Total pages in book: 80
Estimated words: 78295 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 391(@200wpm)___ 313(@250wpm)___ 261(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 78295 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 391(@200wpm)___ 313(@250wpm)___ 261(@300wpm)
I bite my cheek to keep from making a sound. “I can’t,” I whisper. “There has to be another way.”
“I’m offering you that other way. Paint me masterpieces. I’ll sell them on the underground art market. We’ll earn back what you owe, pay the others, prove that you’re useful enough to keep alive. That’s my offer. Paint for me and live. Refuse and die. There’s not much more I can do.” He walks to the door, opens it, and is about to leave.
“Wait,” I say, panicking. “What about me? I mean, what am I supposed to do?”
“You have freedom in this house. Do not go outside. Beyond that, take tonight and tomorrow to think about what I said. But remember, I’m not exaggerating what will happen to you, and it will happen if you don’t accept this opportunity.”
He leaves. The door clicks shut. I’m alone in the studio, in the pristine place, this dream of a room. It’s everything I’ve always wanted, but it’s my prison cell and my personal hell.
This isn’t the person I want to be. Painting forgeries, becoming my father. I’ve avoided that for so long.
Now Erick Costa’s forcing that life on me, and I don’t know what I’m going to do.
Except keep my head down, play the role he expects, and take my chance when it appears.
Chapter 5
Erick
I walk through the crowded halls of the Shadespring Hotel with Ren by my side. The place is all motion, color, light, and distraction. “You know that rumor about casinos pumping pure oxygen into the place?” I ask as we follow the carpeted path around a slot machine forest. People sit in front of the huge, bright edifices, staring at the screens, jabbing at buttons, essentially playing nothing more than a random number generator. I still don’t understand the appeal.
“I’ve heard that once or twice,” Ren says, giving me a look like he’s wondering why I’d even mention something so stupid.
I choose to ignore the attitude and continue. “We obviously don’t do that. It’d cost way too much money, and besides, people are amped up enough already.”
“I’m aware. I’ve been working in casinos as long as you.”
“But, we do pump this place full of something else. Can you guess?”
He holds up a finger. “Desperation.”
“Well, yeah, but I’m thinking more along the lines of surveillance. Every inch of this place is covered by a camera. Every face is run through an AI algorithm searching for bandits, thieves, and con men. Everything from the sub-basement to the top penthouse is covered. So how the hell did Hellie’s father manage to fuck everything up so bad?”
Ren grunts in response. “That’s why we’re having this meeting.”
I stop outside of a conference room. We’re in one of the back halls, away from the action. “No, we’re having this meeting because I don’t want to see that girl get her throat cut. I need you to solve the theft issue.”
“I have people working on it already.”
“You work on it personally.” I squeeze his shoulder. “You’re the only guy I trust on this.”
He nods once. “I’ll figure it out.”
I turn to the door, take a deep breath, and shove my way inside.
It’s a gorgeous space. Sleek, modern, updated. A big table dominates the middle with a presentation screen at the far end. Two men sit across from each other at the center, while their associates are spread out covering them from all angles. I pause, taking in the scene, before walking to the head of the table.
On my left is Clifton Frost. Late forties, graying hair, blue eyes, thin face. He looks like he could coach a German soccer team. On my left is Alberto Gallo, in his seventies, wearing a cheap pinstripe suit, big nose, dyed black hair. Looks like he’s an extra from a gangster movie.
Gallo speaks first. “Alright, Costa, we’re fucking here. You got my ass to the far end of the Strip. Now why the hell did you need this little meeting?”
I nod a greeting to him. “Nice to see you as well, Alberto.”
The old man waves me off. “I’m tired. I’m in a shit mood. My fucking arthritis is acting up. Don’t be a prick and get to the point.”
“Hello, Erick.” Frost gives me a respectful nod. “Thanks for setting up this meeting.”
“Oh, suck a dick, Frost,” Gallo barks at him and laughs. Frost’s smile is strained.
These two men hate each other. They represent completely different versions of Las Vegas. One is the new-school developer, coming in with his big money and his dreams of making the Strip a family-friendly destination, while the other is an old-school gangster who would love nothing more than to see Vegas never change.
I hold out my hands. “Gentlemen, please, we have a mutual problem and I want to discuss a solution.”
“I heard you made a move last night.” Frost’s eyes hold mine. “Is it true?”