Michael was used to dealing with unforeseen delays. “Hurry up and wait” was a catchphrase of the military, but it felt even worse in civilian clothes. In the days and weeks that followed the burning down of the strip club, Michael had continued to work the wrongful death suit of Karina Boyko. His efforts felt anticlimactic, though. With Driscoll’s disappearance, there was little urgency. Under Florida statute, Driscoll couldn’t be declared dead for a minimum of five years. As the legal representative for Karina’s family, he was targeting Driscoll’s estate, but the process would be long and drawn out. None of this felt like justice was being served.
That was why Michael wasn’t surprised when Carol led off her morning call to him with the words, “Bad news.”
“What now?”
“Miami Maritime called to say they located a wreck identified as the Seacreto.”
It had been Michael’s hope that the ship would be found with its crew, and that he might get answers out of them. “Where?” he asked.
“A few miles offshore Cape Coral.”
“Any sign of the crew?”
“Afraid not.”
“Dark Ghoul tied up all the loose ends.”
“They’re in the process of checking marina videotapes in Cape Coral and should be able to give us a time line on when it was docked and any visitors that might have come and gone. They do seem to share your assessment that the Seacreto’s sinking was ‘suspicious.’”
“I’m shocked. Gambling in Casablanca.”
* * *
Two hours later, Carol called for a second time. “I think you’ll want to come over to my office.”
“What’s up?”
“I’ve got some news about an elf,” she said.
Not more than a minute later, Michael turned the corner into Carol’s office. Jake looked impressed by how quickly he’d gotten there. “Did you fly?”
As Michael sat down and regained his breath, Carol handed the two men paperwork she’d printed out.
“It helped having contacts in Las Vegas Metro. It also helped that there’s only been one individual in the state of Nevada ever to have an alias of Keebler. Meet Anthony Russo, aka Keebler. It took this long to connect Russo with his alias because during his last stay in the joint he went by the nickname Big Tony.”
Michael started going through Anthony Russo’s rap sheet, pausing at the copy of his picture. Even though it was grainy, you could see his big cheeks and curly hair. However, Russo was six foot three and weighed three hundred pounds. He’d served time for aggravated assault, battery, pimping and pandering, and carrying a concealed weapon.
“I was told Keebler has the disposition of an angry rattlesnake,” Carol said.
“They don’t make elves like they used to,” Michael said.
“As you can see by his record of arrests and prosecutions, his last conviction was almost a decade ago.”
“Don’t tell us he turned over a new leaf,” Jake said.
“I won’t. For the last eight years he’s been working as hired muscle for media mogul Max Miller.”
All that alliteration prompted Carol to take a breath before adding, “Miller inherited a fortune and built on it. He was a wunderkind in the entertainment business, hitting it big in music and movies in Hollywood. Then he traveled 250 miles to the other entertainment capital of the world after getting a controlling interest in the Double Y, the Yin-Yang Casino and Convention Center.”
“Max Miller,” Michael said. “I know that name.”
“Isn’t he the guy who held some poor woman by her ankles from an upper floor balcony?” Jake asked. “I seem to remember there was a video of her screaming in terror.”
“That’s our Max. Also known by the name of Mad Max because of his penchant for acting crazy. He pulled that high-rise stunt while he was still in Hollywood’s favor and bought his way out of any repercussions. Miller took his leave of LA before #MeToo. Since ending up in Vegas, he’s gained a reputation as a modern-day Howard Hughes.”
“Who?” Jake asked.
“You’re making me feel old,” Carol said.
“He was that guy DiCaprio played in The Aviator,” Michael said.
Carol amplified on that. “Hughes was this reclusive larger-than-life billionaire who took up residence in the penthouse at the Desert Inn, and rather than move out, just decided to buy the entire casino so that he could stay put. That’s kind of what Max Miller did. He took over the penthouse at the Yin-Yang, and Keebler and the rest of his special security team live on the floor below him.”
“Is Miller a recluse like Hughes was?” Michael asked.
She shook her head. “He seems to enjoy playing the big shot; if you google his image, you can see how he’s always getting his picture taken with athletes and celebrities. Although for the last few years his penthouse has been off-limits to everyone. That’s quite a change from the parties he used to throw up there. Most days Miller just makes the rounds of the Yin-Yang.”
“I want to see about getting my picture taken with him,” Michael said. “Tomorrow, I’m traveling to Las Vegas.”
It wasn’t a request, or a question.
“I’d like to go as well,” Jake said.
“The two of you going off half-cocked won’t help matters,” Carol said.
Michael said, “Keebler is my link to Nataliya, as well as the American girl taken from Driscoll’s H2B workers’ housing compound. And since Nataliya’s family recently retained my services as her lawyer, if there is even a chance my client is in Las Vegas, I’m obligated to try and meet with her.”
“Then I would suggest you talk to Deke and get him to agree to your plan.”
“What about me?” asked Jake.
“If Michael gets Deke’s blessing, you’ll get mine.”
Michael was already halfway out of his seat when Carol raised her hand and signaled for him to stop. “Hold your horses. We’re not done here yet. This morning USCIS finally got back to us. Per my request, they included a picture of Nataliya Nahorny.”
Carol handed copies of her photo to Michael and Jake.
“Beautiful green eyes,” Jake said. “Sort of reminds me of Lily. All these poor kids who just seem to have disappeared.”
“All the more reason for our forming a search party,” Michael said.
He hurried out of the office, going in search of Deke to ask about booking a flight to Las Vegas.