The Valentino Brothers in: the Las Vegas Buyout

Valentino Brothers in: the Las Vegas Buyout Chapter 1

Vegas; a bright and flamboyant city in the middle of an unforgiving desert. The type of place that thrives on lust, debauchery and imbibing. Without drugs and alcohol, Las Vegas would likely implode; shrinking into itself like a turtle without a shell- the disgusting, herpes-infected and scaly underbelly exposed for all of the gamblers, degenerates and valet car people to see.

The neon lights along the strip glimmered with excitement as the black Mercedes 560SL wheeled under the pink awning of the Flamingo hotel. Santiago Viarreal folded up the map and placed it back into the glove compartment. He sighed with relief as the valet attendant waved from afar; he had driven forty hours from South Florida. Santiago slipped his shoes back on before turning off the vehicle. He then stepped out of the shiny vehicle, admiring his profound reflection that beamed at him from the side panel of the vehicle.

Santiago dressed to impress whenever there were large amounts of money being dealt with. He wore an all-white velour tracksuit, a solid gold herringbone necklace and a pair of snow-white tennis shoes to match the tracksuit; catching the attention of passerby and valet attendants nearby. The sharply dressed man tossed the keys to the young valet attendant. The attendant motioned for a luggage cart to be brought over to the trunk of the Benz. The valet attendant put on a pair of leather gloves before touching the vehicle. He then popped the trunk and began unloading the luggage onto the cart. One of the suitcases- a large metal briefcase- stood out from the others. It contained ten million dollars in cash- neatly stacked bundles of one hundred-dollar bills. The attendant said nothing, professionally unloading the bags onto the cart, being especially gentle with the metal briefcase. When the attendant was done, Santiago pulled out a roll of five- thousand dollars, giving the valet attendant a two thousand-dollar tip. The valet attendant professionally tucked the money into his pocket and continued carting Santiago's luggage towards room 303, where a multimillion-dollar deal was to be made.

The sky over Las Vegas was twinkling with stars. Santiago stood on the curb as a young attendant got into the driver's side of Santiago's Mercedes Benz and pulled off towards the parking garage across the street. Santiago looked at his watch; 8:45pm. Five more minutes, he thought.

At 8:47pm, Santiago heard the roar of a Ferrari as the superior vehicle crept towards the Flamingo hotel. He smiled, because soon that would be his car. He would take the keys from the driver, who was the person selling Santiago the properties; and then he would head to his

reservation at the Venetian hotel. The thought of finally being able to lay in a luxury hotel bed after such a long drive soothed Santiago's mind as the silver Ferrari Testarossa pulled towards the curb.

A stubby redneck with a bushy moustache emerged from the Ferrari. The crown of his head was under a large brown cowboy hat- there was a dent through the middle. The man's face was bright red, yet he had the type of muster that could sell water to a whale. He was half- drunk as he walked over to Santiago and shook his hand.

"Weyulcum tuh Vegas! I'm John. You're, Sandee-aye-go, right?"

Santiago smiled. The less he knows, the better. "Yeah, I'm San Diego, friend. Do you have everything taken care of on your end?" John pulled out a flask and offered it to Santiago. Santiago took a long drink. It was tequila. Santiago passed the flask back, and John tucked the flask back into his suit jacket pocket. "Everythang's good on my end, freyend. The addresses to those propurtehs are all in the glovebox. If'n you wanna tour, we can go *hiccup* right nah!" The realtor said enthusiastically. Santiago declined the offer. "I'm tired," he said. "Meet me at the Venetian tomorrow at noon. I want to check them out after I get some rest." The realtor chuckled while lighting a cigarette. "You need any whores?"

Santiago laughed. "Buddy, I own a brothel out in Reno. I've got whores on standby that I can see for free." Santiago then looked at the guy again, the rich redneck realtor stuffed in a tacky plaid suit. "Do YOU need any whores?"

John the realtor laughed and the hideous cackle echoed along the thick walls of the nearby buildings. "Why, I think I'll fare just fine. Especially with my... *cough cough* coh-zeh room," John the realtor declared. Just then Santiago got a glimpse of into how nervous the deal made the realtor- his face was cherry red as the conversation shifted towards the whale sitting in room 303 of the Flamingo.

Santiago looked to the valet attendant standing behind a shiny marble podium by the entrance to the sparkly Flamingo. The valet attendant winked at Santiago, signaling that the luggage was in the room secure. "Come on, I've gotta make sure you get the keys to the room," Santiago told John the realtor. "Give me the keys to the Ferrari."

John the realtor reached into his red plaid pants pocket and pulled out a set of keys. He tossed them into the air in front of Santiago. Santiago snagged the keys out of the air and examined them- there was a pink feather attached to them. The cowboy realtor walked up to the front desk of the Flamingo hotel. He slammed his meaty hand on the countertop; the front desk clerk did not even flinch, far too distracted with paperwork. "John, did you get those ledgers to Virgil?"

John smiled mischievously at the petite and attractive desk clerk. Her nametag read, "Laney." She was a woman with a brunette hair color and a professional disposition. "Why yes, yes I did. In fact, I'm surprised you hadn't gotten a telly-phone call from 'em." John looked visibly puzzled. This Virgil person was a man that did not take business-especially business with people with such play-like John- seriously. John made a mental note to call Virgil the moment he stepped into room 303, as without Virgil; the person who would be responsible for making ten-million dollars look as if it came from a legitimate source- the cash in room 303 wouldn't move.

The desk clerk looked up from her lengthy document and then handed the keys to room 303 to John. The bronze key was attached to a small keyring with three tiny, pink and plastic flamingo figures. The figures clinked together as John held the set in his hand. John nodded at the desk clerk before motioning for Santiago to come up to the room with him.

"No," Santiago stated. "Everything is as it should be. I'm not going near that room." The hotel lobby was loud and provided a thick shroud over the two men's conversation. John frowned. "I just wanna make sure that if'n there's a bag of rattlesnakes in that room, I won't be the only one that gets bit." A beaming smile suddenly flashed across John's face, but it was full of venom. "But that's okay. I practically own Vegas, so if'n anything happens during this deal, you won't be hard tah find. Everyone parties in Vegas, sooner and sooner."

Santiago did not even blink. "I appreciate doing business with you, sir; and I hope that we can continue doing business in the near future."

John the realtor's devilish grin immediately transformed into a more serious, business-focused smirk; the type of smirk that a lawyer gives to a client when the client pays them several million dollars in cash to save their ass- knowing that they will win the case. John and Santiago parted ways simultaneously, one person headed towards a sparkly, marble lined elevator door, and the other a chrome Ferrari outside.