So I did two things when I left the exhibit that night around eleven p.m., weaving my way around the drunk men trying to get laid and the women in cocktail dresses debating if they’d go down that road.
First, I counted my sales. About five grand. A great night, for sure. Enough to pay my expenses the next couple months; enough to ensure that I didn’t have to get a “real” job if I could help it. Which I had nothing against, but if it limited my chances of coming here…
And second, I reached out to a few friends in Vegas I had only seen sporadically in the past few years. I had a feeling they could give me more information than what I had read online.
It was time to learn how Las Vegas had changed—and how Cassius had had a hand in its change.
I made sure we picked a breakfast spot on the southeast side of Las Vegas, far away from the Strip, far away from where most of the affluent areas were. The richest of the rich lived either in Summerlin on the northwest side of town or near Blue Diamond on the southwest side; in my father’s case, we had lived in Summerlin before life circumstances forced us out of the city.
True, there were a few multimillion dollar homes on the southeast side of Vegas, but get far enough out—just not too far out for the remote mansions—and you had more suburban neighborhoods and quiet shopping malls than you did ritzy restaurants that people like Cassius Vale and his brothers would visit.
Of course, that was pure speculation on my part. As I parked at my restaurant of choice for the morning, Sunny Side Up, I knew there wasalwaysa chance Cassius Vale might not be far. He was well known in Las Vegas, yes, but he was not an A-list celebrity or professional athlete; I somehow doubted if he was eating outside, TMZ would barrel down the street for a quick interview.
Even though, goodness, his presence and looks were more than enough to overpower any celebrity or athlete you could name.
But when I pulled up, all it took was a quick scan of the outside tables on this cool November morning to see that no, Cassius was not in the crowd. He might be inside, but finding that out would have to wait—because the women I had invited for this breakfast date were waiting for me.
First, there was Delilah Reyes. She was a journalist for the Las Vegas Times; a gorgeous woman of Hispanic heritage, she had curly black hair, bronze-tan skin, and a fearless demeanor that any good journalist would need. She had once said that she didn’t fear retribution from powerful people, because the only thing worse than a powerful man being exposed for making a threat was a powerful man following through on that threat. I had my doubts if that was true about the Vales—they had never threatened my life or even my livelihood, but there were rumors about competitors they had undercut in subtle ways—but if anyone was fearless in their face, it was Delilah.
Then there was Talia Harper. She had had one of the most interesting upbringings of anyone I knew. The daughter of a Billboard Top 40 artist, she had seen just about anything and everything from being dragged to celebrity parties and events. Despite this, she was one of the most grounded people I knew; money, charisma, and power did not impress her. She might not have been as fearless as Delilah, but she was certainly the most centered of the bunch. Interestingly, she worked for the Morril family, a rival billionaire family to the Vales. They didn’t have the foothold in Vegas that the Vales did, but they had done well building casinos in nearby locations; it was only a matter of time, it seemed, before the Morrils and the Vales clashed in some form or another.
And then there was Bridget Gold.
Four years ago, we thought Bridget was about to go off the deep end. Her sister, Brianna, had been caught in a proxy battle of sorts. Subservient to the King’s Men as their physician, Brianna had eventually been “rescued” by a man that Bridget only called Crush. Bridget hated Crush, hated the Black Reapers MC and the King’s Men, and hated anything that got its hands dirty. Part of it was her job as a therapist specializing in addiction; she often said those with power used addictions like porn, alcohol, and drugs to get both men and women to do as they pleased. It was only the fact that, four years later, Brianna and Crush still had an extremely stable and healthy relationship that Bridget had kept her sanity.
But there was little doubt about who among us most actively hated powerful people. Delilah found a thrill in keeping them in check, Talia worked for a group of them, I saw the economic value in them, but Bridget, well, fucking hated them. I always wondered who she’d wind up with, but it seemed a pretty reasonable assumption it wouldnotbe a billionaire, a biker, or anyone else in that world.
Delilah saw me first and waved me over. I waved back. Talia smiled and greeted me; Bridget stood up and hugged me.
“Welcome back home,” Bridget said. “It’s a lot quieter than when you left it.”
“I can only imagine,” I said with a chuckle.
“For one, it’s more boring to report on,” Delilah said with a short laugh. It didn’t seem like she was laughing because it was actually funny, though; more like she felt the statement deserved a laugh for how things had been. “Well, for the moment.”
“For the moment?” I said.
Delilah looked around. She was the consummate professional, never allowing a source’s information to leak, not even to us. But that didn’t prevent her from gossiping with us as friends did. She simply presented the information from her world’s viewpoint, not her personal perspective.
“I don’t necessarily think we’re headed for bloodshed or anything crazy,” she said. “But the family this one works for,” she pointed to Talia, “and the Vales don’t like each other. At all. We should be past the stage of violent clashes like the Black Reapers and King’s Men. But Las Vegas isn’t just Sin City because of what tourists do.”
I chuckled. A little family drama? What was the worst that could happen? Granted, such poking of the devil usually resulted in an answer no one wanted, but truly, after what had happened in Vegas the past several years, it was hard to imagine more violence.
Less violence doesn’t mean any less devastating consequences if things go bad, though. You don’t need to bleed to be wounded.
“It’s just good business,” Talia said with a shrug. “This is what this town needs, anyway. You get one family ruling everything? Bad times for the locals and the visitors alike.”
“As long as they play fair,” Bridget said.
“It’ll be fairer than before,” Delilah said. “For one, no one’s going to die.”
Bridget’s face didn’t change. She wasn’t a conspiracy theorist by any stretch, but she didn’t buy that billionaires and powerful people wouldn’t put out hits on people that crossed them. I couldn’t speak to the Vales or to the Morrils; the only thing I knew from my line of work was that the best thing was to pit two rich people against each other. When money meant nothing to them, the artist won.
“Anyways, what brings you to town, Sarah?” Talia said. “You’ve been in Phoenix for years, and suddenly all we get is that you’re in town for a couple big art galas.”
I nodded. I was not going to bring up Cassius’ name up front, but it would come up eventually. The three of them all knew what had happened with him and Virgil years before; how they’d react was something I wanted to get their input on. It might help me avoid a terrible mistake.
Or it might be a terribly delightful experience.
