Six
Garin
Two Years Ago
I pushed my chair back, reclined into the soft cushion behind me, and crossed my shoes over the edge of the desk. This was the first time I’d sat down in the last twelve hours, and there wasn’t enough scotch in my wet bar to dull the ache that was throbbing behind my eyes.
It had been a long fucking day.
My marketing director had quit this morning, gone to work for the casino at the end of the strip, challenging his non-compete just one month before the largest poker tournament my hotel had ever hosted. A cocktail waitress had been sexually harassed by a player while taking his drink order. The finger he’d used to rub her cunt with was no longer attached to his hand. When my men didn’t get enough satisfaction from that, they sawed off his whole goddamn wrist. And, to make matters even worse, three of the slot machines had paid out jackpots in the last six hours, totaling over ten million.
As soon as Mario saw that number, he’d be all over my ass. Every night, he received a detailed report of my daily numbers. Those numbers were then sent to all the other bosses in Atlantic City. The board was for show; the bosses were who really ran this casino. They called the shots from back home, and I made sure they were carried out. With them being so far away, there was a lot I could hide. The fucking numbers weren’t one of them.
And, when the bosses got angry, they didn’t take hands.
They took lives.
Someone’s ass was going to get it because three jackpots in six hours wasn’t typical. That was what we usually averaged a week. So, someone was either tampering with my machines, or they were faulting. I had everyone working on getting me that answer.
But, until that answer was in my hand, I needed to distract myself. Maybe I’d call one of the dancers from downstairs and have her come up to my condo that was on the top floor of the hotel. I’d chain her to my bed and pour scotch all over her tits. Her dripping tight asshole and a buzz would help dull this ache in my head.
When I picked up my phone to call the club, it started ringing in my hand. Billy’s name was on the screen.
“Not a good time—”
“It’s never a good time.” He blew into the phone, which I knew was a mouthful of cigarette smoke. “Isn’t it around eleven there? You should be balls-deep inside some slut, not picking up my call.”
“Then, why didn’t you just send me a text?”
“’Cause I knew you’d answer. You always do. Listen, I’ve been talking to some of the guys down at the boardwalk, and I’ve learned some shit.”
This wasn’t making my day any better. The guys down at the boardwalk were a bunch of street thugs who slept on the beach and ate from dumpsters. If Billy was hanging out down there, something told me he was sleeping down there, too.
“Did your Ma get evicted?” I asked.
“That’s not why I’m calling, Garin.”
“Answer me.”
“She’s been crashing with some dude, so she stopped paying the rent. Landlord tossed all our stuff. It ain’t too bad, being down at the beach.”
I couldn’t give Billy cash. He’d use it to buy as much black tar heroin as he could and have himself a shooting party until it was all gone. But there was something else I could do. It wouldn’t get him out of The Heart; that was what I wanted even if he didn’t.
“Call the landlord tomorrow morning, first thing. He’ll either give you the keys to your old place, assuming he changed the locks, or keys to a new place.”
“I don’t need no charity.”
He was homeless, and in a few days, when that guy kicked out his ma, she would be, too. I couldn’t let that happen. Paulie wasn’t alive to help them, and there was no one else who cared enough. Billy had his pride, and I respected that, but it wasn’t going to stop me.
“It’s not charity. It’s a place to live. Take it, Billy.” I walked across the room and leaned into the window.
Lights from the strip flashed below me. Sometimes, I needed a reminder—that piece of scenery Vegas was known for—so I wouldn’t question where I was. When I was on the phone with Billy, it was easy to forget that I’d gotten out of Jersey, and I wasn’t back living in that fucking hole.
“Fine. Whatever. But about those guys at the boardwalk, they were talking about Paulie, saying he was down there a lot. They said he wasn’t hustling or slinging rock or anything like that. He was doing something; they just don’t know what.”
“We knew he hung out there, Billy. We all did back then.”
“But he wasn’t hanging out. He was by himself, like he was looking for someone…or trying to recruit someone.”
Billy had never recovered from Paulie’s death. If my sister had died like Paulie, I wouldn’t have gotten over it either. It had hit Kyle and me just as hard. Harder than any of the other deaths in The Heart—and there were a lot of them. Losing Paulie was the catalyst that made Billy’s addiction spiral out of control. And, each year, it seemed to have gotten worse.
“Looking for those answers isn’t going to bring him back.”
He blew another cloud of smoke into the phone, and a long stretch of silence followed. I could tell he was high. I heard it in his voice.
I always heard it.
And, every time I did, the guilt would gnaw at me a bit more. I was responsible for his using. I was the reason he had become a junkie. His voice was my punishment, and I had to live with it.
“I know,” he finally said. “But I still want you to look into it. Ask some of your guys if they ever saw Paulie down there. Maybe they’ll remember something.”
After Paulie’s death, we all asked around to see what we could find out. I started with the people who lived in The Heart and then the guys who sold and hustled on the streets. No one knew a thing, and the police didn’t do shit. Mario and I came to the conclusion that the murderer had worked alone because no one in this town could keep their mouth shut, and it had been timed perfectly to make sure there were no witnesses. Asking around again wouldn’t get Billy what he wanted, but I’d do it for him.
“I’ll make some calls.”
“Thanks, man. Now, when are you coming home for a visit? It’s been too long since I’ve seen your ass.”
“Not for a while. Things are a little heavy here.”
“Is Mario going out there anytime soon? Maybe I could hitch a ride with him?”
Whenever one of the bosses came out, I’d meet them in Phoenix or Santa Fe or Denver. If the gambling commission found out they were in Nevada, our entire operation would be shut down, and we’d all be in jail. Mario would bring Billy to one of those spots if I asked him, but I couldn’t have him here. Not with him shooting that shit into his arms all day, hustling every goddamn dollar that crossed his path.
During my years of dealing, I’d learned never to trust a junkie. Billy was as bad as any of them. I couldn’t trust him in this city, and I sure as hell couldn’t trust him in my casino.
“He doesn’t have any plans to,” I said. I hated lying to him. It ate at me almost as badly as the guilt. “Hey, my sister told me they just started having NA meetings down at the old church by—”
“I know where it is.”
“Have you been?”
“Nah. When I’m ready to get clean, I know where to go. Don’t worry; I got this shit handled.”
I’d been hearing that for years. It was nothing more than an excuse. An excuse that would eventually be the cause of his death.
“Don’t tell me not to worry.”
“Why?” He laughed. “I ain’t worried about you. I figure, the worst that can happen is you get inside some nasty pussy. You’ll slide right out of it and run your ass home.” He laughed again, which turned into a deep cough. “Just like I’d get out of it. Nothin’—not dope, not pussy—is gonna get me down.”
“That’s what you call handling your shit?” I couldn’t hide the anger in my voice. “Because it has gotten you down, Billy. And it’s holding you down, too.”
The guys on the streets reported back to me—not the scum down at the boardwalk, but the guys who sold to them. The same guys Billy got his junk from. So, I knew how much he was buying, how much he was slinging, and how much he was using.
And I knew he was using more than he was slinging.
“I don’t want you to end up in the same place as Paulie. You keep this shit up, and that’s what’s going to happen.”
“You want to fight with someone? Is that it?” he barked back. “Then, fine, fight me. Say whatever you need to say, and let it all out. As soon as I hang up, I’m going to do what I want, you’re gonna keep on worrying, and nothing is going to change.”
“Fuck that.”
I didn’t want to get angry and sound like I was attacking him. But why the hell didn’t he want to get help? Why didn’t he worry about overdosing? Why did he act as though he were invincible when he’d witnessed so many guys like him drop dead?
It was because he didn’t fucking care.
“Let me know if the guys say anything about Paulie. I’ll call you in a few days,” he said and hung up.
The phone felt so hot in my hand. I couldn’t hold it anymore. I reached back and threw it as hard as I could. It flew through the air, hit the wall, and fell to the marble floor. The screen smashed, the case shattered, throwing tiny pieces everywhere.
When I walked over to my desk, it was covered in papers and reports and contracts. None of them mattered. Not at this moment.
Neither did the stress from worrying about the jackpots or the marketing director I had to replace. Not even the poker tournament that was going to draw our biggest crowd yet.
All that mattered was Billy.
If something didn’t happen soon, I was going to lose my best friend.