One of the Wicked: A Mick Callahan Novel (7 page)

"But a man must have a vice. Yours?"

Mandel weighed the question, visions of a fat retainer dancing in his head. "I've been known to smoke a bit."

"Marijuana?"

"Never," Mandel lied. "Only tobacco. I have a weakness for Cubans."

"Wonderful. I have a few aged Cohiba in my cellar. As you know, they are exceptional, and no longer manufactured."

"I'm impressed. They're impossible to find these days."

"I'll send some over before the ink is dry on our agreement."

The taller of the two bodyguards sat up in his chair. At six foot two, Lucky was still several inches shorter than Nicky. He stretched, popped his neck, and spoke through clenched teeth. "Three o'clock."

Nicky sighed. "Lucky, what is it now?"

The second man got up, as if to head for the bathroom. His name was apparently Andy. He answered the question. "That couple over there, pretending to be cuddling? They're cops, Nicky. The broad works vice."

"I shall refrain from asking how you know that, Andy. Sit down and relax, please. I was almost finished anyway." Nicky snapped his fingers, and a waiter appeared from nowhere. "Check."

Mandel squirmed in his chair. He hadn't expected the police to be on to their arrangement, at least not so quickly.

"Relax, counselor," Nicky said. "It's not you. We're often followed and photographed. In our organization, we consider this a badge of honor."

Mandel focused on the fat, six-figure retainer again.
What the hell
. He leaned back in his chair.

"Do you know Shakespeare?" Nicky asked.

Mandel shrugged. "Not much call for him in law school."

"A man in our line of work should be wel rounded, Mr. Mandel. He should know his classical music, Shakespeare, some poetry. This is in order not to become an absolute barbarian." Nicky fixed his gaze on Andy, then Lucky, as if to say,
You see what I have to put up with?

"Makes sense, Nicky. Where would you suggest I begin?"

"I enjoy the tragedies myself," Nicky said. "
Macbeth, Othello,
and
Hamlet
in particular. They are studies in human weakness."

"Mel Gibson did a Hamlet movie once, right?"

Nicky looked pained. "Please. Watch Sir Laurence Olivier's
Hamlet,
even the old BBC version with Christopher Plummer if you must, but not Mr. Gibson. That one was edited to shreds, just butchered."

Andy decided to chime in. "I saw some of that on cable," he said. "It's about a crazy guy wants to fuck his mommy."

Nicky lowered his gaze, studied the wine again. Some time passed. The three men with him began to perspire. When he raised his head his eyes were flat, his mood obfuscated. "It is about quite a bit more than that, actually. I should not expect you to understand, Andy. Shall we go?"

Mandel blinked. "Go where?"

"I thought you might want to take a run out past Moapa to see our new hotel and casino, Mr. Mandel. We're calling it Valley of Fire. After all, it will soon be your primary client."

A quick glance at the undercover cops. "But they'll follow us."

"Relax. They'll be taken care of." Nicky snapped his fingers. The sound made all three men jump. "Andy, go over nicely and have a chat with them. Lucky, you go outside and cut their tires."

The goons rose and left without looking back. Nicky smiled, shrugged. "Such morons must be good for something, yes? Violence is unpleasant, but one never knows when it may become necessary." His piercing eyes pinned Mandel to the chair, then a half smile caressed him with cool fingers. "To be candid, sometimes I feel like I am living in a Godfather film."

Mandel swallowed. "Can't imagine why." He started to get up, but Nicky waved a finger. Mandel sat.

"We still have a few moments," Nicky said. "Tell me about yourself, Mr. Mandel. What made you decide to practice the law?"

"My parents," Mandel said. He flushed, embarrassed by the involuntary honesty. "I got okay grades, but I was drifting. My dad was a police officer, and my uncle went through Special Forces and worked for the government."

"Special Forces? Impressive."

"I thought so. Those guys are tough."

"Go on."

"Well, in families like mine, you get pressure to be a cop, a soldier, a doctor, or at least a lawyer, and since I can't stand the sight of blood, I passed on the first three."

"Is that so? The sight of blood makes you queasy?"

"My own, anyway," Mandel said. He tried to grin. The big man did not smile back. The look in Nicky's eyes made Mandel shiver.

"Ha!" Nicky suddenly got it, laughed and looked around the room as if inviting everyone else in on a great joke. "My own! Ha! Go on, go on. About the law."

"I did really well on the LSAT, and got into UCLA. From there I went to Ross, Goldfarb and Kramer in Century City. I left there to work for Mr. DeMartini, which is how I met Mr. Pesci, and now I've been on my own for about a year."

Nicky nodded. "It is good to be king, no? I mean, to employ one's self."

"Yes," Mandel said cautiously. "Although I still take orders from my clients, naturally."

"Ah, this is the way of the world. No one is ever completely free, yes?"

"Indeed."

Nicky slapped the contract on the table with an open palm. Mandel jumped an inch up and two more back. "This agreement says you work for us, for Mr. Pesci to be exact. Most of the time you will be left alone to do your job, because we respect a man who has the eggs to start his own company. However, if we ask for a specific thing at any time, you will do it without question. This is understood?"

"I understand."

"And we do not need to be concerned that members of your family have worked in law enforcement?"

"No, not at all."

"Mr. Mandel, your face asks a question."

Mandel swallowed. "Well, as for that last thing, please understand, I will keep your business confidential at all times, but I don't know that I can personally do anything illegal, Nicky. I don't mind bending rules, of course, not so long as I still have plausible deniability, but I cannot promise to flat out commit a crime. You'd have way too much on me, then. Besides, I could lose my license. I'm sure you can appreciate that."

Nicky cocked his head. His lips pursed. "How sad."

"Excuse me?"

"Your hearing problem. So sad in a man of such tender years."

Mandel summoned courage, started to rise. "I don't wish to disappoint you, Nicky. So perhaps we'd best shake hands and call off the transaction while we can still be friends."

"Sit."

Again, Mandel sat.

"We shall put our differences to one side for a few moments. Why, you ask? This is because I have something to show you before we consummate the deal, something that should clarify the circumstances and requirements better than anything I could personally do or say. Let us go."

"Just to the casino, right?"

Nicky did not answer. The bodyguard named Andy quietly seized Mandel's Armani-smothered sleeve. They all rose as one, shoved aside tourists, crossed the nerve-jangling, blindingly patterned carpet and rode down in an elevator that seemed silent as a tomb after the clang and clatter of the slots. Time seemed to speed up.

As he got into the long, shiny limo with Nicky and the two stereotypical goons, Mandel couldn't help but recall that in every mob movie he'd ever seen the victim was hustled into the backseat of a car and driven somewhere.

They left the strip and went north and east on the 15, to the edge of the Wildlife Range, past very long stretches of shadowed sand and dots of dried sage that clawed at the sky like fingers. The night was bleak, black, and speckled with stars that seemed like pinpricks of clear ice. Time slowed down again.

Nicky cleaned his fingernails and listened to some music via satellite that sounded both faint and classical. Mandel studied the night sky. Lucky drove the limo while Andy worked feverishly on what appeared to be a zit at the back of his neck. A few words would have been nice; something to break the strained silence, but no one said a word. Perhaps no one dared.

Now it seemed like a very, very long drive. Mandel wondered how the hell they expected to entice tourists to wander such a distance from the strip. Then it hit him that they must be figuring on the unique angle: high-stakes gaming, luxury suites, glamorous shows, but also legal female and male prostitution, all located in one, convenient resort. Hell, it would be one-stop shopping for everybody with the money and the hormones.

Mandel did not know whether to be excited or frightened when several tall, dinosaur-like shapes appeared on the horizon. He knew they were the metal girders of a complex still under construction. Although its casino and hotel were both soon to open, the full Valley of Fire resort would not be officially completed for another six months. The metal skeletons would soon become the rest of the huge resort.

As they parked, Mandel squinted and made out that the place had been carefully sculpted into a reasonable facsimile of a mountain. This establishment would have outdoor swimming pools placed on several plush levels, with flowing waterfalls lushly connected to one another. The area below the hotel, soon to be a bright red and orange casino lit by flames, would then become the proverbial Valley of Fire.

The site seemed deserted. Lucky drove the limo off the highway and onto a bumpy dirt road. Only every other streetlamp was operational. The visual effect was disconcerting—pools of yellowing light followed by ribbons of darkness. They bounced along through potholes. The rocking motion somehow allowed Andy to finish popping zits. He emitted a simian grunt of satisfaction.

Nicky turned the radio off and pointed to a huge square marked off by tape and sticks. Fresh cement. Some of it had been poured into what was rapidly becoming a giant parking lot.

Lucky slowed down as they approached the unfinished section, where three trucks sat quietly. As they moved closer, Mandel studied them and noted that the huge rotating concrete drums were still moving.

That's funny,
he thought.
What union crew works this late?

And then it hit hard. The world snapped sharply into focus, the night turned lush with shadow, the stars became bright, crisp and clear. Mandel's stomach inflated with gas before twisting into a knot. Three connected guys had just driven him out into the boonies, to a deserted lot. Oh, shit.

Mandel swallowed bile. They'd caught him padding his hours. That had to be it. But it hadn't been by all that much, just enough to cover the down payment on the Beemer. The other guys did it far worse, and more often. And how had Nicky found out about it? The fucking bookkeeper? That piece of dog shit! Or maybe it was for dealing grass.
Oh, man. God, get me out of this, please get me out of this, if you do I'll believe in you and hit the high holidays every year, I swear it. . . .

"Park here, Andy." Nicky's voice, cold as steel leaving a scabbard. The big man pulled the car over, turned off the engine. Nicky undid his seatbelt. "Everyone out."

Mandel felt his knees shaking. His mouth went dry. "Nicky . . ."

"I said out."

Within seconds, the four men were standing by the edge of the unfinished parking lot. Lucky stuffed his ham-sized fists into his pockets and stared out into the night. Andy eyed Mandel with a vague smirk, like a man delighted by another's misfortune. Nicky stepped over the string outlining the empty patch of dirt.

"This way, Mandel. I'm going to show you something important."

It's true,
Mandel thought.
Your life does flash before your eyes.

He stepped over the string. By now, he realized there was nothing he could say that was going to make a difference. Mandel decided to be as strong as possible, perhaps that would earn him some respect, and an easier death, if not save his life. He'd give Nicky nothing to mock. Well, try hard not to cry.

"Andy?"

"Yeah, boss?"

Nicky's brow furrowed. He pointed to the cement truck. "Go check that out."

Andy looked down at his fancy shoes, shot Mandel a dirty look. He stepped into the dirt, hopped a couple of rows. Behind him, Lucky drew a 9mm Glock from a shoulder holster and held it pointed down at the ground. Nicky eyed Mandel with amusement, as if aware of what was going through his mind.

"Mr. Mandel, I told you there is honor among thieves, yes? That there is a covenant one should never break?"

Mandel couldn't talk, so he nodded once. And again. Unfortunately, his head kept moving of its own volition, like a broken puppet. He knew he looked ridiculous but couldn't make it stop.

Nicky nodded to Lucky, who raised the huge handgun. Mandel moaned. Lucky aimed, fired. Mandel shuddered as his bladder let go.

Out in the dirt, Andy grunted and fell to his knees.

Mandel looked down, stunned to discover that he hadn't been shot after all. He discreetly covered the small damp spot on his crotch with both hands.

"Shit, they got me!" Andy cried. He clutched at his back, tried to draw his own weapon at the same time. Lucky fired again, and Andy's hand vanished, along with his gun, in a spray of blood and bone. Andy shrieked; fell to his knees, then over on one side.

The cement truck revved its engine, backed closer.

"I believe you have been stealing from us, Andy," Nicky called. "I am so disappointed in you."

The thug whined and crawled in circles, clutching his ruined wrist. "No, Nicky, I didn't do nothing!"

"Maybe not," Lucky said under his breath, "but I never liked you anyway." He started to fire again. Nicky shook his head, waved for the truck to back closer.