Гарольд Роббинс - The Raiders

— "Do you know where Mr. Cord is, ma'am?"

— "I don't know where he is. Furthermore, I don't give a damn."

A long silence, punctuated by the slamming of a door.

— "Shit. You've lost your erection."

In the morning, while Monica and Alex slept at last, Jonas and Angie ate breakfast, read the newspapers, and exchanged a few bland jokes about what they'd heard last night.

When they had finished eating, Jonas called in Bill Shaw and sent him off as a courier to Los Angeles, by way of the De Havilland junket flight to Mexico City. He sent the tape with Shaw, to deliver to the lawyer who would represent him in the divorce settlement negotiations. He wrote a note and enclosed it with the tape: Use this as you see fit, not at all if you don't have to. Notice that the talk after the door buzzer eliminates all question about who we are hearing.

Ten days later Jonas called Morris Chandler to a meeting in the suite.

Three days before, Chandler had asked Nevada how much longer he thought Jonas would want to occupy the entire fifth floor of The Seven Voyages. The money Jonas was paying in rent was very generous, Chandler said, but he'd decided he had made a bad deal. The rent he would have received from high rollers who would otherwise have occupied those suites, plus what they would have lost in the casino, substantially exceeded Jonas's generous eight thousand a month. Besides, some high rollers had complained about not getting their usual deluxe suites.

When Chandler came into the suite, he found Nevada and Angie and Len Douglas with Jonas. The three men wore golf shirts and slacks — Nevada looking incongruous in his. Angie wore a raspberry-colored golf shirt and white slacks.

"You know everybody, Morris," Jonas said. "Coffee?"

"Yes, thank you," said Morris Chandler. He was not wearing one of his usual dark suits today but wore instead a cream-and-brown-checked jacket and dark-brown slacks. He was visibly nervous, as if he anticipated that the call for this meeting presaged something ominous.

"Take a look through the telescope," said Jonas. "I checked them five minutes ago, and they were up there."

Chandler sat down and put his coffee on the table.

"Nevada tells me I'm costing you more than I'm paying you," said Jonas.

Chandler nodded. "It's just a business fact, Jonas. Nothing personal. You've been fair. I'm sure you had no idea I'd come out short. I didn't."

"We'll take care of that one way or another," said Jonas. "I want to talk to you about something else."

"Still thinking of building a hotel of your own?" asked Chandler.

"I've got something better in mind," said Jonas. "I'm thinking of buying this one."

Chandler jerked up his chin and shook his head. "It's not for sale."

"It might be," said Jonas. "The men who own the points just might be interested, if they got the right offer."

"You don't even know who owns the points," said Chandler.

"Most of them, I do," said Jonas.

"How could you find out? How could you find out when the feds can't find out, when the State of Nevada can't find out?"

Jonas glanced at Nevada. Both men had amused gleams in their eyes. "I hired a consultant," said Jonas. "He doesn't know who he's working for, but he likes his fee."

"Who? Who would tell you?"

Jonas grinned. "Meyer Lansky," he said.

Morris Chandler got up and walked to the telescope. He leaned against the eyepiece and was silent for a full half minute as he seemed to be staring at the girls atop the neighboring penthouses but was actually taking the time to compose himself and think through the implications of what Jonas Cord was saying.

"They call Meyer the Chairman of the Board," said Jonas. "But money doesn't stick to him. It seems to have a way of flying from him. In spite of all his connections and all his smarts, he's not rich. He didn't jump for my offer. He's too smart for that. But he took it."

Chandler sat down. He glanced at his coffee cup but did not pick it up. "Do you mean to tell me you actually know — "

"Who owns the points," Jonas interrupted. "I do. With a few exceptions. And I know who'll sell. For the right money, I can pick up seventy-two points tomorrow. My consultant will help me buy seventy-two points, you've got eighteen that you'll sell me. That leaves just ten points out, and I figure you know who has them."

Chandler's face turned red, and his voice rose thinly. "I'll sell you mine? You think I'll sell you mine? What makes you think I'll sell you mine?"

"There's something in it for you, Maurie," said Nevada. "I said to Jonas, 'There has to be something in it for Maurie.' You stay. You manage. You get a share. Of stock. No points. There'll be no more points."

"I'm an easier guy to work for than the guys who have the points," said Jonas.

Chandler calmed down a bit. "What do you figure on paying for a point?" he asked.

"My accountant will tell me."

"Accountant! No accountant will ever figure out how a place like this works. No accountant will ever figure out what a point is worth."

"My accountant already knows," said Jonas. "Meyer Lansky."

"You put a hell of a lot of confidence in Lansky," said Chandler.

Jonas shrugged. "He's got no criminal record. He likes money. Better than just any old money is money paid by check, that he can report for taxes. Now, the way I want to do this, I'm going to buy your stock in Seven Voyages, Incorporated. You distribute the money to the points holders. You'll have a capital gain. I'll take care of that with a bonus I'll pay you for your services as manager of the hotel."

"What if some guys don't want to sell their points?"

"As soon as I take over, I'm stopping the skim," said Jonas. "Anyway, they're in no position to make noise. They're tax evaders at best. Besides, I'm going to pay a good price."

"Some guys you can't shove around," warned Chandler.

"Maurie, you're looking at one," said Nevada, nodding toward Jonas.

Four days later Jonas sat down on the couch, surrounded by files and papers that Angie had assembled for him, and began a long telephone conversation with Phil Wallace in Washington.

Angie listened. She was astonished by what she heard — and very pleased that Jonas trusted her so much as to discuss his businesses in great detail within her hearing.

The telephone was equipped with a squawk box, so she heard both halves of the conversation.

"I'm going to move out of Las Vegas. Once it's known that we're buying a casino-hotel here — "

"They'll be all over the place looking for you," interrupted the metallic voice of Wallace. "So, where you going? Mexico City?"

"Acapulco. Top floor of a hotel. Shaw has worked it out."

"Well, that brings up something. You have a friend in Mexico. In fact, you have a friend in Mexico who comes up to Las Vegas on junkets to The Seven Voyages. She's been in the hotel since you've been there."

"Who the hell are you talking about, Phil?"

"Sonja Batista."

Angie saw Jonas's face whiten. "Where'd you hear that name?" he demanded of Phil Wallace.

"It was in the files I inherited from McAllister. None of my business. Nothing to do with anything. But her name came up in a news story in The Washington Post Tuesday. The rumor from Cuba is that her uncle may take power again. Fulgencio Batista. You've heard the name?"

"Of course I've heard the name."

"He's connected, if you know the meaning of the word. He's got friends in the States who'd like him to take over in Havana."

"I know why," said Jonas. "But say why."

"He'll turn the country into a paradise for those people and their interests. Casinos. The world's greatest whorehouses. The works."