“Right,” I say, rubbing my jaw. “The thing is, we need to decide.”
“You don't know what you intend to use this space for?” Stacy asks. Her nails tap against the clipboard she holds in her hand. “It’s pretty important to know what you want it for, considering the bank is going to need to approve the loan based on the intention.”
I don't answer, and Jack cuts in, “Is anyone else interested in the space?”
We all know Grotto claimed a bid, but we don't know what for. And we know only one person will win.
“Yes, I know for a fact one other solid offer has been made. But since the bank owns this property, they’ve chosen to keep it open for bids until the end of next week.”
“What will they base their choice on? Highest bidder wins?” I ask. If it’s that simple, we just need to find out how deep Grotto's pockets go.
“It's more complicated than that,” Stacy explains. “The city of Las Vegas has brokered agreements with banks to invest in projects that will add the most value to the city.”
“And what adds the most value to Sin City?” McQueen asks. “Strip clubs? Because then we know our business model.”
“I don't know those details,” Stacy says. “I wish I did know what they were looking for, but they keep that close to their chest—with reason. If everyone know what they wanted this property bought for, every bid would come in riddled with false claims.”
“So you're saying we need to know what our business will be before we can make an offer?” I ask, my hands in my pockets in an attempt not to fidget. This is all making me more nervous than the first time I had sex.
“Yes, that’s what I’m saying.”
Landon lifts his hands as if he’s about to add something important to the conversation. Then he drops them. “I got nothing. Honestly, Boss, this is your show. I'm just here for the applause.”
“You really don't have an idea what you want this space for?” Jack asks.
“Grotto can't have this property,” I say adamantly. “I don't know much, but I do know that. He has bad intentions.”
“And yours are pure?” McQueen laughs. “Bro, you own Spades Royalle. You have female escort phone books on every bedside table. Your hotel drips sex and sleaze—”
I cut him off. “Sex, yes, but not sleaze. My place is classy, right?” I ask my friends.
They shrug, apparently not knowing the difference between the two. Fuck, maybe I don't either.
Stacy steps in, smiling at me. “Look Ace, Spades Royalle is special. It has an exclusive feel that no other casino in Vegas offers. I'm not sure what Grotto's plans are, but let me ask around, see what I can dig up.
“And in the meantime, I can move forward with paperwork, and just leave the parts blank you aren't ready to commit to. In a week though, I'm going to need to know your plans so I can submit this offer.”
“Sounds good,” I say, grateful for her cooperation.
A few days later, the guys and I meet up at Spades to discuss the meeting with the real estate agent. McQueen has a show tonight, Jack does, too. Landon will be playing at a table he reserved with some of the other high-rollers, and me … well. I'm acting like the Boss I am.
We sit in the whiskey bar, commanding the room.
“So what are your big ideas, Ace?” Jack asks. “You heard Stacy. She wasn't joking.”
“Yeah, and what the fuck, bro?” McQueen asks. “You want us to money up but you don't know what for? Don't you need a business plan?”
“You're right. I just saw this property so close to the strip—which is never available—and wanted to pounce. Same thing as when I found the listing for what I turned into Spades Royalle. It was a shitty place before I renovated it.”
“Time isn't on our side, though,” Landon says pessimistically.
“I say we build a strip club. People love those. And there are never enough of them in Vegas. Hell, I'll star in the show.”
“You already star in a stripper show,” Jack says, laughing.
“Spank You is classy,” McQueen says defensively. He's right, of course—no trashy stripper routine is gonna fly in my casino. But Spank You is an all-male revue … so the likelihood of Jack or Landon ever actually seeing McQueen perform is slim to none.
I haven't seen him either. I have a manager to do the hiring for that one.
“So you jackasses think Vegas wants another strip club?” I ask, taking a sip of my aged whiskey.
“Why the hell not?” Jack asks. “We'll make it classy like the shit at this hotel, but more bare pussies and big tits. Truth is, I think I need more strippers in my life. Ashley was way too insecure to ever let me go to a club like that.”