The scuttlebutt from the casino owner crowd was that henceforward Lenny Mazurka was no longer welcome inside the city limits of Las Vegas, Reno and even the more sedate Lake Tahoe gambling establishments. There was a sense of finality about the edict, despite the fact it was entirely verbal and not attributable to any single party. It was sort of like trying to trace back the original source of the Ten Commandments.

Lenny was mostly either drunk or high lately and he was playing his I-don’t-care card with a blank stare and a smile that confirmed he didn’t give a shit.

Fortunately, the original coast enforcers were all immersed in the free booze and free pussy red carpet I had stretched out for them as soon as they got off the plane. They had shot up and trashed a classy suite at the Luxor in some kind of crazy bet about who was the better marksman. The fact they were using standard issue silencers helped keep the lid on the damage and the local girls thought they were cute with their long-barreled handguns. I greased the security guys to make their instinct to report to the local law enforcement disappear like the lobster at a free buffet.

I met with Tammy, the casino owner’s daughter and she tearfully told me about her recent humiliation at Lenny’s careless hands.

The girl was young, like a newly-opened pack of Lucky Strike.  

She was too young for me to even consider consoling her in a way that might make me a target as well. I knew her mom from some time back and remembered how she had a way of making a pole an accomplice in some depraved carnal carnival.

Her spa-pampered mother gave me the evil eye from the edge of the casino pool and I knew she was not a fan because I had disrespected her in the usual way before she had snared the casino boss as a partner for life. In a way, I felt ashamed of my cavalier younger attitude and I wanted to make amends, but didn’t have a clue about the best way to go about it.

The still-attractive and mature Zelda got down to brass tacks and asked me with a not so subtle smile,

“You still like the ass humping thing, Tony?”

That was an invitation to follow her up to her suite and we did just that following up with the two step tango all over the fluffy white carpet. After that royal performance, she calmed her daughter down and told her to accept the cherry red Jaguar I had parked in the VIP lot to compensate her for her embarrassment. I momentarily had a vision of doing a mother-daughter thing right there in the luxury suite, but common sense prevailed and I got lost in a hurry before the tables got turned on me.

We got Lenny bundled up with a pair of blondes from the after midnight show and managed to spirit him out of Nevada with absolutely no fanfare or fuss from his less than adoring public. The girls were a couple of real cute, but disposable models from an old-fashioned review way off the strip and they saw the opportunity to go to Hollywood as a milestone in their uninspiring careers. I think their names were Trixie and Candy or something close to that. Trixie was the smart one and she spent most of the trip reading the frigging Wall Street Journal like she understood every confusing word. Candy was playing with Lenny’s oversexed male equipment like it was the only available toy in the playground and it diverted her from having to think. I averted my eyes from the panting couple and tried to figure out the Trixie dame because she was not your run of the mill showgirl with a high maintenance agenda and a complete lack of empathy for the less fortunate ordinary looking people around her.

I noticed her dog-eared paper had a mailing sticker on it with an Italian sounding name with a Capital D and a little mark that usually marked someone from the old country. The first name was Angelina and I suspect that was probably her real name rather than some maiden aunt with a penchant for investing.

For some reason, I was hesitant to strike up a conversation with the strange broad, even though we were sitting next to each other with our naked thighs touching like two lovers in a honeymoon nest. She had the nicest legs I had seen in a long time and that included Lady Glamour and her jaded mom. Still, I knew she wasn’t going anywhere in the entertainment field because she didn’t have any viable sugar daddy or mentor to guide her through the maze of casting couches and so-called producers with condoms in almost every pocket.

This Angelina babe was nice enough that I would have volunteered for the job, except I knew for a fact she had been giving up her pretty ass to Lenny to pay for a chance at breaking into the Hollywood scene.

I guess my urge for steady pussy overcame my reservations about fooling around with cunts for hire, because I found it easy to give her my card and suggest we get together for lunch at the earliest opportunity. She acted a bit shy, but nodded her pretty little head in agreement and I knew right away that she liked me, despite our obvious difference in age.

Ramon and I set up shop in a quiet little cul-de-sac not far from Beverly Hills. It was a confiscated home taken from some out-of-work gambler that tried to turn his available cash into a retirement plan and found lady luck was nowhere to be found when the cards were sorted out on top of the green felt.

Monica had twin teenaged kids still in high school and they appeared to be the type that kept their faces buried in their schoolbooks rather than in their schoolmate’s undies behind closed doors. That fatherless household had a huge doberman to round out the picture and I hoped they had trained him to treat strange men with respect.

When she visited us with a tray of goodies, Ramon sat there scarfing up the cookies with a look of sheer bliss on his face and I made nice-nice with the conversation trying my best to keep my eyes off her bare legs peeking out from under the split-skirt wrap over her bathing suit. I could tell from her attitude that she was one of those women with lots of stamina and she would most likely drain me of all my juices and keep me on a short leash until she could turn on the tap for more. I wondered why Mister Monica had exited the scene considering the lush garden sitting inside the comfortable two-story home.

The house on the other side of us in the circular street was a pair of obvious lesbians with their pretty little tongues tucked neatly inside their perfectly made-up lips like tigers poised for action of the female on female variety. I wondered how well they got along with Monica because she looked like the perfect playmate for the younger women agile enough to run circles around her in almost any position. I had enough problems that I didn’t need such thoughts running through my head.

I gave them a good cover story as politely as possible.

It was a stress laden effort to ignore the sexual tension that permeated the air wherever the tiger girls paused for interaction with normal humans because those they didn’t scare found them sexually impossible to avoid without a sense of loss at their leaving.

I had my share of tiger girls in my day and I was far more content with the solid mature ex-wives, ex-mistresses and ex-call girls that knew instinctively when it was the right time to pull down their undies and reach for the golden ring.

Lesbian one turned to lesbian two and asked sarcastically,

“Is he one of the ones you want between your legs, you little cunt?”

Lesbian two looked at me and made a face like she was contemplating vomiting at the thought.

“He’s not my type, you bitch, I told you I like them with a lot darker shade of skin than this specimen of indoor man.”

That statement proved accurate when I walked into the kitchen the following evening to find my Ramon bending that same lesbian number two over the messy table and humping her sleek skinny model ass from behind like a Latin lover with a fetish for doing it doggy style.

I was in the midst of hooking up with the hot-to-trot divorcee from next door, Monica with the luscious red lips and I had hopes of ending up in her king sized bed before the clock struck midnight. I hoped the walls were thick enough that I would not corrupt her teenaged daughter’s dreams with visions of her mother taking it down and dirty with a smile on her face that confirmed her daughter’s belief she was the offspring of an obsessed sex pervert.

Lenny was taken out of our hands the following weekend by our new co-conspirators, the recently arrived on the west coast Russian mob was working with us, hand in glove, to corner some of the independent productions that showed promise of huge profits and a piggy bank for laundering oodles of dirty cash from our other operations. I won’t deny I was happy to see Lenny, the prick, go out of the picture because I had this sense he would bring everything down on our heads like some latter day Sampson blinded by his own refusal to see the truth in his misguided attraction to the wrong woman.

Ramon was gratified we were not going to move from the frozen-in-time cul-de-sac and he seemed more satiated than satisfied with his skinny-assed lesbian’s nightly visits to his little den of iniquity.

In a way, I was glad we were in no hurry to get back to the pressures of Las Vegas because this Hollywood lifestyle was easy to get in your blood, if you still young enough to stand the heat.

We had our own family-owned studio now and even when we didn’t make a high profit the benefits of making high-level contacts and laundering our assets all above board and legal more than compensated for a thin profit margin.

Our sudden return to Las Vegas was for a reason I never would have suspected, all things considered. Still, I was not inclined to object because I had been around long enough to know it was a lot harder to hit a moving target.