He touted himself as a casino titan, but he was a piker

From the start I suspected there was something fishy about Luke Brugnara.

He surfaced in Las Vegas in October 1999, a cocky Bay Area real estate man who was dead certain he was the Strip's next casino titan following his purchase of the old Silver City property. Brugnara was in his 30s and already listed as the owner of 1 million square feet of office space in San Francisco's financial district.

He lived like a millionaire and talked like a billionaire, making it well known he was interested in buying the Maxim and Desert Inn casinos before settling for the cobwebbed and worn Silver City.

Fast forward to 2010. Now 46, Brugnara has found a way to live at government expense after catching felony sentences for tax evasion and for poaching protected steelhead trout.

That's right, trout.

He pleaded guilty in January to filing false tax returns on $45 million in capital gains and obstructing the Internal Revenue Service. He received a 2 ½-year sentence. This past week, he hooked a 15-month sentence for blocking the steelhead migration in a creek that runs across his property outside San Jose, Calif.

Brugnara caught the fish.

Now he's the keeper.

His sentences will run concurrently, and his convictions all but ensure we've heard the last of Brugnara in Las Vegas. Frankly, part of me will miss the obnoxious blowhard.

In January, when the feds were closing in and he had filed bankruptcy, Brugnara announced he was willing to bid $200 million for the troubled Fontainebleau high-rise on the Strip. Now that's confidence.

Carl Icahn got lucky and beat him to the punch.

Before that, Brugnara elbowed his way into the news by announcing he was willing to buy the beleaguered Crazy Horse Too topless cabaret on Industrial Road. That deal evaporated in a cloud of smoke and exclamation points.

In 2000, when Kansas billionaire Phil Ruffin purchased the New Frontier and said he planned to create a San Francisco-themed casino resort, Brugnara said that was his idea for the Silver City. He replied, "I'm not some guy living in the Midwest raising pigs. He sees my idea, and is trying to do my idea."

Ruffin managed to wipe the slop off his shoes long enough to sell the New Frontier for a staggering profit. Today he owns the Treasure Island, where there's not a pig in sight. Not bad for a Midwesterner.

Then there was Brugnara's interest in purchasing the Desert Inn. He told a reporter, "The reality is there's no other buyers for this property. I'm at the head of the list, and the reality is the A-players aren't interested."

Turns out some B-lister named Wynn was interested.

By far Brugnara's greatest bluster and braggadocio came at his March 2001 casino licensing hearing before the Gaming Control Board. He fell, shall we say, slightly short of winning a recommendation.

"I find it ludicrous that they can judge me," he said of the state's regulatory judges. "I've done more in one year than anyone in this room can dream of doing. It's so predictable what you'll do. The people on the Strip wind you up."

A control board investigation revealed a litany of Brugnara's behavior problems, including fathering a child out of wedlock and allegedly threatening the health of the woman in question. His real estate license was suspended, he was nicked with a concealed weapons charge, and he allegedly made threats to others.

When Brugnara's application was unanimously rejected, he responded with characteristic class: "This was a kangaroo court from Day One. These bureaucrats are jealous and envious of me."

I suspect their jealousy and envy have subsided by now.

After working every angle in Las Vegas, the loudmouthed Luke Brugnara sleeps without the fishes.

John L. Smith's column appears Sunday, Tuesday, Wednesday and Friday. E-mail him at Smith@reviewjournal.com or call (702) 383-0295. He also blogs at lvrj.com/blogs/smith.