Unfortunately, Billy Richards wasn’t entirely stupid. He likely knew Ezra Huntington was dead or arrested, which meant he had exactly one asset left: information. And in Vegas, information had a very specific market. The kind of market that involved men in expensive suits, shit tons of cash, and a general disregard for things like federal law.
“He’s going to try to sell whatever he saw Brendan do.”
“Affirmative.”
“To the same assholes we do business with.”
“Looks that way.”
I flopped backward into my seat. “So we’re not just cleaning up Brendan’s mess, we’re doing it in front of all of Vegas. Nothing says ‘trust the Black family’ like publicly executing a guy who’s got dirt on us.”
Mac’s expression didn’t change. “Or it says don’t fuck with us.”
That was as close as I was going to get to an endorsement from Mac.
“Good enough for me. Let’s see if Ares is around. He’ll know something. He always does.”
Here’s a secret about Vegas:the most exclusive doors are the ones in shadows, not under the lights everyone else sees.
A valet was already waiting at the service entrance of the Minoan when we pulled up. “Mr. Black.”
“How’re you doing, Frankie?” I palmed him a hundred as I stepped out of the car. “Keep it running. Might be leaving in a hurry.”
“Of course, sir.”
Mac and I wove through the kitchen piled with plates of overpriced steak and lobster combos. The cooks didn’t even give us a second glance, though two dishwashers grinned with recognition as I passed them each a twenty. Two hallways later, we entered the casino. It was there that I brought out the big guns.
“Hi, honey,” I greeted Denise, my favorite dealer, with a grin, acting like I didn’t notice the double-takes when I slid onto a seat at her blackjack table and put a ten-grand chip down to start.
I wasn’t Ben Affleck or anything, but half the tourists in Vegas came to watch heavy bettors. Ten thousand dollars was pocket change to someone like me, but for the other people at the table, it was more than they made in a month. Maybe two or three.
They could gawk away. It allowed Mac to scope things out without being noticed.
“Ares is running his game,” Mac said when he returned a few minutes later. “Top floor. Lis is there too.”
I grunted. “Goddamn it. I don’t really want to chip another tooth tonight.”
I was hoping to find the Ares Antoni in his office behind the casino manager’s, not the high-stakes game he ran behind closed doors. And I was really hoping his father would still be in New York, their primary stronghold. The Antonis’ secret games weren’t the celebrity tournaments or Disneyland tables on the main floor; they were the kinds where you could win a casino orlose your life. Things tended to get heated as a mere greeting, and things seemed to get even worse when Lis was around.
“Your teeth will be fine.”
I grimaced. “That’s what you said last time. Lead on, Little John.”
Mac’s brow lifted. “Does that make you Robin Hood?”
“You’re right. If anything, I’m the Sheriff of Nottingham.” It would be funny if it weren’t so fucking true.
A private elevator took us to the top floor, where the week’s password and another five hundred in tips got us into a room overlooking The Strip. Several heavies sat around a poker table, smoking cigars while topless women served them drinks. At the head of the whole thing, melting into his chair like a double scoop ice cream cone on a hot day, was Lis Antoni.
“Black.” Lis’s thick Eastern European accent echoed off the windows as he pushed a beefy hand through his slicked silver hair. “We thought you might appear tonight.”
“Lis.” I slid into the empty chair next to him with a grin. “You’re lookin’ good. You join Weight Watchers recently?”
The big man in the corner barely moved as he took a long drag on his cigar. “Fuck you, Jester.” Then he slapped his massive belly, which jiggled like a Jell-O mold.
“Do I hear Ronan Black?”
I turned as Ares Antoni approached the table and accepted a handshake. “The one and only.”