“Red Ravisher, the porn star, and Roscoe J. Danton,” Miss Ward said. “Miss Ravisher threw a photographer at Mr. Danton.”
[THREE]
The Niccolò Machiavelli Penthouse
The Venetian Hotel, Resort & Casino
Las Vegas, Nevada
0830 18 June 2007
When the elevator door opened and Hotelier, Annapolis, and Radio & TV Stations walked off onto the upper-foyer level of the duplex penthouse suite, Max, who had been sampling the steak and eggs of the breakfast buffet on the lower floor, took the stairs of the curved staircase three at a time, put his paws on Radio & TV Stations’ shoulders—standing on his hind paws, Max was taller than Radio & TV Stations—and affectionately licked his face.
Radio & TV Stations didn’t look very happy about it, but Charley Castillo was delighted.
If that’s any indication, coming here was one of my very few good ideas. Max is an excellent judge of character.
Hotelier and Annapolis, and finally Radio & TV Stations and Max, came down the stairs.
“Thanks for meeting with us on such short notice,” Charley said, as he offered his hand to Annapolis.
“You said it was important, Colonel,” Annapolis said.
Castillo turned to Hotelier.
“Good to see you,” he said. “And before I forget it, make sure I get the bill for all this.” He gestured around the suite, which he had been reliably informed was available only to those who could afford fifteen thousand dollars a night or who had been unlucky enough to lose five hundred thousand or more playing blackjack or some other innocent game of chance.
“I told you, Colonel, your money’s no good in Las Vegas,” Hotelier said.
“How about the CIA’s money?” Castillo asked. “I am about the Commander in Chief’s business, and on the CIA’s dime.”
“If that’s the case, I’ll have the fellow who owns this place get me a bill, and forward it to you.”
“Thanks.”
“How’d things go at the airport?” Radio & TV Stations asked. “Any problems? The cars I sent were waiting for you when you got there?”
“Your cars and… some other cars,” Castillo said, and visibly fought laughter.
“What other cars?”
“You had better be very careful, my darling, when you answer that question,” the Widow Alekseeva said.
“Something happen at the airport?”
“Yes, you could say that, I suppose,” Castillo said.
“What?” Radio & TV Stations asked.
“You have been warned, my darling,” Sweaty said menacingly.
“Sweetheart, I have to tell them. I’ll be as discreet as I can.”
“You had better be,” she said, “or the problems I will cause you will make the problems your demented President is causing you seem less than insignificant.”
“Our demented President is causing you more problems, Charley?” Hotelier asked.
“Yes, he is. That’s why we’re here.”