The virgin-white Gulfstream G4 ll-seater jet floats down through the pink Nevada sky and scuffs the Tarmac of McCarran airport. Steve Cyr watches it peel away from the apron and taxi to the airport's private terminal and practices a smile.
Steve is a tall 40-year-old with a bronze face and an athletic physique. He has a mobile phone pressed to his ear. He always has a mobile pressed to his ear; right now he's talking to a colleague in the Bahamas who is in an identical situation. Both are polishing
their harpoons as they await their respective 'whales' the 500 or so multi-millionaires around the world who love nothing more than
to drop large chunks of their fortunes on the baize tabletops of a casino.
Behind is Jerry Seinfeld's driver darts out of the automatic doors to make another pass over an immaculate black Rolls Royce Phantom, hand-picking white fluff out of the pile carpets.
'I'd like to meet Seinfeld,' I tell him. 'He seems really normal.’ Steve looks down at me and shakes his head. 'Celebrities are a pain
in the backside. They never gamble and they want everything "comped".'
Alongside sex, comps are the manna of Vegas. The comp is the traditional kickback given to at gambler by a casino. It's usually
paid as an airfare, or a suite and free food and drink, and is designed to keep a heavy gambler loyal to the casino. Demanding
a comp without risking so much as $50 on the roulette table is exactly why Steve hates celebrities.
Seinfeld might be worth $250 million and be headlining at Caesars Palace over this Super Bowl weekend, but for Steve the
real star is the man on the Tarmac right now: an East Coast businessman with $1 million in his current account and millions
more in credit lines around Vegas. 'This whale’s losses will pump money into the casino bottom line and raise, quarterly
profits. 'Half a million here, a quarter of a million there,' says Steve. 'In theory he could go to every casino he has credit in and
blow it. It would be like you maxing out all your Visa cards.'
While we wait, I see a Boeing 747 and a 767 parked together. Both have the same purple-stripe color scheme. I joke, 'What's
that little one for, the guy's wife?' Steve looks up. 'Yes,' he says, deadpan. 'They belong to Sheldon Adelson.' Adelson, one
of the world's richest men, is the billionaire businessman who owns the Venetian Resort Hotel Casino. 'He needed something
to get to Singapore. Corporate jets are too small.'
The whale we are waiting to greet today has been reeled in by Steve for the Hard Rock Hotel and Casino. Two Hard Rock
Hotel limos - customized Cadillac Escalades - roll up to the steps of the G4. This will be Steve’s first face-to face meeting
with 'Mr G', and follows a month of telephone calls and meticulous research in order to steal him away from a casino host
at the Wynn Resort. The 'Mr G' thing is Vegas tradition. Using the first name is too informal and a full surname in open
conversation is indiscreet. Whales and high rollers rarely reveal their identities, for security reasons.
A line of men in silk shirts and fine cotton trousers file down the steps. The winter chill lasts just a few seconds between the
controlled environments of the plane and the limo. Steve cuts through and seizes his client's hand, already talking: 'Mr
Geeeeeee!' The stocky young whale rubs his goose bumped olive-skinned arm. A delicate white-gold Rolex, the strap
studded with thousands of tiny diamonds fits snugly on his wrist. His clothes are exquisite, bespoke and flatter his hobbit-
like form. Steve quickly introduces me as his older brother. Whales don't like journalists; whales like privacy. Famously,
the late Kerry Packer used to blackball casinos if stories leaked out about his gambling exploits.
Indeed, whales are rare game. It is Stew's job to hunt them. In return, the casinos pay Steve ten per cent of his players'
losses. With 20 big whales on his company's books, with the potential to lose millions of dollars in a single session, Steve
can earn hundreds of thousands over a big weekend.
The first three minutes are critical for Steve, and as the cars roll towards the Las Vegas Strip, he and Mr G go through
the numbers. Big players don't just fly into Vegas with a suitcase full of money and gamble. With huge competition for
their business, whales can cut deals that hammer casino profits, and some are even offered ‘appearance fees’ - a free
$30,000 to play with, for example.
First they talk about the rebate. If Mr. G loses $100,000 the casino will pay ten per cent back. If he drops $500,000 he
will only have to pay $400,000. This side of the deal is more important to most gamblers than the $20,000 shopping
sprees or the junkets Steve might arrange (for example, white-water rafting in Belize). By smart negotiating, big hitters
can shrink the casino's advantage.
As we turn off the Strip, heading for the Hard Rock, the Tropicana rises above us reflecting the last sunlight like a golden
tombstone. Steve has one huge problem. Mr G was promised the legendary Hard Rock Penthouse (with private bowling
alley). The bad news is that it has been taken by another player, who wired in a million. Mr G, spreading his money
around three different casinos, has only wired in $300,000. The original deal is broken.
'You're a businessman,' says Steve. 'If a guy rolls in with a million dollars, I've got to do what I've got to do. I've only got
one bowling-alley suite.'
Mr G probably won’t even stay in the hotel; he just wants the casino to show him some respect. But the words 'no', 'not'
or 'never' do not exist in Steve's lexicon. He is a human vortex. Mr G may have been bumped down to a regular suite,
but he's got the top casino host in Vegas fawning over him. The man who looks after Larry Flynt and Michael Jordan.
This is the big time.
'I'd like to see Velvet Revolver,' says Mr G. Steve doesn't miss a beat. Velvet Revolver, the group led by ex-Guns N'
Roses members, are playing after the Super Bowl party. 'We're going to do better than that. You want to see Velvet
Revolver? You're going to meet Slash:
Mr G's eyes light up as Steve lays out his stall. This guy has money and rooms all over town and Steve has to lock him
into the Hard Rock. Stick a chair against the door if he has to. Meeting Slash is a good start. This is the Steve Cyr touch.
Twenty years in Vegas have given Steve what they call 'juice' - power and influence to make the impossible happen.
For a casino host, the juice is everything. Steve has gifted whales games with Andre Agassi and even got one $l0, 000-
a-hand blackjack player a gig, live on stage at the Hard Rock. Give him a shot at your money and Steve will perform
miracles.d the world. Everyone gets a piece of the action. om the Bahamas. The whale he sent there has lost $450,000.
