Viva Cal Neva!

AuthorHouse

Chapter One

The headline screamed:

"GAMING CONTROL BOARD REVOKES SINATRA'S OPERATING LICENSE."

The Reno Herald quivered in Jimmy Lodato's hands. He looked stunned. Jerking around, he ran through the front door under the red neon sign blinking "NEVADA HOUSE CASINO". Inside, whirling to his right he raced up the stairs to the second floor.

"Roy! Roy! Did you see it! Did you see it? They did it! Nobody thought they would do it, or could do it!" Without waiting for a 'come in', he pushed the door marked 'President', and stumbled through it, waving the paper like a banner in distress.

"Slow down. Slow down. Did I see what? Let me see." Roy Nielson said, stretching his open hand in Jimmy's direction.

Jimmy slammed the newspaper on Roy's desk, ran behind him and looked over Roy's shoulder, saying, "Doesn't that mean he'll have to sell the Cal Neva?"

Roy held up his hand trying to silence his excited junior partner, and began reading the print below the headline.

"Hmm?" Roy grunted. "It seems they objected to Frank's Mafia friends. Not only Sam Giancana staying frequently at the Cal Neva as Frank's guest, but someone sent the Gaming Control Board a photo of Frank smiling and standing between five Capos of the Genovese family, arms around their shoulders like long lost buddies."

"Roy?" Jimmy said, interrupting Roy's concentration. "Won't he have to sell the Cal Neva? ... Do you think ... we could buy it? Geez. They just built Two hundred brand new rooms. Twelve beautiful floors. And Sinatra remodeled the show room with special acoustics for him to sing in."

Roy waved his hand for Jimmy to shut up. Jimmy moved around Roy, trying to read over his shoulder.

At last Roy folded the newspaper and laid it on his desk. Twirling his chair to the side, he sat back and crossed his legs, settling them on the desk, he stared at the ceiling, but his mind was awhirl. The Cal Neva? Why not? It would be an easy way to get into the class end of the business: Hollywood entertainers, hotel rooms, upscale food operations-the kind of place that caters to high rollers. My Nevada House Casino is a little money machine, but it doesn't have the standing of a "Harrah's", especially when it came to the citizens of Reno ... And especially my father in law, Mr. Donaldson, President of the Citizens Bank. I could move up in society. With rooms I have respectability as a Hotel man. With only a casino, I'm just a grind gambler.

"Could you run it, Jimmy?"

"Me?" Jimmy looked startled and sat down in the chair across from Roy.

"No! Not you. That new cocktail waitress with the big boobs." He frowned and stared at Jimmy. "Of course YOU. My old lady and her daddy wouldn't put up with me spending all my time up there." He paused, nodding, he said, "You could also take Carl to be your assistant. We'd need someone who knows our system and who we can trust. You have any better ideas?"

"Do you think your father-in-law would finance it too?" Jimmy gulped.

Roy's gaze went to the two-way mirror that overlooked the pit and the slot machines in the casino below. "He might. But not until we get every goddam accounting audit and payroll history since Sinatra wore spats, or Adam lent his rib. Then, the old fart will remind me that I have no college education. I am a gambler not a business man and if it wasn't for his beautiful daughter, I would still be dealing craps at Billy's Bucket of Blood in Elko."

Jimmy got up still nervous and went to the two-way mirrors and stared down at the activity below.

Then Roy said, "Here's what you do. Call up to the Cal Neva; ask if they have listed the property with a real estate guy. If they have, call him, find out what they are asking for the place and ask for all financial history for the past five years, and get a current balance sheet so we can see how much the tower cost them. Get them to me ASAP and then, I'll talk with Mr. Donaldson."

* * *

The financials arrived the next day, courtesy of a San Francisco real estate agent. Roy knew he would have to move fast. Plenty of others would be interested in Sinatra's old joint. Roy scanned them at once. There was no debt. The month of May was break even. June, July, and August were major money makers. September was break even. October through April were mild losers, mild because a lot of the help - dealers, waitresses, and maids - were laid off in September. Roy knew why the Cal Neva was empty during the winter; the snows kept California gamblers away. But, he thought, the new rooms would attract people who loved snow - skiers. Roy smiled to himself and nodded. Perfect. It looked perfect. He would fill the rooms with skiers who would gamble the night away, after coming off the slopes. He was ready for Mr. Donaldson. He wanted to beat all the other lookers. He called his father in law's secretary and set up an appointment.

Roy paused in front of the Citizens Bank, swallowed and walked in the front door. The receptionist looked up, smiled and said, "Good Afternoon, Mr. Nielson. How are you today?"

Roy forced a smile. "Hi, Sara. How are you? Is the big man in? I think I have an appointment."

"He's in. Let me call Esmeralda and tell her you're coming back." She picked up the phone.

Roy started toward the dark cherry wood door with "William F. Donaldson, President" embossed in gold; paused, tapped, and opened it.

"Any body home?" Roy grinned.

"Come in, come in, Roy". Mr. Donaldson, a short man of precise and studied movements, stood up from his desk of dark cherry wood. As always, he was impeccably dressed: navy suit, white shirt, red-striped tie; his graying hair combed straight back. The wall behind him was covered with framed pictures of Mr. Donaldson and various Nevada dignitaries and athletes, all beaming into the camera. "Sit down" he nodded toward the plush chair across the desk. "Now what can I do for you, Roy?" As always, he got right to the point.

"Well, sir," Roy started. "As you are aware, the Nevada House has been doing well. And, since the remodeling, business has increased again. The new oxygen system increases the players' energy and stamina. Our drop this year is nearly twenty percent higher than last year. All in all, I think you'd agree that we're pretty successful."

"No question, Roy. You've done a terrific job. Your financial partners I got you, the Castigliones, are delighted, and my bank is happy that you are paying down the principal so rapidly." He smiled. 'And I know Shirley is pleased as punch with the lovely, new house you built for her."

Roy took a deep breath, his pale blue eyes focused on Mr. Donaldson's forehead. "Well, I'm glad you see it as I do, sir, because I think we're ready to expand."

"Expand?" Mr. Donaldson frowned. "How? You'd have to shut down to add rooms. That could be fatal. Besides, where'd we put rooms? The casino is already too small. I thought we'd discussed all that. Really, Roy, I know you want rooms, and I believe you could handle that kind of business, but there's no good way."

"Well, there wasn't, but there is now." Roy nodded.

"Really? How's that? I'm not aware of any new situations in town."

Roy leaned forward. "Sinatra has lost his license and The Cal Neva up at North Shore at Lake Tahoe is for sale. They've just completed two hundred twenty five new rooms. They'll be ready in time for skiing season. And ... get this ... he will take two and a half million in cash! Two and a half million! Why the rooms alone would almost cost that much! He wants a quick, easy cash deal." Roy rushed on, his excitement showing in his flushed face. "It's unbelievable. The new wing also has a gorgeous little amphitheater that will seat five hundred. The acoustics were designed especially for Sinatra's voice. Any performer would love it!"

Mr. Donaldson did not move, watching Roy. Finally he spoke. "I'd have to look at the financial statements."

"I've got them right here." Roy said. His expression triumphant, he opened his attach case and extracted a handful of papers. "Just like you said we needed for the Nevada House purchase ... five years' income tax returns and the last two years Gaming Control Board review and the most recent audited financial statements from their outside accountants." He laid the untidy sheaf of papers on the alligator-trimmed blotter in front of Mr. Donaldson.

Mr. Donaldson leaned forward, with thumb and forefinger he picked out the audited financials in their tell-tale, pale blue cover. His nose seemed to wrinkle as if the stack of papers smelled. Sitting back, he opened the booklet and went over the numbers. At last, he spoke. "They scarcely net Three Hundred Thousand a year. They lose money eight months a year. The basis for their capital assets is so low that there's no depreciation to shelter income and, therefore, no additional cash flow. And those new rooms have to be paid for. It is well-known among the upper echelons of the gaming business that Sinatra was a front for the Chicago mob. They used it to launder their illicit gambling and prostitution profits, then skimmed the Cal Neva. Anybody who buys this will lose his ass."

Ass? Roy had never heard his father-in-law use any vulgarity. He was stunned. "But Harrah's does great at the South Shore." He faltered, "It's the lure of Tahoe and skiing that gets the players up there in the first place. We could do the same thing! We could do junkets! I've got some great ideas how to get players!" He stopped, feeling he was sounding desperate.

Mr. Donaldson sat back. "Roy, I can't go with you on this one. Also, if you check your mortgage, you will see that the Nevada House is prohibited from additional acquisitions without Bank approval or without paying off our financing." His voice softened. "Look, son, I know how badly you want rooms, but this is not the way. Tahoe is a beautiful place, but extremely difficult to get to. Sure, you're running the Nevada House splendidly, but we ... er ... you, don't have the expertise to run an untried hotel at a marginal casino and provide the increased activity that will make it a success ..." He scooped up the pile of papers. "Here. Let's pass on this one and we'll keep our eyes open for a less risky opportunity."

Roy picked up the papers.

Mr. Donaldson stood. "Now, if there is nothing else, I have a Loan Committee meeting with Art Church about a construction loan for a new time-share deal up at Tahoe. You know Art. A real go-getter."

Fumbling the papers back into his attach case, Roy stood, said goodbye, and left the office. He walked zombie-like out into the bright Reno sun shine, his mind began to work again. A turn-down! A fucking turn-down! Without a moment's consideration of my points. A fucking executive veto. Back in your cage, Boy. Get back to your tourists and fleece them out of their poke. Don't think. You're a dumb fucking gambler, not a college boy like Art Church - a stupid, fucking builder whose daddy was a local doctor. Some go-getter! Asshole is more like it!" Blindly, he walked back to the Nevada House and up the backstairs to his office.

And then, that evening, there was Shirley, the Stepford daughter - her frigging Vassar-short hair, Pendleton slacks and high fashion blouse. As she opened the dishwasher, and began stacking the dinner dishes, she said: "But, Honey, Daddy must have good reason. He's been in this town a long time and is a very successful business man."

Roy felt a rush of heat surge through his face. His muscles tightened.

"Goddamit! He's a friggin' banker, not a gambler! I've done a great job with the Nevada House ... even he admits that. And I can do the same thing in Tahoe! I may not have a friggin' college education," he sputtered, "but goddamit, I know this business!" He gulped his coffee to keep from shouting.

"I'm not saying you don't, Roy. Daddy isn't either. But it is true you don't have any experience in marketing for players. You're across the street from Harrah's picking off some of their hundreds of tourists. Daddy says that junkets are not all they're cracked up to be. And, the North Shore is way behind times. Harrah's poured a ton of money into the South Shore before it began to pay off, according to Daddy." She stated in her best condescending, only-daughter tone.

"How the frig does he know? They don't bank with him. They use a BIG bank." He was furious with her. He should have known she would side with "Daddy".

"Roy, that's rather petty, don't you think?" In that same tone she used when she chided him for his table manners. "I'm sure you realize Daddy has ways of finding what's going on. That's his business. A banker has his fingers on the pulse of the business community. All bankers do ... large or ... not so large. Don't you remember? He found out about the Nevada House long before anyone else knew a thing. Look, darling, just calm down and think about what Daddy said. Or if you don't believe him, talk to the Castigliones. See how they feel."

"I know how they feel! They think he walks on water just because they make big money on the job I've done. So, they'll call him, and he'll queer the deal, and then he'll call you, and you'll get on my case. I can't win!"

"Roy! Really, why are you acting this way? I didn't know you were so immature."

He lapsed into a sullen silence. Immature? The Bitch! He was not going to take this lying down. They both had total disregard for his intelligence and know-how. Still, to raise Two and a half Million dollars without Mr. Donaldson ... His mind began to mull over possibilities. If he went to another bank in Reno, the natural question would be why wasn't he banking with his father-in-law? They'd know something was fishy. He'd talk to Jimmy and Carl, his two gambling partners at the Nevada House. They'd want a piece of the action. Among the three of them, they'd buy the Cal Neva. Jimmy and Carl would handle the Cal Neva, and Roy would run the Nevada House and oversee both projects. He'd show her ... and her "Daddy". The Cal Neva would be his success. But first, he had to figure out how to raise the money.

Chapter Two

"Mr. Robert? Mr. Dominic Allessio is on the phone. He says he's at LaGuardia on his way back to Schaumberg, but the plane is late, so he'd like to speak with you."

"I'll take it, Gloria." His pudgy hands picked up the phone. "Hello, Alley. How was the trip?" His balding head nodding as squinty eyes stared out the sunlit window.

"Hi, Norm. How's it going? These damn planes never run on time here. I was going to call you when I got back to Chicago, but rather than kill time here, I'll give you something to think about now, something you can give me some advice on."

"Okay. Shoot."

"Norman, you and I have worked together over thirty years, so you know I don't like to make sudden decisions."

Norman nodded but said nothing, because he also knew Dominic didn't like to be interrupted.

"I've got some friends here in Chicago who wants to buy a casino in Nevada. They'd like me to help them find one. So, I've been thinking ..." he paused, "Do you suppose we could let Tom Peyton go to Nevada and look it over? Could you make contact with that real estate lady that moved from Ft. Lauderdale to Las Vegas? You know, Lynn Ianella? Remember her? Cute little thing, blonde sold those condos for us at Fort Lauderdale?"

Again Norman Robert, nodded again, but said nothing.

"Well, if you could find her out there, maybe we could send Tom to meet her and with her guidance he could start looking around. What do you think? Could you do without him for awhile?"

Now was the time to speak. "Yes. I can do without Peyton. He's been getting a little cocky, since you've told him how good he is. A change of scenery might do him good."

"Good! I'm glad you see it my way. Tell him we'll raise his salary five hundred a week and pay his traveling expenses. Let me know when you find Ianella and tell her what we want, tell her to look in Lake Tahoe, too. I'll call Tom and talk to him about it. Okay?"

"Sure. I'll call you tomorrow in Chicago, Alley. I am sure I can locate her in Las Vegas."

"Good man. Talk to you then."

"Hi, Tom" Gloria smiled.

"Hi, Gloria. What're you doing up so early?"

(Continues...)

Excerpted from Viva Cal Neva!by Larry Dunning Copyright © 2010 by Larry Dunning. Excerpted by permission.
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