93
Pete Genaro comped Teddy the Presidential Suite with every extravagance imaginable, from the bar, pool table, and sauna to the balcony terrace with barbecue grill. Ordinarily Teddy had no use for such excesses, but he had had no chance to clean himself up since the hospital. The bathroom featured a walk-in marble shower with three-sixty jets and a wraparound marble bench.
Teddy had been told he couldn’t get his cast wet, but the doctor hadn’t planned on him taking it off. Teddy got in the shower, washed up, and cleaned his wounds. He had almost forgotten the one on his side, it was so minor compared to the rest. Ironic that getting shot was the least of his problems. He washed it off while he waited for the throbbing in his leg to subside.
When he was done, Teddy dried himself off, hobbled on crutches to the bed, and went to work with his medical kit. He bandaged the wound in his chest and taped up his leg. He wouldn’t bother with the cast until he had to go out. It was decorative only.
Teddy took out one of the burner phones he’d brought along and called Mason Kimble at Star Pictures. “Mr. Kimble. This is Carlo Verdi. Sammy Candelosi would like to meet you and Mr. Cardigan for dinner tomorrow night. I’m arranging the details now. I’ve booked a high-roller two-bedroom suite for you and Mr. Cardigan. It’s available now, but you can come tonight or tomorrow. I regret that we do not have our own private plane, but let me know what flight you are going to take and I will book you first class. Don’t worry about transportation, you’ll be met at the airport. Check in and enjoy the casino, all expenses are comped. Don’t try to contact Sammy at the casino. I’ll let you know when it’s time. Does that work for you?”
“That will be just fine.”
“Good.” Teddy gave him the number of the burner phone. “Call me at this number when you decide what flight you want to take and I’ll set it up.”
Teddy figured he’d done a good day’s work. He lay down on the bed and was almost instantly asleep.
94
We have to get there early,” Gerard said.
“Why?” Mason said. “We’re going first class.”
“I need time to check in my gun.”
“You don’t need a gun. It’s a business meeting.”
“A business meeting with a mobster. I’m wearing a gun.”
“He’s an investor.”
“He’s an investor who happens to be a mobster.”
“Are you saying we shouldn’t go?”
“No, I’m just saying I’m taking my gun.”
“You’re taking a gun through the airport?”
“Why not? I have no police record because my heart is pure, and I’m very good at what I do. Trust me, there won’t be a problem.”
There wasn’t. Fully paid first-class tickets were waiting for them at the airport. They only had to present IDs. Gerard checked his gun, and they were good to go.
They got off the plane in Vegas to find a chauffeur with the sign KIMBLE AND CARDIGAN waiting at baggage claim. He took them to the casino, carried their bags, and refused a tip.
“It’s taken care of,” he said.
The desk clerk was equally gracious. When Mason Kimble presented his driver’s license and a credit card, he handed the credit card back. “Just the ID. Everything is taken care of. You just have to sign for it.”
“This is wonderful,” Mason said as the bellboy led them up to the room.
“It’s too good to be true,” Gerard said. “I don’t like it.”
“You worry too much,” Mason said. “Can’t you just enjoy it?”
“Sure,” Gerard said, but he wasn’t entirely happy.
It was almost reassuring when the bellboy accepted a tip.
95
Teddy spent the morning checking out restaurants. It wasn’t easy on crutches, but he’d narrowed them down online. The first two were unacceptable, their private rooms too private for his needs.
The third one was the charm. The Golden Grill had exactly what he needed—a room on the ground floor with a table that could easily seat a dozen and a high window on the back wall. Teddy inquired as to its availability for a birthday party the following month, got prices, and told them he’d call.
He went back to his suite at the casino, called them up, and booked the room for six o’clock that night with Carlo Verdi’s credit card.
When the room was booked he called Mason Kimble. He had his cell phone number, but first he tried him in the hotel suite.
Mason was in the hot tub, but of course there was a phone within reach. He picked it up. “Hello?”
“Mr. Kimble?”
“Yes.”
“Carlo Verdi. Are your accommodations satisfactory?”
“Quite.”
“I have dinner set for six o’clock tonight at the Golden Grill.”
“Good. We’ll be there.”
He had one more call to make.
* * *
—
Sammy Candelosi had Slythe, Jake, and four goons in his office when the call came through. All were tough, all were armed, all had come with him from Jersey.
“Yes?” Sammy said.
“Sammy Candelosi? This is Mason Kimble. Gerard Cardigan and I would be happy to meet you for dinner at the Golden Grill at six o’clock tonight to discuss an arrangement I think you will find financially advantageous.”
“Who the hell are you?”
“We’re movie producers, the owners of Star Pictures in Hollywood.”
Sammy looked over at Jake and nodded his head. “Movie producers. And you want to meet me tonight at the Golden Grill?”
“That’s right. At six o’clock in their private dining room. Will that work for you?”
Sammy glanced around at the men assembled in his office. “Absolutely,” he said, and hung up the phone.
“That’s it,” Jake said. “Those are the guys.”
“They sure are,” Sammy said. “And we’ve got time to prepare a little surprise for them. Nice work, Jake.”
“I gotta report back to Pete,” Jake said. “Tell him you got the call so he doesn’t know you’re wise.”
96
Teddy packed his bags, called the bellboy, and tipped him handsomely to leave them outside where the valets summoned cabs. He’d gotten confirmation from Jake, via Pete, that the dinner was on, and it was time for him to play his part.