CHAPTER ONE – I HAVEN'T THE VEGAS IDEA
THE SINATRA CLAUSE
All-New-Paul wouldn't have been famous at all, except for the Clause. Which would have suited him fine, believe me. He would have just handled the skim for the mob like he was supposed to. And, of course whacked out the occasional deadbeat... Just to keep everything kosher and on the up and up.
Only thing was, they caught him. And that wasn't good. They didn't catch him. He don't handle cash. Except for the occasional Cecil he lays on some broad for some head. A tip really... Sex is comped too. Like lunch and parking and drugs. When you're a Big Boss at a Casino it's all really clean; a barter economy like, you know, you lend me your wife, I let you live... real basic. Tit for Tat.
They didn't catch him. They caught one of the Town Boys, I call them. I call them that cause they all do stuff for Paul and they all got funny names... Like Joey Detroit and Sammy Miami and Fast Framingham Phil. For some reason, nobody's called Joliet Tim or Lenny Levenworth. I guess that's too close to home. They all had ample reasons for adopting Nom de Hoods. Joey had been on the far side of law so long he thought his middle name was AKA.
Anyways, some of the boys, I forget which exact ones, get caught with like Seven Round Ones on a charter flight to Miami. And of course, they act like its a surprise...Like, you know, they went out for Chinese and, you know, look inside for the Chow Mein and it's like cabbage, you know, mostly unmarked Grovers at that. So they're like, already in the air and watching the movie, so, like what are they supposed to do, ya know, report it to the government or something!? Well, of course they was gonna do that, but, what with the excitement of landing and all. They forgot.
So when the agents come up to them, they thought it was like a misunderstanding, you know. Like nobody made the call.. So they hit them with a Cecil or two...And like that was where they went wrong, cause these were not Casino Cops, these were like Federal Agents... Hey, an honest mistake! But what you don't wanna do is like hit the Feds with a couple of Cecils cause, like, they take offense! Ya gotta show 'em at least a Grover or six or like get their kids into Harvard... Cause like anything else is just in the nature of an insult... Much better than that is to clam up and smile and like, fake a brain seizure.
So the Feds had a wire and all that. They knew what was coming. There's probably more FBI in Vegas than in Washington what with the weather being so good and all. They're watching these things. They just got pissed off at Paul cause it just wasn't cool. Like, you know, you don't show them up. Like taking a strike, three and oh, and starting to walk to first. The umps don't like that and neither do the feds when you skim Seven Large off just the slots in a few weeks and walk it to the Bahamas. Shows them up in front of the crowd. They're gonna call you out.
So Paul's in the soup. A new job, new responsibilities and here the Feds wanna put him under indictment for fraud. Welcome to Town! Really! Worse than that, is, they start going into all the old stuff. Stuff that really wasn't fair... cause none of it had ever stuck. And like he had laid out quite some bread over the years... His legal fees if laid end to end like his victims, would stretch from Columbia Law to Columbia Pictures. If converted back, they could have reforested the Golan Heights in dwarf pine.
And, he enjoyed his good name and rep. Being an Un-Indicted Co-Conspirator had a certain cachet among peers. It meant, not only had you done it, but they couldn't nail you on it. It made him a big scary man about town. And he could give you that cold fish-eye stare and your dentures would lock.
This made him doubly pissed when they refused his Gaming Card in Vegas. Come on! What's seven million? It didn't seem fair. Hey, it could 'a cost him his job, for Chrissakes!
Ya see, since this stuff is all totally legit now, what with the Hotel Corps and the pension funds and whatnot, and so that nobody should think for one nanosecond that gambling and whoring and drinking and drugs might attract, say, your..... unsavory characters... they go out of their way to show that, well, “Gaming” has got nothing to do with, like, “Gambling”. Losing those two letters makes it legit. Gaming is, you know, like something a WASP or English person would do, like snooker and stock fraud, whereas, Gambling is for negroes and WOPs. So the scam is, like, there aren't any gamblers hereabouts. And that all the hoods and gunsels died out years ago... say in the early Pleistocene with the dinosaurs. Presumably all these pit bosses that glom at you from the tables learned the gaming rules at Princeton. And your basic bust-out degenerate gambling is like just another healthy non-contact sport... good for your heart like bowling, or a jog down the I-15. In fact, I saw them ask one of the guys, Vito the Torch, I think it was, if he knew the King's English. "Sure I do!" says Vito, " An' far as I know, the Queen is, too!
Anyway, since everything is totally on the up and up, Key Executives have to be licensed. Anybody near the casino operation has to have first seen Sonny and Clemenza in that movie. And they definitely shouldn't be seen in the company of any alleged perps from back east. Except for Sinatra.
Ya see, years ago, when Circus Sodom was just opening up, they needed an act... you know, a headliner, someone who would bring in the High-Rollers. Frankie got what, 200 Large per engagement across the street at the El Gomorra in the Great Gattara Depression Room? His contract was solid; 25 years-to-life.
But Circus Sodom was intent about this. It was not to be denied. It was new, it was flashy. It not only had the Flying Wallenda's over the 21 pits, it had a restaurant in a diving bell descending twenty-five feet into an actual scale replica of the Mariannas Trench. It had a trout stream winding through the casino, a golf course on the roof. And, it wanted Frankie Sinatra to kick off the opening.
No problem. They gave him a couple 'a points in the casino. They made him an executive. Frankie was happy as a clam. He now could charge hookers directly to his room and it went down as parking.
It was the wedding that killed it for Frankie. The bride was an angel. But her father was Carmine the Weasel. The groom, Little Augie Two Fingers, later got in on the ground floor of a bridge. It was the picture of Frankie with his face full of cannoli and his arm around Mrs. the Weasel that did it, I think. The Feds tried to look the other way and found the last three-fourths of a horse. Once again, Mom, one thing I learned is to learn not to show up the Feds.
Anyway, they yanked his license, and he had to sing at the White House and get a few girls on the line for the Pres before they would let him back in. So then, they all hadda come up with something, and what they came up with is something called the Sinatra Clause, which roughly is: You can't license bad guys for the casino, but if the guy is an entertainer, then it's alright.
That's some clause and Paul got right on it, because, after all, there was quite a bit of moola in question. Paul became the Entertainment Director...The only problem with this was that the Hotel only had a show, the Lido de Paree. And that show, since it featured both disappearing Elephants and naked bouncing tits had run for 23 years without a hiccup.
The Atomic Blast Lookout & Casino
Ground Zero Lounge
The Man From DGA *
Fred the Fed
How Do You Like Me So Far?
The Gaming, Not Gambling Commission
Go Ahead, Prove it’s Not Entertainment !
The All Previous Paul Lieberthal Show
Chairman of the Bored *
In the Pits
Detroit, City of (Stop) Lights
Don’t Ever Put a Radio Mic on a Felon.*
The Production Truck Strikes Back *
The SportsBook Buffet & Television Studio
Who Was It, Saint Simeon?
Unleaving Las Vegas
The Little Change Girl
The Undress Rehearsal
The Hyphenate of Hoods
The All New… Ah, Fuck It ! *
Vega-Rama Frontier Daze
Drillem & Burnem
Save the Whales
The Annual National Weapon Association Machine Gun Blast & Tittie Jiggle
Win-Win and Drillem & Burnem
The Toad Producer
My Name is Bonds, Junk Bonds…
By the Pope’s Holy Boyfriend !
The Last Supper Club
The Shroud of Elvis
Sherwin Wasn’t Stupid
All Aboard the Succubus
My Own Personal Atomic Pile
First Stiff of the New Year
The Lost City of Gold: Pahrump
Sherwin Could Beat the Indictment
How Do You Spell Vegas? *
Sherwin Had a Problem
The Candidate Candidate
Vegarizing the Feds
Scalphunter’s Sweat Lodge & Casino
Benjy Bunyon’s Bullion
Don’t Fuck with the Mormon Underground
Wrong End of the Rainbow
Sherwin Was a Patriot…
More and More It Was Bothering Me.
When We Dared Look at the Monitors…
Out in the Desert Night
Who Dresses These Guys?
Several Small Parts of Cadillac
He Now Understood Media
One Good Score
The Armageddon Casino & Bomb Storage Facility
The Drone Ranger
Is He Crazy?
Showing Up the Feds…
One Little Weirdness
The Toad’s Wild Ride
Armageddon The Girl Over There.
Who’s Your Anti-Christ?
Neutron Ned Was All Excited
The Rapid Rapture
And God Said, “Oh, Get Over It !”
Ground and Brain Zero
Standard Hero Kissoff
The Seven Second Delay
Some Everyday Things Explained
Some of this is the God's Honest Truth and the rest isn't.