Deadly Embrace (13 page)

Although he had to admit—the blond in the chorus could make
him change his mind. She was so pretty and fresh looking, totally
unlike the others in the line.

Manny claimed to know every dancer, cigarette girl, and waitress
in Vegas. This, of course, was a lie. If they
did
know him,
they ran when they saw him coming—whereas Michael could strike
up a conversation with any one of them. Women were always willing to
talk to him—he had the knack. Plus he'd been extremely blessed
in the looks department, and it didn't hurt that he also possessed
the gift of charm.

He'd seen photos of his dad before he got shot. Vinny had been
handsome too. Marnie had obviously thought so.

When the show finished, he informed Manny he was tired and
planning to hit the sack early.

"Ain'tcha comin' t' play craps?" Manny asked, not particularly
caring one way or the other.

"Naw, my boss don't want me gambling while I'm here. This trip is
strictly business."

"Aw, screw business," Manny said, picking his nose. "Lose a few
hundred, win a few—what's the difference?"

"The difference is, he don't want me doin' it."

Truth was that he suspected Vito couldn't care less
what
he
did as long as he made a safe delivery and collection.

Manny shrugged and muttered something about "no balls" under his
breath. Then they swapped packages, and Manny signed the check and
slouched off into the night. Michael circumvented the busy casino,
making his way around to the stage door entrance, where he knew the
dancers would eventually exit.

He hadn't decided what he'd say to her; he only knew that
something
would occur to him when she emerged.

Lighting a cigarette, he paced around impatiently, thinking that
maybe he'd go with the well-used line of "Don't I know you? And if
not, I'm sure I know your sister, 'cause you look exactly like her."
It was a dumb line that always worked.

Ten minutes later, out came the pretty blond with another girl.
Her friend had long brown hair, big tits, and a pronounced
overbite.

He hung back, watching her for a moment. Out of costume she was
even prettier than he'd thought, and very young.

Too young?

Naw, exactly right.

The two girls stood outside chatting animatedly, then just as he
decided it was time to make his move, a redheaded guy on a motorcycle
zoomed up, and the blond waved to her girlfriend, climbed on the back
of the bike, and took off.

"Shit!" he mumbled under his breath. How was
that
for bad
timing?

The girl with the long brown hair and the big tits was still
standing there.

Without taking a beat he approached her. "Uh ... excuse me, miss,"
he said politely. "Wasn't that Sarah who just left on the bike?"

"Who?" she said, looking him over and liking what she saw.

"Sarah ... she's a girl I know from New York."

"You must mean Dani."

"Really?" he said, sounding surprised. "She's the image of Sarah.
Maybe they're sisters."

"Could be."

"You wouldn't have her phone number, would you?"

"Oh,
c'mon
," she said, laughing. "Like I'm gonna give
you
her phone number."

"Why not?"

"Some strange guy on the make. You
gotta
be kidding."

He gave her the innocent stare, the one that always scored him
points. "Don't I look like I deserve it?"

"No," she said, shaking her head, long brown hair swirling around
her shoulders.

"Yes, I do," he said, turning on the charm. "You know I do."

She couldn't help giggling. He had her.

"So who was the guy on the bike?" he asked, making it casual.

"Dani lives with him," the girl said. "Which means
you're
outta luck." She paused for a moment, then added, "But
I'm
free."

"And very pretty too," he said. "Problem is, I got an early flight
outta here tomorrow. You know how it is."

"Not really," she said, batting her eyelashes.

"Havta get back to New York. Business, y'know."

"Shame," she said, giving him a "why don't you stay" look.

"Yeah," he agreed. "I'll be here again soon."

"Drop by and see me," she said with the appropriate amount of
interest. "My name's Angela. We can hook up." He wondered if he
should seize the opportunity with Angela, who was definitely hot to
tango. Then he decided against it.

Dani. That was the name that lingered.

On his next trip, he was determined to meet her.

* * *

"How was Vegas?" Mamie asked, a cigarette dangling from her scarlet
lips, a glass of vodka balanced in one hand. She was lolling on the
couch in the Giovanni living room, wearing a leather skirt that was
way too short, a flimsy, transparent blouse, and red slingbacks.

She must be almost fifty, for crissakes
, Michael thought.
Why can't she dress her age
?

"It's a fantastic place," he replied. "Only I gotta say—it
ain't New York."

"What about the girlies?" Mamie inquired, blowing a stream of
smoke in his direction.

"Not bad," he answered in a noncommittal tone.

"How come you ain't got yourself a steady?" she wanted to know.
"You're big enough an' handsome enough."

"Why buy the cow when you can get the milk for free?" he said,
quoting his grandma.

His reply made her shriek with laughter. "
That's
my stud,"
she said with a saucy wink. 'You wouldn't want some whining little
tootsie hangin' on to your coattails, would you now?"

"No," he agreed. "I wouldn't want that."

He wished Vito would put in an appearance so he could give him his
package and get the hell out. Good as she'd been to him, there were
times that Mamie made him uncomfortable, and this was one of
them.

"So tell me, Mikey," she asked, dragging deeply on her cigarette,
"do the girlies you sleep with got any clue what they're doin' in the
sack?"

He couldn't believe she was asking such a personal question.
"Huh?" he mumbled, hoping she'd get off the subject.

"You know what I mean," she said, crossing her legs. "Do they give
you a
really
good time, or are they only in it for
themselves?"

"Mrs. G.," he began.

"Don't 'Mrs. G.' me," she interrupted. "It's about time you called
me Mamie. And you know exactly what I'm get-tin' at." She paused for
a moment, then: "Do they suck you off the way you like it? Or is it
amateur night?"

"Jeez!"

"Oh for crissakes, quit the shy act," she said, stubbing out her
cigarette. "It don't suit you."

"Thanks!"

"Do you make 'em come?" she asked, leaning forward, a gleam in her
heavily mascara'd eyes. "I bet you're a pistol between the
sheets."

He was saved by the appearance of Vito, who entered the room in a
hurry—short and stout, puffing on a cigar, clad in a dark green
velvet smoking jacket, green pants, and black patent leather shoes.
Vito considered himself an arbiter of fashion.

"You got it, kid?" he asked, wheezing and coughing his way across
the room.

"Sure have, Mr. G."

"Good, good," he said, waving his cigar in the air. "Gimme,
gimme."

Vitohad a habit of repeating words, as if saying it once wasn't
enough.

Michael handed over the large manila envelope he was carrying and
waited for his payment, which was always in cash. Vito was never
without a thick stack of bills carried somewhere on his person.

Groping in his pocket, Vito produced the usual wad. "Any
problems?" he asked.

"Nope," Michael replied, thinking,
How could there be problems
with such a simple job
?

"You sure?"

"Yeah, I'm sure."

"Hi, honey," Mamie crooned, waving a beringed hand at her husband.
"While you're handin' out money—how about li'l old me?"

"Whaddaya doin' drinkin' so early?" Vito growled, throwing her a
disapproving look.

"Just bein' social," she replied.

"Social, my ass," Vito muttered. 'You're turnin' inta a lush."

"
Honey
!"

Ignoring her, he turned back to Michael. "Gotta feelin' you should
start carryin' a piece," he said.

"Huh?"

"A piece. A gun. Bang-bang. You understand what I'm sayin'?"

Michael frowned. Carrying a gun was not on his agenda of things he
thought he should do. "Well, uh ..."

"You ever shot a gun?"

"No, Mr. G."

"You'd better learn. I'll set you up with someone who'll teach
ya."

"D'you really think-"

"Ya work for
me
now, kid," Vito interrupted. "These are
tough times. Ya gotta be prepared for anythin', an' I do mean
anythin
. Get it?"

He got it.

When Dani was a few months shy of her seventeenth birthday, she
realized that continuing to depend on Sam's companionship was
obviously not healthy for either of them. They both had to move
on.

The big problem was that every time she mentioned moving out, Sam
broke down in tears, which made her feel totally guilty.

Angela, her friend in the chorus line, counseled her. "Sam's not
your
responsibility," Angela said. "He expects you to do
everything for him, and that's crazy. It's not like he's your
boyfriend
or anything, is it?"

"No," she answered hesitantly.

"Then you gotta dump him," Angela said, a decisive tilt to her
chin. "I need a new roommate, and you're
it
."

Angela's motives were obviously selfish, but all the same, Dani
knew she was right. Continuing to live with Sam was not a good idea,
and even though they weren't girlfriend-boyfriend, he was horribly
possessive. Every day he insisted on taking her to work on his
motorcycle, and every evening he was waiting outside the stage door
to bring her home. She couldn't do anything without him questioning
her, and she was beginning to feel stifled. As Angela had pointed
out, it wasn't as if he was her boyfriend, and although she'd made it
her business to steer clear of men, she'd decided it might be
interesting to at least
try
going out on a date. All the other
girls in the chorus talked about men constantly—it was their
obsession. After a while she felt totally left out.

Most days she practiced conversations in her head about how she
would inform Sam of her imminent departure.

Oh hi, Sam. I think it's better for both of us if I move out.
That way we can have a more normal relationship
. Hmm...

Y'know, Sam, isn't it about time you started seeing other
girls? After all, Emily's never coming back
.

No, not so good. Any mention of Emily and he'd go berserk.

Reluctantly she decided the truth was best:
Sam, I'm leaving.
It's the right thing to do
.

Still, she couldn't bring herself to tell him; it was too awkward.
Emily's disappearance was exceptionally sad for both of them, and
because he'd loved her so very much, even more difficult for Sam to
bear.

The chorus line at the Estradido Hotel was by no means the
classiest line in town. The hotel itself was hardly on the same level
as the big hotels such as the Stardust, the Sands, and the Desert
Inn. The Estradido was mob owned, and everyone knew it. Low-level
gamblers came there and lost their money. This suited Philippe
Estradido fine. All he wanted was their money; he didn't need movie
stars and moguls hanging out.

Dani was by far the most beautiful girl in the chorus. This didn't
make her particularly popular with the other women, who were mostly
veterans, apart from Angela, who was young enough not to feel
threatened.

"Here's what you need," Angela informed her one night as they sat
in front of their communal dressing table mirror preparing for the
evening show. "A handsome stud who'll sweep out the cobwebs and wake
you up. My God, sweetie, if you don't do something soon, you'll end
up an old maid."

Angela had no idea Dani was still only sixteen; like everyone
else, Angela was under the impression she was almost twenty.

"Actually," Angela continued, "a guy stopped by the stage door the
other night who'd be perfect for you." She paused for a moment.
"'Course, I kinda went for him myself, but if he comes back I'll be
generous and let
you
have first shot."

"Who was he?" Dani asked curiously, not at all sure that she
wanted first shot.

"Gorgeous!" Angela exclaimed, applying thick black fake eyelashes
with a practiced hand. "That's all you need to know."

"I'm not sure I'm ready," Dani began.

"Oh,
please
" Angela said, spidery eyelashes firmly in
place. "I'm sick of hearing you say that."

"Sorry," she murmured.

"Now," Angela said, reviewing her reflection, "when are you
telling Sam you're sharing my apartment? 'Cause if you don't do it
soon, I gotta get someone else."

"This week," she said quickly.

"Promise?" Angela said, reaching for her scanty costume.

"Yes, I promise," Dani said, deciding that she'd tell Sam
soon.

A few days later, she cooked Sam his favorite meal. They were at
the kitchen table eating chicken and french fries, while Frank
Sinatra serenaded them on the stereo. After a while she broached the
subject. "Sam, I'm, uh ... moving out," she ventured.

He pretended he didn't hear her.

"Are you listening to me? I'm leaving," she repeated. "Angela
needs a roommate, and I've decided it's a good idea for me to move in
with her."

"What?" he said, crinkling his forehead.

"I'm sharing an apartment with Angela," she said, speaking fast.
"I mean, you and I—we'll still be friends and everything, and
I'll see you all the time, but we've both got to get out and meet
other people."

"Why?" he said, putting down his fork.