Las Vegas Dead: An Art Decco PI Mystery

By Jim Daddio

P.I. Art Decco loves to play poker. He is playing a game called Omaha and is spending all of his free time "drowning in Omaha." At the table he receives a call for his boss at Tender and Dover, Security and Investigation Services, to find a runaway seventeen year old girl. Art is told to find her and be as discrete as possible. Art learns that she is no ordinary teenager. She is Danielle Augusta, known world wide as 'Dani.' The most recognized and famous super model in the world. They all know if the word is out that she is missing the paparazzi would be out in full force. Art tracks her to Las Vegas where he learns that a tough, mean and well known figure, The Chief, is also been hired to find her. What Art doesn't know that her father had another agenda; The Chief has orders to find her and end her life. In a dramatic climax Art comes face to fact with The Chief on the worlds fastest roller coaster atop the Stratosphere Hotel in Vegas. As the roller coaster whips around the top Art and The Chief are on the ride fighting not to be "Las Vegas Dead."

• Language: English
• Publisher: Wings ePress, Inc.
• Release date: Jul 20, 2023
• ISBN: 9781613090398

Book preview

Dedication

To my wife, Jill, who continues to support and encourage me.

Prologue

Iwas drowning in Omaha . It’s not what you think. I wasn’t drowning in some flooded street in the city in Nebraska, but drowning in a poker game called Omaha. Playing all day and night. Sleeping at the table. Driving my fiancée crazy. Driving myself crazy. Winning two hundred, losing a thousand. Winning five hundred, losing six hundred. I was a wreck. I was caught up in the poker craze that was sweeping the country. Poker was being watched by millions on TV and was being played by thousands on the Internet. I enjoyed the action of live games. I enjoyed it too much.

I was hooked. I was gambling at a furious pace. And all from a seat at the poker table in a crowded, noisy card room at Hollywood Park in Inglewood, California.

I had become a regular. They all knew my name, but nobody knew me. The players called me Artie. The floor managers called me Art. Nobody knew my last name. Nobody cared that I was Art Decco, famous private investigator. Captured by the press as some kind of hero. Only in their minds. Not in mine. The finder of the missing. A true All-American hero. The country needed one. John Wayne was dead. It was a race between me and John Glenn. He was going up in space at seventy something; I was finding a missing or runaway person. To me no contest who the real hero was. But the press loved the charm and mystery of being a private eye. And I was the one they picked.

So I found a few people. To me, no big deal. Just doing my job as an employee of Tender and Dover: Protection, Security and Investigating Services. But to the press and the many investigating journalists who wanted and needed someone to play up big to the American people, they chose the opportunity to play my successes, and at the same time, never mentioning the failures. I had failed far more than I succeeded.

But that was before. Now it was me and the poker game called Omaha. Playing the game as seriously as anything I had ever done. Sitting at the round table with strangers, playing for big stakes. Playing with those who called themselves professional card players. Playing with those on welfare and retired old ladies who I never knew were rich or poor. Playing with quiet nerds who kept logs of every game. Playing with loud foul-mouthed fools who disrupted the games with their angry chants. Playing with anybody who had a dollar.

It was Monday in mid-May. A strange phenomenon had occurred in Southern California. A light rain had dusted the dry land. A rain so light it would have been dismissed by South Florida standards. But for the people of Los Angeles and the rest of Southern California, it was a small disaster. The mass of cars that lined the inadequate freeway had come to a complete stop. I was in the middle. Stuck in a traffic jam that had no beginning and no end. I was driving to my house of pain. I had spent the weekend away from the game of Omaha. I had missed it. I needed the action.

I left my house in LaJolla and was making the two-hour drive to Hollywood Park Casino. I wasn’t in the mood to sit in traffic. I had purposely started out at ten in the morning to miss the jam. But the rain had caused a backup, making it feel like a major catastrophe.

My cell phone rang. It was my fiancé, Ophilla Hallover, better known as Philly. She called me to tell me that my boss, Ben Dover, had called. I was to call him back.

I hung up thinking about Philly. She was a good lady who deserved better. I wasn’t a good catch. I had had my share of ups and downs. Like, after eight years of being a cop in Boston, I quit the force, left my wife of three years and drove south, ending up in Fort Lauderdale. I never knew why. Never could figure it out. I just did it. I had had enough. That’s what I told myself. Truth was, I couldn’t handle everything that was thrown at me. Things that still haunt me. Things I try to forget.

There I was, a good, old-fashioned beach bum for three years until I reached rock bottom. I crashed and burned. Divorced, broke, lost and fucked up, I was rescued by Ben and brought into his company as an investigator. After some success and a small degree of notoriety in South Florida, I moved to San Diego after working the area finding a runaway daughter of a friend of mine. Philly came with me. She has hung in there with me knowing my bad habits and weaknesses. Gambling is one of them.

My mind cleared as I was finally able to crawl along to my exit. I drove down the off ramp and on to Century Boulevard, driving east, heading for the casino. Heading for another dive into the game of Omaha.

One

DANIELLE AUGUSTA, BETTER known to the world as Dani, sat quietly in her room, staring at the computer screen. The spreadsheet with rows and rows of numbers was giving her a headache. This was the part of her career she hated. The business part. But she knew she had to keep up with the sales figures.

Danielle Augusta was a seventeen year-old high school junior. She played volleyball, hung out with her friends and tried to be a fun loving, silly teenager. She loved everything Southern California had to offer. She loved surfing, mountain hiking and discovering the mysteries of the desert. She enjoyed nothing better than driving alone to Borrego Springs, a desert area sixty miles east of San Diego, and camping and hiking the desert trails. But sometimes it was hard to do. Danielle Augusta was famous. Famous beyond her wildest dreams. Her fame had given her little time to do the things she loved best. Her time wasn’t always hers to keep.

Danielle was five foot nine, with long thin legs and narrow hips. Her breasts were perfect. Firm and round and molded into her slender body. Her long dark hair was thick and wavy. Her eyes were large, round, emerald green and seemed to jump out and sparkle when she smiled. Her eyelashes were thick and dark, curling naturally to enhance her soft features. Her face was oval, with smooth light olive skin. Her cheekbones were high and her lips large, and always naturally red. She wore little or no make-up even during the most intense photo shoots. But mostly it was her smile the camera captured and projected so easily. A smile that vaulted her to the number one spot in fashion modeling in the world.

But there was more than a captivating smile that made Danielle a top super-model. It was a lot more. It was her style. Her manner. Her charm. The way she walked and talked. The way she looked at you. The way she carried herself. Her every movement was a ballet step. She was every artist’s dream. Every poet’s creation.

Danielle turned off the computer and leaped on the bed, grabbing a stuffed animal, while bouncing softly on the comforter. She cuddled the large animal and closed her eyes. For an instant she saw her mother. She thought how much she missed her. She had died in an auto accident a few weeks before Danielle turned fifteen. It wasn’t long after her mother died that Danielle was discovered and hurtled into fame and fortune.

Danielle thought of her mother often. She had been such a wonderful mother and friend. Danielle admired her mother and the extraordinary charitable work she had done. Her mother, Clare, had been an active member of the San Diego social scene. But it was her commitment to fundraisers and other functions that made her known around the area. Clare seemed to have an abundance of energy when it came to charitable accomplishments. She was more than just another socialite; she was a hard working contributor to many causes.

One of the major charities Clare worked for was drug abuse, especially among children. It angered her to see young children hooked on drugs. It didn’t take long for Danielle to get involved. Soon after her thirteenth birthday, she accompanied her mother to meetings and fundraisers, sometime speaking on behalf of her peers.

Danielle continued to carry the message after her mother died. She felt strongly about drug abuse and was often quoted in the press.

Danielle turned over, still thinking about her mother and how proud she would have been of her success as a well-known fashion model. But there was more to it and Dani knew it. What had happened to her during the past two years was nothing short of a miracle. Besides being one of the most sought after fashion models, Danielle Augusta had become a worldwide icon. It all happened so quickly.

IT WAS DURING A PHOTO session for the high school yearbook that a local photographer, Chris Underwood, saw something that made him shiver. He had taken the pictures of the students and returned to his studio. It was while he was developing the film that a photograph of one of the students jumped out at him. He couldn’t take his eye off one of the young girls he had photographed that day. He found her name. Danielle Augusta was a freshman at Marist Christian High School. He couldn’t remember her. He had photographed over five hundred students in three days and nothing stood out in his mind. It was just another photo shoot for another high school yearbook. But the pictures of this one student captured him, causing him to take a step back and admire the shoot. There was something about her look. He couldn’t take his eyes off the photograph. He had to find her and talk with her.

Chris met with Danielle and her father, Anthony, placing the name with the famous jewelry chain, Augusta Jewelry of Beverly Hills. He convinced them to let him shoot a composite of Danielle. When the shoot was finished, he sent them to several modeling agencies he had worked with before. It wasn’t long after that Danielle was on the cover of several teen magazines. And that was only the beginning.

THE LOUD RINGING OF the phone caused Danielle to jump. She laughed at herself for being startled and then answered it. It was her fashion agent. She had two other agents.

Hello, Dani, this is Casey...love you...you holding up okay?

Hi, Casey. I’m doing fine.

Getting ready?

Ready, but not looking forward to it.

You’re a nut case all right. Paris, Rome, New York. Best hotels. Best foods. First class service. People falling all over themselves...and you’re not looking forward to it.

Bet you are, though...right?

Can I lie to you? I can’t wait. Are you bringing Connie along?

Of course.

You don’t need a nursemaid any more, you know. You’re an adult now. You don’t need her to watch after you. I can do that.

And who’s going to watch after you?

Casey laughed loudly.

Dani thought about Connie for a second. Connie was the daughter of the Mexican lady, Carmelite Galvez, who had been with their family for over forty years. The Galvez family had worked for the Augustas in almost every capacity. From gardener to maid to chauffeur to cook, there had always been a member of the Galvez family around since Danielle could remember. And after Danielle’s mother died, Connie Galvez had been with Danielle almost every minute of her life. Danielle wasn’t sure how old she was, but Connie was mature, smart and tough. Danielle’s father never had one doubt about the ability of Connie to take care of her. If she was Carmelite’s daughter, that was all Anthony Augusta needed to know.

I don’t need watching, Casey said, I need my space.

What you need is those Italian men chasing you around Rome, Dani said.

I have no argument with that. Just so Connie doesn’t scare them off.

She was just trying to protect you, Casey dear.

I’m thirty-five, single and horny as hell. I don’t need protection...I need action!

Danielle laughed out loud.

Casey went on, Just talk to her this time. On the last trip I thought that one man was going to have a heart attack running down those steep steps of the villa. What the hell did Connie say to him?

Casey, the man was old...very old.

Casey interrupted, Old, but rich...I think...whatever. I’ve got the schedule. We leave in two weeks.

And how long this time.

Almost all the month of June. We must be back in New York to meet with Donald Millstone before July Fourth.

Oh yeah, mister money man.

He’s the one. He can tell you how much you’re worth this year. God, Dani, are you the wealthiest teenager in the world or what?

Danielle didn’t answer. She sighed thinking about the money. It wasn’t something she thought much about. All she wanted to do was get all the photo shoots over, meet with her business partners and get home as fast as she could. She knew that when September rolled around, she would start her senior year and she wanted it to be just that. She wanted to have one year of just being a high school student.

Danielle said, So, tell me the date we’re leaving.

June one, baby. To Rome first. I’ll fill you in later.

We’ll be ready.

See you. Love you, Dani, love you, baby.

Love you, too, Casey. Bye.

Danielle hung up the phone and closed her eyes. She wanted a few hours of sleep. She wanted to think about nothing. She wanted to drift away with a clear mind.

Two

Anthony Augusta sat in his study. He stared at the phone, hoping it would ring. He needed the contact on the other end. Anthony Augusta needed another large business deal to bail him out. He was in debt again. Serious debt. Close to a half a million dollars owed to several Las Vegas casinos. They wanted their money.

Anthony was in the jewelry business. A business handed to him by his late father. Augusta of Beverly Hills, designers of fine estate jewelry, had been in Southern California since the fifties. At one time there were four stores. One in Beverly Hills, one in Newport Beach, Marina Del Ray and LaJolla. Now there were two. The main store was in Beverly Hills and a smaller store on Prospect Street in LaJolla. Slow sales and millions lost by Anthony gambling in casinos and on the horses had caused him to close two stores and cut his staff in half. Business over the past years hadn’t been too bad, but poor investments and Anthony’s love of horses had caused him to lose millions and become heavily in debt.

Anthony had always been around racehorses. At one time he owned a stable and several thoroughbreds, racing them in major tracks around the country, including two in the Kentucky Derby. But gambling losses, rising costs and slower sales in the jewelry stores forced him to sell his stables at a considerable loss.

But Anthony had found a new way of making quick money. Buying and selling drugs out of Mexico. With the help of his son, who attended San Diego State University, and a few of his fellow students, Anthony had been able to develop a network selling cocaine and marijuana to the students and the people in the neighborhoods around the university.

Anthony’s operation was simple. He had the cash to invest. To buy the drugs. But he did it somewhat differently. He bought the cocaine already cut and prepackaged in dime bags. He bought the marijuana rolled and ready to go. His investment was more, but disposal was easy. He could spend less, but he didn’t want the headache of preparing the drugs. He wanted to buy it ready to sell. He paid a premium, but his return was worth the investment. Where else could he invest five hundred thousand and get back a mil and a half in thirty days?

He waited, tapping a pen on the table. He looked up as if he were looking through the ceiling and into his daughter’s room. He sighed, thinking about Danielle. He loved her and at the same time was jealous of the millions she was worth. Millions he couldn’t touch.

Danielle Dani Augusta, with the help of a large and aggressive venture capital firm, had used the fame she had gained as a famous fashion model and invested in a line of clothes. The name was simple: Dani. Her name was everywhere. It all started with Danielle designing a line of casual clothes for teenagers. Designing clothes was her passion. Nobody knew it would lead to a conglomerate known worldwide.

Ever since she could draw, Danielle played around, drawing figures and designing clothes. Soon after her success as a model, she submitted a few of her designs to several clothing designers for whom she modeled. Within a short time, Donald Millstone, a Wall Street financier, saw an opportunity and convinced Danielle to start her own company. The deal was simple: his firm would invest the money and she would design and distribute her line of clothes. They would retain forty-nine percent ownership and Danielle would hold majority ownership of fifty-one percent. It wasn’t long before things began to go crazy.

Danielle branched out from casual teen clothing. First it was a line of cosmetics, including perfume, make-up and all the accessories. Then came a full line of clothing, including leather jackets, grunge clothing, shoes, formal wear and all the trimmings. From there she added costume jewelry, a line of watches and anything they could put her name on. Add this to the normal products associated with a model, like calendars, posters and public appearances and Dani International became a multi-million dollar company. Not to mention a hundred other products including toys, lunch boxes, a complete line of diet products and what seemed like a thousand more. Everywhere you looked, there was a Dani product.

Anthony sighed again. He shuddered every time he thought about what had happened to her in just a few years. He thought about a survey in USA Today that said Dani was the most recognized name in the world. More so than Madonna, Michael Jackson and the president. His little girl, Danielle Maria Augusta, was truly an icon, known around the world as Dani. And he knew she didn’t know or care how rich and powerful she was. The last time he checked her personal wealth was over fifty million and climbing. And in one short year, she could have access to it all. And the way the company was constructed, he had nothing to do with her career or her money. It was all in protected accounts until she became eighteen.

Anthony Augusta slammed his pen down hard on the table. He was sweating out his latest blunder. He had heard about a high stakes poker game in a casino in Biloxi, Mississippi. He flew there, thinking he could make a quick hit. Hell, he surely could beat a bunch of southern rednecks. It didn’t work out. He was hustled. He lost two hundred thousand dollars. Money from his company. Money he needed to replace before the end of the month. He had to make a deal and