Sin City (33 page)

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Authors: Harold Robbins

BOOK: Sin City
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In other words, a weasel like Ricketts could put in a bad report on A-Ma based upon guilt by association and my license could be denied without an iota of hard evidence. If not denied outright, the proceedings could keep me tied up fighting a legal battle until my banks and investment angels took a hike. Ricketts was also making a not so subtle threat about Kupka. I knew he wouldn't be able to piece together anything after all these years, but if it was a close call on my license, the gaming board could be influenced by rumor and innuendo. So could the herd of sheep in the other room. If the going really got tough, there was a contractual clause that allowed the bankers and investors to form an “advisory committee” I had managed to sidestep up to now.
I grinned at Ricketts. “I don't know where you're getting information that A-Ma has criminals hanging around her. My understanding is that around Hong Kong and Macao, they compare her to Mother Teresa.”
“I want that bastard burned. I don't care what it costs,” I said.
Jack Moody, an investigator on my payroll, nodded. “So you've told me.”
I tapped Moody on the chest. “I want Ricketts destroyed. I want his house burned down and salt sowed into the earth where it stood, his car blown up … I want him robbed of every cent he owns. I want his wife turned out onto the streets to hook, his kids sent to an orphanage, his arms and legs cut off … I want him castrated, his tongue ripped out. You get the idea?”
“You don't like this guy big time?”
“You're getting the idea.”
Moody was a former Vegas police detective, the best they ever had, a cop who worked both homicide and vice. I was lucky he was never assigned the Kupka disappearance. He knew every bad actor in the town and had put a lot of them away. After he retired, he set up his own detective agency and I used him for lightweight stuff at Halliday's, mostly doing background checks on employees or investigating thefts. I liked him and kept him on retainer when I became Halliday's manager because I knew I'd need him for a big one someday. From the moment I started the Forbidden City project, I put Moody to work doing background checks on everyone who could affect the project, from investment bankers and architects to FBI agents involved in investigating my background and sources. Information from the brand of booze they drank to who was cheating on their spouse came in handy. The worst people I had to deal with were the county building inspectors, and Moody had done a terrific profile on each of them, letting me know which ones could be had—for love or money.
When Charles Ricketts came back into my life, Moody was the first person I turned to. He also had a bone to pick with Ricketts—he was the investigating officer on the body-in-the-trunk case Ricketts blew.
After he blew the trial, Ricketts lied to the news media about why the case went to hell in the courtroom, claiming that Moody and his partner hadn't put together a viable case. The accusation came at a critical time for a promotion and someone else got the job Moody wanted.
“The goddamn body was found chopped up into pieces, stuffed into a plastic garbage bag, and then into the trunk of the defendant's car. Did Ricketts need a video of the creep swinging the ax to get a conviction?” Moody growled, the first time I met him.
I met with Moody the same evening Ricketts bragged he was going to take me down through A-Ma. We were in my penthouse office overlooking the construction site. I got up from my desk and walked to the window, looking down at the work being done by the night crew on the project.
“I told you about Betty, how the jerk dumped her case. I know Ricketts gave you grief, too. Now he's as good as told me that he's going to keep me from getting my license. If this gets out to the bankers, they'll pull the plug and let me wash down the drain.”
“You really want to see Ricketts completely ruined? I mean, so bad nobody would talk to the guy or listen to him?”
“Do chickens have lips?”
“I don't know. Do they?”
“There's a couple Chinese expressions that pop into my mind when I think about Ricketts. One is that with a single monkey in the way, ten thousand men cannot pass. I want the monkey out of the way. What do you have in mind?”
“Well, when I ran a check on him for you, I came across an allegation dating back to the time when he was a deputy DA. Back in those days he ran a youth program at the church he and his wife attended, taking fatherless boys out fishing and camping, that sort of thing. One of the mothers made a stink about Ricketts sharing a bed with her teenage son during a camp-out.”
“He molested the kid?”
“The kid said Ricketts's hand fell on his groin area while Ricketts was supposed to be asleep. The kid was mature enough to remove the hand. Nothing really came from the allegation; dirt can get swept under the rug pretty easy in this town if you have any juice. His father-in-law has run interference for Ricketts for years, but now that
Ricketts is on the outs with the man's daughter, you can bet he might join a parade to tube Ricketts.”
“Let's find the kid and make it public.”
“It's ancient history. I have a different idea. Before I retired, I busted a male prostitute known as Sonny Boy on a morals charge. You might not remember him, he worked the Strip after you took that slug in the back of Halliday's. After I busted him every time he spit on the sidewalk, he finally left town and set up shop on Sunset Strip in Los Angeles, got discovered by a blue movie producer, and became a top porn star because of a unique trait.”
“Which is?”
“He has the longest pecker in the world. Twelve, fourteen inches, something incredible. He couldn't act worth a damn, but who has to act in a porn flick? He's out of work because word's spread that he has a particularly virulent social disease.”
“So what's all this got to do with Ricketts?”
“Sonny Boy was once a jock, the horse-racing variety. He's small built, kind of delicate looking, can pass for a teenager when he dresses right. I spent a couple decades dealing with chicken hawks; I know how they think and operate. I'm sure Ricketts is one. If he hasn't already gone over the line, he's primed for it. His marriage is breaking up, his wife's filed divorce papers and gotten a restraining order kicking him out of the house, and being a screwup, if it wasn't for his father-in-law, he would have been shit-canned from his state job a long time ago.”
It never occurred to me that Ricketts could be a chicken hawk, an older man who preys on young boys. I thought back to when he was handling my mother's murder case. He hadn't tried to put the make on me, but we were never alone, either.
“Sonny has an innocent, boyish, Boy Scout look that turns on chicken hawks,” Moody said. “And he's got a trained penis that snaps to attention on command.”
“Spare me the details. Just nail the bastard.”
Moody paused at the door. “You didn't tell me what that second old Chinese saying was.”
“It's good to execute some people as an example for others.”
A-Ma had imported a slut from Hong Kong who looked so young and innocent, I immediately nicknamed her “Sonny Girl.”
“Where did you find her?” I asked A-Ma.
“Hong Kong is a small place. Every woman of beauty in the colony is being paid for sex, sometimes in marriage, but usually not.”
“She's perfect. I wouldn't mind molesting her myself.”
“If you do, I will make sure you have a new nickname, too.”
“Which is?”
“Eunuch.”
The governor was spending the night at the country club house that Morgan and I once shared. His wife was back in Atlanta at a church convention. It took a fat campaign contribution to get the governor to come down and spend the evening talking about the Forbidden City project. The man was noted for being Mr. Clean, a churchgoing, loving husband and father without a spot on his record. But Moody had an instinct for perverts.
“Remember those bumper stickers that said an orderly desk is the sign of a disorderly mind? Truer words were never spoken. The moral is, never trust someone who looks too clean. All this good churchgoer stuff is pure corn. You can't make it in politics without being a glad-handing phony. We know what the governor is—the question is, how do we get him to reveal it.”
I had just the bait—Sonny Girl.
I had to turn the governor around. Ricketts was trying to blacken my name with the gaming board in Carson City, describing me as a former street hustler and A-Ma as a gangster's moll. A joke was going around that “Bugsy and Virginia” were back in town. I had to turn off the heat from Ricketts and get the governor on my side, or turn over control to the investors. If I aced out, the project would fall flat on its
face. The owners of one of the other clubs would buy in and end up building my casino.
 
“So good to see you, Governor.” I welcomed him at the front door of the country club house. I had the house opened so we could hit balls after dinner. His driver carried an overnight bag for him. “I've arranged a room at Ceasar's for your driver, if that's all right.”
“Fine. Joseph, I'll call you when I need you.”
Inside, A-Ma and Sonny Girl were lined up as the reception committee. The governor was short, about five-six, and heavy built but not plump. He wore a conservative gray suit with an American flag pin in his lapel and a plain black tie that would be perfect for funerals.
“May I present A-Ma, and her cousin, Kim.”
Sonny Girl's name was unpronounceable to an Occidental. After hearing the unpronounceable gibberish, I gave her a new name—Kim. I didn't care if it was Chinese, male or female. I just figured the governor would be able to pronounce it. And I gave her a family relationship: she was A-Ma's cousin, a college girl supporting her younger siblings while she went to school. A-Ma thought there was too much b.s. in the description, but I liked it.
“I have heard many things about you, A-Ma.”
There was no clue in the governor's words as to what he had heard, but I didn't need a lie detector attached to the guy to know that some of those “many things” were dirt from Ricketts and the feds. As I introduced him to the two women, I watched his eyes, looking for the telltale widening of his pupils that signaled his interest in the two women, but he just squinted at them. I figured he must be nearsighted and too vain to wear glasses. Or probably took a poll and found out that 51.5 percent of the people liked him better without glasses.
The most expensive restaurant planned for Forbidden City, to be located at the top of the complex, was going to be a gourmet joint that would please an emperor of China. I imported the chef from Hong Kong and set him up with an experimental kitchen in the old casino-hotel we were using for training so he could refine his magic until the casino opened.
I had the Chinese gourmet genius prepare our dinner meal and brought him out from the kitchen to meet the governor, who graciously
stood up and did a lot of bowing and muttered some greeting in Chinese. It didn't surprise me that a seasoned politician knew enough Chinese to say hello—he could probably speak the devil's language if the need arose.
Dinner began with all of us holding hands while the governor said a prayer of thanks. It was the first dinner prayer I had ever participated in, ditto I'm sure for A-Ma and cousin Kim. When the meal was finished, we took our after-dinner drinks out to the balcony that overlooked the golf course. He asked for lemonade, to which I added gin.
“My cousin is attending college in Hong Kong,” A-Ma said.
“What are you majoring in, Kim?”
“Massage.”
I almost croaked.
“She means physical therapy,” A-Ma said. She rattled off something in Chinese to her “cousin.”
“Yes,” Kim said, with her broken English, “physical therapy. I work with people injured in accidents or have strokes.”
“That's a very public-spirited occupation, my dear. You should be very proud.”
After dinner I had floodlights turned on to the ninth hole and accompanied the governor out to hit balls. I was a lousy golfer, actually I hated playing golf, but letting the governor show his stuff was good politicking.
“I have to confess, Zack, I am one of your big fans.”
“Thank you, Governor.”
Cagy bastard. What he really meant was that there were people who didn't like me.
“My concern, as governor, is that the project you've launched will be managed in a way that will benefit the state and not create any black marks.” He hit a ball down the fairway. “You know, of course, that the focus of the inquiry is A-Ma's background. It took decades for us to remove the stranglehold organized crime had on the state. We don't want to stick our heads in a noose again, this time with undesirables from the Far East.”
“I share the same concern. That's why eighty percent of the money for the project comes from good old USA bankers and investors.”
“But those people are just money managers. You and I both know
it's the person who controls that other twenty percent that will run the operation.”
“I control it. A-Ma only provided loans.”
“I don't really want to get into the particulars, Zack, that's for the gaming board. But I have heard that A-Ma has been associated with one of the most notorious triad mobsters.”
“Macao and Hong Kong are small places. Together they aren't the physical size of most Nevada counties. There's no question A-Ma knows and has associated with people at all levels of society there. But A-Ma has no criminal record—she's kept her nose clean. Frankly, governor, the way I see it, a small group of jealous casino owners are going after me and A-Ma because I'm taking Vegas into a whole new era.” I dropped my voice, even though the only other creature I saw on the golf course was a coyote moseying by. “To be honest with you, I think there's racial prejudice and gender prejudice involved in the attacks on A-Ma.”
I could see that one got to him. We lived in a time in which people of color were demanding equal rights and women were slugging it out with the Old Boys' network.
Back inside the house, he drank another “hard” lemonade before his eyes started drooping and he announced he needed to hit the bed.
“It didn't work,” I told A-Ma after she escorted the governor to his room. “He hardly looked at Kim all night. And there's another problem. Moody got a peek at his medical history. He's had a problem with being impotent.”
“Don't give up hope yet. He is a smart politician with one face for the public and another in private. Perhaps Kim is exactly the therapy he needs to cure his impotency.”

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