Jagger dropped me at the Intercontinental Casino and Resort to pick up my bike before he headed to the highway on his wayback to his office. As I strolled through the casino watching fools part with their hard-earned money so early in the day, I noticed someone following me. He was wearing a cheap suit and scuffed loafers, so I was kind of interested in why he was tailing me.
I walked around the casino floor, stopping every once in a while to watch someone on a winning streak. When I scanned the room as if I were looking for the next winner, I saw my shadow down the row, acting as if he were playing a slot machine. When I walked in another direction, he walked away and didn’t take a ticket for his winnings. As far as I knew, nobody did that.
The men’s room was on my right, just before the garage elevators, so I went inside to wait. If the dude wanted to talk to me, he’d come in. I wasn’t strapped, but the knife in my boot wasn’t hard to get to.
I went into a stall instead of stopping at a urinal where my back would face the mirror, leaving me a sitting—standing—duck. After doing my business, I zipped up and flushed, then heard a knock on the stall door. “Police. Come out, or I’m coming in.”
When I opened the stall door, I grinned at the good-looking guy staring at me. “If you wanna come in, maybe we can lock the door and have a private meeting, handsome.” I winked at him.
He opened the tacky polyester jacket to show me a gold shield clipped to the belt holding up the too-large suit pants. “Are you Bailey Gregory?”
“The one and only. Detective, to what do I owe the honor?”
“Jagger Hansen dropped you off. How do you know him?” So, no foreplay then.
“Jagger used to work for my brother, the governor. Wait, how do you know I’m not the governor?”
I had a scar on my chin that was hidden by the beard I’d worn since I was discharged from the Army. Not many people outsidemy family knew it was there. Mom always said that when we were teenagers, the scar was the only way she could tell us apart.
The detective chuckled. “The governor was in the paper with a clean-shaven face and a five-hundred-dollar haircut just this morning. Also, if the governor were in a casino walking around, there would undoubtedly be a large protection team guarding him from the masses, correct?”
I smirked. “You are correct. So, who are you?” He hadn’t identified himself any more than to show me his shield.
“Detective Christopher Spitzer, Las Vegas Narcotics.” He raised his eyebrow like I should know him.
“And why were you following me?”
“Because you taped my snitch to an orange pole until he told you about his dealings with the Viper Kings. You trying to get my guy killed?”
I walked to the sink to wash my hands. “It’s a shame kids these days don’t know what’s what when it comes to equipment used in the building trades. It was scaffolding that we taped him to, and no, we’re not trying to get him killed. We’re looking for some asshole named Danny Bolls. He one of yours too?”
“Boyd’s stand-in at Glory Hole? What’s the kid done?” Obviously, Spitzer knew of the guy, but he didn’t answer the question.
I dried my hands and leaned my ass against the counter. “He seems to be involved in a blackmail attempt against my brother. How much did Boyd tell you about his recent escapades?”
“He tells me nothing except what’s going on with the Viper Kings and Marcelo Diaz, who is actually a member of the club. The kid texts me from a burner, and I meet him around town when he has intel. I don’t tail him because I don’t want to blow his cover. He’s a good informant.” Someone came into the john, so I motioned for us to go out.
I led Spitzer to the elevator, and when the doors opened, I pulled him into the car with me. “Until ten days ago, your snitch was fucking my brother. Last week, when I was in Carson City, my brother invited me for dinner. During the entrée, he got a text message, and suddenly, he had to leave.
“My sister-in-law asked me to follow him, and lo and behold, he made a drop at a city park with a duffel bag. Inside it was a million bucks. Someone threatened to leak Thomas’s affair to the press, and my brother was going to pay them off. I thought the guy picking up the duffel was Newton, so I beat the piss out of him. Turns out it was his body double or whatever he called it. The guy does bareback scenes in the porn movies Newton refuses to do.”
Spitzer nodded. “How long has he been the governor’s side piece?”
It felt like I may have opened another can of worms that could bring Thomas some trouble, but it was too late to turn back now. “About a year and a half, I think. My brother broke it off right before the blackmail thing, and I came down here to find Newton and make sure he didn’t go to the media since I kept him from getting the money.”
“Last week, you say? Boyd was in Palm Springs for a shoot at Víbora’s desert compound. He was able to get us the layout of the place so we could go in with the DEA to bust them. They’ve got a lot of outbuildings on the property, and Boyd was able to get pictures for us so we know where they’re making their own brand of X and Molly.”
That fit with what Boyd told Jagger and me.
We stepped off the elevator and stopped where I’d parked my bike. “What’s so special about their drugs?” I still had a hard time believing Newton wasn’t involved in the blackmail bullshit.
“They cut MDMA with sildenafil citrate, which is the active ingredient in erectile dysfunction meds, along with caffeine.Supposedly makes sex a mind-blowing experience that lasts for hours.”
“Who are you trying to get? I thought I read something about some of the Víbora crew going to prison with a bunch of the Mojave Scorpions a couple of years back after a big bust.”
“Someone stepped up to take Julio Franco’s place as the head of the Víbora Cartel when he went to prison. Konstantin Kiselev, the Pakhav of the Kazanskaya Bratva, cut ties with the cartel and got the hell out of Vegas. We had quite the turf war on our hands for a little while.
“Talk to Jagger’s boss about it. Sparky and Dallas St. Michael, who used to do contract jobs for Sparky, know the score with the Víbora and the Scorpions. Fitz Morgan’s married to a former Steel Cowboy who gave an assist to law enforcement on that one. Hell, I did some side work for Sparky while internal affairs performed colonoscopies of all of us detectives because we had a mole. Sadly, they never found out who it was.”
