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“But we need you to do us a favor. To do me a favor,” Artie added.
“Of course. Anything,” I told him. I was comforted by the news my show was safe, but still reeling from the idea that the man before me feared his brother had been murdered and he was next.
“You’re no longer in touch with Senator Aldred, correct?”
“Correct,” I said.
“Think he’s going to win in November?”
“I hope so. He’s a good man.”
“I agree. John Aldred has always been on the up and up with us. He’s no John Kennedy.”
I knew the reference: lots of the gaming world’s “pioneers” never forgave the president. Kennedy, when he was a mere senator in the late 1950s, was friends with Frank Sinatra and, thus, Sam Giancana, the Chicago mob boss. Through the Sands Casino, Frank and Sam and their associates poured money into Kennedy’s presidential campaign in 1960. Allegedly, Giancana and the president even shared the same mistress, Judith Exner—though not even allegedly on the same nights—and when Kennedy was in the White House, she’d pass messages between the two men. Ah, but eventually Kennedy would place his political future before his friendship with Frank, and put him, and Las Vegas, in the rearview mirror. He’d even allow his kid brother, Bobby, to threaten the power brokers on the strip and the gangsters behind them from his perch as attorney general. (In the end, he stopped his brother from raiding the casinos, but a Vegas grudge runs deep.)
“And, let’s face it,” I said, “the alternative to John this November brings less to the world than a urinal cake.”
Eddie chuckled, but Artie only nodded. “Not a fan of Erika Schweiker?”
“I’m not.”
“Well, the good news is that you’re a good actor.”
I smiled politely, but said nothing.
“Look, I want to keep my casino,” Artie continued, “which is in your interests, too, Crissy. They killed my brother because the two of us wouldn’t sell the Buckingham Palace—especially not for the bottom-feeder price they wanted to pay. They sent me a message when they killed Richie, but I’m not surrendering. Richie wouldn’t want that, and I sure as hell don’t.”
He stood up and went to his desk, where he retrieved a piece of scrap paper. He handed it to me. It was a phone number.
“We’re doing this old school so there’s no text between us about this. No sharing a contact that can be traced,” he explained. “This is Erika Schweiker’s personal cell. That favor? Call her—please—and keep calling until she picks up. Do not leave a message.”
“This sounds a little sketchy,” I said carefully.
“Politics and gaming have always been a little sketchy.”
“Still,” I said, “I’m not sure I’m altogether comfortable with—”
“And when you reach her,” Artie plowed ahead, ignoring me, “which you will, eventually, tell her who you are and that you have some dirt on the senator. Invite her to the second show one night and tell her she should come backstage afterwards, and you’ll give it to her—the dirt.”
This was a disloyalty I had not anticipated, and I was aghast and told them. “No. I can’t betray John Aldred. I’m sorry, but we parted amicably. Also, his moral compass is quite sound. I can’t believe he’s done something illegal or debauched.”
“You’re right.”
“Then, what, you’ve concocted something fake?” I asked, still staggered by this turn.
“Nope. Hear us out. Erika will pressure you. Try to get you to tell her what the dirt is on the phone—without meeting. Pretend you’re a woman scorned and you have to give it to her in person. Insist it’s something you have to hand over. Something physical.” Artie sat down now, twisting the massive gold ring on his pinky. There was a crest on it I couldn’t decipher. “But you’re not going to give her anything, because there’s nothing to give her. You won’t even be in your dressing room when she and whatever muscle she brings knock on your door.”
“Where will I be?”
“After the show, you’ll go back to your suite.”
“Who will be in my dressing room?”
“You don’t need to know,” said Eddie.
“You don’t,” agreed Artie. “If the point of this was just dirt we had on Aldred, we could turn it over to her ten thousand ways. We wouldn’t need you. But that’s not the point. The point is to get Erika in a room where we can…explain things to her. Tell her to tell her people the casino is not for sale and to back the fuck off.”
“Her people.”
