Doing Hard Time (24 page)

“I can’t do that at the moment, but I can fly on weekends and occasionally I can take a couple of hours off in the late afternoon.”

“Then we could probably get it done in six or eight weeks.”

“Where do you keep your airplane?”

“At Hawthorne, but I can move it to Santa Monica, if that’s more convenient for you.”

“That sounds good. It’s my ambition to eventually own and fly my own jet, as Dad does. What sort of training will that involve?”

“You’ll need your instrument rating and a multi-engine rating—that one can be done over a long weekend. Then you’ll need some turbine time before Flight Safety will accept you as a student for a type rating in a jet, then you’ll need a couple of weeks of type-specific jet training in the simulator. You could get all this done in a year, if you take it very seriously and work hard.”

Peter nodded. “I’m certainly willing to do that. I’ve also been thinking of trying to buy a hangar at Santa Monica for when I buy an airplane.”

“I can ask around about that. In the meantime, you should sign up for one of the online instrument courses—that way, you can learn the classroom stuff at your leisure. I’d recommend working on it at least an hour a day.”

“All right, I’ll do that.”

“We can start the practical instruction this weekend, if you have the time.”

They discussed money and agreed on a salary for Teddy. “I’ll charge you by the hour for the airplane, and you can pay the FBO for the fuel.”

“Sounds good. Can you start here tomorrow?”

“I can start the day after tomorrow. I need another day to make sure my replacement at the armory has a grip on the work.”

“Great. You’ll be working for us, not the studio, but Ruth will set you up with the credentials you need to be on the lot, and she’ll give you a parking pass. What are you driving?”

“A 1958 D model.”

“Wow, that’s a neat car. Won’t take up much room in the lot, either.”

The two shook hands, Teddy filled out some forms for Ruth, then he went home to Betsy.

“Hey, hon,” she said, as he walked in the door.

“What have you been up to?” he asked.

“More shopping. I’ve pretty much replaced my wardrobe. Did you see the papers this morning? About Majorov?”

“Sure did. Maybe all that activity will take his attention away from you and me.”

“I hope so.”

“I got a new job today, as an assistant to two young filmmakers on the Centurion lot.”

“Assistant what?”

“Whatever they’ve got. I’m going to give one of them some flight instruction, too, for his instrument rating.”

“I didn’t know you were an instructor.”

“You still have a few things to learn about me,” he said, kissing her.

“I know the things that are important to me,” Betsy said. “When do you start the new job?”

“Day after tomorrow,” Teddy said. “I’ve got an offer from a security company, too. We’ll use that for a backup, in case we need to move on.” He had already explained to her that there might be times when they would have to move on short notice, and she had accepted that.

“Want to take a walk down the beach?” she asked.

“Sure.”

• • •

Harry Katz sat in his car outside the apartment building. He didn’t know what Billy Burnett looked like, but he knew Charmaine Evans, and he had come across her shopping on Rodeo Drive and followed her home.

Now he watched as Charmaine left the apartment building in the company of a somewhat older man.

“Good day, Mr. Burnett,” he said aloud, and with a chuckle.

Pete Genaro was working at his desk when the fateful call came. “Genaro.”

“Pete, it’s Harry Katz. I’ve found your guy.”

“Really?”

“I got lucky and ran across Charmaine shopping in Beverly Hills, hitting the expensive shops. I followed her to an apartment building in Santa Monica and staked it out. A couple of hours later, she left the building with an older man, and I figure it’s Billy Burnett. I’ve just e-mailed a couple of photos of them together. I’ll hold while you check them out.”

“Okay.” Genaro checked his e-mail and found the photos. “Harry? That’s Billy Burnett.”

“Great! What do you want me to do?”

“Absolutely nothing. Come back to Vegas, and don’t mention a single word of this to anybody.”

“As you wish, Pete. I’ll be home tonight and at work tomorrow.” Both men hung up.

Genaro sighed. He realized that, with all that had happened, this situation was not what he wanted. He liked Billy Burnett, and he especially liked Charmaine, and he did not like Yuri Majorov, especially since he had started shooting people in his hotel and at the airport. He had a board meeting in an hour, and he wanted to be ready for it. He called his banker.

“Good afternoon, Pete.”

“Afternoon, Abner. Are we all set?”

“I’ve been to my people with your proposal, and we’ll back you, Pete. Go ahead and put it to your board. A cashier’s check for the funds will be on your desk momentarily.”

“Thank you, Ab. I’ll get back to you after the meeting.”

“Goodbye, Pete, and good luck with your board.”

Genaro hung up. He left his office and decided to take the long way to the boardroom. He walked through the public rooms of the hotel and then through the casino, stopping to chat now and then with a customer or an employee or to suggest some small change in the decor or other arrangements. He loved this place; it was what he had always wanted.

Shortly before the board meeting he entered the boardroom to find the CEO and chairman, William Stein, chatting with his vice chairman, Albert Hegelman. The corporate counsel, Abby Greenbaum, sat at the conference table, going over some documents.

“Hello, Pete,” Stein said.

“Hello, Bill, Al,” Genaro replied.

“I see you’ve got something on the agenda today. Want to tell us about it?”

“I’m sorry, Bill, but there isn’t time. This came up on short notice, and I’d rather put it to the full board. I will tell you that I very much want your support for what I propose. I think it’s important to the future of this business.”

“We’ll hear you out, Pete,” Stein said, “and I’ll support you if I can.”

The others were entering now and taking their seats as per their place cards. Only Majorov was late, and when he came in, he didn’t bother to apologize or respond to any of the greetings he heard. He took his chair at the end of the table and glared malevolently at his fellow directors, as if to intimidate them.

“Gentlemen,” Stein said, “the board will come to order. The first order of business on the agenda is a proposal from our chief financial officer, Pete Genaro. Pete?”

Genaro stood up and smiled at the group. “Gentlemen, I know that you have all become aware of the events of the past few days, during which two FBI agents were murdered on our property by bodyguards of Mr. Majorov, and a few minutes later, when those two bodyguards were murdered by Mr. Majorov himself.”

“They were not murdered,” Majorov shouted, slamming his hand on the conference table. “It was self-defense!”

“The police may have bought that,” Genaro said. “I don’t.”

Majorov sprang to his feet. “Have you forgotten the importance of my investment in this property?”

The chairman gaveled him into silence and told him to sit down and be quiet. “Please continue, Pete.”

“I am also aware that Mr. Majorov has twice attempted to murder a valued customer of our casino. Gentlemen,” Pete said, “these actions hark back to a day when a different element held sway in this town, when a casino was not looked upon as a legitimate business. That day is past, and we must act to preserve our reputation as honest businessmen.”

There was a murmur of assent around the table.

“As you know, gentlemen, our bylaws provide for the buyout and removal of any investor whose conduct brings our corporation into disrepute. Today, I wish to make a personal offer, backed by the Las Vegas Investment and Trust Company, to purchase the shares owned by Mr. Majorov, valuing them by the formula stated in the bylaws, and simultaneously, I wish to move for Mr. Majorov’s removal from further ownership participation and immediate expulsion from these premises.” Genaro sat down.

“Second the motion,” Albert Hegelman said.

“Move the question,” Abby Greenbaum echoed.

“With no further discussion,” Stein said, “the board will vote.” Greenbaum called the roll, and the vote was unanimous in favor, except for the vote of Majorov. “The motion having carried, Mr. Genaro will be treated henceforth as owner of the shares formerly owned by Mr. Majorov, and the paperwork is ready for signature in the adjoining room. Mr. Majorov, you are excused from this meeting.”

Majorov stood and glowered at the gathering. “There will be blood,” he said.

“If so, sir,” Stein said, “it will be yours.”

“Hear! Hear!” everyone shouted.

Genaro walked around the table, took Majorov by the elbow, and escorted him from the conference room. The two security men assigned to him awaited.

On a table in the room were two documents and a cashier’s check. Genaro handed Majorov his pen. “Sign both documents,” he said.

Majorov hesitated for a moment, then sagged. He signed both documents and received the check.

“Gentlemen,” Genaro said, “please escort this gentleman from the premises. Housekeeping has already packed his bags and they are waiting for him, as is a car to drive him to the airport. Put him aboard his airplane, and watch it take off before you leave the airport.”

Majorov leaned close. “I will kill you for this,” he hissed.

Genaro leaned in, too. “If you want to get to the airport alive, you’d better shut your mouth and get out of here, you miserable son of a bitch.”

He returned to the boardroom and got a round of applause from his fellow directors.

“Pete,” Stein said, “in your brief absence the board has accepted my resignation as CEO and appointed you as my replacement. I will remain as chairman, of course.”

“Thank you all, gentlemen,” Genaro said.

• • •

At the airport, Majorov got out of the car and boarded his airplane, while the pilots loaded his luggage.

The pilots got back aboard. “We’re ready to start engines, Mr. Majorov,” the captain said, “and we’ve filed for Moscow with a fuel stop in Iceland.”

“Scrub that,” Majorov said. “Refile for Teterboro, New Jersey.”

Teddy was done with his work in the armory by noon the following day. After lunch in the commissary, he dropped his car at his apartment building and took a taxi to Hawthorne Airport. He inspected the new paint on his airplane and, finding it excellent, paid the shop, then flew to Santa Monica.

He taxied to Atlantic Aviation and spoke with the chief lineman about any hangar that might be available for purchase.

“I heard a rumor that Craig Livingston, the rock star, might be selling his hangar,” the chief said. “I know for a fact he’s already sold two of his three airplanes. His chief pilot has an office in the hangar. You might speak to him.” He pointed out the hangar, which was not far from Atlantic.