Ill Gotten Gains: Diary of a Gentle Grifter, page 13
When I managed to get out of my own head I said, “Well, slots do account for a large percentage of a casino’s profit. But it’s good to spread it around, I always say. Some table games here, some slots there. But what do I know? I’m not really a big gambler either.”
I noticed Dru’s glass was already empty—typical that she’d be the first—and she was eyeing the bar.
Peter noticed, too. “Help yourself, Traci. There’s still some left in the shaker. And I have plenty more where that came from. I keep the bar stocked before anything else around here, for better or worse. We’re all booze hounds in these parts.”
“Don’t mind if I do.” Drucilla got to her feet. “It was a long drive.”
I didn’t really care what line of work Mitch’s sister was in, but the woman sitting across from me was quite striking and I felt like she’d been left out of the conversation, so I asked, “What is it you do in Denver, Sherry?”
“I’m a flight attendant for one of the legacies. Eighteen years now, based out of DIA. That’s how I afford to come down here so often—I fly free, when space is available.”
“With airplanes running so full these days, seems like that wouldn’t always be an easy thing to pull off, even with your seniority,” I said. “Especially to a hot spot like Palm Springs. At this time of year, anyway.”
The three older guys chuckled. Sherry seemed proud of herself, but she looked as if she was holding something back. Damn she has sparkling eyes, much like Drucilla’s.
“I’m missing something.” I looked at Drucilla as she settled back into her chair with her newly topped off drink. “What am I missing?”
Dru shrugged.
But Mitch filled in the gap. “Sherry used to date the customer service manager for the airline in Denver. He still pulls strings for her. Bumps paying passengers to get Sherry a seat. Usually in first class.”
Sherry had a devilish look on her face. “Guilty. I’m a very bad girl. But technically speaking, I’m not doing anything underhanded. He is. Luckily, he hasn’t been fingered by the higher ups yet.”
Hey! A bad girl, you say? I decided I was liking this chick more and more with each passing minute. But I was allowing myself to get distracted…and I couldn’t be seen ogling a female. I had a job to do. I turned my attention back to the host.
“Peter, I don’t mean to pry, but why exactly did you give up your trips to Vegas? I can get you a free room some place nice. I know a lot of folks at the big casinos.”
He looked uneasy. “That’s nice of you, Trace, but my playing status gets me all the free stuff I could ever want. I’m just taking a break, is all. I’ve lost too much. I need to concentrate on my hotel. Our sleeping rooms will need renovating soon. I need to invest in this place instead of helping the Vegas fat cats get even fatter.”
I nodded and smiled at him, but of course, I knew the truth. He’d worn out his damned welcome. He’d burned through all the money Lucia loaned him. And now he couldn’t show his face in our town even if he wanted to.
Poor guy. Literally.
I looked around the lavish backyard and then back into the upscale house. Cash poor, perhaps, but Peter was sitting on a goldmine, just like Lucia said. And it was my job to take it away from him. How lucky.
I’d been daydreaming and missed the beginning of the next conversation—
Drucilla was talking to the Berry-Brights. “So, if we do, I’d love to get you to help me.”
Mitch nodded. “Absolutely. There’s a ton of stuff in that price range on the market right now. And I can easily flag the authentic mid-century modern properties to show you. There are several with great bones and even better views. That’s what Palm Springs is all about.”
I turned back to Dru. “We’re house hunting now? I thought we were just looking.”
“Not we. Me. You know I want to move here.” Dru turned to Christopher. “And since I lost literally everything I owned in my condo fire last year, I’d love to get some help buying all new stuff from you, hon. Well, not necessarily new furniture and art; I just adore authentic…what’s the word I’m looking for?...vintage fifties and sixties stuff.”
Where is this coming from? The girl is certainly creative on her feet. But to what end? I had to remember to ask her when we were alone.
“I’d simply love that, Traci,” Christopher sang. The man was becoming downright giddy at the prospect of a huge commission. “I’ve never done a whole house, top to bottom. What fun that will be. With the right budget, of course.”
“What are you talking about?” Mitch asked his husband. “Is our house chopped liver?” He turned back to Drucilla. “About two years ago, this one decided he absolutely detested every last stick of furniture in our house and he started over. I’m still paying off the massive bill.”
“You love it and you know it,” Christopher said as he playfully hit his husband on the arm. “Plus, we wrote it all off, since it’s the, quote-unquote, showroom for the business.”
The men seemed very proud of themselves.
And then I decided I needed another drink.
From the bar, I watched the group and marveled at how easy it was to befriend new people, something I hadn’t done in a long time. I decided it would certainly help with the task at hand…when the time came.
17
THE SKINNY
A few hours later, after everyone was suitably buzzed and full of expensive-looking meats, cheeses, olives, and crackers that Peter had thrown together, Mitch, Christopher, and Sherry went home in an Uber. That left Peter, Andy, Drucilla, and me, sitting around the backyard firepit nursing Jack Daniel’s on the rocks out of vintage juice glasses embossed with pictures of pale pink cartoon pigs. It was a curious, odd choice, but I went with it without question.
The warm desert evening turned chilly long after the sun went down behind the mountains and Peter produced colorful Indian blankets from a cabinet under the bar.
I’d been pouring my own drinks all evening, so I alone controlled my alcohol intake. It was unlike me to forego a free and extensive bar setup stocked with all the best brands, but I needed to keep a clear head. Peter, luckily, seemed to be doing the same thing for the most part—and I certainly needed him to understand me and, more importantly, remember what I told him when he woke up the next morning.
On the other hand, Drucilla and Andy were pretty much sloshed by ten o’clock. And when they decided to walk the grounds together to stretch their legs, I followed Peter into his living room where he showed me his newest painting.
“This is a Shag. He’s a local artist,” Peter explained. “He has a gallery here in town and others in West Hollywood and Las Vegas. Bright colors. A decidedly mid-century modern flair. It’s certainly pop art. Shag celebrates consumerism and a lavish lifestyle in his work, as you can see. I fell in love the minute I first discovered his work. Now I have some twenty-five or so here in the house and in the hotel’s larger suites.” Peter stared lovingly at the art work above the sofa. “This one is called Two Hours Past Bedtime. See the kids under the table watching the adults having a party? I love the waitresses with the bunny ears, too. Reminds me of the parties Hugh Hefner used to throw, don’t you think?”
“I can’t say I ever went to a Playboy Mansion party, Peter,” I said.
“Well, neither did I, of course. But, you know, we’ve all seen the images on television and in movies and stuff.” He turned to look at me. “I would have loved to have bought the Playboy Mansion after that man died. Can you imagine what a great hotel that could have been turned into? Or an exclusive, private gentlemen’s club. Anyway, it was out of my price range, to say the least.”
I nodded. “I’d imagine so.”
“It sold for a hundred million, Trace.”
“Speaking of millions of dollars…” I gestured at the sofa. “Can we sit down?”
“Sure. Shall I refresh our drinks first?”
“No need,” I said as I lowered myself onto the cool white leather. “This won’t take long.”
He sat and crossed one leg over the other. “What’s on your mind?”
“Where do I begin?”
“At the beginning, I suppose,” he laughed.
I’m trying to be serious here, bucko! “It’s not a laughing matter, Peter. And we don’t have to go all the way back to the beginning, because you and I both know the story quite well.”
He looked rightfully confused. “I am so lost, Trace. What’s this about?”
“You are going to be so screwed if you don’t listen to me very carefully.”
His demeanor suddenly changed. He uncrossed his legs and took on a defensive posture. “Fine. I’m listening.”
“Without going into the whole gruesome, multi-year story about why I came to be sitting in your living room tonight—I work for a very powerful person in Las Vegas who has put me in a very awkward, untenable position. I couldn’t come up with a way out of it, and I’m fairly certain you won’t be able to find a way out of it either, my friend. The bottom line is…it royally sucks for both of us.”
His face hardened. “Lucia mother-fucking Marinelli.”
That made me laugh out loud. “I’m sorry, but that was funny. And I’m fairly certain Lucia’s mother is long dead.” I quickly dropped my smile. “Peter, you owe her a shit ton of money.”
The man shook his head slowly. “Uh huh. Yeah. I know that. Thank you very much.” He stood up. “You aren’t the first goon she’s sent down here.”
“Goon?!” I grabbed his wrist and yanked him back into a seated position. That got his attention.
His eyes were wide. “How dare you!”
“The dare, Peter, was when you challenged Lucia to go further. And now she wants blood. She literally sent me down here to scare the crap out of you by killing one of your friends in front of your face. Andy, to be specific.”
The man collapsed onto the back of the sofa and closed his eyes. “Jesus H. Christ.”
“Nope. Andy H. White.”
Peter’s eyes shot opened. “You don’t seem like the goon type…or someone capable of killing someone else, if I’m being honest.”
“That’s what people keep saying,” I said, “yet, here I am.” I exhaled slowly, sat forward, then scooted toward the man a bit. “Peter, I am not going to kill Andy. But I am going to have to make it look like he’s dead. And then he’s going to have to leave town, for good, maybe, and you’re going to have to sell the hotel and give most of the proceeds to Lucia. There is absolutely no other workable scenario.”
Peter got to his feet again and took a few quick steps away from me. He spun around and put his hands on his hips. “I want you and your sister—wait! Is Traci even your sister? Who is she?!” He stopped for a moment and took in a deep breath. “Actually, I don’t really give a fuck. I just want you both out of my house and out of my hotel just as soon as humanly fucking possible, Trace. I mean it. I want you two gone! This whole thing is insane and I most definitely won’t be entertaining this scenario of yours. It’s rubbish. I will not be manipulated into…”
“Peter!” I yelled, interrupting him. I knew this wasn’t going to be easy. “Peter. Babe. I’m not going anywhere until you agree to my plan.”
“And why the hell would I do this? Why would I agree to any of this?” He was growing more agitated. Sweat dripped from his forehead despite the chill in the air. He clutched his hands together and brought them up to his face. “Trace. Seriously? Why?”
“Because if I fail, Lucia will send someone else down here to do the job. I guarantee it. And most likely, that person will carry out her diabolical plan. Do you want Andy’s blood on your hands? Or your own blood? You should be thanking your lucky stars she sent me, man. I’m a good guy.” I took a few beats to collect my thoughts. “Did you not know who you were getting yourself involved with, Peter? You must have heard the stories. Lucia stops at nothing. Nothing. And she always gets what she wants.” I pointed at him. “If you don’t like my plan, I guess you do have a few other options, buddy boy. You can grab as much cash as you can get your hands on and get out of town forever, never to come back. Of course, you’d have to take your friends with you, too, because she’ll start picking them off one by one until she finds you. I’ve heard that she’s done that before. Or, you could simply let me leave, then wait like a sitting duck until she sends one of her other associates to do the job—and then you wouldn’t have to worry about anything, because you’ll be dead and buried somewhere out in the desert. Or—and this is the one I highly, highly recommend, Pete—you could listen to me and do everything I say. That way, no one gets hurt or killed, and you’ll still have some money left over when it’s all said and done. And you’ll be done with Lucia and her goons forever.”
He finally looked defeated. “But in your plan, I have to sell my grandfather’s hotel?”
“And this house, too, I’m afraid. But that’s not my plan, it’s hers. Lucia knows you don’t have any liquid assets. She knows you’re in debt up to your ears, to her and to countless others. Even she knows you can’t squeeze money from a turnip.”
“Blood.”
“Huh?”
Peter closed his eyes. “The saying is, you can’t squeeze blood from a turnip.”
Duh. What’s wrong with me? “You knew what I meant.” I was embarrassed, but I brushed it off. “She wants blood and the money, Pete.”
His eyes eased open. “Peter. I hate being called Pete.”
“Fine. You ready to listen to me, Peter?”
“Does Andy need to be involved in this? I’d really rather send him home before we get into this too deep.”
That made me laugh again. “We’re already neck deep. And rising. And, yes, Andy’s got to be involved. Do you want people to actually die?” I started back out to the bar on the patio. “I need another drink.”
“You and me both, goddamnit.” He shuffled along behind me.
I had to drive this home. When we were in the backyard again, I quickly turned around and put a finger in my host’s face. “Andy most certainly needs to be involved, because he’s the one who’s going to die tomorrow morning. He can die for real…or for fake. It’s your call.”
He grimaced. “I vote for fake.”
“Good choice.” I continued to the bar.
“Why can’t I just agree to sell, pay up, and be done with it?”
I shook my head. “Because that would be too easy. This is what Lucia wants, and she doesn’t change her mind. She wants you to suffer. To pay in more ways than just handing over your real estate profits. It’s just the way we have to do it.” I glanced back into the house at the painting. “You’ll have to give me the details on that Shag artist guy, okay? I think I’m going to get one for my place. I’m kind of digging his funky vibe.” Of course, I didn’t really have a place to hang fancy art, but I always meant to start collecting…for the house I’d have some day. I looked around Peter’s digs. “I’ll tell ya, I wish I had twenty mil. I’d buy this place from you in a heartbeat.”
Peter shook his head as he poured two more bourbons. “You’d hate it. Running a hotel isn’t all it’s cracked up to be.”
“Then you’re in luck,” I said as I accepted the glass from him. “Because it won’t be yours for much longer.”
“Where the hell am I going to go?”
“Down the damned street, over to Los Angeles, or to friggin’ Timbuktu for all I care. For all Mother cares. You can go anywhere you damned well please. And, quite simply, you don’t have to die if you pay up.” I took a long sip. “Only Andy.”
Peter collapsed into a patio chair and put a hand to his cheek. “I went to Timbuktu once. It’s in Mali.”
“That’s wonderful.” I raised my glass up towards him. “Here’s to Timbuktu. And to everyone staying alive.”
He nodded slowly. He seemed to be accepting the fact that he was defeated and had no viable choices except the one I’d offered up. “I’m fucked. I fucked up.”
“Gambling is very, very bad, man. And borrowing money to gamble is simply the worst thing a guy can do. What were you thinking?”
He didn’t say anything. He just exhaled loudly and stared out at the pool.
“Peter. I’ve known Lucia for a long time. I don’t agree with her methods, but you did accept her money, and you must have known you’d have to pay it back some day.”
“I guess.”
“What did you think would happen?”
“I thought she’d drop dead…or forget. She’s fucking old.”
I chuckled. “She’s old, but I don’t think she’s got a foot in the grave just yet. And she forgets nothing. Nothing, Peter.”
He turned and looked at me. “You don’t seem like a mafia type.”
“Because I’m not. I’ve done odd jobs for the…what do they even call it these days? I don’t know. Let’s say, the family. But I’m not really connected to it in the traditional sense. I just happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time. To tell you the truth, I think she’s down a few goons. So, Lucia called on me to get this done for her. That’s it. But trust me when I say, if I fail, she’ll pull all the stops to get someone else to pick up where I left off.”
He took a sip then looked at me through squinted eyes. “How’d she make you do it?”
“I don’t want to talk about that.”
“She threatened you somehow?”
I shrugged. “Let’s go with that.” My poor parents’ faces flashed into my mind. I envisioned two strange men in black suits and sunglasses standing on their front porch, forcing their way into the house I grew up in.
I set my drink down and turned my entire body toward Peter. “Lucia knows where my family lives. My elderly parents. My brother. She has already sent people to their house. To my parents' house. It’s scary, man.”
“Uh huh.”
“I mean it.”
“I believe you,” he said, clearly agitated. “I just don’t want to lose this place. My grandfather built it, man.”
