Rock Star (53 page)

She led him to the magic moment carefully. Timing was everything, and if she didn’t get it right the first time there were no second chances. Manoeuvring him into position, she slowly undid the buttons on her uniform – one by one.

‘Holy mother!’ Tom groaned, bursting at the seams. He’d never seen anything like her before. This woman was stacked and
then
some.

‘Wanna suck on the candy, big man?’ she tempted him, giving him no choice as she thrust an upstanding nipple into his mouth.

He was lost in heaven, while behind him, on television monitor five, Maxwell Sicily went to work breaking and entering Nova Citroen’s safe.

*    *    *

Rafealla felt great. There was nothing like an audience to give you a buzz, and she was thrilled Bobby Mondella was standing at the side of the stage waiting for her.

What could Marcus do if she turned up with Bobby? Kill her? Ha! She’d make him wait. She’d make him wait forever.

A wave of relief enveloped her. That’s what she’d do –
MAKE HIM WAIT FOREVER!
Why hadn’t she thought of it before?

Fame was already hers – he couldn’t take it away, and if he did – well, to be quite truthful, fame was a drag anyway – who needed it?

She was a survivor. She’d survived Eddie Mafair, and Luiz and his lies. Now she’d survive Marcus Citroen.

In the long run survival was the only thing that really mattered.

*    *    *

‘I’m glad t’see you’re out an’ about,’ Kris said happily, clapping Bobby on the shoulder as they both waited at the side of the stage. ‘I’ve bin meanin’ t’get hold of you – I thought it might be a giggle if we recorded somethin’ together. Remember? We always threatened we would.’

‘Yeah, we did, didn’t we?’ Bobby replied, reaching out to touch the brash English singer, whom he’d always liked.

‘You do know I tried to call you a few times—’ Kris said. ‘After all that shit you went through I figured you might like to hear a friendly voice.’

‘Sara told me,’ Bobby replied. ‘But, uh, I guess I never felt like talkin’ to anyone.’

‘I can understand that. Only now you’re around, let’s do it, huh? We gotta make ourselves a record for
us –
y’know – like give all the proceeds to one of them charities. That’d
really
piss Marcus off. How about it?’

‘Hey – anythin’ that’d piss Marcus off, you can count me in.’

‘An’ you know somethin’? We’ll get her to do it, too,’ Kris said, warming to his theme. ‘Who?’ Bobby asked.

‘Rafealla. She’s got an interesting sound. I like her voice – plenty of style. Whadderya think?’

‘Sounds good to me. I love that girl.’

Rafealla finished her second song, followed by rapturous applause. She ran off the stage elated and glowing.

Winking at her, Kris said, ‘You were great, darlin’, really great.’

She smiled at him. God! It was like looking at an older version of Jon Jon. Quite spooky.

‘Hang about,’ he said. ‘Bobby an’ I – we got a proposition for you. The three of us’ll split a bottle of champagne up at the house when I’m through. Okay?’

Why not face Marcus with Bobby and Kris. Perfect! She nodded. Terrific’

Blondes were his scene, but this girl was something’ else.
And
she could sing: ‘I’m countin’ on it, luv,’ he said, with a crooked grin. Clenching his fist in the air, he yelled, ‘Okay, let’s get this bleedin’ show on the road. In and
out.
’ And with that he raced on stage. Mister Energy. Mister Strut. Still full of piss and vinegar and raw, exciting talent.

The sophisticated audience went wild as he launched into ‘Long-Legged Blondes’. Blasé they might be, but they knew a superstar when they saw one.

*    *    *

The moment Rafealla left the stage, Marcus excused himself from his two dinner partners and slipped away.

Nova saw him leave. Her expression tightened. She didn’t care how many whores and starlets he had, but this girl Rafealla represented a threat. She was too young and beautiful by far, and Nova didn’t like it one little bit.

*    *    *

Maxwell Sicily worked quickly and methodically, well aware that time was at a premium and it was essential he moved fast. The months of planning paid off. Thanks to Vicki he knew the exact makes and locations of both safes. In prison they’d nicknamed him the Cracker, because it was a well-known fact that he could break open anything in record time.

True to his reputation, he had Nova’s big safe ajar within seven minutes. With satisfaction he noted it was stocked as if he were in the world’s most expensive jewellery store.

Without hesitation he began filling the large plastic garbage bag with jewels, tipping them out of their boxes indiscriminately, until the sack was almost half full.

What a cache! More than he’d thought. Enough to set him up for a long, long time. Enough to buy him freedom from the goddamn system.

Shutting the safe, he hurried from her bedroom, careful to duck beneath the laser beam alarm across her door so as not to trip it. Vicki had been most thorough in her description of the alarm system throughout the house.

Outside, two lone guards paraded up and down. Maxwell could make out their shadows through the window. Normally this house was full of staff, but tonight they had gathered on the grassy knolls surrounding the outdoor dining area and the open-air stage to watch the concert. The dogs – usually running wild in the grounds – were locked up because of the influx of people.

He had known this would be the perfect night.

Returning to Marcus’s study he began his work there.

Ten more minutes and he’d be finished.

Ten more minutes and he’d be rich.

*    *    *

‘How do I nail him, Hawkie?’ Cybil asked, squirming with pleasure as Kris finished his performance to tumultuous applause.

‘I beg your pardon?’ the Hawk asked, wishing she wouldn’t call him Hawkie.

‘Well, I know he’s got a girlfriend in England,’ Cybil said matter-of-factly. ‘And I guess-he must like her – a bit. But she’s old, you know, almost thirty.’

‘God forbid!’ the Hawk murmured sardonically. ‘When’s the funeral?’

Cybil giggled. ‘
You
know what I mean. I want him to marry me. How can I get him to do that?’

‘Force and torture.’

Dazzling everyone around her with a wide smile, she said, ‘You’re so
silly
, Hawkie, really you are!’

*    *    *

Tom was at the point of no return. Vicki had him straddled against the circular counter, his back to the bank of television monitors, his pants and undershorts twisted around his ankles. She was on her knees, squashing his erect penis between her magnificent breasts, and every time he felt he was about to climax she sensed it, and backed away, cooing, ‘be patient, big boy. We’ve waited so long, let’s not
rush
it.’

He was mesmerized by her thrusting, heaving, heavy tits. Nothing else mattered. Nothing in the whole wide world.

*    *    *

As soon as Kris came off stage he took control. He was good at that. After all, he’d been the driving force behind The Wild Ones for all those years – he knew how to get his own way.

‘We’ll take the golf cart back to the house, just the three of us,’ he decided, grabbing Bobby by one arm and Rafealla by the other. ‘Let’s have some fun for a change.’

‘Mr Phoenix,’ Norton St John said in his best concerned voice, ‘I have a table for you all to sit at while the speeches take place. And then there’s the auction, and I
know
Mrs Citroen wishes to introduce you to some of her more important guests. The Governor and his wife certainly want to thank you personally. And there is a French princess who has particularly requested an introduction.’

‘Must be the same little raver who’s bin tryin’ to give me one for the last six months,’ Kris said with a wink. ‘I think I’ll pass. Whadderya say – Bobby? Raf?’

‘I pass,’ said Bobby solemnly.

‘Me too!’ agreed Rafealla, enjoying herself for the first time in ages.

‘Really—’ objected Norton St John, now surrounded by an anxious Trudie and the two matching record executives.

‘We’re okay,’ Rafealla assured everyone, helping Kris assist Bobby onto the golf cart. ‘Go listen to the speeches, we’ll see you all later.’

‘It looks like we’re not needed, boys,’ commented Trudie dryly, wishing she were in Rafealla’s position.

‘Everyone aboard,’ yelled Kris. ‘Let’s hit it!’

The electric golf cart jerked into action, while a worried Norton said, ‘Are you sure you know the way?’

‘We’ll find it, that’s if we don’t drive over the cliff first,’ joked Kris cheerily.

*    *    *

Marcus paced around Rafealla’s room. He had instructed her to come straight back when she’d finished performing. Where was she? This was not good enough. Rafealla was going too far – she was testing his patience.

The first thing he would do, he decided, was to teach her a lesson. An unforgettable lesson, as only he knew how.

*    *    *

A flat tyre. No. This couldn’t be happening. No freakin’ way.

Speed zigzagged the large limousine over to the hard shoulder of the road and climbed out, cursing to himself.

Yes. It was a flat tyre all right. What the A-for-ass was going on? Did her majesty, the ditz – his ex-wife – have a doll made up in his image? Was she even now sticking pins in it and chanting little I’ll get you’ songs. Je . . .
sus
!

Springing the trunk he searched for the spare.

There wasn’t one.

The Scam

Saturday, July 11, 1987

Maxwell stuffed everything from Marcus Citroen’s safe into the bag. There were deeds and letters, photographs and other papers. He decided he would study them at his leisure – it would be interesting to see what he discovered.

There were also a lot of single, unset stones – diamonds, sapphires, rubies and emeralds – plus several expensive watches, men’s gold jewellery, and wads of cash.

Maxwell licked his lips. His mouth was dry. Glancing quickly at the television camera mounted on the ceiling he realized how foolish rich people were. They spent fortunes on security, and yet, if the person in charge was busy elsewhere, it all meant nothing.

Vicki was certainly keeping Tom the moron busy. She deserved a bonus.

Quietly shutting the safe, he signalled her, V for victory – playing directly to camera.

Now she would allow him two minutes to exit the room, and then she was in the clear. A job well done.

*    *    *

The Governor was speaking. Governor Jack Highland.

Nova watched him, but she wasn’t really listening, she was thinking about Marcus with that little tramp. How dare he pick her fund-raiser for his tryst. How dare he!

Governor Highland was an attractive man. He had the look. Honest, sincere, boyish – the Kennedy look.

Ah . . . a man like Jack Highland could change the world, and she, Nova Citroen, was helping to put him in position. Great power marked out his future. Everyone who mattered said so.

Watch out, Marcus, she thought, the day might come when I have someone even more influential than you to turn to.

*    *    *

‘Jesus H. Didja get a load of all those stuffed shirts?’ Kris asked, as the golf cart careened down a twisting path.

‘I think we’re going in the wrong direction,’ Rafealla pointed out.

‘Hey – they clapped pretty fine,’ Bobby yelled, gripping – the side of the cart for dear life.

‘You betcha, baby,’ Kris shouted gleefully. ‘I’d clap pretty fine too if I’d paid a hundred thousand big ones for fuck all.’

Pretending to be indignant, Rafealla said, ‘Thanks a lot!’

‘Nothin’ personal,’ Kris replied with a grin. ‘But c’mon sweetheart, let’s face it, it’s only rock ’n’ roll, ain’t it? No big deal.’

*    *    *

Tom let out an anguished groan. ‘I can’t hold it any longer,’ he gasped.

Vicki had been doing a slow countdown in-her head. Ten more seconds and she was free and clear. Maxwell was long gone from the TV monitor.

With a little sigh she pulled her left tit out of his mouth, gasping dramatically, ‘This isn’t right, you’re a married man. I don’t know what came over me.’

‘Huh?’ Tom said stupidly, staring in disbelief as she struggled into the top half of her dress, covering acres of paradise.

‘It’s just that deep down I’m a religious girl,’ she explained.

His erect penis drooped miserably.

Tears brimmed from her eyes. ‘What we were about to do is a sin. You’re
married
, Tom.’

As if he didn’t know.

She finished buttoning her dress, gazing at him tearfully. ‘I’m sorry. I know you must hate me. Oh, I’m so
sorrreeee
, Tom.’

Not half as sorry as he was. He had an ache in his groin the like of which he couldn’t recall.

Just suck me off an’ we can pretend it never happened,’ he said hopefully.

She looked at him in horror. ‘What kind of girl do you think I am?’

‘A prick-tease,’ he muttered angrily, full of frustration. ‘A first class blue-baller!’

*    *    *

Now came the tricky part. He’d cleaned out the safes, but Maxwell knew that getting the contents and himself off the estate was not going to be easy.

The black plastic sack was heavy as he carried it across the lawn to the comparative safety of the guest house. He slid through the kitchen door and headed straight upstairs to the unoccupied suite.

Just as he was about to enter, a harsh voice called out, ‘You!’

‘Yes?’ He turned around slowly, only to face Marcus Citroen. Jesus Christ! Marcus was supposed to be watching the performers and listening to the speeches along with everyone else.

‘What are you doing?’ Marcus asked.

‘Cleaning up, sir,’ he replied, without taking a beat.

‘Cleaning up what?’

‘Ashtrays, drinks, food. They want this house spotless before the artists return. Mrs Citroen’s orders.’ He indicated his badge. ‘I’m with Lilliane’s, sir. George Smith at your service.’

‘Okay, okay.’ Marcus waved him away impatiently, changed his mind and said, ‘You can do this room now.’