Ding-donging became a regular event at the BH. The Cleveland Syndicate must have had an endless supply of goons willing to wag their willies because it was always a new crew that came to do the dirty deed. That meant Pete’s security force never knew who it would be.
Pete turned the tables on them by comping dinner for everyone splattered with urine. The potential for harassment added a frisson of danger to an evening at the BH. Add a free meal and the BH drew record crowds. Record crowds meant heavy competition to play on BH stages, and a willingness for entertainers to tolerate the interruptions.
Mal was the first to instruct his lighting tech to spotlight any men getting on their chairs, at which point, Mal stopped his act and announced, “Who’s getting a free dinner tonight?” Staff had to identify those customers quickly, because some folks attempted to splash themselves with urine they’d carried in with them in order to claim a meal. It became fashionable to sit near dangerous-looking stag men.
Pete was bearing up fine until the Syndicate decided to play hardball and hijacked one of the trucks his men shoveled money into after closing. Stu found the empty truck and the severely beaten driver and guards hours later.
The following afternoon, Mal sat in Pete’s office. The big man puffed violently on his cigar while his gears turned. Finally he spoke.
“Stu, how much did we lose last night?”
Stu, leaning against the wall, lit a cigarette. “Over forty grand. It was a good night.”
Pete pointed with his cigar. “They don’t need to buy me out. They can let me do the work and take everything. We’ll have to send more guards with the trucks.”
“Someone will get killed that way,” Mal said.
Stu snorted. “You got a better idea, kid?”
“Maybe.”
Pete sat up, giving Mal a hard look. “Lay it out.”
“Dalitz doesn’t want the BH because it’s classy—or that’s not the main reason. He wants it because you rake in cash.”
“Tell me something new.”
“Until they robbed that truck, they had no way to know how much you were making. What if the trucks carry less money than they expect? What if we convince them the BH is a money pit, and the trucks are for show?”
Pete lifted his head. “Send out empty trucks? And what am I gonna do with the money?”
“I’m a magician. I make things disappear.”