Total pages in book: 112
Estimated words: 112567 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 563(@200wpm)___ 450(@250wpm)___ 375(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 112567 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 563(@200wpm)___ 450(@250wpm)___ 375(@300wpm)
Definitely not a family hotel.
I looked over my shoulder to check on my new guest.
Duck continued to guide Monique forward.
I appreciated her obedience. If she’d tried to run, Duck would have caught her with his blade. If she had tried to seek help from the police, she would have discovered they were under my control.
She’s smart.
With each step, Monique kept that briefcase close to her. Her eyes were alert. Her posture upright as if ready to execute an attack.
I wonder if she can fight.
Surely, a battle lay within those pretty brown eyes.
Chen grabbed my attention. “I wasn’t expecting such a big hotel in such a small town.”
I turned back around. “What did you learn about these two guys?”
“They are Deans.”
“I know that name. Are they related to Kenny Dean?”
“That’s their father.”
“And Dutch and Snow are nicknames?”
“Definitely, one is named Dennis. The other is Sigmond.”
“No wonder they stuck to their nicknames.”
“The commissioner said that the hotel has over a hundred rooms. Dutch and Snow permanently live in the penthouse suite. Apparently, they grew up in the hotel.” Chen pointed to the right. “That’s the casino.”
I glanced that way.
A huge arching entrance showed parts of a massive room.
“It has a hundred slot machines and fifty gaming tables—blackjack, craps, and roulette.” Chen pointed to several black doors on the other side. “Then, there are the twenty-four poker rooms.”
“That’s where Monique’s father took the money?”
Chen nodded. “Dutch called the Sheriff in the middle of the night to start a manhunt for Monique’s father. Due to Dima taking over the entire force, the Sheriff had to respectfully decline.”
“Then, maybe this wasn’t a set up.”
“Or Dutch did it for show.” Chen nodded his head at the tons of armed men draped in black and staring at us.
I took in the guns in their holsters. “Classic revolvers. Most have Smith & Wesson L-Frames. Six and seven shot cylinders.”
“Retired police use them.”
“But, mainly it’s the mob.” I placed my hands in my pocket. “The Italians like to buy revolvers from us because they think they’re cowboys.”
Chen grinned. “Lots of running and shooting.”
I nodded. “They need the guns to be lightweight, accurate, and powerful.”
“And these are easier to hide in a belt or large pocket.”
“The casino is definitely mob-controlled.”
We stopped at one of the gold elevators.
Grabbing Monique’s arm, Duck spoke in Chinese, ordering half my men to take the stairs and guard the bottom and top floors. My father could have no means to escape.
The doors opened.
We stepped on the elevator.
Duck and Monique followed and got behind us.
Hu took out his gun and pressed the button for the twentieth floor.
I leaned Chen’s way. “I know who their father Kenny Dean is. That’s not a problem. However, find out what mafia family is backing Kenny Dean these days.”
The doors closed.
Chen shifted uncomfortably. “You think the Dean family could be a problem?”
“We’ll see.”
The elevator rose.
My father built his empire off guns.
As a poor immigrant, he worked tons of factory jobs. One of the most important ones was at the Dean Firearms Warehouse on the edge of town. It produced small arms, ammunition, AR-15/M-16 rifles, and sporting shotguns.
The supervisor, Kenny Dean only hired non-English speaking immigrants so he could pay them lower than Americans. Assuming they weren’t Christian, he also made them work double shifts through religious holidays.
For barely $2 an hour, my father, uncles, and other immigrants washed and dried gun parts. They tumbled and polished. They sanded and assembled. They inspected and packaged. They drove forklifts and operated production equipment for projectiles and ammunition with not much training and no health standards in place.
And they did so with no health insurance or paid lunch. There were no sick days. If a person didn’t show up, then they lost their seat on the assembly line to another poor immigrant patiently waiting and desperate to provide food for their family.
The immigrants despised Kenny Dean.
However, my father saw the factory as an untapped gold mine. He’d witnessed the power of criminal organizations, from watching the Triads back in Shanghai, China. He figured out how the Triads seized control by possessing most of the guns.
So, Father worked hard for Mr. Dean. He arrived hours before his shift, just to be helpful to Kenny. My father was also the last to leave, regardless of when his shift ended. He worked the lines and always received hearty pats from Kenny who began calling him, His Favorite China Man.
During Dad’s off hours, Father spent time learning English. His proficiency made him the middleman between Kenny and the other immigrant workers.
Trusting my father so much, Kenny promoted Dad to Inventory Management.
That was when my father’s true plans began. Secretly, Dad united the exhausted and impoverished workers. He convinced them to take a few guns and ammunition here and there, nothing to make Kenny notice. He promised them that for whatever they stole, one day he would sell the items and bring them back money.