used for anything, and the construction there seems complete.”
“Nothing left but to put the new fireproofed curtains up,” Siegel said, smirking to himself.
“Casino’ll be just dandy, Nate,” Quinn said, putting his dark glasses back on. “Looky here, I’m sorry about your friend Fred’s partner. No offense meant. Got run down by a car, didn’t he?”
“Well, Fred’s more than a friend, Bud. He’s vice-president of my detective agency, and that makes his late partner an associate of mine, even though we never met.”
“That don’t make sense to me,” Quinn said, thoroughly puzzled, and a little disgusted.
“It does to me,” I said. “That’s what counts.”
Siegel was watching me warily, and then said, “You want to come along with me, Nate? I can show you around a bit.”
He took me across the stretch of scalp-like ground to the building where the plasterers on scaffolding hovered like a dozen Harold Lloyds as directed by Busby Berkeley. We went inside, where a carpet layer was at work in the small lobby; the ceiling rose through the floor above, creating a circular balcony, making room for a fancy chandelier. The sounds of carpentry echoed down, making the chandelier’s crystal shake and shiver. The carpet layer, on his hands and knees, looked up at Siegel and smiled and nodded, saying “Mr. Siegel.”
“What the hell is this?” Siegel snapped.
“Pardon?” The man had to work to get his voice over the hammering coming from above.
“Are you responsible for this?” He was pointing to a sooty palm-print on an as-yet-to-be-painted plaster wall.
“No, Mr. Siegel.”
“You tell your foreman for me that I’ll kick his ass back to Salt Lake City if I see that sort of thing again. What, do you people think you’re working in a cheap bar somewhere? This is the
He stalked up the nearby stairway. I shrugged at the kneeling carpet layer and he shrugged back and returned to his work and I followed our mutual boss up the stairs.
“What is this building, Ben?”
“The hotel. The check-in’s in the main building, but all the rooms are here.”
No carpet had been laid on the second floor, or the third, but when we got to the fourth, via a narrow out-of- the-way staircase, a plush money-colored carpet appeared. In fact, it began on those narrow stairs, which took us to a door, which Siegel unlocked, and he ushered me through a side entry into a penthouse suite that was entirely finished and furnished. More money-color carpet with lighter, pastel green walls.
We entered next to the well-stocked bar; to our right, picture windows looked out on the swimming pool. The room was tastefully if sparsely decorated, not at all garish; it reminded me a little of Ragen’s room at Meyer House. Siegel lounged on a chintz-covered sofa and grinned.
“There’s four bathrooms in this dump,” he said.
I wondered if each had its own septic tank.
“I’m moving in with Tabby later this week. Some of the furniture hasn’t arrived yet.”
“It’s quite a spread, Ben.”
“There’s four ways out of here.”
“That’s good to know.”
“Only thing is,” he said, looking upward, “that fucking beam.”
There was a massive central concrete beam, in the white plaster ceiling, running down the middle of the spacious living room, cutting it in half; it dipped low enough that a man six feet or more would have to duck some.
“I told ’em to tear the goddamn thing out,” he said, “but they said it was a support beam. It coulda been done, but it would’ve cost twenty-five grand or so. And there just wasn’t time.” He looked up at it with regret. Let out a weight-of-the-world sigh. “What the hell. You got to draw the line somewhere.”
No shit.
He slapped his thighs, stood, said, “Come on, Nate-I’ll finish the tour.”
He showed me throughout the facility, most of which was done, except for the hotel building; and he rattled off his plans for the months ahead: a wedding chapel; private cabins; a health club with gymnasium and steam room; courts for tennis, badminton, squash and handball; a stable with “forty head of fine riding stock”; a nine-hole golf course; and shopping promenade-nine “major stores” already signed up.
“When do you expect to have all that up and running?” I asked him.
“June,” he said. “Late June it’ll be finished.”
At a loading area behind the kitchen, a truckload of silverware and glassware, coming from L.A., was being delivered. Siegel signed for the stuff, after examining several boxes. Two delivery men were doing the unloading. One of Quinn’s security people was keeping an eye on them. Neither he, nor anybody else, saw me mark the sides of several boxes with a grease pencil.
Later a big truckload of linen, for the hotel, arrived, and Siegel signed for that as well. He did the same for a load of lumber, around by the hotel building.
At lunchtime, Siegel drove me down to the El Rancho Vegas, the other rambling rustic resort on the Strip, which had in fact preceded the Last Frontier; its chuck wagon buffet, however, was similarly not very frontier- like.
“What do you think of my baby?” he asked, pouring himself some tonic water. He had a meager plate of cold cuts before him.
“The Flamingo? I think it’s pretty amazing. I think you’re going to make some dough.”
“So do I.”
I was working on a heavy plate with something of everything from the considerable buffet; the ham was very good (I’m only technically a Jew). “Do you really think your hotel’s going to be ready in time? It’s clear you can open the casino and restaurant, but…”
“Once the landscaping’s done,” Siegel said, impatiently, “rest’ll be a piece of cake. So what do you think, have I got a pilferage problem?”
Piece of cake; that was a good idea-I’d have to get one. “I think you’re spreading yourself too thin; you shouldn’t be the guy who signs for fucking linen, for Christ’s sake.”
“Never mind that. Do you think they’re robbing me?”
“The chief of your security force is so crooked he can kiss his own ass without turning around.”
“You think I don’t know that? But those boys are used to working for Quinn…”
“I don’t mean to be critical. Anyway, I got it covered. Put it out of your mind.”
Siegel smiled; sipped his tonic water. “I knew my instincts about you were right.”
“Where was Sedway, today? And I didn’t see Peggy Hogan around, either.”
“Peggy’s doing some business over the phone for me, out of her suite. Moe’s tending my Trans-American interests.”
“I see.”
“It’s going to be a little dusty and crazy around the Flamingo today, anyway. I didn’t figure Peggy would appreciate that. Though I don’t think it will interfere with your pickpocket school.”
“What will?”
“I told you, didn’t I? We’re doing the landscaping today.” He checked his watch. “The trucks left L.A. early this morning-they should start showing anytime.”
We pulled into the Flamingo just as the fleet of trucks began arriving, thundering down highway 91 like the invading force they were, grain trucks filled with topsoil, gravel trucks hauling sod, tank trucks of water, flatbed trucks bearing imported trees (Oriental date palms, cork trees from Spain, among fifteen other varieties of fully- grown trees). Scores of trucks began roaring into the Flamingo parking lot and up onto the grounds, as dungaree- clad workers in tin hats hopped out of the vehicles and began getting to work.
And soon Siegel was leading them, Patton in a suit, his thinning hair blowing in the dry breeze, as he mingled with the foremen, pointing here and there, sculpting in the air, shaping his dream, an architect seeing to it his exact bidding was done.
I shook my head and went into the casino, where I found that Quinn-now dressed in a baggy brown business suit and an appropriately ugly tie-had gathered his staff of twenty, most of whom were casually dressed. They were
