He calls his swanky law office "the house the Mob built." Its walls are decorated with newspaper stories about acquittals he won for alleged organized-crime figures. A toy rat lies dead in a trap near the fireplace, and a pair of steel balls given him by two reputed wiseguys hangs over the door. His name is Oscar Goodman, and he could be the next mayor of Las Vegas. As he tours Sin City on the campaign trail--gloating over its tacky exuberance, making love with it--I ride shotgun.
"Did you see those women crying?" Goodman asks as his driver pulls away from...
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