[Hendu Style]

Sam Arkwright Diary
February 21st, 2023

John Fisher was already sitting at the table when I arrived. The hostess asked if I had a reservation, oblivious to the fact that I was the new owner of The Dillinger. I told her I was part of the Fisher party. John stood up from his seat to greet me.

“No recordings today,” he said before I could even ask.

I nodded in understanding, knowing there were at least a dozen lipstick-sized cameras and microphones covering each and every conceivable angle throughout the restaurant. Even at our table. Especially at our table. They had all been meticulously placed by Rita and her crew unbeknownst to the restaurant staff the week before.

Fisher wasted little time getting down and dirty.

He bragged how he was reaping millions of dollars in revenue sharing by positioning his A’s as a destitute franchise with no income. He smugly told me his team made more in profits than all but four other Major League ball clubs.

I tried my best to not show my disdain for a man who probably loathed government handouts, yet had no problem being on the MLB dole.

Then he laid out his plan to sabotage Gaming and Leisure, the investment group that owned the Las Vegas property where he wanted to build. He told me he wanted me to bring a thumb drive to the G&L corporate offices in Pennsylvania, so he could plant ransomware in their system.

Every single moment, every single word was recorded for posterity.

Fisher then told me how he had hired investigators to dig up dirt on Peter Carlino and several of his Board Members. It was juicy. And very damaging. The kind of stuff that can destroy families and careers.

I looked around the restaurant as Fisher spilled the beans, giving me more and more rope for the noose I was about to hang him with. I noticed all the gangster-era photos and memorabilia on the walls, paying homage to the infamous gangster, John Dillinger. As far as I know, he never made it out to Las Vegas, much less Boulder City. He earned his reputation during the Great Depression by robbing two dozen banks and police stations in the Midwest, just as concrete was being poured out West at what would later become known as Hoover Dam. FBI Director J. Edgar Hoover — no relation to Herbert Hoover, for whom the Dam is named — made it his mission to bring down Dillinger, who had courted publicity and openly defied the law, even escaping prison on two separate occasions.

I began to think about the lengths that Hoover went to, even assembling a group of special agents assigned to investigating and apprehending Dillinger. All that painstaking detail and effort, committed to taking down just one guy. Hoover finally succeeded in 1934, when the notorious gangster was gunned down outside a Chicago movie theater after a showing of Murder in Trinidad.

I thought about all the resources Hoover had at his disposal, and how there must have been times he was questioned for neglecting other cases and other causes in the name of one man. I saw how it paralleled my own life, neglecting my family and my business. I caught myself physically shoeing the thought aside with my hand as I told myself it had to be done.

“Something wrong?” Fisher asked, interrupting my train of thought.

I looked down at my menu. I owned the restaurant, but didn’t have a clue what this place served. The menu was chock full with mob-inspired names, including burgers ranging from “The Dillinger” to “The Capone.”

I started thinking about the so-called “St. Valentine’s Day Massacre,” a notorious gangster shooting, which happened nearly 100 years ago. It made Al Capone a national celebrity. But it also made him public enemy number one of the FBI.

Capone, one could argue, was wise to take out his rivals consolidate control by eliminating his rivals in bootlegging, gambling, and prostitution. In doing so on that fateful day in 1929, he took total control of the Chicago gang lands. But he also got the unwanted attention of the Federal Bureau of Investigation.

Sometimes it’s best to quietly take out a target without taking credit or responsibility. Capone had an airtight alibi and was never charged, but everyone from the FBI to the general public knew the blood was on his hands. That proved to be his downfall.

Just then, the server came to take our order. Fisher ordered a steak salad. I ordered the burger with grilled onions, Jack cheese, and Thousand Island dressing in grilled sourdough.

The Executioner.