When he finally got out of the car, he took his time getting to the front entrance. The layout was exactly the same as it had been the last time he was there, meeting with Ho about a case that had ended with him receiving second-degree burns to over ten percent of his body. He nodded hello to a security guard at the front desk who didn’t nod back, then went to the elevators and hit the button for the fifth floor.
His heart racing, Stanton stepped off the elevators and had to consciously calm himself. The map he didn’t want to see was still posted. It was titled “Where in the World is Eli Sherman?” Sherman was his former partner, and he’d put two slugs into Stanton when Stanton discovered what Sherman had been hiding from him. In the nearly five years that had passed since Sherman escaped from custody, the map had filled with pushpins marking locations where Sherman had allegedly been spotted. There was currently no active search for him, just a spot on the FBI’s Ten Most Wanted list.
“Jon,” Ho said, walking up to him with a cup of coffee in hand, “how you been?”
“Good.”
“Did you see the map? We changed the name from Noah to Eli.”
“I did see that. What happened?”
“Turned out Noah wasn’t his real name. We thought it was Eli ‘cause of a birth certificate we came across in San Francisco, but that turned out to be fake, too. We don’t know what his real name was. Isn’t that weird? Guy worked here twelve years, and we don’t know his name.”
“What is it you wanted, Chin?”
“Come on back to my office. I wanted to talk to you about something.”
Stanton followed him down the hall. Ho swiped his badge at a thick door, and it clicked open.
“You haven’t been out here for some time,” Ho said.
“No, not since you guys settled the lawsuit with Putnam’s family.”
“Oh, yeah, that pedophile that jumped off the building, right?”
Stanton knew Ho remembered, and it bothered him that the other man was so dismissive about it. “Yeah” was all he said.
“I know you didn’t do anything wrong in that case, and the chief knew it, too. We were just sick of it in the papers all the time, and the decision was made to settle.”
They walked into his office, which was immaculate, and the smell wood polish lingered in the air. Vivaldi was playing on the computer.
“Have a seat.”
Stanton sat across from him and waited for Ho to close the windows on his computer before turning to him.
“Do you know why we’re sending you to Las Vegas?” Ho asked.
“Orson promised you something. Either money or resources.”
“Yeah, he did. They’re cutting us in on their grant. Some county grant they have out there for law enforcement. Orson promised me and the chief that he could secure the grant for SDPD. It has to do with some forensics seminars. They’re going to hold them here and sell tickets to law enforcement around the country. They get a grant to set it up and pay for the speakers. We’re going to split the ticket sales. Should be pretty good for our reputation to host something like that, too.” He took a sip of coffee. “The question I have for you is: does he have that kind of juice? He’s just an assistant sheriff.”
“Orson’s also the son-in-law of the mayor of Las Vegas. If he says he can do it, he probably can.”
“Hm. Good to know. So how long you gonna be out there?”
“I don’t know. I told him I’m just going to look at some evidence.”
“Well, take as long as you need. We promised full cooperation.”
“Fine. Anything else?”
“You know, we used to be friends once.”
“Once, Chin. Before you hung me out to dry on that Putnam suit. You offered me as a sacrifice so the county wouldn’t have to pay for the lawsuit.”
“It wasn’t anything personal. It was a lot of money, Jon. We would have done it to any officer. Sometimes you gotta take one for the team.”
“Is that all? I have to pack.”
“Yeah, that’s all. You’re dismissed, Detective Stanton.”
Stanton rose and began to walk out.
Ho said, “And Jon? Keep your nose clean out there. We need this money. Your suit still ended up costing the county, and we got a budget shortfall now. If this falls through, it’s going to mean people’s jobs.”
Stanton saw the Rolex watch on Chin’s wrist. “Nice watch.” He turned and walked out without looking back.
4
Bill James stood on the balcony of the top-floor suite of the Havana Hotel. The casino was directly below him, covered with a transparent dome, and he watched the people at the tables, letting the dealers slowly suck the life out of them. He looked out at the strip and watched the crowded sidewalks filled with families. He was in his sixties now, and he remembered when Las Vegas was a place for men, where they came to get away from the family, the job, and life. Now it was a vacation spot accommodating the things men used to escape.
“The times, they are a-changing,” he mumbled under his breath.
“Sir?” said his assistant, Jaime.
“Yeah?”
“They’re ready for you.”
“Thanks.”
He straightened his silk Armani tie and checked the gold cufflinks on his shirt before walking back into the suite. The top three suites were reserved for him. He kept one for himself as his home, one for any dignitaries or celebrities he wished to shower with special treatment, and one-this one-he had turned into a boardroom.
The board of directors for MJF Industries, the parent corporation of Havana Inc. and the true owners of the hotel and casino, had already gathered and were conversing quietly around the twenty-seat mahogany table. The twelve of them were all men of wealth and influence, and many of them-oddly enough, thought James-were extremely obese. With the kind of money they had, he figured they would have the best chefs and personal trainers.
James took his spot at the head, in front of the nameplate marking it as the chairman’s seat. The CEO, Milton Henry, sat next to him, playing around on his iPhone, and the CFO, Raj Kamal, was on his other side. The board had asked that these two not be present, so James had made a point of having them here.
Half-eaten Iranian caviar and freshly made pastries were spread out on the table like leftovers from McDonald’s. The board members began pulling out cigars and asking the assistants standing behind them for brandy.
“I think we’re all accounted for,” James said. “Jaime, stop taking minutes, would you? Thank you. So, we all know what we’re here for. We’ve gone back and forth for the past three months, and it’s decision time.”
Cal Robertson, an older man with thick glasses and a ridiculous polka-dot bowtie, leaned forward through his cigar smoke. “Bill, we all agreed that we would sleep on this for the next quarter. Calling this meeting was unnecessary. I was in Boca Raton on this fabulous-”
“We can’t sleep till next quarter, Cal. We need to decide now. This merger is going to secure the future of this casino. It’s going to take us into the next century of entertainment.”
“We’re making a boatload of money as it is,” Kevin Daugherty chimed in. “Why risk it on a venture that could go belly-up in weeks? Anyway, that’s the way I see it. It’s too much of a risk.”
“We’re in the business of risk,” James said, “and we’re at the point where we need to bet the house or go home.” He turned to Raj. “What are the financials like?”
Raj cleared his throat, and an obvious tremor shook his hands as he began to speak. “Um, well, we’ve been losing market share the past three quarters to the bigger casinos. The, ah, gambling demographic has been decreasing over time, as we predicted it would in a bad economy. So, people aren’t gambling as much, and the ones who are have been going to the casinos that give them better comps, like the Mirage and MGM.”