Here and Gone Read online

  “Other than being gross, how is she mob-related?” I asked. The wrap dress would make for easy on/easy off, I thought.

  “Part of her nightly earnings go to Uncle Frank. A capo is the leader of a street crew. His crew will make the rounds of all of the girls working their area for their cut. They keep part of it, and part of the cut gets tossed up to Uncle Frank. The ‘pro’ keeps the rest of her earnings.”

  “What if one of the girls doesn’t want to pay?” I asked.

  “They always want to pay. If one of the girls holds back, she will get ‘tuned up’, as they say. A working girl can’t make any money if she has to wait for her face to heal.” Gray and I sat at two of the bar stools. We turned to face each other while we whispered back and forth.

  “Does that hurt Frank’s income too? Since the girl can’t work while she’s healing?”

  “In the short term, yes, but not over the long haul. If a girl wants to work this casino, she learns early to pay her dues. One girl getting knocked around sends a message to all of the girls. It doesn’t need to happen often to be effective. Her beating is never severe, just a few bruises preventing her from working. The lack of income hurts her more than Frank.”

  “How chivalrous,” I said regarding the ‘never severe’ beating. “So, what if a client doesn’t want to pay?”

  “Most likely, some of the security guards here that work in street clothes help to protect her. One will follow her up to the room and wait outside of the door in case she calls for help. They also get a cut of her earnings each night. Getting beat up is a hazard of the business for the women, but they get more security here giving up part of their earnings than they would on their own. They also get a higher level of clientele than they would on the streets.”

  Gray ordered two bottles of water from the bartender, leaving money on the bar for the order. He nodded his head in the direction of the woman, signaling me to watch her.

  A man came up and sat next to her. They engaged in some idle chitchat. I wanted to move closer to hear what they were talking about, but Gray kept his hand on my arm. I couldn’t look away. Watching them was like watching a slow-motion train wreck.

  Within just a few minutes, both the man and woman got up and headed toward the elevators. As I was watching them, I noticed a large man in chinos and a polo shirt casually stroll after them toward the elevators. He didn’t stand out in any way. I wouldn’t have pegged him for muscle, except that Gray had just mentioned it.

  “Wow, that was fast,” I said after they left my line of sight.

  “Of course, it was. Neither of them wants to waste time. She needs to be as efficient as possible to make the most money, and he wasn’t here for the talking.”

  “How did he know she was a pro’?”

  “If you are the type of person to frequent prostitutes, you always know how to find them,” Gray said.

  “Riffraff always finds riffraff.”

  “What’s that?” Gray turned his head back to me.

  “That’s what my dad always says. You can move a delinquent to another city, but they will always find the type of friends that they want to be around. That’s why his program focuses on personal change,” I said.

  My dad ran a halfway house for young men in need of help with alcohol and substance abuse. Dad was an ex-Marine drill sergeant and a recovering addict himself. He whipped those boys into shape by teaching them how to be men, as he said. The ways to becoming a man included hard, physical labor on his farm and taking responsibility for one’s own actions. Dad swore taking responsibility was harder any day of the week than the physical labor.

  One of Dad’s favorite sayings was riffraff always finds riffraff. People tend to flock to those most like themselves. Dad taught the riffraff to be men first, so they would flock to other men as they got their lives together.

  It wasn’t an easy program to get through. Dad only took people he felt were truly ready to commit and change their lives. I’d seen dozens of people go through Dad’s program. It was amazing watching their bodies go from malnourished and emaciated to healthy and strong. I could only imagine that was happening to their minds, too.

  “Well, your dad would be the expert on it. Let’s move on.”

  “To?” I asked. We left the bar and started back on the main walkway through the casino.

  “To the sports bar.”

  “And what will I learn there?” I asked.

  “Online sports betting.”

  “Such as...” I trailed off.

  We entered the sports bar and I turned into a fat kid in a candy store. I loved sports; football, and baseball especially. My sister, Peyton, refused to even go to a sports bar with me because the games on the TVs put me into a coma.

  I just couldn’t stop watching.

  “Focus, Regan. Look around the room. What seems out of place to you?”

  It was the middle of the day without any big games going on. There was a decent crowd in the bar because horse races and baseball were available. A group of businessmen sat in a corner booth, finishing a meal and casually watching the TVs. Two men sat at the bar separately watching the horse races. Two women sat at a nearby table, chatting and drinking. I thought they were out of place because they weren’t paying any attention to the games or races, but as I watched them eye the table of men, I realized they thought this would be the best place to find a man.

  That left the guy sitting at a table by himself with a computer and two cell phones in front of him.

  “Him,” I said and pointed.

  “Don’t point. We are supposed to be casual tourists just walking around.” Gray led us to a table where we pretended to browse the appetizer menu.

  “You know subtlety is not in my DNA,” I said.

  I tried to be classy... most of the time. It was hard work to keep your mouth shut and think before you speak. Sometimes it was hard enough to pick out an outfit in the morning, let alone to remember to be dignified at all times.

  “No, it is not,” Gray agreed.

  “What?” I was mortified that Gray agreed with me that I was not dignified, but then reality set in and I realized that he couldn’t actually read my thoughts. He must have been referring to my comment.

  “What do you find out of place about him?” Gray asked. The waitress brought two glasses of water to the table and took our order for mozzarella sticks. We sipped our drinks and pretended to watch the televisions mounted over the man’s head.

  “He’s checking the TVs, but his primary focus is on his computer. A loud sports bar isn’t the best place to work, in my opinion. Plus, he’s touching his Bluetooth a lot. It makes me think he taking multiple calls.”

  “Good observation.”

  Recently, Gray’s and my relationship went through a rough patch. He proposed and I ran away. Someone was murdered. Fast forward, and here we are. Through it all, I learned that I really did want to marry Gray and that Gray’s life wasn’t as simple as I had first thought.

  I found the information Gray was imparting to be very useful, but I hadn’t decided yet to believe his story about being in a mafia family. So far, he hadn’t told me anything that couldn’t be learned in a book.

  “So, what do I win for guessing correctly?” I asked.

  “A life lesson in mob practices.”

  “Boring,” I said. I smiled at Gray as the waitress brought our appetizer. I picked up a mozzarella stick and dunked it in the marinara sauce. I twisted the cheese to coat the stick before lifting it to my mouth. The hot cheese burst through the breading and burned my tongue. I sucked in air to cool it, but continued to eat. Gray lifted his portion onto a small plate and poured a dollop of sauce next the cheese sticks. He delicately used his fork and knife to cut bite-sized pieces before eating.

  “If you get bored dealing with the mob, then you will end up in a body bag or prison. You have to stay on your toes,” Gray said after chewing his first bite.

  “Okay, so tell me. What is he doing?”

  “
He is an online cyber-bookie. He runs his business on his computer while tracking the betting lines and race outcomes here. Now, watch.”

  One of the businessmen from the corner table got up and approached the bookie. He didn’t look like a bookie to me. He looked like a computer geek. I bet I could take him in a fight. I pictured him visiting Comic-con each year over breaking someone’s legs for an unpaid debt.

  The two men talked for a moment, and then the suit walked back to his table. It was over quicker than the deal between the prostitute and the pervert.

  “Nothing happened,” I said.

  “It did. The bookie just took a bet from him.”

  “I didn’t see any money. And why wouldn’t he just put the bet in through the hotel? Won’t his friends wonder what he’s doing? How much do you think the bet was for?” I had more questions floating through my head than my mouth could even keep up with.

  “The big-time gamblers use bookies because they can run an account. If he had placed the bet with the casino, then he would’ve had to front the money right away. With a bookie, you don’t.”

  “What if he loses a lot and then the bookie breaks his legs?”

  “Bookies usually aren’t violent, Regan. If a bookie broke the legs of everyone who was past due owing him money, then how could they work and repay their loan?”

  “Huh. So... Working girls are okay to beat up, but gamblers are not. Got it. Makes sense.” I shook my head at him. This mob logic seemed silly. I ate another cheese stick. Fried, fattening foods were my kryptonite. I couldn’t stay away from them.

  “Do you know him? Is he in the mob?” I asked with a mouthful of food.

  “I don’t know him. It’s not like a club, Regan.”

  “So, how does the bookie connect to your Uncle Frank?”

  “He is either bankrolled by Frank to cover all of the bets made, or he pays Uncle Frank a percentage of all bets taken. My guess would be Frank bankrolls him.”

  “Back to the guy who made the bet, if he doesn’t get his legs broken, then what does happen to him if he gets in a hole financially?” I asked.

  “This is the way it works. Frank spots all of the money for the bookie, let’s call him...

  “Earl,” I suggested.

  “Sure, Earl. Earl runs the show. This is his ‘hustle’, so to speak, but Frank is still the boss. Let’s say the odds show Chicago to win the Sunday game against Cleveland. People place their bets with Earl. But,” Gray held up his finger, “Cleveland has a huge upset over Chicago, Earl could end up owing a lot of money to the people that bet on Cleveland.”

  “Because it was an upset?” I asked.

  “Exactly. The smaller the odds are of something happening means a bigger payout if it does. Earl wouldn’t have the funds to cover his losses so Frank would step in to pay the winners. Earl would pay back any money that Frank covered.”

  “I think I get it. How does Frank make money off this?”

  “There rarely would be any losses. Uncle Frank probably gets around twenty-five percent off the top. That’s a hefty percentage. Earl would pay any expenses out of his share. Even so, Earl could be averaging thirty thousand dollars per week, if he runs his lines correctly.” Gray used his fork to pick up another piece of fried cheese before eating it.

  “What are lines?” I asked.

  “Let’s use football again. Say the line for Chicago over Cleveland is six points and you are betting on Chicago to win. It means Chicago has to win the game by more than six points. For instance, if Chicago would win by a field goal, or three points, then you’d lose your bet even though Chicago won.”

  Cheers went up around the bar at something that happened on the television. I waited for them to calm down before continuing.

  “That sounds like a lot of pressure, to me. What if Earl messed up his ‘line’ and all the games missed the mark?”

  “That’s where a big loss would come into play. If Earl messed up that badly then it would probably be his last day on the job.”

  “Good point. Does he work alone?” I asked.

  “No, Earl would use bouncers or muscle to collect from any slow pays.”

  “You said they don’t break legs. Why would they need muscle?”

  “Intimidation goes a long way,” Gray smirked while he said it. I think he was enjoying giving me his lesson.

  “What about if someone has the money to bet directly through the casino?”

  “They may, but when you are a gambling addict, you go with the best odds. Earl will pay out better than the OTBs. Fewer fees are taken out. Plus, if you get into trouble owing money, Earl will still let you place cash bets. Good bookies know that bad streaks eventually turn around into winning streaks.”

  “OTBs?” I asked.

  “Off-Track Betting. I’m sure you’ve seen them around. It’s like a bar with multiple screens all on different horse races across the country. You can place your bet there legally. The government stole the concept from the mob.”

  “Really? Come on.”

  “It’s true. The mob used to run gambling and horse betting rooms. The government saw how much money was to be made and followed suit legally with OTBs. They also stole another idea from the mob’s random number game.”

  “What do you mean?” I was intrigued with Gray’s story. I loved hearing the history behind... anything, really.

  “It started in the poorer areas of New York because it was a cheap bet. You could bet any amount you liked, as low as a dollar, on any three numbers. Every day the three random numbers were selected following a set formula. The person who bet would call a specific phone number to hear if he had won. If he had, he went to his bookie and collected. Sound familiar?”

  “Like the lottery?” I asked.

  “Not just a pretty face, are you?” Gray grinned at me and winked.

  Chapter Four

  Gray and I spent a couple of hours at the library. I loved the library. I loved the smell of the old books. I loved taking notes and learning about a subject. Any subject. I could get lost for hours here. I felt most at home sitting at tables with books and papers spread out before me. If research didn’t require so much sitting, I would dedicate my life to it.

  Gray picked a book and found a comfortable chair to read in while I started with the basics of the hotel. I waited in line for a librarian with a free moment to lead and guide me. The woman behind the desk was around my mother’s age, but with a grandmotherly quality to her. Her name tag read Vivian. I watched as she pointed a mother and child in the direction of the children’s section. She spoke directly to the small boy. I’d always liked adults who didn’t ignore children. The two stepped aside, but before I could speak, Vivian raised one finger toward me indicating she needed a minute. She sent eye daggers toward two teenage girls who chatted rather loudly. The girls must have felt the stare because they turned and caught Vivian’s eye before quieting down for their work. She reminded me of my great-grandmother. The one I missed terribly to this day. I just wanted to cuddle up next to Vivian and put my head on her shoulder, but I thought she might frown on it.

  Vivian helped me to find multiple books on the history of Las Vegas itself and on the history of the hotels and casinos. I also asked for any reference materials regarding the average temperatures each month and the average flow of monthly tourists. This article was for a travel magazine, so any extra information about peak times and when to get the best deals was always appreciated by the readers.

  I started in on the first books while Vivian loaded me up with the others. I made notes while I read. I learned about the first hotel back in 1931 and the El Rancho Vegas opening on what would become the Strip in 1941. I read about Howard Hughes refusing to vacate his hotel room, so he bought the whole hotel. My hand cramped from all of the notes I took on any fun local history I came across.

  I was pleasantly surprised to find out that the average temperature for late May/early June was ninety to one hundred degrees. I was sweltering with the eighty-two deg
rees it currently was, but now understood why I overheard locals complain about the cold front. I was from Indiana, a cold front there was twenty below zero. Eighty-two degrees, to me, was the perfect outdoor weather.

  After I exhausted all of the books, I headed to the computers to look up the current owner of the Magari. I stretched the kinks out of my back before sitting down to start again. I visited the hotel’s website, which was a bust unless I needed to make a reservation. It could definitely be beefed up with an About page. I preferred to stay in places with some history and character to them instead of just picking a convenient location. I shook my head at my amateur-ness and went to Google.

  Multiple pictures and articles popped up. Frank Donato was an attractive man as I learned earlier. I was still trying to wrap my head around Gray calling him uncle. I guessed Frank to be around fifty years old. In most of the photos, he wore a tuxedo or suit. Even in the two-dimensional pictures, I could tell his suits were expensive. Definitely handmade. His hair was a sandy blonde with silver coursing through. Very Robert Redford like. He was regularly photographed at charity events in Las Vegas and Los Angeles, always with a different beautiful woman on his arm. A much younger beautiful woman. I wondered if he used call girls, but that could be my mind still stuck back in Chicago and on the information Gray gave me today.

  I scrolled through the first two pages of links without clicking on anything while using the pencil in my hand to scratch my leg. I slipped my injured foot out of my sandal under the table. It was starting to swell, and the leather was cutting into my skin. I propped it up on the support bar under the desk to elevate it.

  The titles of the links suggested they were all fluff pieces. Page-six stuff. I wanted the down and dirty. Nasty divorce, unpaid child support, and bankruptcy-type dirt. I tried searching Frank Donato with a combination of other words: divorce, marriage, affair, donkeys. You never knew what may come up. I even combined Frank’s name with criminal record and came up empty. Something tingled at the back of my brain, but I couldn’t pull it to the forefront.