The Love Killers (12 page)

The memory had always remained with Angelo. And now Rio Java was in London, in his apartment, and he was just as horny as the day he'd delivered the package to Billy Express.

Rio stretched, touched a strap or two, and with a couple of deft moves her dress fell off. She wore nothing else except the hooker shoes and the purple wig. She was very thin, almost bony, almost flat-chested, with incredible black extended nipples. In underground movie circles her nipples were famous, having been photographed by Billy Express from every angle. In fact, her nipples were almost as famous as Andy Warhol's Campbell's soup can.

Angelo hurriedly stripped off his clothes, eager to keep up. Then he lowered the lights to a red glow and flicked on a Usher.

Rio's eyes swept over him, lingering on his most important asset. ‘Is that it?' she asked with an amused laugh.

Angelo grinned unsurely, not quite certain what she meant. She couldn't possibly mean he was underendowed. He had a good, solid hard-on. Usually he received nothing but admiring oohs and aahs, not short, derisive laughs.

‘Well now,
little
boy,' she said mockingly. ‘Where would you like to begin?'

Angelo approached her, silently wishing she would take her shoes off. Without the goddamn shoes they would be more or less the same height. As it was, the shoes gave her an advantage he didn't like. They made him feel small.

Rio moved her body in time to the music, parting her legs, swaying back and forth to the funky sounds of Usher.

‘Hey,' he said, ‘take your shoes off.'

‘Honey-pie, I
looove
my shoes,' she sighed in an exaggerated Southern accent. ‘They make me feel
reeal
big and mean. All the better to eat up naughty
little
boys like Angelo Bassalino.'

He gripped her by the waist.

‘Show me your stuff, super stud,' she drawled.

They moved together.

Rio sang along with Usher while Angelo's grip tightened and he managed to move her over to the bed. She was still singing as he pushed her back. ‘Get it on,' she chanted, ‘get it up—get it together—right on, baby.'

He mounted her, and before he knew what was happening she stretched her long legs straight out, trapping him inside her, and with one movement she twisted her pelvis up, and the pressure was so great, so incredibly tight, that he came at once.

She started to laugh, loud, mocking laughter. The whole thing had only taken a few seconds.

‘Hey, baby, baby,' she crooned. ‘What are you—a rabbit?'

She dissolved with more laughter while Angelo withdrew and tried to puzzle out what had happened. All he'd done was move inside her and that was it, a viselike grip on his manhood that pumped it all out of him in one fell swoop. Jesus! What was going on here?

Rio rolled across the bed. ‘How long's the intermission?' she complained, throwing off her purple wig and shaking her long, shiny black hair free.

To his credit, Angelo was hard again. He prided himself on his control, knowing he could go for hours if it was required. Mind over matter, that was the secret. And his mind had probably been dwelling on the first time he'd seen her.

He moved over her breasts with his tongue.

‘Let's fuck, baby,' she said briskly. ‘I'm here for action. We can worry about tongue jobs later.'

She rolled on her stomach and he entered her from behind. When he was good and in she drew her legs together and raised herself a few inches. Again there was that incredible sensation, a tightness so relentless he couldn't stop himself from coming. And it was a great come, a beautiful happening that no amount of mind over matter could stop.

‘Jesus!' she exclaimed angrily. ‘How long is it since you've been laid?'

Angelo was exhausted. He lay back on the bed in a daze, closing his eyes. Five minutes of sleep and he'd feel strong again.

James Brown sang ‘It's a Man's Man's World.'

Angelo slept.

Grinning to herself, Rio got up and slipped into her dress. It was a satisfying start.

Jamming on her wig, she danced around the room in her hooker shoes, humming softly to herself. Then in brown lipstick she wrote on the bathroom mirror:
HONEY, YOU GOTTA BE KIDDING!!

She let herself out without disturbing him.

Mary Ann August was delighted Enzio had decided to bring her to New York with him. She would never admit it—well, only to herself—but she found Miami tediously boring. It wasn't so much Miami, but the fact that she wasn't allowed out on her own, and that the people who came to the house were all old. And then of course there was the woman peering out of the window all the time. It was very unnerving to have a pair of crazed black eyes following you everywhere.

‘Who is it?' Mary Ann had asked in alarm when she'd first arrived.

‘Forget it,' Enzio had warned her. ‘Just ignore it, an'
never
let me catch your ass near that room. You understand me?'

Mary Ann knew enough not to question him any further, but that didn't stop her speaking to the maid who took meals into the room twice a day.

The maid was Italian and frightened to talk, but gradually Mary Ann pieced together the story. The woman was Enzio's wife. She was a mental case and never left her room.

Mary Ann was scared, however, as the weeks drifted into months she forgot about the crazy, ever-watchful eyes and pretended they weren't there. It was kind, she reflected, that Enzio let the old bag stay and had not shoved her into an institution.

Mary Ann planned to do lots of things in New York. She wanted to buy new clothes, see all the Broadway shows, and eat at the best restaurants.

Enzio had other ideas. Upon their arrival he shut her in the hotel suite and told her to stay there until he said otherwise.

They had arrived in the morning; now it was seven in the evening, and Mary Ann was bored, hungry, and fed up.

She sat pouting on the bed, legs crossed, china-blue eyes glued to a game show on the television.

At first she didn't hear the knock on the door, and she was quite startled when Alio Marcusi walked in.

‘Oh, it's you,' she said, her voice sulky. ‘Where's Enzio?'

Alio smiled. He had showered and put on his new blue suit. His few remaining hairs were plastered down with a shiny pomade.

Enzio had given him the word. Mary Ann August was out. There was a position for her in Los Angeles.

Enzio always allowed Alio a turn when he was finished with a girl. It had been that way for thirty years. Sometimes they objected. Those were the ones Alio liked best. At his age it was difficult getting it up under normal circumstances.

‘He won't be coming,' Alio said mildly. ‘I have a message for you, my dear.'

There were candles on the table at Frank Bassalino's house. His children, washed, scrubbed and clad in their best clothes, sat straight-backed at the table. Frank had given up his place at the head to his father and settled himself on Enzio's right. Anna Maria nervously faced her husband.

Nick was there, laughing and joking with the two younger children. He'd wanted to spend the evening with Lara, but Enzio had insisted he attend the dinner, and his father was not a man you argued with.

He'd arranged to meet Lara later. She hadn't minded, merely smiled and said, ‘I understand, Nick. Family is family.'

April would have ranted and raved for a week.

‘Hey,' Enzio roared. ‘Anna Maria makes the best spaghetti in town. You're a lucky man, Frank, you know that, huh?' He paused, belching loudly. ‘Of course,
I
could give her a few hints about the sauce. A little more garlic, stronger wine…'

Anna Maria giggled timidly.

Frank glanced at Beth. She had entered the room to assist the youngest child with his food. Her long hair was tied off her face, and she looked pale. He wondered how quickly Anna Maria would fall asleep tonight, and how long before he could be with Beth.

A nerve throbbed in his cheek. There would be business to discuss after dinner; it could turn out to be a lengthy evening.

After dessert and coffee Enzio sent Anna Maria and the children from the room. ‘Men's talk,' he explained with a wink, sipping from a small glass of Sambuca. Enzio continued to speak, his eyes fixed firmly on Frank. ‘It doesn't take long,' he said sourly, his good humor evaporating, ‘for the word to get around when you got no balls.'

‘What?' Frank jumped, feeling anger and frustration flood through his body.

‘In our business, somebody throws a hit on you, you shove it right back at 'em. You don't fuck around. No way.'

‘I've been lookin' to find out who's responsible,' Frank replied, his voice a surly mutter.

‘Fuck that!' Suddenly Enzio was screaming. ‘Who gives a shit 'bout who's to blame? What you do is pile some action on
all
the fuckers—you'll hit the dirt with one of 'em. Huh? Listen to an old man, Frankie boy—Don't let nobody shit on you. 'Cos if you do, we'll all end up under the pile.'

* * *

Lara prowled around her apartment like a stranger. She hated the draped paisley fabric ceiling, the matching walls, the small round table with a collection of interesting miniature boxes.

She loathed the exotic plants climbing up the antique-mirrored hall. She couldn't stand the zebra throw rugs, the brown leather couches.

Her apartment had been designed by a decorator; there were no personal touches. About the only place she felt at home was the bathroom. Here, among the rows of makeup, atomizers, and brushes, she could relax.

The apartment had been put together with a view to looking sensational in the fashion and beautiful-home magazines. And indeed it did. Lara had spent more time being photographed in it than living there.

She decided that when the whole business with Nick was over she would sell it. It was pointless to surround oneself with somebody else's idea of good taste.

When
would
the whole business with Nick be over? Wasn't it just beginning?

Sometimes she felt so confused. Was the revenge going to work? If April Crawford left Nick, was it going to affect him
that
much? And after she'd consoled him for a few weeks, when
she
dumped him, what then? Even if he was destroyed, how was that really going to punish Enzio Bassalino?

She gave a deep sigh. At the time Rio's revenge had sounded perfect. But now… well, she wasn't so sure anymore. Maybe Dukey was the one with the right ideas.

Slowly she dressed to meet Nick at Le Club. A black jersey snake of a dress with no back. A jeweled choker from Afghanistan. Bracelets of thin beaten silver halfway up her arm.

Tonight was the night. Take Mr. Nick Bassalino home to bed and keep him there until he read the morning gossip columns. The longer it took for him to call April the better.

Another sigh. Margaret wouldn't have approved of what they were trying to do. Margaret would have been ashamed of their resorting to sex to get what they wanted.

The phone rang. She picked it up.

‘Lara? Lara, is that you?' The anxious voice of Prince Alfredo Masserini.

‘Oh, Alfredo. How did you know I was here?'

‘I call you every day,' he said indignantly. ‘Every day I try. Every day no answer. How do you think I feel?'

‘I'm sorry. I had to fly out to the Coast. I just got back.' She wasn't sorry at all. The break was delightful.

‘Lara, Lara,' he whined, ‘you could have phoned me.'

‘I said I'm sorry,' she snapped.

‘Now I have you, so we forget it.' The prince sensibly realized arguing was not going to get him anywhere. ‘You want I come there?'

‘No.'

‘So you fly to me then. Tomorrow. I meet you at Rome airport, then together we go to Gstaad for the backgammon. Yes, my darling?'

‘No, Alfredo. I have business to finish.'

‘Ah, Lara, my beautiful. You make me very wild.'

‘Give me a few more days. I'll join you in Gstaad.'

‘How many days?'

‘Don't pin me down. Phone me tomorrow.'

She hung up quickly, ignoring the phone when it immediately began to ring again. Alfredo had been a spoiled Italian prince all his life; it would do him good to strike out for once.

Besides, she didn't want to be late for Nick.

Angelo called Rio ten times before he finally reached her.

‘Hey,' he said, ‘about the other night.'

‘No apologies,* Rio said with a deep, throaty laugh. ‘I understand, I'm a
veree
understanding lady.'

‘Maybe we can get together tonight?'

‘Honey, understanding I may be, only you and I don't swing at the same pace.'

‘Hey—the other night was a mistake,' he explained. That's not usually the way I am. I don't want to boast, but—'

She cut him short. ‘You're a sweet, horny little guy, and great for teenyboppers and cute little bunnies who want some fast—and I
do
mean fast—action. But sweetheart, you and I are in different leagues.'

Angelo felt his whole reputation was at stake. ‘I can explain about the other night. It was—'

She interrupted him again. ‘Yeah, baby, it certainly was.' And then she cut him off.

He threw the phone down in disgust. How dare that great big freak put him down like this? He wanted to see her, to prove his manhood. It was a slight to have her think of him as a sexual failure. Shit! He was a
great
fuck. Countless women could confirm that. He could go for hours. He had incredible control.

Picking up the phone, he dialed his married lady friend. ‘Come on over right now,' he commanded.

‘I can't, one of the children is sick,' the woman apologized.

He slammed the phone down. Was he losing his touch?