Rick didn't mind taking shit. He was known for flipping plenty of it himself, but about the Irish thing, and from a Fenugee? Not gonna happen. The kid had been out from Kansas City for all of two weeks and he had already found fourteen different ways he thought things could be run better. Slapping him into his place was more than justified. The fact that Gloria had ragged him all morning over some little nothin' over nothin' about nothin' meant Rick packed the full force of his body into the right he launched. There was a loud - SNAP - CLOSE ON - Rick's knuckles smashing skin into teeth and bone. The kid's knees didn't buckle so much as they just folded up under him. He dropped straight into his footprint, like a controlled casino demolition. Rick's fist recoil was so quick it was like it hadn't really happened.
Rocco laughed so hard he started to snort. Finally he downed his scotch rocks and regained the power of speech. " I can only hope you didn't fuck up his smile, he's emceeing the lounge tomorrow night." The lounge featured showgirls and comics but somebody had to be there to hold it all together, fill time between the gigs. Rocco among other things ran VIP, the big spenders. Rocco had a hundred ways to make sure the whales kept playing long after they should have been on the plane home to the little woman. Lately Rocco seemed to always be in the lounge. " Boy got a mouth on him, but hell that's why he's a good emcee." Rick nodded. "He don't wake up no smarter than he fuckin' was his funeral's gonna need an emcee."
Rick had been running things in the desert for as long as anyone remembered. He first came to Vegas in the sixties straight from Mr C's side at his produce business in Kansas City. It was a six month a year gig then, strictly a summer attraction. Las Vegas, America's vacation destination. Now it was 1975 and Vegas had become a lot more than that. Just one of the many big changes blowing through the desert. Vegas was Rick's from the day he stepped off the plane. Pardon me Frank, but you want the city that never sleeps, it's Las Vegas baby. Inside these cool cocoons of majesty the lighting never changes and the drinks never stop flowing. No clocks around to distract a player with mundane remembrances of schedules and responsibilities. No night! No day! This place was made for Rick and like the town, he didn't sleep. He might grab a quick forty winks here or there, be gone for two hours tops.That meant none of the underlings had time to steal from the skim. The old man loved the fuck out of that. Rick didn't just oversee the Fremont. That was his base of operations, the old man's jewel in the crown and no one else but Rick had done more to make it that way. Anyone who was anyone knew Rick was the man at the Fremont but what most players didn't know was he was also the man at the Hacienda, the Landmark and most importantly, The Stardust.
Rick's being Irish didn't bother even the oldest members of the crew. Sure the inside guys liked to bust on him, call him a potato eater maybe. Let someone from another family even mention it they better be ready to fight. Everyone in the outfit knew his history and the legend of Rick's dad and what he had meant to the old man. It was the winter of 57 in Apalachin New York. The bosses from all the families nationwide were at the Joseph "Joe the barber" Barbara estate to do one thing, divide up the United States. Rick's dad was Mr C's driver and bodyguard. When the Feds broke through the Gambino guys guarding the gate one of them had managed to radio a warning to the kitchen. While the most powerful "made" men in the world were running through the snowy woods tossing guns and cash aside, Rick's dad had ushered Mr C to the barn. An expert horseman, he had spotted the two mares when he scouted the property earlier. The two things he brought home from the Korean war were a skill with horses and a sixth sense when something wasn't right. While the Feds were still rounding up freezing mob bosses from the woods Rick's dad was placing the old man safely into a taxi out on the county road. The value of that save could not be stated in dollars. Not being identified as a mobster along with the sixty or so that were rounded up left Mr C with the power of anonymity. He had not failed to capitalize on it. Rick's dad died of a heart attack a year later, the week Rick turned sixteen. The old man vowed that very day that the boy would do well. Straight working stiffs could never understand loyalty like that reserved for guys in the outfit. The deepest level of that loyalty along with the history they shared is what Mr C had with Rick.
The spot most folks had reserved for God and country. That was the exact position Rick placed Mr C and Gloria in, in that order. Gloria was only ten years younger than Rick but she looked a full ten years younger than her age. That coupled with the fact that Gloria was a full on ten made folks wonder what Gloria's attraction to Rick was. It was true there was more than one reason he was known as Rick the Rod, that helped, but it was the overwhelming scent of power that really kept Gloria turned on. Their eyes met as Rick powered across the card room. He was there to eye up a dealer who had been sloppy on too many occasions. Gloria had been running back and forth to the card room all night. She was trying to interest her groom in laying down his winning hand so he could come upstairs to seal this marriage deal. On the second full night of their honeymoon he had yet to seal their union with the obligatory visit to what was after all, now his...for life no less. A fact that was making her more and more anxious. Rick just remembered the look. Their eyes met and a shiver swept over him, freezing his brain like a visit to Tasty Freeze. The only feeling in his entire body was a stirring in his trousers. Just as he felt the electrical charge on his zipper Gloria's eyes zeroed in on that exact spot. Five minutes later she was on her knees in the kitchen pantry knobbing the object of her affection. Twenty-four hours later the First National Bank of Ohio opened with her ex groom seated very stiffly behind his desk, Vice Presidential placard askew. Rick and Gloria were now an item. It was love. A fact Rocco liked to say he would've wagered the whole house against. "Rick was a guy didn't love his own damn mother." But they lasted. Rick was different after he met Gloria, on that everyone agreed. The exact reasons why would take a little longer to understand.
If the Strip was Disneyland become a whore house The Stardust was the strip on adderal. Everything great about Vegas but more focused. The Stardust was one of the original casinos and after it was remodeled in 64 it was the new hip happening place to be on the strip. When you rolled up that driveway with a million neon bulbs twinkling down on you, no question, you had arrived. Even the sign out front with purple and pink planets blasting light sixty miles into the night time sky confirmed that when you entered you were out of this world. Lefty "Rose" Rosenthal was the Stardust to most folks. He invented sports book there. He opened the first sports booking room in Vegas at the Stardust. He was well known and he was flashy and that was good for business. What most folks didn't know was that "Rose" was run by Mr C which meant he too reported to Rick. The more Rick could remain in the background the better. Rick modeled what he did after the old man and the major lesson not lost on Rick was the fact that Mr C was the king of the world at least partly because he was unknown. The people outside the outfit had no idea who he was and even the guys on the inside had no idea how much he controlled.
For all the great things The Stardust had going for it the thing Rick loved the most was the roof. The East Tower as it was known was added on during the remodel, at the same time as the olympic size pool below. Only nine stories tall, it offered up a commanding view of the Vegas strip. The effect at night was breathtaking You took dames up there they loved the view. Gloria loved to go up there and get it on. In fact Gloria loved to get it on anywhere outside in the open where they might get caught. Still, that was not primarily what Rick liked about it. Always in the mob movies they loved to show some poor loser getting his knees busted. Thing was, it wasn't always practical. The other movie thing that drove Rick crazy was the big scene where the Boss sends his goons to kill some poor sap that owes him money. As Rick liked to say to Rocco "How fuckin' smart is that? How's collections at the graveyard workin' out for em' ?" Thing was, you catch some guys "spooking" at the Blackjack table, maybe even find a dealer in on it. One little trip to the roof you could get their mind right. You put Tuffy or Carl the plumber holding onto one end of a rope. The other end is tied securely around the punk's ankles. You swing the thief while he takes an upside down view of the strip nine stories below. Believe me, if any other guys are in on it you are gonna know right away who they are and where to find em'. Better still the only mark you leave is the one imprinted permanently on their brain. Thirty minutes later your dealer is back at work with no visible damage, except for maybe the load in his pants. Here's the payoff to the whole gag. Say one of em' gets loose, breaks free and ends up eating the concrete below. Not a problem. Just one more gambling suicide. The Vegas P D loves an easy wrap up like that. The last time that happened they had a suicide death cert by the next day. So this way you got no worries about someone finding a body, hell you call the cops to come pick up the body. There was always a room on the ninth floor on that side of the hotel left open and the front desk was ready to dummy the registration. A more complete deal had never been invented. Rocco was a guy could never leave well enough though. He got Belinder the hotel carpenter to go to work on it. Belinder constructed a narrow deck with handrail just big enough for two people that hung off the lip of the building. It was a lover's perch if ever there was one. You had the feeling standing on it that you were suspended in space. In the floor were two imperceptible trap doors, one independent of the other. In fact when one was open the other had to be closed. The set up was such a person could be standing at the rail, suddenly the way back to the roof became just open air. Of course if the right button were pushed and that door were closed the trap door at the rail would fly open. Belinder had installed the controls in a hidden recess in the concrete post next to the heating and cooling system a good twenty five feet from the deck itself. Rocco took Rick up to look at it. "You gotta love this we're like captains of a ship, fuckers are walking the plank." Rick walks up to it, warily tests the handrail. "Take the whole thing out, the fuckin' thing bothers me." Rick didn't like change. Why fix it if ain't broke kinda thing, but like most changes Rocco snuck in, after awhile Rick got used to it. His only order that stuck was two keys only. Maintenance, security even Rose himself did not get a key. Access by anybody meant Rick or Rocco had to let them up there with their own personal key.
Gloria had helped Rick solve a serious financial problem. That was the cash cow turned cash vacuum known as the Office Park. Like so many things it only makes sense if you start at the beginning. Rick had gotten into the porn business by accident really. They called it the Office park because the operation was located in a low key office/warehouse park just like a hundred other mixed use parks springing up all over Vegas. Great location too. You walked in to a receptionist cubicle with the alias company name in bold letters over her desk. If you were expected she buzzed you into the warehouse area. There were three other offices in the hallway. The rest of the space had been converted to home interiors. Three seperate bedroom sets, a kitchen, a living room, a study, a good size pool and jacuzzi with a skylight over it. There was a storage area full of plants and various styles of furniture. You could approximate five different interior house styles, all of them early valley. Oh yeah, the beginning. Lumpy was a five foot two, two hundred twenty five lb lesbian who had taken money her parents gave her for college and sunk every penny into making porn. The crazy thing was from day one it made money. Lumpy knew the market and unlike so many other failures she knew distribution. She negotiated a strong deal with the largest distributor on the west coast and her films sold worldwide. The problem for Lumpy was the same one that had brought down many a much more famous director. She fell in love with her main star. For a while that romance actually worked. When Sindy Love switched teams once again, back to men, Lumpy was heartbroken. This heartbreak caused her to do copious amounts of Peruvian marching powder, eat fudgecicles, and gamble. Somehow the pit boss at The Fremont let Lumpy get into the house for $300 large. "This dame is loaded" he told Rick." "I'll have the cash in house by close of business today." Problem was when Tuffy and Carl the plumber busted into Lumpy's office, the fancy pink safe was empty. In her depression she had stopped making product. After a quick survey of the premises Tuffy got on the office phone to Rick and informed him that the primary inventory of their new business consisted of slightly used furniture with jism stains. At first Rick thought the way to salvation was to put Lumpy back into business. She had been a success after all. Problem was, that was the old, more confident Lumpy. Enter Randy California.
Randy California was a forty something, blonde surfer type. His nickname did double duty. He grew up in Redondo Beach and of course he looked like California. Like many a west coast refugee he came to Vegas while running from his past. Randy had gone to high school with Robert Bonner who went on to become the most sought after action director in Hollywood. Bonner had helped his old high school pal into the business by giving him associate producer credit on a film that went on to gross mega millions. Suddenly Randy California was in demand as a producer. Strange thing was even though he had been just a gofer on his buddy's movie he became a successful producer. To this day you will find his name with a producer's credit on three very successful films. His rise was as quick as his fall though. He developed a terrible drinking problem, probably because he felt like a fraud. Although there are plenty of producers who are drunks, they are quiet drunks. Randy would go on a bender and start to go through the studio directory calling and threatening Hollywood stars. The studios employ guys that handle things like that and they soon showed up, beating Randy to a pulp. Now his career was over and he would never regain full use of his brain. He drifted out to Las Vegas and ended up as a greeter at the Fremont. Rick reasoned that since he had produced Hollywood films he could easily throw together some cheap pornos even if he was now using fewer brain cells. Randy was reborn. He soon had steady product rolling out of the Office Park. At the end of the first year Rick had been able to retire Lumpy's debt which was $350,000 with vig. Two months into the second year Randy California had a massive brain anneurysim and died right in the middle of a money shot he was directing. When Rick met Gloria the Office Park had gone dark while Rick considered his options. Soon as Gloria found out about it she threw herself into rescuing the business.
From the minute Gloria took over, the Office Park became a moneymaker. Rick, ever faithful to the old man added Mr C's cut to the skim suitcases that were forever winging their way east to K. C. By the end of the first year with Gloria running things, the size of the old man's cut had become huge. Mr C knew the money was from Rick's side business but Rick made sure he didn't know what that side business was. Mr C was funny that way, he was strictly old school and Rick was sure he wouldn't approve. Gloria ran a tight ship. She hired no nonsense directors and cameramen. She got rid of the tough biker type chicks that had populated Lumpy's films. She hired the type of male and female actors who would fit right in at an upper class social event. This gave the films more of a classy look and feel. Something the porn industry had been dying for evidently. Before Gloria, the crews that made these films were usually men and women on their way down. Often times Hollywood types who for one reason or another could no longer work in legitimate film. Gloria reversed the trend. She hired young up and coming talents that were ambitious and on their way up. It wasn't long before some of them had worked their way into big time jobs on studio feature films. The last time Rick and Gloria visited L A they were treated to dinner at LeDome by one of Gloria's former directors who was now filming a tent pole for Disney. The kid was starting to get on Rick's last nerve spending the whole dinner complimenting Gloria. He kept saying that Gloria could easily be a big time producer in Hollywood. "Hell you could cut the budget in half and deliver twice the film this Harvard kid is putting together." Gloria was eating it up with a spoon. Rick already had serious problems with Hollywood. Three years earlier some Hollywood pussy had come up with "The Godfather". Rick would never forgive him. It caused him a lot of grief and aggravation. Now in addition to posers you had real outfit guys dressed in three piece suits and wide brim hats. It was hard to hold a serious meet with a crew that looked like they were about to bust into song and dance. Maybe do the opening number from "Guys and Dolls." The Hollywood treatment didn't do dick for Rick but Gloria was in heaven. Front row seats at the Hollywood Bowl. Shopping in the rented Rolls Royce on Rodeo Drive. Rick was of course chained to Las Vegas and Gloria was soon visiting L A without him. She started going to Hollywood once a month and staying longer each time she went. This had become the main thing they fought over. Rick couldn't accuse her of neglecting the Office Park, hell It was cranking out over a million dollars a year. He sure as hell could complain though about her not being there for him as his old lady. Strangely enough after their last fight she agreed to slow down on her trips, spend more time seeing to his needs. While she attended to those needs she was dreaming about making the jump to legitimate film and moving to L A by herself.
When Split Finger Phil showed up from Chicago it didn't come as a complete surprise. Rick had heard from Mr C that Chicago was unhappy with their cut. The new Chicago boss apparently thought he could get another 5% by whining. But when Rick saw Split Finger Phil dressed in a pin striped suit, vest, and spats Rick took it as a sign. Phil was a made man, been around for ages. Here he was dressed like some Hollywood pussy straight out of that mob movie Rick hated. Rick took it to mean one thing. Chicago was about to make a move on the Kansas City outfit. Virtually everyone including the Feds thought when it came to Vegas, Chicago was in charge. That impression was more than fine with Mr C but in reality the old man himself had complete control of the Teamsters Pension Fund. Chicago's power had dwindled with the disappearance of Jimmy Hoffa. The Teamster's Pension Fund loaned the money to build the damn casinos after all. The pension fund was run by Teamsters President Roy Williams and Mr C ran Roy Williams. The skim went directly to Kansas City and out of that Mr C gave Chicago their cut. As instructed Rick gave Phil the complete tour of the operation top to bottom. Not the Office Park, that was Rick's. He showed him downtown, the strip, how the eye in the sky worked, even had Rose take him along to the taping of his TV show. They let him win a few hands of poker, then Rose sent up two of the town's sweetest working girls and had them stay the whole night. As Tuffy drove Phil to the airport Phil was feeling well fucked and relaxed. Rick leaned forward, planted his 38 at the base of Split Finger Phil's skull and put one right into his brain stem. Tuffy dropped Rick at his car at the airport. Carl the plumber got in and they gave Split Finger Phil his one way ride to the desert. That dealt with, Rick could get back to running the day to day. The old man would have to fade the heat, no doubt. To kill a made member with out a sit down. You just didn't do it. That's why Rick hadn't asked Tuffy or Carl to do the deed. No way they had the juice to get away with it themselves. Rick was sure though that the old man would approve, given the attempted take over and what was at stake. He guessed right and he was also right that Chicago got the message. Things were gonna stay the same.
Rick was feeling good. Here he was with Gloria a month after planting one right on the kid's kisser. Now he sat laughing at the kid's jokes and clapping for him. Gloria and her best friend Linda had dragged him into the lounge to see the kid's act. Jerry Martin was the stage name Rocco had given him and the tourists couldn't get enough. Linda, according to Gloria was crazy about him. He was a tall, good looking kid, Rick had to admit. Like Rocco had said the kid did have a deep radio announcer's voice. One more big plus for Linda, Jerry was also a work out nut. Gloria went with Linda at least four times a week to the gym. That's where Linda had met the kid and according to Gloria it was love at first sight. Linda had said that about her last three boyfriends as Rick recalled. Since Gloria and Rick always doubled with Linda and whoever the current Mr right was, soon Rick would need to get used to hanging out with the kid. Jerry was still on stage and was now moving into his own set of jokes and songs as Rick sat thinking about this. Rick wondered when Rocco and the lounge manager had given him his own set. Jerry Martin wasn't just filling time now. He was doing his own jokes and singing his own songs and the crowd loved it. Hell, Rick could make nice, be a sport he figured. There was one thing still bothering him about the kid. In Rick's experience when he had taken someone down with physical force, and he had plenty of experience with it, one of two things had happened when dealing with them afterward. Either they cowered a bit and were overly nice to protect themselves from another beating or they were nice but they held something in reserve, some hope how ever remote that they would get a chance to retaliate. He could always see which camp they fell into by the way they looked at him. With this kid Jerry, or whatever his name really was, he could sense neither. In the few times their paths had crossed it was like the kid was a blank slate, like the beat down had never happened. So which group did the kid fall into? Rick couldn't tell and that was what bugged the hell out of him. He sat daydreaming about taking the kid over to the roof of the Stardust and putting him on Rocco's plank for a short walk when Gloria's voice brought him back to reality. "Linda wants us to join her and Jerry for drinks after the show."
Surprisingly enough Rick was enjoying himself more than he had in a long while. Gloria had been treating him like the king he was. Like she used to treat him when they had first met. They had started out, the four of them in the bar over at Circus Circus. It turns out the kid's favorite drink was a white Russian, same as his. They set out to match each other Russian for Russian. Kid could hold his liquor too. Crazy thing was the kid grew up on the Kansas side just like Rick had. He had gone to the same high school as Rick, years later of course, and the kid had actually memorized Rick's golden gloves boxing stats. The more they talked, the more they drank, the more Rick really started to like the kid. By the time they moved on to the Hacienda and vodka shots Rick and Jerry were laughing at each others bad jokes in their own corner while the girls sat a few feet away gossiping about which actress was getting it by what actor and how her husband was taking it. They loved that kind of stuff. Linda had a condo just a block off the strip. Finally they went to Linda's condo for a nightcap. Turns out Linda had a pool table and Jerry and Rick played two back to back games of rotation. Rick was reveling Jerry and the girls with his drunken shooting and his deep knowledge of the history of pool. "Rotation's tha thing...it, it, oh yeah, Minnesota Fats ran the table nine times in a game of rotation ... eight ball it's shit... any, any, what tha hell was I sayin'?" They were all cracking up at Rick's condition since no one, including Gloria, had ever seen him that drunk. Rick was always in charge, always on duty Gloria liked to tell her friends. Rick didn't remember ever feeling that great so when Gloria fished the Stardust roof keys out of his pocket as he drove home he just steered the car into the Stardust parking lot. Hell yeah, they would get it on as the sun came up over the desert. What could be better?
Hell if she needed that level of danger to get off...Rick was ready. He'd be just as happy being a dedicated missionary in the bed at home but he wasn't about to let Gloria down. One little toenail of sun was starting to peek out over the floor of the desert. Still it was mushy dark out. Gloria had Rick all hot and excited. Rick was leaning on the handrail of Rocco's wooden deck and Gloria had worked her way down Rick's chest, then dropped to her knees. She unzipped his pants and leaned back a bit. Just then Rick could swear he heard a whistle. At the same instant Gloria rolled backward Rick heard the hinge below him - CATCH - SNAP OPEN - He felt his weight shift. Gloria would tell her friends later that it seemed like Wiley Coyote was in charge of time. Rick hung there in the open air. INSTANTLY SOBER. His hand darted inside his jacket for his 38, because just as sure as he was a dead man, he sure as hell wasn't taking the trip alone. EMPTY HOLSTER. The roof was all aglow in those warm sincere sunrise tones. Rick saw Gloria holding his 38. For the last time ever he got to see "that look" on Gloria's face. The one that she had flashed all for him that first night in the card room. Except now that warm enticing look was pointed at...THE KID. Rick blinked twice but the image didn't clear. It definitely was the kid standing at the heating/AC with his hand on the deck control button. Rick could feel the material of his new double pleated pin striped cotton dress slacks whip against his legs in the breeze. Funny what a guy thinks about. As his downward drop started Rick smiled. Even the kid could hear him twenty five feet away. "Hollywood puussseees."
