by Aaron Cohen
***
Hank is behind the wheel of The Stork. He watches a parking garage in front of an abandoned condo complex. The reporter, that little shit, drove in there. Hank doesn’t know why he had the urge to follow the weasel, just a feeling he had, a smuggler’s sixth sense. The creep was hiding something, was in a little too much of a hurry, his hands shaking too much as he tried to unlock his shitty little car.
Charlie growls then offers a few vowel sounds, asking a question.
“I don’t know, Charlie,” Hank says. “I honestly don’t know.”
Charlie grunts a few more unintelligible words.
“It’s more than her ass, come on. She does have a great ass. But shit, she has something else. I like her. I haven’t liked anyone besides you since 1998.”
A big black SUV pulls into the parking garage. Hank makes out a hulking figure behind the wheel.
“David,” Hank says.
“Muffferfubbbber,” Charlie says.
“We get into the shit with David, there’s no turning back. We can still drive away, cash our check.”
“Ouulllyligggeerrrr?”
“Yeah, I really do like her.”
“Fenneggsffuupppshhhhp,” Charlie says with enthusiasm.
“Thanks, buddy,” Hank says. “Anyway, I’m still kind of pissed about getting shot at. It’d be nice to even the score a little.”
Charlie picks up the aluminum baseball bat he keeps underneath his chair.
***
Luke is in the elevator, heading up, when his phone buzzes again. It is another message: “Remember The Code, Luke.”
Luke types: “Ben?”
A message returns: “Not 4 long. Hding 2 witness relo soon. Who knows what the hell name I’ll get now?”
“Can you help me?”
“Not anymore, just giving u some goodbye advice.”
“What can I do? What does The Code even say?”
“A lot of shit. Mostly, do what you got to do.”
“I am about to do just that.”
“Later kid. Marshals about 2 take phone. It’s been fun! J”
“It has! Thanks for everything!”
“Kid, about your father”
Luke waits for a few seconds, but there is no follow up.
“Ben? You there?”
Nothing.
“Ben?”
Nothing.
Fucking shit. What was that all about?
The elevator doors open. He walks into the office of Exa Port. He smiles at the receptionist.
“Exa still in?” he asks.
“She is,” the girl says.
“Tell her I have something important to show her. She wanted to see it before. She can take a look at it now.”
“Okay,” the girl says, giving him a quizzical look. She presses a button on her phone and rings Exa.
Chapter Fifty-Nine
David sits in the front seat of his SUV and watches the scumbag reporter, his new press relations stooge, drive away in his rusted-out shitbox. The guy was easily bought, given a job that meant nothing, a job that he could be fired from for any reason. For a little bit of money, he sold himself, and he would have to live with that the rest of his life.
David found himself mad at the guy, the zit-faced little fuck, and he was surprised. Why was he mad? Because of Leanne, because the little bastard betrayed Leanne. He still loves that girl, even though she was one of the betrayers, drove him right to the front door of the house where his friends would try to kill him.
He hopes he won’t have to kill her. However, she does have it coming, after all, his kind-of daughter, his protégé.
His other kid, that Luke, he had grown up to be a good looking young man. Too bad he goddamn mowed lawns with a bunch of wetbacks for a living. What was Ben thinking giving the baby to that little weasel Owen, a guy who didn’t even have the guts to stay with The Organization?
What was it, 31 years ago when he fucked that cocktail waitress and told her to go fuck herself when she got pregnant. Women. It’s their vagina, their womb, their job to take care of things; that’s the way David saw it.
She didn’t want the kid, and so Ben, old softy Ben, paid off the girl, took the baby and dropped him off like he was delivering a pizza.
Ben, always needing to be the good guy, always going out of his way for old ladies and orphans. That fucking noble Mafioso shtick makes me want to puke. Now the kid has grown up to be pretty much nothing.
David looks in his heart, deep into his heart, to see if he cares at all about Luke. If he had to shoot Luke in his handsome face, would he care?
A little, just a little.
Would he be proud if Luke came to work for him? What if the kid took over some part of The Dark Star, say slot operations, and ended up doing well. Would he enjoy giving his son a pat on the back?
A little, less than a little.
However, what if this? What if the kid, after being raised by that pussy Owen, is in the market for a new father figure? What if he would care to be mentored, to be groomed to be David’s loyal lieutenant? David could use someone at his back he could actually trust, and who could you trust if not your own son?
David has to admit, having his son work for him would be helpful. David works in a shark tank and the sharks feed on each other with regularity. More than 10 years ago, after the incident at the house, he had started work as a card dealer in a Macao casino owned by Empire Gaming. Since then he has fought, clawed, stabbed and stomped his way up the ladder. The corporate world is vicious, bloodthirsty and cold, rewarding neither mercy nor kindness. The Organization, with its soft-hearted gangsters and dim-witted thugs, is summer camp compared to the corporate world.
He is on top of the ladder now, sure, but right below him are a couple dozen Harvard and Yale MBA psychopaths who will cut out his heart if it means being able to sit in his chair. Bringing his son into the boardroom, bringing in an unshakable ally, that just might be a wise career move.
He starts the SUV, steps on the gas, finds the exit of the garage. It is sunny outside, cheerful. The data stick is in his pocket. An army of cops is about to close down the competition. He opens the world’s only casino-brothel-resort in just a few months. The world is a happy place.
Chapter Sixty
Luke walks into Exa’s office, closes the door behind him. Takes a breath. Smiles.
At some point, we are all working for our vices, is that right Ben? Is that what The Code says?
Luke smells her perfume, floral and fruity.
A man can deny his wants, but he can’t deny his needs. Be in the business of satisfying needs. Is that bit of Code wisdom true, Ben? Does it work with women? I hope so.
Her office looks just like the reception area, feminine and unashamed of it. Pale pink roses on the wallpaper, plush pink carpet. A Tiffany lamp with a warm glow stands in the corner. An oil painting of a couple dancing a tango hangs on a wall. The man is handsome, eyes smoldering. His sexy partner, dressed in a red satin gown, holds a red rose in her mouth and has a bare leg wrapped around the man.
You can do this. This is what you were born to do.
He has no idea if he can do this. She is waiting for him to say something.
“You have something for me?” she asks. “Did your reporter friend finally make an appearance?”
She smiles, a little flirtatiously. This is a good sign. He might have an opening.
“You don’t want to have that vote today,” Luke says. “You want to wait. When the story comes out tomorrow, it will be too late.”
“I’m sorry, but that is not good enough,” she says.
She stands, picks up her purse from desk. She is leaving. He has to do something, say something.
He shifts into Pickup Mode, pushing aside all self-doubt. He displays nothing but quiet, gentle confidence. This is the persona he slips into when it’s time to tempt a girl into his bed. He doesn’t know where it comes from, has always considered it a gift, a minor super power.
> He stands with legs spread, his weight equal on both feet, issuing an aura of strength, not aggression, but of firmness.
“Is there anything I can say, or do, to change your mind?” he asks with a smile.
On the outside he projects interest, offering up that unsubtle question with the perfect flirtatious mix: part come on, part kidding, part innocent complement.
“There are a lot of things I’d like you to do, but none of them will change my mind,” she says and winks.
Holy shit. She is openly flirting back. Turning me down, but keeping her options open. She has played this game before.
Inside, he’s nervous, trying not to panic, trying not to apologize and flee the room. He’s always nervous when trying to hook up with someone new, but nervous in a way that energizes him, gets his adrenalin going and puts him on a pleasant edge. He likes that buzz, where there is a risk of crashing and burning, of hitting on that girl that doesn’t want to be hit on, the one who gets mad, maybe gives him a shove and a sharp word. That always makes him smile, when he gets the brush back. Sometimes he’s disappointed when that doesn’t happen, when he is successful and the risk fades away, taking some of the excitement with it.
This is different. This is serious. He is now using his one true talent for something other than just the fun of it. He’s got an agenda, something he wants in return for his services. Could just that bit of insincerity spoil his mojo?
He can’t let any cracks show in his mask of masculine sexual serenity.
How to proceed? How aggressive to be? Should he stand in her way, blocking her path? That would be the more aggressive option, and some women would love that. Would she?
He looks her over, taking her in, looking for a clue, a key, a hint.
She wears four-inch heels, black patent leather, extremely high for a business look. She is short, moves well on those heels. She was thinner once, when she learned how to walk in those heels. Her body adapted to them, made them a part of her. Now she is thicker, her ass bigger, her waist not as narrow, but she holds her weight gracefully.
Should he play it softer? Be the shy boy with a crush, blushing and stuttering?
Her skirt is dusty pink, tight, an inch above her knee. That would be an aggressive skirt height for a woman of any age, and Exa is somewhere in her early 50s. She covers her legs with black opaque tights, probably Spanx, which older women began wearing a few years ago like they were religious undergarments with magical powers.
Should he make a joke, make her laugh, relax her, show her he’s just a loveable goofball?
Her jacket is also a dusty pink, matching her skirt. She wears it over a black satin blouse, unbuttoned to the third button, showing about three inches of generous, plump, inviting cleavage. Around her neck – still thin, just a bit wrinkled, with a few of the freckles that age brings – is a string of pearls, expensive ones, the kind of pearls that seem to glow. Her look is professional sexiness, formidable, aggressive, and aware of her effect on the men around her.
Perhaps just plan honesty? She is a politician, an expert on the game of Bullshit. He has one shot before she is out the door. If he is going to bet on one way to get the job done, maybe honesty is the way to go.
She places a hand on his chest, a perfectly manicured hand, thin, elegant fingers with French tips, shiny as porcelain. She is close. He could take her in his arms, but he doesn’t, wary of rushing and losing his prey. Patience is what he needs now. She is almost there. He puts a hand on her waist, lightly, as if they might start to dance a waltz.
Their faces come closer. He can see her lips, full, red and shiny. He can see her grey eye shadow, fading to black at the corners of her eyes. She is beautiful now. About 20 years ago she was a heart stopper.
So close. Time to lean in for the kiss.
He finds himself wanting that kiss. It isn’t just a goal anymore, or a way to help accomplish his mission of delaying the vote. He wants her. His cock moves, grows hard, strains against his jeans.
God she smells really good.
Their lips come close to touching, so incredibly close.
They are moving together, almost dancing, except she is leading, her moving him. Her body is close to his and he can feel her warmth, the softness of it, and he knows now what it would be like to be on top of her, feeling her in his arms, his weight over hers, she yielding to him, opening to him.
She pushes him back, politely, but with some strength.
She removes her hand from him and opens the door.
“Have a good day, sweetie,” she says. “If you have more county business, do come up and see me after today’s hearing.”
She walks away, to the outer door, to the elevator. She’s gone, as is Luke’s career as a rescuer of the brothel princess.
Sorry, Leanne. I messed up. Shit. Now I won’t get to fuck you or Exa.
Chapter Sixty-one
Outside the Clark County Commission building, big news is happening, and Jennifer and her trusty cameraman Chuck are capturing it all.
Two crowds of self-righteous God botherers march around in the summer sun, chanting and sweating profusely. It is great TV, and she is pleased to see that she is still the only TV reporter here.
Thanks to Willard for that. That guy was an okay lay, but a tremendous source, always good with a tip that leads to a scoop. Scoops lead to ratings which lead to her re-negotiating her contract every year which lead to her owning a Ferrari. A Ferrari! Life is great, and her job is pretty fun. Once it isn’t, she will probably go work for Willard and manipulate the media in the same way she lets herself be manipulated now.
Today, however, she is still a journalist, and she has a job to do. That job is to put the two opposing sides on camera and get them to say something interesting, hopefully something that will increase the conflict.
First she interviews a huckster named Deke Jenkins, Pastor of the Living God Church, who is wearing a powder blue suit, which would have been appropriate for a televangelist from 1985. His hair is greased and slicked back. He isn’t bad looking, but that ingratiating “Jesus saved me and isn’t sure about you” grin pisses her off. However, that is beside the point. The idiot is giving great TV.
“Why are you here today?” she asks Deke and puts the microphone in front of his face.
He smiles and looks into the camera instead of at her, knowing he is now directly addressing the TV audience. The guy is working on her last nerve.
“The children of God are here today to end the scourge known as ‘the adult entertainment industry.’ Strip clubs, escort services, pornographers, they shall all be put out of business.”
His crowd of marchers cheers as he speaks, energizing him. He speaks like he’s about to lead his followers into battle.
“Why is that?” she asks him.
“Because of a blessed law that’s about to get voted upon. God himself has guided the hands of the people who wrote this new law, a law that will restore dignity to the women of Las Vegas.”
“I see.”
Jennifer has had quite enough of Deke. Also, his breath is horrible, like moldy onions. Ugh. Disgusting.
She moves to her left and joins Deke’s counterpart, a tall woman named Rose with enormous breasts barely restrained by a tight pink T-shirt advertising an establishment called The Cherry Tree Lounge that claims to be the home to the “classiest ladies in town.” Her hair is bleached blond and her shorts are inappropriately short for a political rally.
However, Rose has more fire in her eyes than Deke.
Jennifer says: “The other side of the argument is represented by Keep Prostitution Out, an organization lead by Rose Bush. Ms. Bush, what is your group’s position on this new law?”
“This law does a lot more than put hard working women out of work. It puts them to work as prostitutes for a corporation called Empire Resorts. This law was written by them. It legalizes prostitution in Las Vegas, while it makes strip clubs illegal.”
“How exactly would Empire benefit from
this law?”
“They are ready to open the world’s largest brothel, just 20 minutes away from the strip. It’s called The Dark Star.”
“Are you accusing county leaders of hiding what this law actually does?”
“I’m accusing Empire of paying off everyone in sight to get this law passed, including that guy.”
Rose points at Deke.
The camera moves from her to a stunned-looking Deke. His eyes are big and round with fear, like a man caught with his dick out.
Jennifer loves this, just loves it! How could she be anything other than a journalist? This is just too much fun.
“How about it, Mr. Jenkins?” Jennifer asks him. “Were you paid off by Empire Gaming?”
“What? No. Not at all. There is no proof of that.”
“And do you support the legalization of prostitution in Las Vegas?”
His crowd of angry old people carrying signs listens intently. They want to know as well.
“I, um, I think it is the lessor of the evils presented before us, and the bill to be voted on today is a step in the right direction.”
Rose shouts at him, “A step toward prostitution and the enslavement of women!”
Boos rain down on him, from the opposing crowd, and then his own.
And old lady grabs the mic Jennifer is holding. She says, “We didn’t know this was about legalizing prostitution. We thought this was about getting those disgusting clubs closed down.”
Deke tries to grab the mic from her and old lady pokes him in the face with her sign. He stumbles backward into the crowd, which begins yelling at him, accusing him of lying to them.
Jennifer, now in control of the mic again, chaos behind her, speaks into the camera.
“There you have it,” she says. “Controversy and conflict in front of the Clark County Commission Building as two groups argue over what they are arguing about. By the end of the day, strip clubs could be outlawed while prostitution becomes legal in Las Vegas. Or the bill could go down to defeat. Only time will tell. This is Jennifer Rand reporting.”