Innocent Obsession (The Dirty Kings of Vegas)

My phone rings in my pocket. I need to get this business cleared up first.

After we shake hands, all smiles, the meeting breaks up. I ask Arnie to stay back. I ask him, “Did you get what you needed?”

“I got all that I need.”

“Good. Just so we understand each other, I’ll be cutting back the final payment by the same amount.” He goes to speak, but I smile and raise a hand. “Your men get to see that you stood up for them. So that’s a win for you. But we both know this was a shakedown, and that’s why I’m invoking the penalty clause in our contract for late completion.”

“I’m–”

“You’re learning a lesson, Arnie. Next time, negotiate with me openly.”

“Or…?” He can’t dent my mood.

“Don’t say or, Arnie. Not to me. You don’t want to go there.”

My phone rings again. I usher Arnie out of the boardroom.

I missed the call. My heart skips. It was Lucy. I call her straight back.

The voice on the other end makes my blood run cold. “Paul O’Malley?”

It’s a man’s voice that I don’t recognize.

“That fancy new casino of yours? By rights, it belongs to someone else.”

In the background on the other end, I hear a thump, then crashes. Heavy glass shatters.

Then there’s a shriek. With no hesitation, I recognize it’s hers.

The man laughs and hangs up.

When I drive back to Lucy’s apartment, there’s nobody here.

A hollow clang shakes my gut when I see the entrance to her apartment. The slow swinging door feels like a bad omen.

Inside, the place is a wreck. It looks like a hurricane blew straight through. All of Lucy’s furnishings are ripped and broken. Seems like every piece of glass is smashed. Drawers and closets have all been yanked open, and the contents strewn on the floors, on the bed, and all over the bathroom.

On my way here, I sent texts to both of my brothers and to Dad.

As I’m walking back out of the front door, John is the first to call.

“Any news?”

I tell him about the state of Lucy’s apartment.

“We can probably guess who’s behind it.” I know he means the Morettis. “Did you see anything conclusive?”

“No. I’m just going to collect the files from the surveillance cameras.”

“She’s got surveillance? That’s good.” He sounds surprised and a bit puzzled. I might as well level with him.

“The cameras are mine.”

“You got cameras around her apartment building?”

“They pick out license plates.”

He pauses for a beat. “Well, that will be a help.”

I call Tony Vincente. “Tony, I’m sending you some license plate numbers.” Tony monitors screens and traffic control at the data center for Las Vegas MPD.

“Paul,” his voice is low. It has the tunneled sound of his hand cupped over his mouth. There’s a swishing sound of motion in the background, like he’s rushing down an echoing hallway. Headed for the john, I expect. Furtive, he says, “Paul, you know I would love to help you out. My supervisors are up my ass. Send me what you’ve got and I’ll get back to you when I can.”

“Tony, I need the results now. I’ve sent you the numbers I need tracked and the locations where they were seen.”

“Paul, I could lose my job…”

“Won’t matter if I have to come there and throw you through a window.”

“Paul. You…”

“You need me to remind you of the favor you owe me?”

“No… I…”

“Right answer. Get back to me. And fast.”

Next, I call Detective Pat Gallagher in the LVMPD organized crime bureau.

“Pat, a team from Boston flew into McCarran the day before yesterday. I expect you’re aware? I need everything you know about them. Every move they’ve made, every time one of them scratched their ass since they got to Las Vegas. And I need it now.”

“I don’t know what we’ve got, but I’ll look up what I can for you, Paul.”

“Does my voice sound at all casual to you, detective?”

“Um… no. Not really.”

“Have you been monitoring the group I’m talking about?”

“We… we’ve had word of them, Paul.”

“Get your fucking ass moving. Pronto, fucker. Time to earn your fucking graft.”

“It could take time.”

“You don’t have any. Send me everything you’ve got. Now.”

A dull black Hummer is pulling up outside Lucy’s building. Peter is driving. I make him shift seats and I take the wheel.

From the rear of the Hummer, John says, “They must have been watching us like hawks.”

I know what my brothers are thinking. And they’re right. John is just too sensitive to me to say it straight out. I drive a short while, then say, “Okay. I know it. They must have been watching me.”

“No need to reproach yourself.” John’s voice is calm and steady. He’s checking and loading Glocks, AR-15s and Mossbergs. He brought grenades, smoke bombs, a full assault kit. “You’re the face of the new casino. If they were going to have a target, it was bound to be you.”