elevator bank from the day before. He watched in slow motion as Charlie Pellecchia avoided the knife and stepped into an overhead swing with a small baseball bat. He saw the bat make contact with the mugger’s forehead. A shorter, second swing followed the first. The mugger fell into the elevator doors to his right.
When he called in for information on the assailant, Gold learned the mugger’s name was Minh Nguyen, the younger brother of Minh Quan, the head of the Black Dragons, a local Vietnamese street gang who operated out of a section of Las Vegas recently nicknamed Little Saigon by the ethnic gang squad.
Gold knew that the connection between Minh Nguyen and Pellecchia wasn’t a coincidental mugging. Ethnic gangs didn’t stray that far from their turf without a reason. Little Saigon and Harrah’s might as well be in different states.
Gold paged Iandolli to let him know there were more than a few mobsters trying to kill Charlie Pellecchia.
Reporters were pressing the police for information. A detective with a badge hanging from his neck took questions as Charlie made his way out of the hospital. When a reporter shoved a microphone at Charlie’s face, he quickly veered away and jogged back inside the lobby. He found Iandolli, and they exited the hospital through a back door.
Charlie explained everything that had happened as they walked through a staff parking lot. He told the detective about the fight in the New York nightclub and the subsequent turn of events since he had come to Las Vegas on vacation. Iandolli listened carefully. He excused himself when his cell phone rang.
Charlie looked back at the hospital while the detective spoke on the cell phone. Charlie stared at the rooms on the third floor. One of them was Samantha’s room.
Iandolli folded his cell phone and frowned at Charlie. “That was Gold,” he said.
“My pal.”
Iandolli waved a finger at Charlie. “He’s having a rough couple days,” he said. “A kid on the frce he was close to killed his wife and tried to commit suicide in the middle of all this yesterday. Gold’s under a lot of stress.”
Charlie remained silent.
“He just reviewed the videotapes at Harrah’s,” Iandolli said. “The kid who tried to cut you is with a local Vietnamese gang here in Las Vegas.”
“Great,” Charlie said. “Everybody wants a piece of me.”
“You mentioned the Asian kids with the cars stopping you and your girlfriend, right?”
Charlie nodded.
“That had to come from here,” Iandolli explained. “From one of our wiseguys here in Las Vegas. Jerry Lercasi, specifically.”
“This mean I’m moving to the Philippines?”
“I’m afraid they can probably get you there, too. But I’m pretty sure I can deal with Lercasi. Especially since yesterday.”
Charlie looked confused as he opened the door. Iandolli waved at him to get in the car. “I’ll explain later,” he said. “Let’s take a ride.”
Chapter 51
Bouncing bedsprings in the room next door woke Francone. He called Caesar’s Palace to make sure Anthony Rizzi was still checked in. After he left a phone message for Rizzi, Francone washed himself and left the dump of a motel.
He was still feeling pain from the stitches in his rectum as he sat in a taxi. He popped the last two painkillers while on his way to Caesar’s Palace. As soon as he could find a water fountain inside the casino, Francone drank until his stomach hurt.
He used a house telephone to call Rizzi’s room. The wannabe from Jersey City answered on the second ring.
“Anthony, it’s Joey,” Francone said.
“Ah-oh, hey, what’s up?” Rizzi asked, sounding nervous. “I-ah, I’ve been trying to get you guys for two days already.”
“I’m here now,” Francone said. “I’m downstairs by the sports book, but I can’t come up without a hotel card. Come down and bring me back up.”
“The sports book?”
“Yeah, yeah. I’m watching the track screens and having a drink. Hurry up.”
When he hung up with Rizzi, Francone wasn’t sure if the stitches in his rectum would hold if he kept moving around. He found a chair with a desktop to sit at. He asked a cocktail waitress for an orange juice and a glass of water. There was no point drinking booze, he was thinking. Between the medication he was taking and the fact that it had been more than two full days since his last decent workout, how could he poison his body with booze?
Anthony Rizzi told the valet that he had changed his mind about checking out but would he please take the bags downstairs anyway. The valet looked confused until Rizzi palmed him a twenty-dollar bill.
“I got a friend’s gonna stay in my place until the end of the week,” Rizzi said.
“That’s fine with me, sir,” the valet said. “You want I should prepare these here bags for a taxi? I’ll keep ’em close to the bell desk.”
“That’ll be fine, buddy,” Rizzi said.
He waited until the valet left before stopping to examine himself in a mirror. Rizzi was minutes from leaving Las Vegas and his New York mobster friends for good. He had talked it over with his brother back in New Jersey and decided that a mob life wasn’t for him after all. He would return to New Jersey and talk to somebody in law enforcement about the truck Nicholas Cuccia had im to keep in one of his warehouses. Rizzi wasn’t exactly sure what was inside the truck, but he knew it was hot.
He stood up straight and nodded at himself in the mirror. Francone was waiting for him downstairs. It was time to get out of there.
He took the elevator down to the lobby, crossed the huge casino floor, and found the sports book. He spotted Francone sitting at one of the desks, but the young bodybuilder wasn’t watching the screens. Francone seemed to be leaning forward as he touched himself in the crack of his ass.
“Joey?” Rizzi asked from behind.
Francone shifted fast on his chair. His face expressed pain when he looked up at Rizzi. “Hemorrhoids,” he said. “Most painful fuckin’ thing in the world.”
Rizzi watched as Francone struggled out from the desk he was sitting at. “Everything all right?” Rizzi asked when he noticed his friend was limping.
“Not since I got these. But there are a few problems. You talk to Nicky yet?”
“Nicky? Ah, no, not yet. I’ve been trying to get you guys.”
Francone grabbed onto one of Rizzi’s arms for support. “Why don’t we go upstairs and talk about it. It ain’t good. Lano, that rat, did a flip on us while he’s out here. He turned on Nicky.”
Rizzi felt his stomach drop.
“Why don’t you go up and I’ll be right there,” he said. “I was just going to get some money out of the deposit box.”
Francone had looked upset that Rizzi was excusing himself. Then, at the mention of getting money, Francone seemed at ease again. “Money? Yeah, that’s always a good idea. Gimme the room key and I’ll use the bathroom while you’re down here.”
“Sure,” Rizzi said. He handed Francone the flat electronic room key. “I’ll be right up.”
Francone stopped Rizzi. “Hey.”
“What?”
“You didn’t even kiss me hello.”
Rizzi leaned forward to exchange the traditional cheek kisses. The two men exchanged phony smiles.
“Don’t lose anything on the way back up,” Francone joked.
Rizzi continued to smile until Francone wasn’t looking. Then he walked away as fast as he could.
