THE FIRST THING MIKE sees on waking is white dust falling from the ceiling. The floor is shaking, sloshing the waterbed around.
Colleen murmurs beside him.
‘Can you feel that?’ he says, but she doesn’t stir.
Half-convinced it’s a dream, he wipes his forearm and looks at the tips of his fingers: powdered residue from the stipple ceiling.
It’s an earthquake.
The clock reads 5.15 am.
Up before the enemy.
But already under attack.
Over the Esplanade and down across the deserted beach, Mike wades into the ocean. He almost has the place to himself, just one surfer further down. Mike floats in the water and thinks, I’m so close. Close, but in real trouble too. On the wrong side of bad policemen, under the employ of a powerful minister, in bed with a gangster. It’s all ominous, but it’s all politics in the end. That’s the job. A hundred uneasy negotiations. Mike looks back at the Strip and thinks, That’s how this was built. And even though he knows he should be terrified this morning—fearing the dark assemblage forming, the impossible stakes—he feels a seasick elation too. The finish line is in sight and Mike is running towards it.
Breakfast doubles as an emergency pitch meeting with Colleen’s frontman, the real estate developer Robert Emmery. Emmery has been dropped right in. No appointment, no consultation. ‘Just go see him,’ says Colleen. ‘He’ll sort you out.’ She knows where he eats.
Emmery now sits across the table of a hotel bistro down on Hanlan Street. He’s imperially neat from the slick haircut down. The Financial Times spread open on his lap. ‘So you’re a friend of Colleen’s?’ he says.
‘It’s not what you know.’
‘What do you want?’
‘Colleen is buying into Fantasyland and I hear you’re the man to talk to about moving her money around.’
Emmery is listening, but he keeps his eyes on the newspaper. ‘Interesting. She’s a bit overextended at the moment. We’re building a casino, if you hadn’t heard.’
‘I heard,’ Mike says.
‘How well do you know her?’
‘Intimately.’
Emmery almost smiles. ‘Word of advice?’
‘I’ll listen to anyone once.’
Emmery leans across the table. ‘You can both go fuck yourselves.’
And there it is. At the core, Emmery is just another brawler.
Mike signals the waiter. ‘I might grab a bite, actually. We should talk terms.’
‘Go on then.’ He folds up his paper. ‘How much are we apparently investing?’
‘For you? Four million.’
‘Forget it. Tell her she can’t have it. Bloody have a look around. The city is dead on its feet.’
‘Fantasyland is recession-proof, Robert. One hundred per cent recession-proof. No one gives a fuck about the economy when they’re with their kids at a theme park. You’ve got kids, right?’
‘I’m well aware of the project’s merits.’
‘Then you know why it’s a smart play.’
Emmery takes a sip of his tea. Mike spots a small red dot on his shirt cuff. Is that blood?
‘How are you planning on doing all this?’ says Emmery.
‘Charm and good looks.’
‘No, really.’
‘Someone is cashing out.’
‘Who?’
It’s Mike’s turn to lean across the table. ‘Your mum.’
‘They’ll never let Colleen anywhere near it. You know that, right? Noah Winters won’t even sit down with me. So, either you’re full of shit, or you’re into something very dicey, and I don’t like either of those options.’
‘It’s the second one. And I think we’re a bit turned around here. I’m trying to be polite, but Colleen’s already in. So, I figure you’re in. I’m not here to ask a favour, Robert. I’m here to find out how quickly you can get me my money?’
‘I can’t do it. It’ll delay the casino.’
‘Then delay the fucking casino.’
He’s rattled now. ‘Four million, you said?’
‘Four.’
‘I could do three, maybe three point two. But this better be real.’
‘It’s better than real, mate.’
‘Do you know what Colleen will do to you if this doesn’t pan out? She’ll cut your balls off and feed them to you.’
‘Who doesn’t like a good time?’
They shake on it.
Then Robert asks him to leave.
Down the street, Mike runs into Allan Watts. Allan scratches his ear. ‘I didn’t realise you were still down here, mate. Come and have a cuppa.’
They duck into a nearby restaurant, and almost immediately Allan excuses himself for a slash. The place is empty. Mike sits there and waits as a dark feeling arrives, dragged into focus by the quiet. He got to Sorensen’s afterparty via those cops at the Silver Fish. That’s Allan’s place. Mike flashes back to Allan making the introductions. He flashes further back to that first night at Fantasyland, to what Allan said about Mike’s predecessor.
He’s having a long spell from walking around.
Mike gets up and leaves.
On the way out, he spots Allan at the bar, hunched over the phone.
Ten minutes later Mike steps through the door of the crash-pad above the Silver Fish where Colleen is awake and dressed. She’s standing in the living room, smoking. ‘We have to move you,’ she says.
‘What is it?’
‘There’s an APB out. Every cop on the Strip is looking for you.’
‘Why?’
‘Wanted for questioning. Something to do with a murder down on the Tweed. They found a friend of mine dead in your motel room. They cut his head off.’
‘That’s … I was here with you all night.’
‘I know.’
‘What do I do?’
‘Lie low. Keep working on the deal. I’ll handle the rest.’