by Aaron Cohen
“We’ve spent millions on mouth pieces, and we are still going to lose,” Al says. “David locked up the votes he needs the old fashioned way. Bribery. It’s ironic. He broke the law to win, and I played by the rules. Yet he’s the corporate guy and I’m supposed to be Mr. Organized Crime Connections.”
He slumps in his oversized red velvet chair, looking like a sad king.
“What does any of this have to do with my aunt and uncle?” Luke asks.
“They are loose ends that Empire is trying to tie up,” Al says, “Just like my Leanne. Maybe still alive, and maybe not.”
“We are not done yet,” Ben says. “We have the data stick and we can kill their billion dollar plan. We have leverage. We can make a deal, or burn them down.”
Al’s phone rings. He hits the speaker button.
“What?” he says, sounding sad.
“Someone piss in your oatmeal?” David asks.
Chapter Twenty-Three
About an hour earlier…
A big security goon unbuckles the straps holding Leanne down on the bondage table. She is dizzy. Her hands shake.
Get it together, Leanne. Get your shit together.
She can’t think straight. Her thoughts keep traveling back all that pain, and the pleasure, and how excruciating that pleasure became. Her arms are sore, and her privates tingle. She is thirsty.
She pulls herself to a sitting position, stretching out her arms, which had been pulled above her head for who knows how long.
Calm, Leanne. Just be calm. Everything will be fine. Think about your island.
The thought of warm sun and soft sand and a deep blue ocean help her mind come to peace.
Be strong, Leanne. You are a bad ass bitch and you will beat them. Don’t let them see any cracks. You are in control. Focus. Be here now. Be whole now. There is only now.
She touches the wood of the table she sits on, letting its solidity ground her.
I am whole. I am healthy. I am calm. Breathe. Focus. What is in your now?
She wonders who built the table, just out of professional curiosity. The padding is thick and comfortable. The leather cuffs are fur-lined. The black lacquer gave it a lovely sheen. She has been around a lot of bondage equipment, and this is top notch. She wonders if she could hire the artisan who built it.
“Mr. Vaddio wants to see you,” the goon says politely, almost gently. “I was told to put you in handcuffs if you give me trouble. Are you going to give me trouble?”
She looks at the guy with a boulder for a head and wonders where David finds them. Is there some kind of farm for dim-witted giants? Does a rent-a-cop cloning lab supply the needs of nightclubs and shopping malls everywhere?
“I’ll be a good girl,” she says, trying to sound helpless and non-threatening.
After a long elevator ride, she and her escort step into David’s office, where the douche bag himself sits at a black marble conference table with some other douche bag, some old guy with leering eyes. She knows his type. If they were back at the Bunny Runner, she could charm that man out of his entire bank account. However, right now, she doesn’t have the home field advantage.
“Where is the data stick?” David asks, sounding too calm, too unconcerned. “Do yourself a favor and just tell us.”
“Oh God, David, if you couldn’t torture it out of me – which was kind of fun, by the way, nice bondage room you have, just saying, one pimp to another – what makes you think you can get me to tell you anything?”
“Because it is not just you we can hurt,” the old man says. “Yes, we can make you penniless, just another broke whore with nothing to show for herself after a lifetime of spreading her legs. Such is our power. But why would you care? You can always go somewhere else to ply your trade. You have nothing to lose. So, we will target instead your father, one Mr. Duran, owner of The Booby Hatch, a notorious den of sin. It will be child’s play to close it down and put him in jail.”
“Who are you again?” she asks. “I don’t like you.”
“I am the CEO of Empire Resorts,” he says. “You can call me Mr. Tarlik. You can call the gentleman on the phone Hans. He is the district attorney of Clark County. I think you’ll be interested in what he has to say.”
Tarlik presses the un-mute button on the phone sitting on the table.
“Hans, are you there?” Tarlik asks.
“I am,” Hans says.
“Hans, tell us about the conversation you are about to have with the four local TV news programs, CNN, Fox news, MSNBC and The Las Vegas Times, along with the members of the Nevada Morality Coalition.”
“I’m going to tell them about the imminent raid of The Booby Hatch. How drugs are sold in the restrooms. How it is nothing more than a front for prostitution and organized crime. How we have received complaints about unprotected sex and the potential spread of AIDS. It is a blight on our fair city. It needs to be closed down. ”
“You are a fucking liar,” Leanne says, so angry she can barely keep from springing out of her chair and stabbing David in his cold, black heart.
“The courts can sort out what crimes Al Duran has personally committed,” Hans says. “My duty is to relieve him of his business license, arrest him and put him jail for as long as possible. While he’s in jail, I’m going to have the Booby Hatch condemned for code violations. Then I’m going to have it demolished. By the time he gets out of jail, he will be the owner of a vacant lot and a pile of rubble.”
“We have referred Hans to a team of top notch lawyers who will help with the prosecution,” David says. “It’s the least we could do.”
“This is such bullshit,” Leanne says. “This is…’
“Where is the data stick?” David asks. “Just tell us where it is, and Hans will avert his gaze to another club, perhaps even one Al would no longer like to compete with.”
Leanne thinks about her island, lying on the beach wearing nothing but baby oil, with no one else there but some stallion of a man she summoned to service her, who performs and leaves on command.
The island seems a long way away.
Her father has been a deadbeat her entire life, an asshole with no time for anything other than his clubs and fucking an endless parade of “aunts.” A few years ago, when she needed him, he was there for her. Much to her surprise, old Al had done the stand-up thing and actually did something fatherly. He gave her enough money to buy a legal whore house.
He doesn’t deserve to be ruined. He was a bad dad, but she still wants him to be okay.
“You’ll want to talk to my dad about the data stick,” Leanne says.
“Al?” David says. “You sent it to Al? That makes sense. I should have guessed. I’ll give him a call and see if he’d care to make a trade. You for the data stick.”
“You do that,” Leanne says.
“In the meantime, Hans? Are you still there?” Tarlik asks.
“Yes, I am Mr. Tarlik,” Hans says.
“You go ahead and proceed with your press conference and legal action.”
“No!” Leanne says. “We had a deal!”
She rushes at Tarlik and the goon grabs her from behind, holds her tight, lifts her. She kicks and punches the air.
“You and your father should look for new employment,” Tarlik says. “Perhaps you could open an antique store or a gas station?”
“You old pervert!” Leanne screams as the goon drags her out of the room. “I’ll tear your balls off!”
***
David and Tarlik watch as Leanne is dragged away.
“Spirited girl,” Tarlik says. “I might have to spend some time with her at some point in that special room you have.”
“I’m going to say this once,” David says, chilling the words so they sound deadly. “You will not touch her, not ever. Understood?”
“As you wish,” Tarlik says. “You saw her first.”
David looks at Tarlik for a moment or two, making sure the point is made.
He dials his former friend, Al D
uran.
Chapter Twenty-Four
“You sound sad, Al,” David says, his deep voice coming from the speaker phone and filling Al’s office with menace.
Al hasn’t heard that voice in years. It’s rougher than it used to be, older. It’s the voice of a man who should be dead.
“Are you there, Al?” David asks. “Talk to me. If I have to drive down there, I will be annoyed.”
Luke and Ben look surprised. No one in the room knows how to play this.
“I’m a busy man,” Al says, going for nonchalance. “I’ve got to get back to watering the liquor, bleaching assholes and waxing nipples. Why the call?”
“Your daughter tells me you have something of mine, something I would like back.”
“You’ve got a beautiful business plan,” Al says, trying to stay calm, like this didn’t just become a hostage negotiation. “But one question…Is it really necessary to shut us down? Are a few titty bars that big of a threat?”
“Let me be clear. I have your daughter and the means to make her disappear. I have the ability to close your business down tonight. Not tomorrow. Tonight. That means I have everything you love in a burlap bag dangling over a river filled with piranhas.”
“Such a way with words. What do you want?”
“You know what I want. The data stick now in your possession.”
“How do you know I didn’t make copies? How do you know I didn’t already post it all on my Facebook page?”
“Oh, you on Facebook? I’ll have to friend you some time. Are you playing Farmville?”
“I prefer Mafia Wars.”
“How tragically predicable of you. Don’t you find the stereotyping and caricatures of our former associates a bit insulting?”
“Says the man busy kidnapping and murdering for money. So glad you have embraced clean living. Kudos.”
“Let’s be civil. There’s no need to take it personally. It’s not…”
“Don’t say it.”
“Come on.”
“Don’t say it. It’s a cliché. And I hate that you have probably been waiting to say it your entire life.”
“Come on! You have to enjoy the little things in life. Give me this one thing. Maybe I’ll give you something in return.”
Al sighs.
“Okay,” Al says. “Go ahead, David.”
“It’s not personal; it’s business,” David says.
“Enjoy that?”
“I have to admit that I did.”
“Wonderfuckingful. Can you get to the fucking point now?”
“Bring me the data stick, and I’ll let your daughter live. I might even let her stay in business.”
“And I’m supposed to trust you. How about you let her go before I give you the data stick?”
“How about this, I won’t have the DA shut you down tonight. And I won’t have all your operations shut down around the country, just the ones in Nevada. I won’t tie you up with lawsuits for the next 100 years from bible thumpers armed with evidence that you spread disease, drugs and immorality throughout the land.”
“Okay. You got me beat. I can admit that. I would appreciate a couple weeks to make my retirement plans. That okay with you?”
“Sure. Why not?”
Luke hits the mute button and says, “Ask him about my aunt and uncle.”
Al nods.
Luke hits the mute button again.
“David, a young man here seems to think you might know something about his aunt and uncle,” Al asks. “Did you do something unnecessary to a couple of innocent bystanders?”
“I’m afraid that sometimes in business there are obstacles that must be eliminated. Give the young man my condolences. I’ll send him a gift certificate to The Dark Star when we open. We are done now. I expect to see you in an hour.”
“Fine, except it won’t be me. It will be your old friend, Ben Two-Cans.”
“What? I don’t want to talk to that decrepit old fart.”
“Well he wants to talk to you. He’ll be there in an hour.”
“Fuck that! I don’t want to see that…” CLICK. Al hangs up.
“He’s not excited to see you,” Al says to Ben.
“We didn’t part on the best of terms,” Ben says.
“He killed them, for nothing, for getting in his way,” Luke says.
“Kid, I’m sorry,” Al says. “Wrong place, wrong time. Wasn’t their fault, or yours.”
“I’m going to kill that motherfucker.”
“Don’t say that unless you mean it,” Ben says.
“David Vaddio is a powerful man, has a billion dollars, and he’s a psychopath,” Al says. “You might want to think it over.”
“I’ve thought it over,” Luke says. “We have an invitation to see him tonight. He’s going to open his doors and let us walk right in.”
“You mean me,” Ben says. “He’s not going to let a gang into his place. He’s expecting an old man who can do no harm.”
“Wait a second…I know a guy who can help, maybe,” Al says. “I have an idea, but it’s not going to be easy.”
“Nothing ever is,” Luke says.
Luke can feel the sobbing down in his chest, fighting to work its way up, trying to make him break down into a quivering ball of tears right in front of these two old gangsters. His aunt and uncle, hell with that, his parents, the people who raised him, who cared for him, who drove him to soccer games and band practice when he was a kid, who put up with the grumpy teenager shit when he was in high school, who taught him to be a man, are dead.
Christ, they are gone. They are really gone. Murdered. Holy fuck.
“Ben, let’s go meet this guy,” Al says. “Luke you can stay here and relax a little. Feel free to hit the bar in the corner.”
Al places a box of tissues on his desk on the corner nearest Luke.
Honestly, am I crying front of these guys? Goddamn it.
He reaches for the tissues while Ben and Al head for the door.
***
Artie plays games on his iPhone. Fruit Ninja, Cut-The-Rope, Angry Birds, he doesn’t stop. He’s nervous, and he’s got to keep his mind busy.
“What the devil are they doing in there?” Cecil asks.
The two of them sit in Ben’s Escalade. They have watched dozens of men go into The Booby Hatch. The sun is beginning to go down and business is picking up.
“We could be in there if you hadn’t hired that girl,” Artie says.
“She was so tall! We needed an Amazon in the stable. Some men will pay a lot of money to wrestle with an Amazon.”
“You mean you wanted to wrestle with an Amazon.”
“I enjoy a wide variety of tastes. It’s why I’m good at my job.”
“That cop car has been parked there since we pulled up.”
“And why is that significant?”
“He’s not eating, not talking on the phone, not napping, not doing anything. It’s weird. I think he’s waiting for something.”
“You worry too much.”
“I’m just saying…It’s weird. We need to get out of here soon.”
“There we can agree, my little friend. And didn’t you enjoy that Amazon once she started working for us?”
“Mind your own business.”
“I thought as much.”
Chapter Twenty-Five
Hank and Charlie sit across from Luke and Ben in a corner booth away from the stage, one of the few places in The Booby Hatch you can have a conversation, though you still have to raise your voice over the pounding stripper music.
Hank doesn’t quite know what to make of the offer the old man has made him. It seems simple enough, but pretty weird. Let the old guy drive The Stork to The Dark Star, a new resort that is set to open in a few months.
Where is the catch? Hank wonders.
“There are two reasons we need your special vehicle,” Ben says. “One, it’s perfectly normal for an old man to drive a Winnebago.”
“It’s not any old Winnebago,�
�� Charlie says, but it sounds like, “Isssnooayywiiibaoo.”
“No offense,” Ben says. “Just saying. And two, considering your line of work, you’ll have large hidden compartments inside, big enough to hide a few guys.”
“Woah, woah, woah,” Hank says. “Guys? You want to hide guys? What are you, invading the place?”
“We aren’t throwing a party,” Ben says.
“I don’t want any part of this,” Hank says and begins to stand.
“How much do you owe Joe-Joe?” Ben asks.
“How do you know about that?” Hank asks.
“I know people who know people. How much?”
“Two hundred large.”
“Or you could give him your truck filled with pot.”
“It is not a truck. It’s a deluxe, customized, turbo-charged recreational vehicle,” Hank says.
“Nonetheless. That’s how much you owe him.”
“You seem to have the facts, old man” Hank says. “And so?”
“And so, I will pay you two hundred large, one hundred now, one hundred when we’re done,” Ben says. “But you need to help.”
“Help what?”
“Escort a young lady from The Dark Star and back to her father’s waiting arms.”
Hanks eyes narrow, looks them over.
“What the fuck are you guys into?” he asks.
Luke has had enough. He decides that the pot smuggler is a waste of space and can’t be trusted.
“Fuck this,” Luke says. “Ben, this guy is full of shit and 200k is way too much to rent a piece of shit Winnebago.”
“The Stork can do 150 miles an hour,” Hank says.
“Bullshit,” Luke says. “Like everything that comes out of your mouth.”
“Ben, you want my help, you keep the kid here quiet,” Hank says. “I need the money, so for 200k we’re in.”
“We?” Charlie asks, sounding alarmed. Luke and Ben only hear “Eeee?” but they get his meaning.
“What? You don’t want a piece of this?”
“What is my cut?” (“Ahh Ee Eyee Uh,” is what everyone but Hank hears.)
“What do you want?” Hank asks.
“100k.” (“On hunner aye.”)
Hank sighs.