Chapter Thirteen

Reagan

“I’m fucked,” Nixon says, throwing his arms in the air. It’s the first time I’ve ever seen him anywhere close to looking hopeless. He’s solid as a rock and just as tough.

“You’re not.” I grab his arm, staring intensely into his eyes. “This is all going to work out, okay?”

“No.” Nixon seethes with tangible anger. “I can’t fucking believe this, Reagan. Somebody’s got to grow a pair and stop this motherfucker before he goes too fucking far!”

“It’s the shock,” I say, feeling helpless. We stand in front of Velvet – or at least, what’s left of it. Superficially, the damage doesn’t look bad, but the whole damn club will need to be cleaned, sanitized, and possibly rewired before Nixon can reopen. I can’t even imagine the damage to his bottom line.

“It’s not the fucking shock.” When he slides his sunglasses up to the top of his head, I can see that his eyes flame with rage. “Dante is a fucking prick who preys on the weak,” he adds, clenching his teeth.

“You’re not weak, though,” I say. “You’re his biggest adversary, Nix. He wouldn’t dare.”

“He thinks I’m fucking weak, so I must be,” Nixon growls. “You don’t get it. New York is fair. Working as a lawyer must be so goddamned easy compared to the shit that I have to put up with nearly every goddamned day. He’s got the entire judicial system of Clark County and the Nevada Gaming Board on his shady payroll.”

“Whoa, calm down,” I say. It’s hard not to laugh at the idea of the legal profession being called ‘fair.’ The process of voir dire alone is enough to make the average citizen’s head spin. But I know that now isn’t the time to argue with my brother – god knows, we did enough of that growing up. Nixon is obviously beyond distressed, and it’s my job to support him.

“How the fuck am I supposed to calm down?” Nixon hisses. The smell of smoke and soot and ruined luxury carpeting hangs heavy in the air, making me feel almost nauseous. A huge throng of people surround the club – including reporters and photographers, much to my dismay. Nosy tourists hold their cell phones high, snapping pics of the damage and I want to rip them out of their greedy little hands.

Great. What a rotten piece of luck. If anyone deserves to catch a break, it’s my brother.

I take a deep breath. “I know it’s not easy. Obviously, this wasn’t an accident, but take a deep breath. We’ll talk to the fire marshal, and then see if we can’t pull the surveillance tapes tomorrow. We’ll figure it out, Nix. Hawk can help. He’s got to have gotten something on the guy.”

“Whatever,” he mumbles, dejected. “I’ve about had it with this bullshit. How am I going to explain this to Lincoln? He doesn’t even understand the concept of a bad man at his age.”

At the edge of the crowd, I see Taryn and her friend, Bailey. They both look distraught – almost as if it was their club, too. Taryn’s green eyes widen and brim with confusion and obvious upset. I wish I could go over to her and pull her into my arms, holding her close. But that’s not my job, at least, not right now.

Suddenly, Nixon grabs my arm. “Hey,” he hisses. “Look over there.”

“What? Where?”

Nixon spins me around and points. “There. And keep your fucking mouth shut.”

Just as I’m about to ask what he’s talking about, I see a small, muscular man with tanned skin and thinning hair heading around the corner. He clutches a backpack to his chest and looks almost too nonchalant for the circumstances. He’s walking fast, so it’s obvious that he hasn’t come to gawk and stare at the ruined nightclub. The hairs on the back of my neck stand up as he glances around, then darts into a back alley and runs away.

“That’s Anthony,” Nixon growls in my ear.

“Who?”

“Anthony Adamo. One of Dante’s thugs. I caught him counting cards last year in the blackjack room, and threw him out. Next day, Anthony showed up at my door with three more assholes, all of them holding clubs. Normally, Dante keeps it a little classier.”

“What?” I squinted. “That’s incredibly illegal, Nix.”

“Yeah, but it’s what serves as justice around here. They didn’t do anything – they just pulled this macho shit about how ‘everyone helps everyone else’ on the strip.”

“This isn’t the Wild West,” I say, shaking my head. “Why the fuck didn’t you call the cops?”

Nixon bursts out laughing. “Oh my god. That’s a good one.” His laughter dies at the sight of Anthony sneaking away into the alley.

“Seriously, man. Why the hell would you want to set up shop in one of the most corrupt parts of the country?”

Nixon shrugs and gives me a moony smile. “Our father ring any bells?” he asks. “I’ll stop at nothing to avenge his senseless death. Stooping to an asshole’s incredibly low level is not my first choice, but I’ll do what I have to for my end game.”

“Yeah, your crooked enemy has just tried burning down your new club,” I say dryly. “Sounds like an iron-clad strategy, Nix.”

Nixon eyes me for a moment – I can tell he doesn’t realize I’m joking.

“I’m kidding,” I say with a groan. “Remember? I like to do that. You advised me against it.”

“Yeah, tell me about it,” he says, waving at Taryn. “Look, there she is now – Miss Birthday Queen 2017. I should go say something, burst your birthday balloon. You stay here in case the marshal shows up.”

I force a smile. “Right. Yeah. Go for it, sure thing.”

Nixon darts off to meet with Taryn, and her friend and I glance up, staring at the ruined sign of Velvet. What kind of shit have I gotten myself in to?

***

The next day, I meet Nixon at the Armónico. We’re supposed to be meeting with the security personnel to go over the tapes. Something doesn’t feel right, though – the air crackles with tension and lacks the kind of fun, wild atmosphere that Vegas normally inspires.

Nixon shows up with Marcella and Linc by his side. My baby brother looks distressed, too. I wonder if Nixon told him, or maybe he’s just picked up on everything going on around him. Linc’s a sensitive kid, and we can’t usually pull the wool over his perceptive eyes.

“Hey, bro,” I say, reaching for one of Linc’s hands. “How’s it going?”

“Hey, Reag. You doing any lawyering yet?”

I laugh as I give his small hand a reassuring squeeze. “How do you know about lawyering?”

“Nix says you’re really good at lawyering and he really needs your help with some bad man. Why is there a bad man bothering us?”

“You don’t even need to worry about it, squirt,” I assure. While it’s good not to outright lie to kids, I don’t think it’s wise to let them get too close to a dangerous situation. “I’ll worry about the lawyering, and you can just worry about school and therapy.”

Looking at my brother always fills me with a mixture of guilt and something else I can’t quite explain. It could have been any of us, I think as I look down at his weak limbs and his braces. Lincoln’s cerebral palsy isn’t nearly as bad as it could’ve been – on most days, he’s physically capable. He’s always brilliant. But it kills me inside that most people look at him and think he’s not smart just because his motor skills aren’t up to par. I wink at Marcella. She’s doing such a great job with my little brother, he’s learned so many new things under her caring guidance. He’s flourishing.

“Hey,” Linc says, breaking me out of my thought pattern. “Marcella is taking me out to lunch. Like a date.”

“That’s awesome, squirt,” I say, watching Nixon and Marcella canoodling out of the corner of my eye. “There’s some great food around here.”

“Hey,” Nixon says. “Time to get going for your lunch.” He jerks his head toward the private corridor marked ‘staff.’

I nod at Marcella. She smiles in return before linking arms with my little brother and striding with him into the bright Vegas sun.

“So,” Nixon says, once we’re alone and we’ve begun walking to the security office. “I barely slept last night.” He shakes his head in disgust and bitterness. “I couldn’t stop thinking about what the papers are going to print when everything falls apart for me.”

“Stop it,” I say, grabbing him by the shoulder and shaking hard. “You have no way of knowing that.”

“Sorry,” he mutters. “I’m just so fucking bitter. I have a family to support, you know?”

“I know. Everything will be fine, man. Just calm down.”

I can tell Nixon wants to explode, but he takes a deep breath and pushes into the security office. It’s truly a thing of wonder, and for a moment, I can’t help but glance around in awe. Four men read paperwork at a round desk, looking up periodically at what seems to be over one hundred cameras. They’re everywhere – the casino, the hotel, the hallways, even the exterior of every bathroom in the Armónico. And of course, Taryn’s shop as well as the whole Promenade. My heart catches when I see Taryn leaning over the counter.

Nixon snaps his fingers in front of my face. “Earth to Reagan,” he says, “Snap out of it. She’s not doing anything worthy of staring like a freak.”

“Yeah, I’m here,” I say, sneaking one more glance at the camera showing Taryn’s boutique. I watch as she walks out of the frame before turning my full attention back to my brother.

Nixon stands in a defensive posture, puffing out his chest and crossing his arms. He leans over to the security officer wearing the biggest badge.

“Darrell, I’m going to need the club tapes from yesterday,” he says, radiating authority.

“Yes, sir.” With an intent expression on Darrell’s face, he leans in close to his computer and types in a string of characters. Then he frowns.

“What is it?” Nixon asks. An edge of anger creeps into his voice. “Do you have them?”

The frown grows deeper as Darrell hits some more keys in frustration. “Let me try again, Mr. Caldwell. Give me just one moment.”

Nixon closes his eyes and appears calm, but I’m his brother, and I know his signs. He’s barely keeping an explosion of temper at bay.

“Hey, relax,” I say, jabbing my elbow into his side. “It’s fine. Technology isn’t perfect.”

Darrell throws me a grateful smile. Then he leans over his computer once again and types furiously, his fingers flying over the keys.

“Well?” Nixon asks, drumming his fingers on the counter.

“Sir, there’s a bit of a problem,” he says. “Looks like the cameras were disconnected around two in the afternoon.”

“What?” Nixon yells. “Who the fuck is responsible for that?”

Darrell takes a deep breath, probably about to piss his uniform pants. “I’m not sure, sir. Whoever disconnected them did it manually. See?” He taps the screen, and Nixon and I step behind Darrell to look over his shoulder. Sure enough, at just past one-thirty in the afternoon, the screen cuts to black. Darrell flashes forward, keeping his finger in the corner of the screen to show the time scrolling past.

“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me,” Nixon yells. He makes a fist and slams it down on the desk as Darrell flinches. “You’re fired.”

“Wait, Nixon,” I say. “Calm down.”

“Don’t you fucking tell me to calm down,” Nixon yells. So much for Marcella softening his impudent ass. But when it comes to Dante, Nixon morphs into a different person. Maybe instead of firing Darrell, he should just release his flying monkeys.

“Come on,” I say, grabbing my brother’s arm, and dragging him out of the security office. Once we’re alone in the hallway, I put my hands on his shoulders. “Take a deep breath. This doesn’t necessarily mean anything.”

“Don’t be so fucking stupid,” Nixon hisses out between gritted teeth. “That motherfucker is going to ruin my damn fundraiser! That fire was planned, Reagan. That’s arson!”

“I know what arson is, but it’s moot unless you can prove it, Nix. The thing to do now is find a better, bigger venue and make Dante look like an even bigger asshole than he actually is. You beat him by being smarter and better than he is, not more violent.”

“Oh, sensitive Reagan to the rescue once again,” Nixon snips. “Riding in on his glittering My Pretty Pony of rationality. You have no fucking clue, little brother.”

“Look, try to take it down a notch, okay? Go have a drink and calm down. We’ll talk about this later, once the Fire Marshall comes back with more information. That’s really all we can do at the moment.”

Nixon glares at me, and I know if his eyes could shoot laser beams, I’d be disintegrated to ash. “You do whatever you want. Hell, go ask Taryn Mitchell if she’ll suck you off as a distraction. There’s no way I can relax right now.”

It’s hard not to yell at my brother, even though I understand the depth of his frustration. Still, anger isn’t going to get us anywhere…not when we have to outsmart the biggest piece of shit this side of the Mississippi.

“I’m going to blow off some steam,” I say. “I’ll be around later.”

“Yeah, have fun at the bar,” he shoots back. “Make sure you put it on my tab.”

Rolling my eyes, I turn on my heel and walk away. Sometimes it surprises me how little my brother actually knows the real me.