Cover image for Sin city
Sin city
Robbins, Harold, 1916-1997.
Personal Author:
First edition.
Publication Information:
New York : Forge, [2002]

Physical Description:
383 pages ; 25 cm
General Note:
"A Tom Doherty Associates book."
Format :


Call Number
Material Type
Home Location
Central Library X Adult Fiction Central Closed Stacks
Angola Public Library X Adult Fiction Open Shelf
Boston Free Library X Adult Fiction Open Shelf
Grand Island Library X Adult Fiction Open Shelf
Hamburg Library X Adult Fiction Open Shelf
Orchard Park Library X Adult Fiction Open Shelf
Anna M. Reinstein Library X Adult Fiction Open Shelf
Audubon Library X Adult Fiction Open Shelf

On Order



From the New York Times bestselling author of The Predators

For more than five decades, bestselling author Harold Robbins has thrilled millions of readers with tales heavy in action, ruthless characters, international intrigue, and the sexiest people ever captured in print.

Now in Sin City, he takes us to a town famous for all these, Las Vegas.

Jack "Lucky" Riordan is anything but lucky. The illegitimate son of Howard Hughes, he and his mother are cast out of Las Vegas when Hughes learns of the pregnancy, only for Jack to return years later to make his fortune.

Jack might not have luck. But he has an eye for a quick con. His skills soon allow him to climb the ladder as head of security for one of Glitter Gulch's most ruthless casinos, where cheating will get you jail, if you're not crippled by security first.

Jack sees it all: the corruption of fast money, the ways his friends will stab in the back for a shot at a jackpot, and the allure of women who will do anything to hit the big time.

But the big time in Vegas always comes at a cost . . . and Jack is about to learn the price of life in Sin City .

Author Notes

Harold Robbins was born in New York City on May 21, 1916. He later claimed to be a Jewish orphan who had been raised in a Catholic boys' home, but in reality he was raised in Brooklyn by his father and stepmother. He made his first million at the age of twenty by selling sugar for wholesale trade. By the beginning of World War II, he lost all his fortunes. He eventually moved to Hollywood and worked for Universal Pictures.

His first book, Never Love a Stranger, was published in 1948. He began writing full time in 1957. He published more than 20 books during his lifetime including The Dream Merchants (1949), The Betsy (1971), The Storyteller (1982), and The Carpetbaggers (1961). His novel, A Stone for Danny Fisher (1951), was adapted into a 1958 motion picture King Creole starring Elvis Presley.

He died from respiratory heart failure on October 14, 1997 at the age of 81. Since his death, several new books have been published, written by ghostwriters and based on his notes and unfinished stories.

(Bowker Author Biography)

Reviews 2

Booklist Review

Robbins' death in 1997 hasn't kept him from publishing, as many of the works-in-progress he left behind have been completed by author or authors unknown. In the latest, the overblown machismo has been toned down, but the style is still Robbins' and the story is still populated with the usual Robbins characters: wealthy, beautiful people; sexy but submissive women; and the hero, a handsome, poor, tough guy who makes it big. Jack "Lucky" Riordan is the illegitimate and unwanted son of millionaire Howard Hughes, exiled from Las Vegas to face a hardscrabble existence. The tale begins in the 1960s when an adult Riordan returns to Vegas, seeking his fortune in the gaming industry. His street smarts stand him in good stead as he shrewdly acquires wealth and power. As usual, the plot is spiced up with loads of fantastical sex and nymphomaniacal women, but this time Mob entanglements and backstabbing friends add a little twist to the story. Robbins' faithful fans will be lining up for this one. --Kathleen Hughes

Publisher's Weekly Review

Though questions linger about just how much Robbins (1916-1997) contributed to the later books published under his name, this posthumous novel moves quickly and is great fun, a roman clef reminiscent of his early bestselling bildungsromans Never Love a Stranger (1948) and A Stone for Danny Fisher (1952). Packed with vintage Robbins boudoir scenes, it follows a street-smart youth clawing and copulating his way to wealth and power. Born Howard Hughes Jr., the bastard son of the famous multimillionaire recluse, Zack Riordan comes to Vegas in 1966 at age 12, and 12 years later has become the youngest casino security chief on the Strip. The narrative follows Zack's career as he gets involved in a vicious rivalry with the wastrel son and snooty Vassar-educated daughter of his mentor, Con Halliday, the aging owner of the casino Zack has helped save from ruin. When Zack is unceremoniously fired, he crosses continents to cut deals with Chinese criminal elements in Hong Kong and to parlay his quick wits and daring into enough money to finance his own casino, unwinding from hard days of sordid financial exploits by bedding one beautiful woman after another. Returning home, Zack discovers that he has a son by his former mentor's daughter, and finds himself wondering if he has paid too high a price for wealth and power. Those Robbins fans who haven't already fallen by the wayside will be rewarded for their devotion with this unexpectedly lively offering. (Oct.) (c) Copyright PWxyz, LLC. All rights reserved



Sin City Part 1 ZACK RIORDAN 1 IN THE BEGINNING, GOD SAID, "LET THERE BE LIGHT." The first time I saw the Strip I thought God lived there. I was twelve years old in 1966, when Betty and me came down on a Greyhound from northern Nevada. We'd left Mina that morning, a little alkali mudflat town with Highway 95 for a main street--the kind of dry-rotted little desert town that even rattlesnakes shied away from. When we got off the bus in Las Vegas, we put our bags in a dime locker and walked from the bus depot to the Strip. I hadn't had anything to eat except a Baby Ruth candy bar since Tonopah and my stomach was growling. Along the way Betty had dropped the three-day's pay she collected before we left Mina, plunking it into slots, a quarter at a time, whenever the bus made a stop. She only had a dollar left when we arrived in Vegas but she was sure she could get a job waitressing right away. Just walk in and go to work--Vegas was that kind of town. By the end of her shift, she'd have enough tips and maybe even an advance on her wages to get us a room and something to eat. While Betty went into a restaurant to ask for work, I wandered up the Strip alone. It sounds corny, but I got stardust in my eyes the first time I saw the boulevard. It was Times Square, the Arabian Nights, a hundred carnivals, all thrown together and lit up at the same time--the Dunes, Aladdin, Sahara, Caesar's Palace. The lights struck me first, a brilliant neon collage, rocking on the Silver Slipper, blazing at the Stardust, beaming to the heavens from the giant searchlights atop the new Aladdin hotel. And the people--holy mackerel, it was the first time I saw guys in those monkey suits they call tuxes and women in slinky dresses that sparkled. In Mina women smelled of talcum powder and wore loose-fitting flowery dresses Betty called flour sacks, and men had mud on their boots and sweat under their arms. These women in Vegas had dresses that molded to their bodies and exposed the luscious curvesof their breasts. They smelled like expensive sex, Chanel No. 5, and Fleur de Rocaille. Even the men had an expensive smell, not like the Old Spice lotion that miners splashed on after showering. Flesh and glitter, that was Vegas--flesh and glitter and the song of money. I had never heard the song before, not this loud at least. Nickels and dimes dropping in slot cups were the money sounds in places like Mina and Tonopah, but on the Strip the music was numbing, seductive, putting you in a dream state and robbing your senses, the forbidden tune played by Lorelei to lure Rhine sailors to their doom, the beckoning of the Sirens to tempt Odysseus. It filled your ears all the way down the boulevard--the rattle of dice and cries at the craps, cards being shuffled at the blackjack tables, the clatter of a roulette ball bouncing around the wheel, the hum of thousands of slot reels spinning, silver flushing from them. Something spiritual entered my body and glowed inside me that night. I guess it was like the religious experiences that Holy Rollers in Mina talked about, when they woke up in the middle of the night and heard Jesus speaking to them. I only went to the Holy Roller church once and it scared the hell out of me, all that shouting and hysterical laughing, people talking in tongues. That's what it was like on the Strip, too, people shrieking and laughing and shouting mysterious utterances. "Bless these bones!" "Holy Mother, com'on six, gimme a six." "Jesus H. Christ, I hit the big one!" "Oh my God, my God, my God!" Whenever I asked Betty about God, she always told me that God was a bright light that shined through the universe. I figured out that night, when I saw the Strip for the first time, that God lived on the Strip and lit it all up. I also figured out something else that day. As soon as I was old enough, I knew I'd have to make something for Betty and me, otherwise we'd be migrants for the rest of our lives. I loved my mother, but as a neighbor once told me, Betty would always be hopping around on one foot, trying to keep her balance. If we were ever going to have something, I'd have to be the one to get it for us. Instead of pressing our noses against the plateglass windows separating the people with tuxes and slinky dresses from us streeters, someday we'd have the limos, the jewels, the fancy clothes. I wanted everything for Betty and me. Copyright (c) 2002 by Jann Robbins Excerpted from Sin City by Harold Robbins All rights reserved by the original copyright owners. Excerpts are provided for display purposes only and may not be reproduced, reprinted or distributed without the written permission of the publisher.

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