Here and Gone Page 4

  I gave up after thirty minutes and multiple boring stories. Frank seemed to give away more money each year than I would make in a lifetime. The causes ranged from feeding the homeless to orphans to saving the whales. I was always leery of people in the limelight giving away money. I found the true unsung heroes were the ones behind the scenes. The women and men volunteering their time to the shelters and preparing the meals that actually feed the homeless. Of course, the money for those meals had to come from someone.

  I packed up my notebooks and picked up some articles I printed from the front desk. I said “goodbye” and “thank you” to Vivian, rounded up Gray and headed out. So far, the information I could scrape up didn’t match with the story Gray was telling me about Frank. I was finding it hard to marry the two together. On one hand, he was this major philanthropist, donating millions of dollars, but on the other hand, Gray swore he was the head of a mob family.

  Our next stop, according to Gray’s idea of knowing the history of Vegas, was the Mob Museum. I only pretended to be annoyed because the truth was I loved museums almost as much as libraries. I could’ve spent the whole day there, but we only had a few hours left before closing time and the dreaded dinner with Gray’s parents.

  “So, what’s so special about this place?” I asked as we strolled through the displays.

  “You can’t write an article on a Vegas casino without knowing the real history first.”

  “The real history?” I asked.

  “Yes, the gangsters, the money skimming, the cheating. It’s all part of the history. Even at the Magari,” Gray said.

  “Your family history?” I asked, emphasizing my point.

  “You mock.”

  “I do.” I stopped walking and turned to face him. “Why am I only hearing about this now?”

  “We’ll discuss it. I promise. But, not here.” Gray brushed my hair behind my ear. I’d left my long, dark hair loose today, falling in waves down my back. The gesture sent tingles down my spine. I let it drop. For now.

  “What did you mean ‘at the Magari’?” I asked. Gray pointed to a picture in response.

  “Look at this picture. What do you see?”

  The back wall was covered in enlarged photographs, some black-and-white and some in color. There were mugshots of famous Las Vegas gangsters while others were of men and women, dressed to the nines, standing around. I looked at the wall closely, but none of the people looked familiar to me except for one of the Rat Pack. Even a blind man could pick out Sinatra with those eyes. Sinatra was sitting at a blackjack table, the female dealer smiling behind him. Even with her big, teased hair and eighties-era uniform, she was a knockout. Jax, my best friend, would love this place. She’d find it romantic while her boyfriend Liam would focus on the danger and death that surrounded the mob.

  Grey stood in the corner with his hand leaning against one of the smaller pictures. His pointer finger slowly tapped against the photo.

  “Is that a clue?” I pointed to his finger.

  “Well, we can’t stay here all day. A man’s gotta eat sometime.”

  I stuck my tongue out at him and swatted his hand away so I could take a closer look. Four men, all wearing tuxedos, were standing in front of a large, black car. The tuxes had the look of the late 80s. Wide collars and lapels adorned the jackets. Three of the men were about the same age. I’d guess, early twenties or late teens. The other gentleman was a bit older. There was a similarity between them with their dark hair and height. None of them were looking directly at the camera, but all were facing the general direction, like the photographer had caught them unaware. I bet there was another picture somewhere with the four of them posing for a better picture taken just moments after this one. All of them looked quite dashing, in my opinion. Who could resist a good-looking man in a tux?

  The caption underneath said the older man was Antonio Bianchi out for a show with his three sons. Bianchi had been the head of a local mob family until his death in 1990 when the final mob holdings in Las Vegas were broken, according to one of the books I’d glanced through earlier. I still couldn’t figure out why Grey found this picture important, so I just kept staring at it, hoping for inspiration.

  The background was bright with neon lights. ‘INGO’ was clearly visible above their heads. I took a stab in the dark and guessed the event the men were attending was featured at the Flamingo Hotel. A large, black car could be seen on the right, one door still open. Another man stood in the background by the open door. His right hand was on the door as if he were in the process of closing it. He was rather good-looking in a bad boy kind of way. Maybe it was just me. I tended to go for the rebels-without-a-cause. The quality and the lack of color in the photograph made his features harder to distinguish. He wore jeans and a short-sleeved, button-up shirt. The sleeves of the shirt strained against the man’s muscles. Either the shirt was a hand-me-down, or a recent growth spurt had it straining. I squinted and leaned in closer to get a better look. His hair seemed lighter than the four men standing near him, shaggier, too. He seemed familiar to me, but I couldn’t place him.

  “Add about thirty years,” Grey said.

  “What?”

  “To the guy you are staring at. Add thirty years to his face.”

  I leaned in even closer and squinted until my eyes crossed. The kid was handsome, but there was toughness to his face. The chip on this guy’s shoulder was a big one. Even with the scowl on his face, he reminded me of Robert R... Get out! I practically pressed my face against the wall trying to see him more clearly. Sure enough, if you took off the cheap clothes, added a suit and a better haircut, you had Frank Donato!

  “He was Frank Jones back then,” Grey said.

  “That’s not very Italian.”

  “I told you earlier he changed his name to sound more Italian, remember?” The tingle in my brain snapped into focus. I had searched the internet using Frank’s current name. I made a mental note to search again under Frank Jones. Maybe I’d get lucky and could learn about his background.

  “Are there any more pictures of him here?” I asked, looking around.

  “I don’t think so. From what I’ve heard, Frank had a keen sense to stay out of the way back then.”

  “He doesn’t seem to have that now. Frank’s got pages of hits if you Google him,” I said.

  “That’s his public persona. You won’t find anything negative about him.”

  “Challenge accepted,” I said with a grin. Grey put his arm around me and squeezed.

  “You know one of the first things I loved about you?”

  “My insane sense of style?”

  “Your tenacity when facing a challenge. Now, not so much.”

  “What does that mean?” I glanced at him sideways.

  “Now that I hope to spend the rest of my life with you, I’m pretty sure it will give me gray hair and heartburn.” Gray tapped the photograph again. “I want you to remember the look on Frank’s face in this picture when dealing with him. He may be all smiles and suits now, but this guy clawed his way to the top.”

  Chapter Five

  Gray tried to keep the moving vehicle steady as I applied mascara and lipstick. My hands shook from the adrenaline still coursing through my body. Gray surprised me after the mob museum with a stop at the Stratosphere Hotel and Casino before heading to the Magari to change. The unscheduled stop set us off schedule. I took a deep breath, trying to steady my hands to apply another coat of mascara. I gave up and moved on to my lips. A smile was frozen on my face from taking the SkyJump offered at the Stratosphere.

  “Why the SkyJump?” I asked, the words loosening the frozen smile on my face.

  “My family stresses you out, this will take off all the excess energy you have built up, relieving all of your stress and anxiety during dinner. You will have a big smile on your face for the next few hours.” Gray reached over and squeezed my knee with his right hand while driving with the left. He glanced my way and smiled before turning back to the road.
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  The SkyJump had been on my bucket list for years. The attendant had barely counted down when I flung myself over the edge. The wind whipped my hair behind me as my descent started to slow down nearer the ground. The rush of free falling had done its job. All of the nerves and anxiety over dinner were dispelled.

  I was still undecided on whether or not to believe Gray about his family history. He clearly believed it. I supposed it could be true. It was just so... out there. Or maybe I didn’t want it to be true? If his family was mob-related, then I would be marrying into it. Was that something I could live with? Was that something I wanted to live with? I left the questions unanswered. I wasn’t looking forward to dinner tonight, but on the other hand, it would give me a chance to watch Gray’s father for signs of mob behavior.

  Who was I kidding? What signs? What clues? Other than the Godfather movies, I was in the dark about mafia life.

  “Tell me more about the mob,” I said.

  “Anything in particular?”

  “Like how does someone move up in the business? Like Frank?”

  “There’s a hierarchy that exists. First, you have to become an Earner. An Earner is a low man on the totem pole. He has to prove his courage, toughness, and resourcefulness right from the start.”

  “How would you do that? Just get into some street fights and hope you win? How do you know you are a good fighter? I’d like to think I’m tough, but I could never take a punch and keep on going. I don’t even need to be in a fist fight to know that.” I used my fingernail to clean the lipstick that I’d smeared over my lip line.

  “Slow down, Sparky. One question at a time,” Gray said.

  “Sorry. You go. I’ll listen. Question and answer period at the end.”

  “From the top. Let’s take Frank as an example. He knew from a young age that he wanted to be ‘affiliated.’ He started acting the part early in life. He started fights as a boy. He became the schoolyard bully. Now, this is all speculation because I wasn’t even alive then, but I’ve seen this cycle before. Some kids are naturally drawn to the darker side of life. Growing up, going to college and holding a nine-to-fiver does not appeal to them. The fast cash, easy money and perceived excitement of the mob does.”

  “What do you mean ‘perceived’ excitement?” I asked.

  “You find traveling exciting. Some people find it stressful. Most people find constant lying and stealing stressful. It’s stressful to constantly have to keep up a façade, to keep the lies straight, and always be on the take. Some people find stealing and lying exciting in theory. Once you are in the life, you realize that you can’t trust anyone. Your best friends will end up either dead or in jail. That’s if they haven’t ratted you out first for your illegal activity. You are always looking over your shoulder and questioning your friends’ loyalty. It takes a toll. It is a very stressful life. Nothing about it is exciting or thrilling.”

  “Why didn’t you find it exciting and thrilling? Since you were raised in the life,” I asked. My disbelief evident in my voice.

  “When I was young, I didn’t know what my father did. My parents sheltered us. They sent us to private schools where we wouldn’t mingle with the kids of their acquaintances. I was in middle school before my father had the ‘talk’ with me. Most kids get the sex talk from their parents. I got the ‘by the way, son, we’re criminals’ talk.”

  “What did you say?” I put my lipstick back in my purse and turned my full attention on Gray.

  “I didn’t say anything for a long time. I sat in this wingback chair in my dad’s office and stared at the scar on his chin. That scar made me piece together all of the things that had never added up.”

  “Like?” I asked.

  “Why kids would pick fights with me all the time. I could never figure it out until I sat staring at that scar. The other kids knew who my father was, or what he was, I should say. They probably had overheard their parents whispering amongst themselves. They were testing me. They wanted to see how tough I was. They also constantly mocked me. I couldn’t figure it out. It didn’t seem to be over the amount of money their parents had versus my parents, which is common in private schools. Kids are cruel, though. It upset me, but I didn’t really know why I was upset. Does that make sense?”

  “Sure. Did you get your rear end beat a lot?”

  I was joking. Looking at Gray now, anyone would be a fool to try to take him in a fight. He was six feet five inches and all muscle. He was beautiful, like a Greek god.

  “I did, at first, but then my dad hired a trainer to teach me hand-to-hand combat skills. It gave me a huge leg up. I only had to win a few fights before word got around to leave me alone.”

  “Good point. I’m sure you kept the training a secret and just let them think you were a natural?” I asked.

  “Of course, babe. Why ruin my fun?” Gray shot me a grin.

  “What else did you piece together that day with your dad?”

  “People gave him a wide berth. He never had a chance to complain about a perceived problem because it was handled before it was even acknowledged. And why some parents wouldn’t let their kids come over and play with me.”

  Gray’s voice sounded sad in that last sentence. My heart broke a little for the kid he used to be.

  “What did you think your dad did for work before the ‘talk’?” I asked.

  “I thought he was a businessman. That’s it. What business? Who knows? He wore suits every day but worked out of his office at home. To a four-year-old, a business suit is enough to make you a businessman. I didn’t ask to know more. I thought that’s all there was.”

  I chuckled at the thought. It was very true. A child’s mind was very linear.

  “What else came together?” I asked.

  “We always had guns hidden everywhere around the house. A semi-automatic in the china cabinet. A revolver taped under the coffee table. We even had small sections of walls that could be punched through where guns were hidden. Only a select few knew their locations. I just thought my parents were huge gun enthusiasts.”

  Mental note: Find hidden wall guns. How cool would that be?

  “Back to earning. How is that done?” I asked.

  “Earners aren’t given jobs, it’s up to them to figure out how to bring money in. If I remember correctly, Frank used to shake down drug dealers. The dealers would pay him a fee to be allowed to deal on a specific corner. Part of that money got kicked up to Tony Bianchi, who ran his crew. Tony was a capo or captain. Capos run the different street crews. Tony is a few years older than Frank and was already a made man.”

  “Just to make sure I’m following. To be made, Tony had killed by then and was running his own crew?” I asked.

  “Killing someone proves their loyalty to the family, but all of the heads of any mob families in the city have to vote on who actually makes the cut.”

  The last comment on killing made me look at the two men in Frank’s office a little differently. At least Tony, since Gray just told me he had killed before.

  “So, every ‘Don’ voted on whether or not Tony got to be a ‘made man’?” I asked.

  “Yes, but really Sal and Tony were only voted in as courtesy to Antonio. Behind their backs, the other guys called them Huey and Duey. They were nothing but a joke.”

  “How did Frank get to be Tony’s boss?” I asked.

  “Rumor has it, Antonio Bianchi recognized his potential. Frank moved up quickly after his other son went missing. Truthfully, he was probably already showing his worth to Antonio. I told you this already.”

  “Was the other son called Louie?”

  “Ha ha.” Gray gave me an eye roll. “Never. Like I said before, Guy was charming and smart and a natural-born leader. His street name was ‘Magic.’”

  “Magic? That seems like a weak name.”

  “Magico means ‘charming’ in Italian, but really it’s because Guy was like magic. He could settle the most violent of disputes by just walking into the room. Like magic. He could recr
uit kids off the streets to be Earners after only one meeting. He could...”

  “Leap tall buildings in a single bound?” I leaned against the passenger door to observe Gray while we talked. The scenery outside of the window was of no interest to me.

  “Of course! The stories may be exaggerated now that he’s gone. I wouldn’t be surprised if building leaping did make the list now.”

  “So, Guy disappears, Antonio realized he had no hope for a protégé unless he brought Frank on board, who isn’t even Italian. Am I right? This was all a power play. Without someone for Antonio to groom to take over, then a little turf war could have broken out. Right? What I don’t get is why Sal and Tony work for Frank. Why wouldn’t they try a coup and overthrow Frank?” I asked.

  “Frank keeps them close for a reason. Tony and Sal think they have power, but they are just figureheads.”

  “‘Keep your friends close and your enemies closer’ kind of thing?” I asked.

  “Exactly. Honestly, I don’t think Tony is smart enough to realize he could make a play for the helm, or that Sal has the charisma,” Gray said. He turned into a long winding driveway. The front gate stood open for us. The country club here was A-list all the way. Nothing but the finest food, wine, and service. I would love to interview the servers and bartenders here. I bet they could tell me stories for days about the members and their secrets.

  “Sal has hard eyes,” I said.

  “Stay clear of him. He’s rumored to have more than fifty kills under his belt. That’s unheard of in this life. Usually, you get caught or killed before you can get close to a number like that.”

  “I feel like that should be impressive.”

  “Depends on who you ask, I guess.”

  The clubhouse loomed over me like a warning sign. Only rich people would name the main building of a private resort the ‘clubhouse.’ A clubhouse to me was a fort the neighborhood kids built in the woods with scrap material, not the three-story, sprawling mansion before me. My underarms dampened at the thought of what was to come. My fingertips tingled as nerves fired through my body. I relaxed my shoulders and tried to calm myself before I made a blithering fool out of myself. I lifted my arms and pointed the air conditioning vents at my underarms, hoping the air would cool me off before I left sweat stains on my dress.