. But as he felt that head rush again, he figured it might be worth it. For this week at least.
But then he saw her face in his mind’s eye—worried and disappointed—and the taste of guilt soured the smoke. She was going to make a great mother someday. Damn it. He took one last quick draw and then stubbed out the cigarette in a nearby ashtray.
He looked back toward the front door, half expecting to see her catching him in the act, but when the doors opened it wasn’t the Crosses who walked in. Instead, a man wearing a Hawaiian shirt and khakis came in. Nothing unusual about that. He looked like just about every other normal tourist who came through those doors, except he wasn’t normal or a tourist. He was dressing the part, but that’s where it ended.
He had the bearing of a military man, but this wasn’t some guy out on leave or mustered out. His eyes were keen, quietly assessing his surroundings as he walked into the lobby. Everything about the man, from his ramrod straight back to the buzz cut and permanently humorless expression, screamed G-Man.
Some of them just weren’t meant for undercover work and this was one of them. He was the sort who probably slept at attention. He took off his aviator sunglasses, another tell, and walked purposefully over to the bar. He took a seat on a stool at the far end and ordered a drink.
Jack moved around the perimeter of the room to get a better view. A man like that didn’t come into a place like the Paradise without a good reason. Considering the mob money in the place, he had several million good reasons.
Jack found a spot half-shielded by a bank of slot machines and sat down to watch the show.
Ten uneventful minutes passed before Jack noticed Dick Jepson come into the casino. He stopped at a newspaper vending machine to pick up a paper. He tucked it under his arm and continued on into the lobby.
Jepson had his hat on and Jack expected him to keep going to the front doors, but he turned to the right instead and headed toward the bar.
Jack’s heart beat a little faster. What would a reporter from Sports Illustrated have to do with a G-Man? But Jepson ignored the other man and settled at the far end of the bar. He put his paper down, tapped his watch and asked the bartender something. It must have been for the time because the bartender looked down at his own watch and replied.
Jepson thanked him and took a small handful of peanuts from the dish on the bar. He turned and leaned back against the bar, looking around the lobby briefly before pulling down the brim of his fedora and heading back toward his room.
He walked back into the casino and Jack lost sight of him.
His freshly-bought newspaper sat on the edge of the bar. It didn’t take a rocket scientist to know what was happening.
It was a drop. Jack had been on both ends of one often enough during his days with the OSS to know one when he saw it. And this was it.
But why did a reporter from Sports Illustrated need to secretly pass information? Especially when it was just a puff piece on a hotel anniversary. Unless it wasn’t. Unless he wasn’t.
Less than a minute passed before the G-Man stood and tossed a few dollars on the bar, his drink untouched. He put on his sunglasses and walked past the end of the bar toward the exit. In one easy movement he scooped up the paper and tucked it under his arm.
He walked toward the front door and Jack started to follow, but he barely made it halfway across the lobby when someone grabbed his arm.
“I want to talk to you,” Bobby Lord said.
Jack glared at him. “Not now.”
Jack yanked his arm out of Lord’s grip, but Lord wouldn’t be put off.
“I said I want to talk to you.”
His voice was loud and strained and drawing attention. Even the G-Man stopped to see what the fuss was. Jack had to turn his back to keep from being seen.
Lord looked at him with glassy eyes.
“Dammit,” Jack muttered under his breath before turning to look again.
But the G-Man was already outside. A cab pulled up from the cab stand and he opened the back door.
“Did you hear me?” Lord said.
The cab door closed and Jack’s quarry drove away. He turned back to Lord and clenched his jaw.
“Everybody heard you.”
Lord jabbed a finger at him. “I don’t know what you were trying to pull last night with Susie, but you need to stay away from her.”
Jack was in no mood for this now. He’d finally been onto something.
“Do I?”
Lord narrowed his eyes. “You think you can come in here and move in on my girl?”
Jack had noticed the strange interaction between the two at the show the other night, but as hard as it was to imagine her having an affair with Jepson, it was impossible to picture her with a man like Lord. That didn’t mean there wasn’t something between them. But the smart money was on it being a one-way street.
Lord wouldn’t be the first man to be obsessed with a beautiful woman, to even convince himself that she had feelings for him. And that just made him more dangerous.
Lord stared at him, trying to be intimidating, but everything else about his body language gave him away. He couldn’t hold the eye contact. His breath came too quickly and a teardrop of sweat slid down his temple.
Jack almost felt sorry for him. Almost. “Why don’t you go sober up?”
Lord didn’t move.
Jack caught the eye of one of the clerks behind the desk who’d been part of the audience for their little floorshow. He hurried around the desk and came toward them.
“I think Mr. Lord could use some coffee,” Jack said.
“Of course,” the man said and took Lord’s elbow. “Right this way, Mr. Lord.”
Lord tore his arm from the man’s grasp, but let himself be led away.
“That looked interesting.”
Jack turned to see Elizabeth and Simon, who’d just returned from meeting with Whitmore.
“It was,” Jack said. “But not half as interesting as what came before it.”
“I doubt it’s anywhere near as interesting as our morning,” Simon said. “That little piece of land Whitmore wants to sell?”
Jack nodded.
Simon’s face was grim. “It’s the Paradise.”
Chapter Eleven
SIMON WALKED OVER TO the sliding glass doors of their suite and took a deep, calming breath. He needed one. Ever since he’d learned just what Whitmore was trying to sell them, his blood pressure had steadily climbed.
He turned back as Elizabeth took a seat on the sofa and Jack closed the door behind him.
“Okay,” Jack said. “You’re gonna have to start again. What do you mean he’s selling the Paradise? He doesn’t own it.”
“No,” Simon said, not feeling much calmer. “But he does own the land it’s sitting on.”
He could tell from Jack’s puzzled expression that he wasn’t following.
“It’s not uncommon for commercial properties to be land-lease arrangements where one party owns the land and the other owns the apartment building, store, or in this case, casino.”
Simon walked over to the sofa but couldn’t bring himself to sit down. “But what isn’t common is for the lease to be so short. Typically, they’re quite long. Fifty, even a hundred years. But this one is not.”
“Let me guess,” Jack said and flopped down into a chair opposite Elizabeth. “This one’s ten years.”
Simon nodded. “Precisely. I can’t imagine why Santo or the people he represents would have agreed to such a thing, but they did.”
“Whitmore probably made the deal too sweet to pass up. Lease it for next to nothing for the first ten years as a wedding gift.”
“And of course Santo thinks it’ll renew with no issues,” Elizabeth added. “They’re family now.”
Simon grunted and leaned down to put his hands on the back of the sofa.
“Except Whitmore doesn’t see it that way.”
Jack leaned back in his chair. “He’s no fan of Santo, that’s for sure. But if the lease isn’t renewed, what happens to the hotel?”
Simon sat next to Elizabeth. “Whitmore explained that. He claims that whatever improvements were made to the property are his when the lease terminates.”
Jack whistled. “A six million dollar casino is a big improvement.”
Simon arched an eyebrow. “And one they’re not likely to let go of easily. Contract or not.”
Jack slowly shook his head.
“Isn’t it a little crazy to cross them like that?” Elizabeth asked. “He must know the mob’s not going to just roll over and lose their investment.”
“I doubt he got where he is by being afraid of his business partners, mob-connected or not.”
Jack frowned. “But he’s no fool either. He won’t kowtow to them, but he wouldn’t needlessly provoke them either. He’s too smart for that.”
“Maybe he just wants Santo out of the way?” Elizabeth suggested. “And this is a way to do it.”
“Throwing the baby out with the bathwater, isn’t it?” Jack asked.
“If the mob blames Santo for this mess, maybe not.”
Simon took a deep breath and pushed it out. Elizabeth reached over and took hold of his hand.
He looked down at it and turned it over in his. It soothed him, but it also reminded him of just what he had to lose. “Whatever Whitmore’s endgame, I somehow doubt the mob will sit back and let him play it. And now, as potential rivals for the property, we’re very much in the middle of it.”
Jack leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. He clasped his hands together. “You know I wouldn’t have asked you to do this if I’d known.”
Simon did, but that didn’t make him feel any better about being a bright spot on the mob’s radar.
Elizabeth rubbed her temple in concern. “Whitmore must know that whoever buys the property from him will be buying a hornet’s nest. What makes him think anyone would?”
Simon looked at her as realization dawned. “Unless he has no intention of selling.”
“Then why go to all this trouble? Why make such a show of it?”
“Precisely to make a show of it.”
He saw the light dawn in her eyes. “For the mob’s benefit.” She suddenly sat up straight. “We’re shills.”
Simon nodded. “Unwittingly, but yes, we probably are. We’re here to make it look like he’s got a buyer. We’re leverage.”
“Well, that sucks,” Elizabeth said.
Simon laughed. Elizabeth always did have a way of putting things succinctly.
“You two can beg off,” Jack said. “You should. It’s not worth the risk.”
Simon didn’t like it, but they’d agreed to help him and the consequences if Jack should fail were not insignificant. “I think we can play along for a little bit longer. If we pull out too quickly, it could hurt your credibility with Whitmore and Susan. Besides, it does help us shine the light on another possible danger to her. The more we can learn about that, the better.”
Jack frowned. “Yeah. And those hits just keep on coming, by the way. I think I can safely add two more names to the list of possible suspects.”
Simon sat back. “You did have a busy morning.”
Jack told them about his run in with Bobby Lord and, more interestingly, the exchange between Jepson and the mysterious government man.
“A real live G-Man,” Elizabeth said. “I wish I’d seen him.”
“He wasn’t all that scintillating,” Jack said. “But the fact that he met with Jepson is. I’m going to have to learn more about that, and soon. If we have the Feds watching us
, that complicates things.”
“Aren’t they complicated enough?” Simon said.
Jack grinned. “Apparently not.” He slapped his thighs and stood. “Well, I’m gonna do a little snooping. Find out what our reporter’s really reporting and to who.”
“Whom,” Simon corrected, reflexively.
Jack looked confused.
Elizabeth waved it off. “Don’t mind him. He gets pedantic when he’s worried … more pedantic.”
Simon nearly protested, but she wasn’t wrong. Instead, he raised a brow at her, then stood and walked with Jack to the door.
“I’ve got another meeting with Whitmore tonight.” He glanced back at Elizabeth and lowered his voice. “If you could keep an eye on Elizabeth, I’d be grateful.”
Jack nodded. “Don’t worry,” he assured him, but with the two of them together, Simon knew the odds weren’t in his favor. He grasped Jack’s arm to stop his exit. “I’m serious.”
“So am I,” Jack said. He leaned around Simon and lifted his hand in a wave toward Elizabeth. “See you later, kid.”
Simon closed the door and walked over to his wife. “Why don’t you two have dinner tonight?”
“Two?”
“Whitmore wants to meet later to discuss things.”
Elizabeth frowned. “Sans me, of course.”
“It’s nothing personal. He’s—”
“A misogynist?”
“A man of his time,” Simon said.
He looked at his wife, his beautiful, trusting wife, and his heart twisted a little. “And while I’m gone, I would appreciate it if you would not do anything …”
“Foolish?”
“Reckless,” he corrected, although it didn’t sound much better.
He saw her pique grow and then ebb just as quickly. She took his hand. “Simon.”
He grew worried. “That was one of your ‘I’m going to say something you’re not going to like’ Simons.”
She laughed and nodded. “Maybe a little.”
She sat down and urged him to sit next to her.
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