JC2 The Raiders (38 page)

"Now that I'm on the East Coast we can see each other a lot more
often," he said.

Toni nodded. "I'd like that. I still care for you, you know."

"Well, I care for you, too. We — "

"Let's don't get into a deep discussion," she interrupted.
"I'll come to the apartment. When will you be there?"

He opened the center drawer in one of the rolltop desks and handed
her a key. "Come as soon as you can," he said. "If I'm
not yet there you can let yourself in. Keep the key. You don't ever
need to go to a hotel in New York."

It was like it had always been when he was with her. On nights after
long separations, they did not sleep at all. He would drop away from
her exhausted, then quickly recover under her ministrations and
return for something more. She denied him nothing. He denied her
nothing. Twice they went in the bathroom and showered together, to
rinse off their sweat and other fluids. Afterward they returned to
the bed, straightened the tangled sheets, and gave themselves to each
other again.

At four in the morning the telephone rang. Bat hesitated but then
answered it, knowing that nothing but something urgent would generate
a call on his unlisted number at that hour.

"Jesus Christ!" Toni muttered.

"It's my father," Bat whispered. "Calling from Las
Vegas."

"You heard from your sister?" his father asked.

"No. Should I have?"

"You can't guess where she is!"

Jonas was excited.
Too
excited. "Where
is she?" he asked quietly, trying to communicate calm.

"She's
in jail
, for Christ's sake!"

"Where? And why?"

"Los Angeles. For drunken driving. She was in some kind of
little accident, nobody hurt, thank God, but they hauled her in and
gave her the test, and she didn't pass."

"What do you want me to do?"

"I don't know. Go to LA and see what you can do about it."

"I'll call you from Los Angeles," said Bat.

Jo-Ann, her face flushed and her eyes puffy from crying, sat behind a
screen of wire mesh. She wore the gray cotton uniform of Sybil Brand
Institute, the Los Angeles County women's jail.

"It's just three days," said Bat. "That's the
mandatory minimum sentence for operating under the influence, and
there was no getting you out of it. So ... Thursday, Friday, and
Saturday."

"So goddamned
humiliating
," she
sobbed.

"We've posted a bond that allows you to drive, though your
license is technically under suspension for one year. You don't know
how lucky you are. You might have killed yourself. Or someone else."

"I might have been better off."

"Forget that kind of talk."

"Have you talked to Ben?" she asked.

"Yes."

"He hasn't come to see me."

"He can't. You're allowed to see family members and lawyers, no
one else. We could get an exception, but you'll be out of here before
it would come through."

"I don't want him to see me in here anyway."

"Now, I've got something else to tell you. I've checked you into
the Sunset Hills Clinic. I'll pick you up when you're released and
take you there."

"A drying-out clinic," said Jo-Ann despondently. "I
don't ... want to go there. I'll be locked up as much as I am here."

"If you don't go, our father will cut off your allowance."

She sobbed. "The goddamned allowance! Always the goddamned
allowance! I have to do what he says, no matter what, to keep the
goddamned allowance! And you have to do whatever he says to keep your
goddamned job. You think you're independent of him? No more than I
am, big brother. Nobody's independent of Jonas. How long do I have to
stay in that place?"

"At the end of the month they'll evaluate your case."

She blew a loud sigh. "You drink.
He
drinks. Why do I have to be warehoused in a psycho ward because I
drink?"

"I don't have to tell you why. You know why."

"And when I get out, how different is anything going to be?"

"When you get out, I'm going to give you a job with Cord
Productions."

"He won't let you."

"I'm going to do it whether he likes it or not."

Glenda sat down on the bed in the room Ben Parrish had rented in the
Golden Evenings Motel. She had come off the set half an hour before
and was still tense and sweaty.

"So, let me see this notorious tool of yours," she said.

Without hesitation Ben unzipped his fly and pulled out his penis.

"Oi!"
she cried. "The
biggest one in California, right?"

Ben smiled. He let it hang out, making no move to put it back inside
his pants. "Well, I haven't seen all the others in California,
have you?"

"No. Only about half of them," she said.

"Have you ever seen another one that would rival it?"

"You're proud of it, aren't you?" Glenda asked.

He seized his penis and pulled it out even more. It was thick, as
well as long, with prominent blue veins showing under the skin. He
lifted it in the palm of his hand. "Girls ask me to show it to
them, even if they don't want it."

"Do you show it to them?"

"Once in a while."

Glenda began to undress. "That's grotesque," she said.

He undressed with her. "The one thing it can't stand is
unemployment."

"And your girlfriend's shut up in a psychiatric clinic."

"She asked for what you might call a conjugal visit. They said
no, only if we were married. She's angry and frustrated, but she
signed herself in and can't get out. Bat took care of Jo-Ann. He
doesn't seem to be taking care of you."

"When he came out here to make the arrangements for her, he
called me, but he couldn't spare an hour to see me."

She was naked now. So was he. He stood facing her. She reached up and
touched his mammoth penis, then tipped her head to beckon him to sit
down beside her. He sat down and began to fondle her breasts.

"We're gonna have a good time," Glenda said softly. "We
don't need the Cords. We're gonna have a good time!"

"Damn right we are," he said. "A good time. Both of us
have been screwed by the Cords — more ways than one."

"Anybody's been screwed by you's been
screwed
," she said, squeezing him gently to be sure he
was rigid and ready. "So, c'mon. Make me the envy of every girl
in California."

He kissed her on the neck and ran his hands over her body one more
time. He nodded. " 'Kay," he grunted.

Glenda scooted across the bed, lay down on her back, and spread her
legs. He mounted her and slowly shoved his oversized organ into her
until she groaned in protest. He pulled back a little but then began
strokes, each one invading her a little more deeply. She moaned and
whimpered — but only softly — and he continued until his
belly touched hers and all of him was inside her. He was gentle. He
had to be. And he didn't take long. By the time she decided he was
hurting her too much, he was finished.

"My god, Ben!" She pressed both her
hands to her crotch. She gleamed with sweat. "Like I said, a
girl who's been screwed by you has been
screwed
."

"You're bein' screwed more ways than one,"
said Ben. His thoughts had remained on what he had been saying before
she called on him to perform. "You know somethin', kid. You
are
Cord Productions. You're the only successful show they've got. When
the time comes for contract renewal, you ought to hold them up for a
bundle."

"The thought has occurred to me," she said.

"The show was an experiment, a gamble,"
said Ben. "But you're a hot property right now. But showbiz is
fickle, as I don't have to tell you, and you should make every dime
you can
while
you can."

THE AIRPORT JUST ACROSS THE ARIZONA LINE SOUTH OF Las Vegas where
Jonas had landed in 1951 when he was ducking subpoenas was still
there and was still used the same way. A sleek, fast private plane
landed about noon.

The first man off the plane was Carlo Vulcano, capo of the Vulcano
Family that controlled Cleveland's East Side. Wizened and
white-haired, he was of medium height, but he looked short because he
walked with his shoulders hunched and his head thrust forward. His
suspenders held his trousers up almost to his armpits, and he carried
a white handkerchief in his left hand, which he pressed to his mouth
from time to time because he drooled.

Next was John Stefano, underboss of Detroit's Cosenza Family. He was
a swarthy, dark-haired man with shifting brown eyes, about fifty
years old. He paused just outside the airplane to light a big cigar.

Morris Chandler was waiting on the tarmac. He strode forward to greet
Vulcano and Stefano. Jimmy Hoffa, cocky, happy, and wearing a big
grin, passed him and reached Vulcano first.

The four men walked to the private club in the house at the end of
the ramp. They sat down in solid maple chairs at one of the tables
covered with a red-and-white-checkered tablecloth. Stefano reinforced
the fire in his cigar by holding it in the flame of the candle stuck
in a Chianti bottle.

"Not a bad place," said Vulcano, glancing around the dining
room. "Are those girls hookers?"

"For sure," said Chandler.

"Ah, good."

"A private place," Stefano remarked half sarcastically.
"You're hopin' Cord won't find out you're meeting with us,
right?"

"Right," Chandler admitted.

"What's he do, hire private dicks?" Stefano asked.

"He doesn't have to," said Chandler. "He's got his own
guys. Nothing much happens that he doesn't know."

"Well ... we are sorry about Dave Beck," said Vulcano to
Hoffa. "Unfortunately, he was not a man to listen to advice."

"Nobody's advice," said Hoffa. "The lawyers have no
confidence the appeals are gonna work. He'll die in the slammer, I
imagine." He shook his head. "Nobody's advice."

"So. You will assume the presidency of the Teamsters Union now,"
said Vulcano. "Is there any problem?"

Hoffa shrugged. "What problem?"

"Do you need any help?"

"There was never a man who couldn't use and appreciate a little
help," said Hoffa. "But I've got it in line pretty good."

"Okay," said Stefano. "We came out here to talk about
something else."

"The Cords," said Hoffa. "I'm gonna kill that son of a
bitch, so help me!"

Carlo Vulcano, hunched over the table, leaned
toward Hoffa. "
Business
, my friend," he muttered,
his lips fluttering so a trickle ran from the corner of his mouth.
"Killing a man is very bad for business. If you want to work
with us, you will have to subdue your temper and your resentments and
put out of mind all thought of killing."

Hoffa smiled his toothy smile. "It was a figure of speech, Don
Carlo."

Vulcano nodded, accepting the assurance. "We don't speak for
everyone," he said to Chandler, "but there is agreement
among many of the men of honor that further intrusion into Vegas by
the Cords will be detrimental to our interests."

"To put the thing in the simplest words," said Stefano,
"the revenues from the hotels are secondary to us. We need the
casinos for money laundering and other purposes."

"You may not be able to count on Cuba much longer," said
Chandler. "Meyer Lansky couldn't persuade the Cords to invest in
the Riviera, and I'd have thought that was as sweet a deal as anybody
could make, what with Lansky's connections and expertise. I can only
figure the Cords know something even Lansky doesn't know."

"Which would be what?" asked Vulcano.

"Bat's mother is Batista's niece. Maybe they got inside
information," said Chandler.

"Naah," said Stefano.

"It is essential," said Vulcano, "that we have a way
and a way. I make it a point always to have a means to an end and a
means in reserve." He was a man who was accustomed to
pontificating and to being solemnly heard when he did. "These
people the Cords threaten our interests. What is the best way to cope
with them?"

"It's a shame we can't do it the old way," said Chandler.

"Put that from your mind," said Vulcano. "The question
is How can we apply pressure to these people?"

"Jonas Cord has a daughter in a drying-out clinic in
California," said Chandler. "She has given herself to a
Hollywood hustler named Benjamin Parrish. The illegitimate son, Jonas
Third, called Bat, sleeps with Glenda Grayson. Jonas Second himself
keeps Angela Wyatt as a private and confidential secretary —
and sleep-in lover. She has a federal criminal record." Chandler
shrugged. "We may be able to find some advantage in one or more
of those things."

"We can call down strikes on their heads," said Hoffa.
"They can't build their Intercontinental Vegas without— "

"Let's hold that idea in abeyance. Jimmy," said Vulcano.
"The other ideas Brother Morris has just mentioned may prove the
better solution. Crude tactics are not acceptable when foxy tactics
will do as well."

"Let's have a means and a means, Don Carlo," said Hoffa,
picking up the expression the don himself had used. "One of the
things Maurie's thought up and my idea in reserve."

"Don't call me Maurie," said Chandler coldly.

Hoffa grinned. "Don't worry about it, buddy," said Hoffa.
"You're the best-connected guy I ever heard of, whatever we call
you."

"Gentlemen," said Vulcano. "We are in agreement.
Before we go back aboard that uncomfortable little airplane, I want
to enjoy a nice steak, a nice bottle of wine, and one of those nice
girls who are eyeing us and looking for an invitation to join us at
this table."

"Goddammit, I said
no
. I told you I
didn't want Jo-Ann on our payroll— "

"Until she dried out," Bat interrupted. "Well, she
dried out. I made her commit herself to a drying-out clinic, and she
stayed there for a month."