Deadly Embrace (19 page)

And yet... he still couldn't stop thinking about her.

When his Asian girlfriend turned up unexpectedly, he sent her home
because he wasn't in the mood. That was a first.

"I met this girl—," he confided to Max.

"Ha!" Max whooped, getting it immediately. "You finally got
hooked!"

"Not me."

"Yeah,
you
."

"I'm not interested in seein' other girls right now. I'm not even
interested in gettin' laid."

" 'Cause you're hooked."

"I think about her a lot."

"Sure you do."

"What I gotta do to forget her?"

"Nothin'," Max said with a fiendish grin. 'Your goose is good 'n'
cooked. Join the freakin' club."

* * *

A week later Tommaso asked him if he'd ever driven a truck.

"I guess I can do it," he said.

"Good," Tommaso said. "Tonight. Ten p.m. Mr. Giovanni wants you
back of Alissio's. Roy'll pick you up an' take you to the place."

"What place?"

"You'll find out."

He didn't like the sound of it. Roy was a dour older man with
ferret features and a slight limp who did the occasional job for Mr.
G. He was also Mamie's cousin.

"You gotta tell me more," Michael insisted.

"I don't gotta tell you nothin'," Tommaso said. "You work for Mr.
Giovanni, you do what Mr. Giovanni wants.
Capisce
?"

Ever since his Vegas screwup, things weren't the same. Even Marnie
had cooled toward him. Now he was treated as if he was just another
goon, and he didn't like it. He'd do the truck thing, then he planned
on having it out with Mr. Giovanni. He wasn't an errand boy—he
was better than that.

Roy turned up late in a brown Ford.

"Where's the truck?" Michael asked.

"Jump in, pretty boy," Roy said. "I'm takin' ya to it."

An hour later they were way out in the country and still
driving.

"Where the fuck are we?" Michael demanded.

"Mr. Giovanni wants t' see if ya got stones," Roy said, pulling
the Ford over to the side of the deserted road.

"Huh?"

"Get out," Roy said, consulting his watch. "There'll be a truck
comin' by here in approximately ten minutes. One driver. Big cargo of
booze. You hijack the mothafucker, drive it to Amie's garage in
Queens, an' job well done."

"You
gotta
be shittin' me."

"Nope," Roy said, handing him a slip of paper. "Here's the address
of Arnie's. They're expecting you. Now get out."

Reluctantly Michael got out. "And what'm I supposed to do with the
driver of the truck?"

Roy leaned over and slammed the passenger door closed. "That's
your problem, pretty boy. See ya around."

And he drove off, leaving Michael standing in the middle of
nowhere.

"I'm pregnant," Dani said, her eyes filling with tears.

"Why are you telling
me
?" Angela said brusquely, not
exactly full of sympathy. "Why aren't you telling the stupid dick who
knocked you up?"

"Because ... because ... after that one night I never heard from
him again." A lone tear slid down her cheek. Michael had taken her
virginity and never so much as sent her a flower. Maybe she'd been
reading too many romance novels, but surely he should at least have
called her?

"Men!" Angela snapped. "They're all the same. Selfish users."

"There must be
some
nice ones."

"You
gotta
be joking," Angela said with a brittle laugh.
"They're all rats, and now we've got to track
your
rat
down."

"Why?" Dani asked, alarmed.

"So the bastard can pay for the abortion."

"I... I don't want an abortion."

"Get real, kiddo," Angela said briskly. "It's your only answer,
unless you want to have the kid an' sell it. Believe me," she mused,
her expression turning thoughtful, "that's not such a bad
idea—some rich couple would pay plenty for a kid that looks
like you."

Dani stared at her in horror. "I can't believe you said that."

"Why? It's the truth. And you'd better face up to it. You can't
afford to have a baby."

"Who said I can't?"

"You
know
it's true. You got no savings, nothing. And as
soon as your belly starts to show, you'll have to give up work. Then
what?"

"I'll find a different job," she said quickly. "One where it
doesn't matter what I look like."

"This is Vegas, hon. Wherever you go, it'll matter."

Unfortunately Dani realized Angela was right. The workforce in
Vegas consisted of girls who looked good. Being pregnant and landing
a high-paying job was a no-go situation.

"I suppose the daddy is Mr. Handsome," Angela said scornfully. "I
coulda told you that one was no good. I bet the bastard didn't even
wear a rubber, did he?"

"It... it was my first time," Dani confessed. "I didn't think I
could get pregnant."

"Ha!" Angela snorted. "Whoever told you that is a big fat
liar!"

"Michael didn't say that," she whispered.

"What
did
Mr. Handsome tell you?" Angela demanded.

"That he'd be back soon."

"And that was
how
long ago?"

"Seven weeks."

"Typical!" Angela exclaimed, full of disgust. "One dip in the
honey pot an' they run for the hills. Y'see,
I
know what
they're like, so I make sure they pay."

"That's what prostitutes do," Dani muttered.

"And what do you think opening your legs is all about? Get real,
sweetie. It's all one great big barter system, and the smart ones end
up getting paid—not pregnant."

"He seemed so ... so wonderful," Dani said sadly.

"When they're tracking pussy, they
all
seem wonderful."

"You're so cynical, Angela."

"Yeah. I'm cynical and
you're
pregnant. So tell me—
who's got the right take on it?"

Dani sighed. She wished she had Emily to talk to. Emily would know
what she should do, because Emily was the only living person who'd
ever cared about her—and, of course, Sam, whom she hadn't heard
from in weeks. She'd tried calling him on several occasions, but he
was never home.

She decided that after the show tonight she'd go to his apartment
and wait outside until he appeared.

Sure
, her inner voice whispered,
because you need his
help
.

No, I don't. I can manage without anyone's help
.

If only she could get over a broken heart. Because that's how
Michael had left her—pregnant with a broken heart.

* * *

Dani waited outside Sam's house for over two hours before he
appeared. She was sitting on the ground, her back against the door,
when he finally showed up.

He was drunk and not alone. He was accompanied by a short bleached
blond with black roots and wide hips.

"Who's this—your wife?" the woman cackled.

Dani stood up. "Sam," she said, "I've tried calling you, you never
answer your phone. Are you all right?"

"Jeez, honey," the woman said, throwing her arms around his
shoulders. "It's two in the morning. Why don't you go home? This one
is
taken
."

Staggering slightly, Sam began groping for his keys. "Whatcha
doing here, Dani?" he asked, slurring his words.

"I wanted to see you," she said.

"Get lost," the woman interrupted. "Him an' me—we got
business to conduct."

"Yeah, yeah, go home," Sam said, waving his hands in the air.

"You mean me?" Dani asked.

"No, I mean her," he said to the woman.

"And how'm I supposed to get home?" the woman shrieked, furious at
the way things were turning out.

"Give her money," Dani said quickly.

"Yeah, yeah," Sam said, pulling out his wallet. "Money."

Dani took his wallet from him, extracted ten dollars, and handed
it to the woman, who rewarded her with an angry glare.

"Y'know," Dani scolded, helping Sam inside, "you shouldn't be
drinking."

"I know," he said miserably. "I got nothin' else t' do."

"Sam," she said earnestly, "I've been thinking."

"'Bout what?"

"Maybe you were right, maybe I
should
be here looking after
you."

"You moved out on me, Dani," he said accusingly. "Dumped me
flat."

"I didn't
dump
you. I simply didn't think it was healthy
for us to live together." She hesitated a moment before continuing.
"When I see you like this, I realize you
do
need someone to
look after you, and ... perhaps that someone should be me."

"Really?" he said hopefully.

"We shouldn't talk now," she said. "I'll come back in the morning
when you're sober. We'll go out for breakfast."

"Sure," he mumbled as she helped him into the bedroom and got him
onto the bed, where she proceeded to take off his shoes and socks and
loosen his pants.

Within minutes he was snoring loudly.

Was she being unfair? Was she running back to Sam because she was
pregnant and
she
wanted
him
to look after
her
?
Or was it the other way around? Would she have come back if things
had worked out with Michael?

Probably not.

Angela was right about men. They were only after one thing. And
when they got it, they took off.

Sam was different. Maybe she could have a life with him.

It was worth a try.

Two weeks later Dani and Sam were married in one of the local
wedding chapels. She'd wanted to tell him about the baby, but Angela
had persuaded her not to.

"It wouldn't be fair to him," Angela had reasoned. "Marry the guy,
sleep with him, let him think the kid's his.
That's
what's
fair."

"No,
that's
deceitful," she'd answered.

"It's not," Angela had argued. "It's simply smart business. And
good for the kid, too. You want the tyke growing up not knowing who
its father is? And Sam won't care as much about the baby if he
doesn't think it's his."

She hadn't thought about marrying Sam, but when she'd got him
sober and he'd asked her, it had suddenly seemed like the answer to
all her problems.

It was quite apparent she'd never see Michael again. He'd used her
as a one-night stand, another conquest—of which he probably had
many. Her feelings toward him hardened every day.

On their wedding night she and Sam lay together in bed half
dressed. Nothing happened. Dani knew that she'd better persuade him
to make love to her as soon as possible; the only problem was that
she was just as wary of physical contact as he was.

However, they
were
married; the wedding had to be
consummated. And soon.

The following night, after cleaning her teeth and brushing her
hair, she threw all modesty aside, abandoned her nightdress, and
walked into the bedroom naked.

It didn't take long for Sam to respond. He pushed her down on the
bed and jumped aboard last, climaxing almost immediately. Then he
beamed and said, "That was fantastic, wasn't it?"

The experience was nothing like it had been with Michael. It was
all over in five minutes and meant nothing.

She nodded, swallowing a lump in her throat, fully aware that it
wasn't fantastic at all.

She waited four weeks and then informed him she was pregnant.

Sam was ecstatic.

And she was filled with a horrible, nagging guilt that refused to
go away.

February 10, 1970, was Michael's twenty-fifth birthday—a
memorable day for him because for the last five years he'd been
incarcerated, locked up in a stinking hellhole of a jail. And today
he was finally getting out.

He had no doubt that he'd been set up, and once out, he was
determined to find out why.

He suspected the culprit was Tommaso, in cahoots with Marnie's
loser cousin Roy. Neither of the men had ever liked him. The feeling
was mutual. He'd never trusted Tommaso, and Roy was a sleazy whiner
who only had a job because he happened to be related to Marnie.

At the time of his arrest, Vito Giovanni had sent a lawyer to see
him. The lawyer had informed him that Mr. Giovanni had no knowledge
of the liquor truck hijacking.

"He's
gotta
know about it," Michael had insisted. "He's the
one who ordered me to do it."

"Mr. Giovanni has no idea what you're talking about. So for your
own good, when we get into court I suggest you
do not
mention
Mr. Giovanni's name in connection with this crime."

"What freakin'
crime
?" he'd protested. "I didn't touch the
driver. All I did was stop the truck, told the guy to get out an'
start walking. The jerk didn't even put up a fight."

"You waved a gun in his face, didn't you?"

"Yeah," he'd admitted.

"The D.A. will call that armed robbery and attempted murder. Not
to mention carrying an unregistered weapon."

"You gotta straighten this out," he'd said, panicking. "I didn't
do
nothin'."

"You hijacked a truck at gunpoint."

"For five minutes. I wasn't a mile down the road before the cops
pulled me over." He'd taken a long beat. "Can I get bail?"

He'd gotten bail all right, but it was too high for any of his
friends to put up. Max immediately contacted Vinny— who, in
true fatherly fashion, said he wasn't at all surprised and flatly
refused to help. Since Mr. Giovanni was not forthcoming either, he
was forced to stay in jail until his hearing.

After a short trial, the judge sentenced him to eight years.

One bad move and he was fucked. It didn't seem real, but
unfortunately it was.

Prison was worse than he'd imagined. He tried to keep to himself,
which was not easy. Regarded as new blood, it wasn't long before he
was targeted by some of the more hardened inmates. Whenever they came
after him, he fought back, soon gaining a reputation as a tough guy,
with several scars to prove it.