Currents of Sin

by Arleen Alleman

  “These problems manifest in different ways than in other communities. The yearly net worth of the Vegas prostitution industry is six billion dollars. We have fifteen hundred or so youth working the streets. Sadly, 45 percent of them report being victims of past sexual assault. And generally, these kids are twelve to fourteen years old.

  “The numbers don’t include the thousands of foreign-born victims—mostly Asian—coerced or even kidnapped and smuggled into the country to become prostitutes. Kids are sent in the other direction too and end up as sex slaves often somewhere in the Middle East. Metro tries to get control, but there’s a lot of frustration due to lack of willing witnesses, incredible fear of these gang members, and too few arrests and convictions.”

  I said, “We’ve heard similar depressing descriptions from others. It’s hard to understand why more can’t be done. I’m sure you know about Pamela Fleetfoot, the older sister of Don and Charlie’s adopted daughter, and that we came here to find her. She is about to turn eighteen, and we haven’t been able to get much help. Now we’re afraid she’s become one of the abducted kids you mentioned.”

  “Yes, Tom and Mick filled me in on that. Maybe the current investigations and undercover work will lead to something. It would help if the state cracked down more on massage parlors. Many of them are backed by casinos and are nothing but prostitution houses. They’re a major source of trafficking. A lot of sex slaves coming into the country end up in those places. There’s been some improvement in recent years, but still not nearly enough.

  “There’s so much money involved with high rollers coming into town and spending their winnings or drowning their sorrows with prostitutes. The state and the city are very reluctant to put an end to the industry altogether. They keep issuing licenses to these businesses even when there’s credible suspicion they’ll engage in illegal activities.”

  It was agonizing to think there was yet another way Pammie could have fallen into the trafficking world. “Do you think she could be at one of those places and still be in Vegas?”

  “It’s possible, but there are hundreds of them all around town.”

  While I tried to imagine looking for her at all those disgusting businesses, Tom asked what the federal government could do about the problem. Grant threw his hands up in a frustrated gesture.

  “Not as much as we’d like. Since 2008, we’ve had an FBI Human Trafficking Task Force that works with the locals. Other organizations like World Hope International coordinate with us. They operate to uncover specific child trafficking incidents and to help victims. Even the local media affiliates have joined the effort to publicize the problem, and they try to unite the Asian community to oppose gang influence.

  “It’s a good start that child sex slaves are treated as victims now rather than offenders. Personally, I believe additional laws need to change in order to prosecute facilitators like taxi drivers and the customers themselves.”

  Grant glanced at his watch. “Look, guys, I have a meeting in twenty minutes. Tell me what you’ve found out about Denezza.”

  I spent ten minutes filling him in on the calls to Sid, including the latest one mentioning me and the SUV that stalked me. When I described details about the accident and Sid’s dire condition, he was visibly shaken.

  “Oh no, Sid is such a wonderful, kind person. I’m so sorry to hear that. Bureau of Prisons tried to minimize Denezza’s contact with former associates in Vegas, but it’s virtually impossible. We assume he never entirely stopped running his operation from inside, and I don’t think he will until he’s dead. His attorney undoubtedly serves as a go-between.”

  Tom asked, “Is there any way you can trace the calls to Sid? It might lead back to wherever Paul’s people are hanging out.”

  “I’ll look into that. I can probably do it in coordination with Metro if Brooks and Sid request it. Even if we can determine where the person called from, there has to be probable cause to make an arrest, and it has to be more than prank calls.”

  My frustration got the better of me, and I tried to interrupt him. He held up a hand.

  “Having said that, through the task force, I’ll also coordinate with Metro on the accident investigation. If it appears somebody followed you and Sid out of her neighborhood and communicated with the person who caused the accident, well, that changes things.

  “It’s conspiracy and attempted murder. It gives us cause to figure out where the calls came from. Threatening you personally, Darcy, was a mistake. Only Denezza would have a grudge against both Sid and you. They must have been watching her house to know you were staying there.”

  “Thanks, Grant. I know you’ll do everything you can to help. Um, before we go, I have a question. How can we determine if Paul’s people are still operating out of Athens Olympia? Sid doesn’t think it’s possible, but it seems to me like a starting point.”

  “The new owner has never come under any suspicion of wrongdoing as far as I know. It’s doubtful those guys would still hang around there since the place is so strongly tied to Denezza and his crimes.”

  “Okay, I just thought I’d ask.”

  Mick threw me a meaningful glance, but I just shrugged. Damn, if the man didn’t know me too well.

  42

  Even before we left Grant’s office, I’d made up my mind about what I wanted to do next. It was a very long shot, but I was curious about Athens Olympia and the new owner. Mick and Tom were less enthusiastic about my decision, but it didn’t matter. I was only going to talk to people, calling it research for writing an article, as I often do. How could that hurt?

  Mick insisted on coming along, and I acquiesced to the two of them hanging out in the casino while I worked. In the midst of the action, we found the bar and lounge decked out with gold Greek key trimmings, plaster columns with scroll designs at the top, and waitresses wearing skimpy white strapless dresses. I left Mick and Tom in the midst of the tacky Delphi ambiance and went to find the security office.

  Shamelessly, I’d first gone back to the El Cortez to change into more suitable clothes. I ambled through the casino in tight designer jeans, four-inch heels, and my lowest-cut top. Ironically, I looked a lot like one of the prostitutes who hang out in the hotels and casinos. I’ve never been above using my physical attributes to loosen up my interviewees. Besides, I needed to draw attention away from my bruised face.

  I introduced myself to a woman sitting out in front of the security office. Handing her my business card, I said sweetly, “I don’t have an appointment, but I was hoping to speak with the head of security for a few minutes.”

  She stared at the card, then looked up. Her forehead wrinkled while she studied me.

  “You’re the one who wrote the books about the cruises with the murders and the previous owner of our hotel. My, did you have an accident?”

  She opened a bottom drawer of her desk and pulled out a copy of my first book, turning it over to show me my own image. Yep, that’s me, looking a little better than now.

  “Yes, a small accident. I’m fine. Just a little bruised.”

  I was used to the recognition. Both my books about the cruises topped nonfiction bestseller lists, not to mention that the crimes received a whole lot of press coverage.

  I tried to look humble. “How nice of you to have a copy of the book.”

  She held it out to me and tentatively asked if I would sign it.

  “Of course, no problem.”

  This also happens frequently, and I’m grateful for the interest in my work. I glanced at her nameplate and personalized the autograph.

  Handing back the book, I said, “I’m writing a shorter piece now on the Vegas gambling scene. I’m here doing research and would love a few minutes with your chief.”

  She eased out from behind the desk and disappeared down a hallway with my card. In a few minutes, she returned, followed by a burly man wearing a blue pinstripe suit accesso
rized with a conservative pale blue tie and matching pocket square. He also wore a wide grin, which seemed to stretch his face as if he didn’t often use it. He came up to me with his hand outstretched. Despite his size, he looked good in the expensive clothes, and he was quite handsome.

  “Ms. Farthing, it’s a great pleasure to meet you and quite a surprise. I’m Nate Mirabelle, the chief of security for the hotel.

  “Needless to say, I’ve seen you many times in the media, and I found your books fascinating from a security standpoint. Of course we were all interested in the story about Athens’s previous owner. It’s given us a little boost in business too. People want to see the place you described in the books.”

  I wasn’t sure how to feel about that. I showed him my whitened teeth and tossed my hair. Like I said, shameless.

  “Oh, thank you so much. It has been quite an interesting few years. I never get used to the, um, notoriety.” I giggled with as much femininity as I could muster and waited for his next move.

  “Well, Wanda here says you want to interview me about the gambling industry. I’m a little busy, but I can spare about twenty minutes now if you like.”

  “That would be wonderful. Thanks so much. I apologize for not calling ahead, but um, this trip came about unexpectedly due to a personal matter.”

  Nate favored me with another forced smile and escorted me to his office. He showed no reaction to my battered face. Either he was half-blind or exceedingly polite.

  I thought of his office décor as early electronics. There were no personal items and no room for any. Two long credenzas set against the walls were loaded with computer screens. Lights blinked on trees of modems, and cables crisscrossed in the middle of the floor. No Wi-Fi here apparently.

  “Watch your step,” he warned. “Come sit over here. Sorry about the close quarters. I don’t spend a lot of time sitting in here. I’m usually out and about on the floor.”

  I followed him to a chair in the corner that more or less faced his workstation. After politely seating me, he took his position behind a desk that was too large for the room and also held several computer monitors.

  I turned in my seat to look at him straight on and returned his pasted-on smile. “Since you don’t have much time, Mr. Mirabelle, I’ll go ahead with my questions if that is all right.”

  “It’s Nate, and sure, go ahead. I’ll do the best I can to answer them.”

  “First, I’ve chosen this hotel partly because of my previous association with Paul Denezza, you know, for continuity. I’ll include other hotels as well. In light of your new ownership and management, I’d like your take on how the staff and the new owner coped with the negative publicity.”

  I pulled a notepad out of my purse and clicked my pen. “First, can you tell me how long you’ve been in your position?”

  “I came on board the week after the sale of the hotel to Fontana Holdings. I applied along with about twenty others and was very happy to be selected. As I said, to some extent, the history of Mr. Denezza’s crime brought us business.

  “Of course there was a downside as well. A lot of staff were let go because Mr. Fontana didn’t know who he could trust. We believed that Denezza had associates on his payroll who were not desirable employees. It took a little while to sort everything out, but now we run smoothly and haven’t had any problems.”

  I watched his face closely. I’ve become pretty good at reading expressions. Outwardly, he appeared to be an open, classy guy running the security operation for a major Strip hotel. But his dark eyes tended to close almost imperceptibly, then open wide while he was talking. Was it a tic or a tell?

  “How did the new owner vet the employees to make sure all the former owner’s people were gone?” There was the odd blink again.

  “We interviewed everyone working in the casino and in security and even the restaurant managers, and we conducted background checks on all the employees. After a time, we became convinced everyone remaining was on the up and up.”

  “So did you ever come in contact with people who worked for him before he was convicted?”

  He slowly shook his head and did the blink thing, this time averting his eyes. “No, I never did. So what is the story you are researching now? Why all the interest in that ancient history?”

  “Sorry, it’s just background for me. I’m researching what it is like to run security for a major casino. I’ve been getting information from law enforcement about illegal activities in Las Vegas and wondered if you could explain how you ensure the hotel stays free of that. Like prostitution, for example.”

  Nate leaned back in his chair and gave me a serious look. “That sounds suspiciously like a probe. Are you working for Metro?”

  “Oh no. I’m a writer, as you know. I’m trying to understand the complexity of running places like this and what it takes to stay on top of any criminal element that might try to get a foothold. After what this place went through, I assumed you would be very diligent.”

  He seemed to relax a little. “Yes, we are.” He waved a hand across the mass of electronics. “We watch 24-7 in all locations and from all angles. We know how to spot hookers and pimps, and they don’t last long.”

  “Does the hotel have any sort of routine auditing or oversight? You know, to make sure all that is carried out effectively?”

  Two rapid blinks and a quiver at the side of his mouth told me he did not like the question. The phony smile finally disappeared.

  “I guess that would be me. I report directly to Mr. Fontana and keep meticulous records of every incident we investigate. The surveillance records speak for themselves.”

  “I’m a little surprised that you report to the owner, Nate. Doesn’t the hotel have a general manager?”

  He shifted in his seat and watched one of the screens for a moment. “I guess the arrangement is a little unusual. Mr. Fontana considers this his main property, and he spends a great deal of time here managing it himself. I’m honored that he trusts me to run the hotel during his absences.”

  “Nate, how often do you catch prostitutes or pimps hanging around here, and how do you handle it?”

  “Oh, it doesn’t happen very often. They know they’ll be caught if they spend any time in the casino. Sometimes we call Metro, but more often, we escort them out and make it clear they should not come back. We keep a video record of undesirables, and we identify them quickly if they return.”

  Nate fidgeted in his seat and clearly tried to force a pleasant expression. There was no question he was uncomfortable and running out of patience. His demeanor made me wonder whether I was experiencing the real Nate Mirabelle, or he was putting on an act.

  Sid has told me a great deal about how the hotel was run when her husband owned it, including the fact that no one is in a better position to facilitate illegal activities than security. Many of Paul’s organized crime wannabes were associated with the security operation back then.

  I stood up. “I know you’re busy, Nate. I won’t take up any more of your time now, but I’ll probably need more information after talking with Mr. Fontana.”

  He visibly relaxed, and the tight smile returned. He escorted me back to the front desk, where we shook hands, and I thanked him for his time.

  Weaving my way among the rows of gaming tables and slot machines, I glanced toward the ceiling now and then, often finding an adjustable overhead dome camera. I imagined I could hear the lenses turning to follow me through the casino. Was Nate watching me on his monitors at this moment?

  Mick jumped off his barstool and hugged me. “Did everything go as planned?”

  I didn’t answer. Casinos have ears as well as eyes.

  “Hey, you two,” I said. “Let’s get out of here. Maybe Sid is awake, and they will let us talk to her.”

  43

  On the twelfth floor of the Strip hotel, the lovely dark-haired girl reluctantly settled in
to a routine. Although still a prisoner, she no longer fought her handler. He hadn’t beaten her for a week, and the bruises were nearly gone. She now appreciated the small gifts of food and drinks he brought her at unexpected times. Although she still thought about escaping, Chuck—she now knew his name—was her only lifeline to the outside world, and he allowed her minimal contact with it.

  At first, she resisted forming the relationship, but that was impossible since she depended on him for everything. Now that she was reasonably compliant, Chuck allowed her to leave the room for short periods. He explained in horrible detail what he would do to her if she tried to leave the hotel or talked to anyone while she was downstairs.

  She knew no matter where she wandered in the massive casino, the cameras would follow her. Members of the security team were also standing by seemingly everywhere. Chuck warned that they too were keeping their eyes on her. The only relief these field trips provided was a change of scenery and an opportunity to think in solitude about how she could get away from the hotel. So far, it was all fantasizing. She hadn’t come up with a plausible plan.

  Another thing she knew for sure was that the men were keeping at least four other girls in rooms near hers. She talked with one of them briefly in the hallway on a rare occasion when Chuck left her for a minute to go back inside the room, probably to the bathroom. The girl was also standing outside her room, waiting for her handler to return.

  She was pretty with thick black hair cut into a short shaggy style. She whispered, “My name is Mimi.” When she did not receive a response, she looked around, then added, “I’m allowed to leave the hotel on brief errands for these guys as long as I do exactly what they say. What is your name?”

  She wasn’t sure whether the girl meant that Mimi was her real name, which they were forbidden to use or share with customers or anyone else. She had no intention of doing anything that would earn her another beating. Before she could decide whether to answer, Mimi’s handler walked up to her from behind and roughly dug his fingers into her shoulder. She flinched in pain and averted her eyes.