Vendetta: Lucky's Revenge (36 page)

“You weren’t seriously considering it?”

Venus laughed. “What do
you
think? And by the way, how come you’re with Alex Woods?”

“He’s…a friend.”

“Oh, c’mon, Lucky, it’s
me
you’re talking to. Alex is following you around with that look. You know the look I mean.”

“Let me ask you something?”

“What?”

“Am I an Alex Woods type?”

“Honey, you’re so cool, you’d be anybody’s type.”

They both laughed.

Alex walked over.

“Done,” Lucky said.

He smiled at Venus. “How are you?”

“Better since I heard the news.”

“Let’s keep it to ourselves. We’ll talk tomorrow.”

“I’ll have to put a muzzle on Johnny—he’s decided to defend my honor and get me the role.”

“Don’t tell him why.”

“Of course not.”

“And talking of muzzles,” Lucky said, “what do you plan on doing with him on the way home?”

“Not a damn thing,” Venus said, smiling. “Exactly
nada
!”

Abigaile did as Mickey asked, and had the maid set another place at the table. She hated it when things didn’t go the way she wanted them to. Her daughter looked like a refugee from a bad Madonna video; the Landsmans’ son was fat and unattractive; Lucky Santangelo was making everyone uncomfortable; and Mickey was behaving like a horny schoolboy, lusting after Venus as if he’d never seen a pair of tits before.

However, Abigaile refused to let anything ruin her perfect evening. Putting on a proper smile, she clapped her hands together. “Dinner is served, everyone,” she trilled. “Shall we make our way into the dining room?”

HER NAME WAS CLAUDIA, AND AS FAR AS LENNIE
was concerned, she was an angel. She’d given him back the will to live, and that meant everything, it gave him hope that there
was
a future.

He’d found out he was in Sicily. How he’d gotten there or why was still a mystery. Claudia had told him everything she knew. She’d discovered that her father, Furio, and his friend Bruno were being paid to keep him in the cave. Someone in America had hired them to do so; she suspected it was Bruno’s sister.

“Who’s she?” he’d asked.

Claudia said she was a very rich woman who lived in Los Angeles. As far as Claudia knew, nobody was aware of his existence except Bruno and Furio. Recently Bruno had been involved in a car accident and was in the hospital with a broken leg. Furio was away from the village on business, which was why she’d been entrusted to bring him food.

Claudia was twenty-one, and worked as a seam-stress in a neighboring village. She’d learned English at school, and lived at home with her five brothers and sisters.

“My father…he trusts me,” she said in broken
English. “He no trust others. Now I hear your story…I am not sure what I think.”

Several hours after capturing her that first day, Lennie had been forced to let her go—but only after they’d talked for a long while. He’d tried to explain to her who he was, that he’d been kidnapped, and exactly who she should contact in America. He’d even given her Lucky’s number to call.

“Not possible,” she’d said.

“Why?” he’d demanded.

“Not possible,” she’d repeated.

Before she’d left the cave he’d made her promise to return, to help him. “You
have
to find a way to get this chain off my ankle. You must, Claudia, otherwise they’re going to let me die here.”

She’d returned the next day with two cigarettes, an apple, and a box of matches. Precious treasures.

Now she visited him every day, bringing whatever she could and talking to him. He learned about her life in the tiny village where there was not even a movie theater; her boyfriend—whom her father hated; and her abusive older brother, whom—according to her—everybody hated.

“You’ve got to get to a phone,” he begged her. “Summon help…”

“No,” she refused, shaking her head. “My papa would know it was me. I must help you my way.”

“When’s that going to be?” he said roughly. “I’m going insane trapped here.”

“Be patient, Lennie. I will help you. That is my promise.”

“When, Claudia,
when
?”

“One day I want to go to America,” she said, her eyes shining at the thought.

“Help me, and you will,” Lennie assured her.

The next day she brought him a crudely drawn map.

“When I get the key, I bring it. You leave immediately.
I replace key before papa finds it missing. You follow map.”

“Why can’t you lead me out of here?”

“No.” She shook her head, her long hair swirling around her beautiful, innocent face. “I go to my village. You travel other way. They come after you.”

“When can we do this?”

“On the weekend my papa drinks beer…he sleeps. I try to get key.”

Only a few more days. He couldn’t believe it.

Only a few more days and maybe he’d be free.

AS THE GUESTS TROOPED INTO THE STOLLIS
’
dining room, Mickey grabbed Abigaile. “I’ve handled it,” he said, pleased with himself. “Gave that Santo kid a hundred bucks and told him to take Tabitha out to a movie and get a hamburger.”

Abigaile frowned. “What will Donna say?”

“Who gives a shit? If you think my daughter’s sitting at our dinner table dressed like that, think again.”

“Was Santo all right with this?”

“He took the money, didn’t he?”

“If you say so,” Abigaile said with a put-upon sigh. “I’d better remove their places.”

“I’ve already had the maid do it.”

“Thank you, Mickey.”

He winked. “I deliver in a squeeze.”

“Yes, you do,” Abigaile agreed, nodding. It was quite possible that Mickey was right, with Tabitha out of the way she’d be more relaxed, although tonight’s gathering was not her ideal group.

She considered her seating plan. She’d placed herself between Cooper and Johnny Romano—the best seat in the house; Mickey was flanked by Leslie and Donna Landsman; she’d squeezed Lucky in between Venus and
Alex, placing Tin Lee on his other side—let’s see how he’d deal with
that
; George was next to Tin Lee; and on the other side of Leslie was Jeff, then Veronica.

All in all, she thought she’d done a masterful job. Seating was never easy, but Abigaile liked to think she excelled.

Alex took Lucky’s arm as they entered the dining room, Tin Lee trailing behind them.

“I don’t want to be here,” Lucky whispered. “Not one little bit.”

“You’re here—accept it,” Alex said.

“Nobody forces me to do anything I don’t want to.”

“This is a favor for me,” he said persuasively. “After all—I went with you to see Ricco.”

“Nobody had a gun to your dick,” she said flippantly. “You
wanted
to.”

He steered her in another direction. “How are you planning on dealing with that situation?”

“Maybe I’ll fly to Paris,” she said casually. “And
no
, Alex, you can’t come with me. This will be a solo trip.”

“You’d fly all that way on spec?”

“Not on spec. I’ve already called Boogie, he’s put people on the case.”

“And Boogie is…?”

“My private investigator. He’s a pretty sharp guy—he can find out anything about anybody.”

“You employ your own private investigator?”

“I have to meet this woman face-to-face. We all know money can buy most things—I’m positive it can buy her.”

“Why not wait until your man has some credible information?”

“I have to do this now.”

“You’re
very
impulsive.”

“Look at her,” Lucky said, nodding scornfully toward Donna as she entered the dining room. “I remember when Santino had her shipped in from Sicily. She was a peasant who couldn’t speak a word of English. Do you know that I went to their wedding?”

“Whatever else, you have to admire what she’s achieved.”

“Fuck you, Alex!” Lucky said, turning on him. “She’s a murderer. I don’t admire anything about her, and neither should you.”

“I didn’t mean—”

“I don’t care
what
you meant. Go look after your girlfriend, she’s feeling neglected.”

Mickey caught up with Lucky before she sat down at the dinner table. “You got a lotta balls coming here,” he said, his voice low and rough-edged.

Lucky stared at him. “Wasn’t it Abigaile who used to go around wearing yours for earrings?”

“Once a cunt, always a cunt.”

“Hey—throw me out,” she challenged. “It’ll make for good dinner conversation.”

“I wish I could,” he said hoarsely.

Her black eyes narrowed. “You think I
want
to be here? I promise you, Mickey, I’m only staying to piss you off.”

Tabitha and Santo sat in Tabitha’s BMW, with the engine running, outside the Stollis’.

“I hate my freaking parents,” Tabitha said glumly.

“I hate mine, too,” Santo agreed.

She bit at a hangnail. “At least we’ve got
something
in common.”

“Your dad gave me a hundred bucks—like I need
his
money—I got plenty of my own.”

“I have to drive this boring car ’cause
Mommy
thinks it’s
safe
,” Tabitha sneered. “What do you drive?”

“I’m getting a Ferrari,” he boasted.

“Not bad.”

“My mother buys me anything I want ’cause she feels guilty.”

“About what?”

“That she married this dweeb George after my father was murdered.”

Finally
he had her attention. “Really, honestly—murdered?” she said excitedly. “Like,
how
?”

“Shot,” he said, knowing he sounded real cool.

“Like,
ambushed
?”

“No. The cops said he was molesting some kids. One of them put a bullet through him.”

“
That’s
a weirdo story.”

“It’s not true.”

“So, like, what
is
the truth?”

“It had something to do with my mother catching my dad with another woman.”

“Who shot him? Your mom?”

“I wouldn’t be surprised. They were always screaming at each other. Yeah…I think the old cow could’ve done it.”

“Wow!” said Tabitha, completely impressed.

“Did you see what my mother looks like?”

“Like every other Hollywood old bag—a face full of plastic.”

“She used to be fat.”

“Like you?”

“Bag the insults.”

“You could work out. Look at me, I’m real skinny ’cause I throw up a lot. I’ll teach you how t’do that if you like. It’s pretty gross at first. After a while you get used to it.”

“As soon as she got rid of my dad, she made herself
real thin and stuff. Then she married the geek. I hate ’em both.”

“Don’t blame you,” Tabitha said, shifting restlessly.

“We could go to my house and pick up my Corvette,” Santo suggested, trying to hold her attention.

“You got more dope there?” she asked hopefully.

He nodded.

“What are we waiting for?”

“Weren’t we supposed to go to a movie?”

Tabitha threw him a scornful look. “Get a life, Santo. We’ll smoke a little weed, then come back later. They don’t give a crap
what
we do.”

“And so,” Veronica said, guttural voice too loud for the table, “there I was on the runway in Paris wearing nothing but a bra and panties, and this Japanese dignitary is staring at my crotch when I tripped and fell right into his lap. I nearly crushed the poor little man.”

Jeff roared with laughter. Cooper smiled politely. Veronica’s harsh voice was starting to drive him completely crazy.

He glanced across the table at Venus. She was busy talking to Lucky. He tried to attract her attention. She refused to acknowledge him. What a fool he’d been to cheat on someone as loyal as Venus. He missed her desperately and would do anything to win her back.

Leaning past George and ignoring Tin Lee, Donna said to Alex, “I’m delighted we’re making your movie at my studio.”

Alex gave her a stony look, wondering if everything Lucky suspected was true. “Where are you from originally?” he asked.

“Italy,” Donna replied. “Why?”

“I thought I detected a slight accent.”

“No,” she said fiercely, “I have no accent.”

George interjected, “Your
parents
are from Italy, Donna.
You
were born in America.”

“Yes, that’s right, I was,” she lied.

“Really?” said Lucky, who had the uncanny ability to tune in to several conversations at once. “What part of Italy were
they
from?”

“Milan,” Donna lied.

Lucky fixed her with a steely look. “My grandparents came from Bari. The Santangelos.” A meaningful pause. “Perhaps you’ve heard of them?”

“No,” Donna muttered, furious that she had to put up with this. She loathed being out of control, sitting with these Hollywood people who thought they were better than everyone else. She especially loathed having to deal with Lucky Santangelo face-to-face. This was
not
part of her plan.

It seemed Lucky Santangelo was indestructible. What else could she possibly do to bring the bitch to her knees?

Donna began considering the possibilities.

LUCKY LEFT THE TABLE ON THE PRETEXT OF
visiting the ladies’ room. Once she was out of the dining room, she walked through the front door, gave the valet parker twenty bucks to drop her at the nearby Beverly Hills Hotel, and from there took a cab back to her house.

She knew she should have told Alex she was leaving; she also knew he would have insisted she stay, and she was not in the mood. Sitting in the same room as Donna Landsman was sickening, breathing the same air was beginning to stifle her.

Donna Landsman had killed Lennie.

She didn’t deserve to live.

Earlier, when she’d spoken to Boogie, he’d told her he had news on the shareholders. She’d arranged to meet him later, at her house.

Driving down the highway, she found herself thinking about Alex. He was interesting and talented and attractive and a challenge. The more time she spent with him, the more she felt herself being sucked in.

It was no good, she was not ready for an involvement.

She wondered what her children were doing. It broke her heart that they’d never see Lennie again. Even
though she knew it was safer for them to be out of the country, she couldn’t help missing them. Kids were so resilient, they got through every day no matter what. They were probably having a wonderful time.

Back at the house, the guard waved to her as the car drove up to the garage.

Boogie was already there, sitting in the kitchen watching CNN. He clicked off the TV and jumped up when she walked in.

“Let’s go in the living room,” she said, impatient to hear what he had to say.

They sat on the couch and Boogie started talking. “It’s taken a while,” he said, “but we finally discovered who Mrs. Smorg is.”

“Yes?” Lucky said, tapping her fingers on the coffee table.

Boogie’s long face was impassive. “Inga Smorg—alias Inga Irving—is currently Mrs. Abe Panther.”

Lucky was shocked. Inga. Abe’s wife. This was a big surprise.

Abe would have a fit if he found out Inga had helped oust her. She must have bought the stock as an insurance policy behind Abe’s back. The stoic Swede had always been jealous of Lucky’s closeness with Abe, so when the opportunity arose to vote, Inga had elected not to support her.

“What about Conquest Investments?” she asked, reaching for a cigarette from a pack on the table, her addiction totally out of control.

“Another of Mrs. Smorg’s little secrets,” Boogie said. “She and Morton Sharkey are in partnership. Conquest belongs to them—fifty-fifty.”

“Are you telling me they control an offshore company together? One that Abe doesn’t know about?”

“That’s right. She operates under the same name that was on her passport before she married Abe.”

“So,” Lucky said thoughtfully, “if I can get Inga
and
Morton to vote in my favor, I’ll have enough stock to regain control?”

“That’s the way it is.”

“This is easy, Boogie. All I have to do is tell Abe what’s going on.”

“Be careful, Lucky—Abe’s an old man. You don’t want to get him excited.”

“I’ll speak to Inga first. Maybe the
threat
of my telling Abe she owns stock in Panther will be enough to make her change her mind.” She stood up and walked over to the window. “Okay, now fill me in on the blond in Paris.”

“Her name’s Daniella Dion. She’s a very expensive call girl who works for an infamous French madam, Madame Pomeranz—a woman known for supplying beautiful girls to politicians and visiting VIPs.”

“That figures.”

“Daniella is a real pro. She’s been doing this since she was fifteen—eight years. For a while, until he died, she was the mistress of an octogenarian industrialist. He left her money—the wife contested his will, Daniella ended up with nothing—and she went back into the business two years ago.”

“When can I see her?”

“For twenty thousand dollars a day and all expenses, she’ll fly to Los Angeles for an ‘appointment.’”

“Arrange it.”

“I already have. She’ll be here in two days. She’s under the impression a friend is buying her time as a birthday present for Johnny Romano.”

“
Very
inventive, Boog.”

“I had to make sure she came.”

Lucky laughed dryly. “For twenty thou a day, it’s hardly likely she’d hang back. That’s the most expensive fuck I’ve ever heard of.”

“There’re women who go for higher,” Boogie said knowledgeably.

Lucky blew a stream of smoke toward the ceiling. “Since when did you become an expert?”

Nona and Brigette sat in their hotel room debating whether to hire a car, drive over to Lucky’s and surprise her, or telephone first.

“I vote we phone,” Brigette said. “It’s too late to go running over there.”

The truth was, she was reluctant to tell Lucky her story. She felt embarrassed and foolish, and, quite frankly, she didn’t know how Lucky
could
deal with it.

Nona handed her the phone. “Go ahead,” she urged. “I bet she’s up.”

Reluctantly, she dialed Lucky’s number. “Guess where I am?” she said brightly when Lucky came to the phone.

“Here?”

“How did you know?”

“Because when somebody says, ‘Guess where I am,’ you can guarantee they’re around the corner. What are you doing here?”

“Uh…I had to come out for a modeling assignment. I’m staying at the Hilton with Nona.”

“Why are you at a hotel when you could’ve stayed here?”

“We didn’t want to bother you. Anyway, your house, with the kids and everything, is full.”

“The children are in Europe with Bobby.”

“I didn’t know that.”

“Perhaps if you kept in touch, you would.”

“Lucky, um…Nona and I were thinking—can we have lunch tomorrow?”

“This is not the greatest time for me. How about dinner at the house tomorrow night?”

“Sure.”

“And if you change your mind,” Lucky added, “come stay. Spend the weekend.”

“We kind of, like, only came for a day.”

“I’ll send a car. It’ll be outside your hotel at five-thirty.”

“Don’t use my real name. Brigette Brown’s my name now.”

“I understand,” Lucky said, wondering why Brigette sounded so edgy. “See you tomorrow, sweetheart.”

“She wanted us to stay with her,” Brigette said, hanging up the phone.

“Why didn’t you say yes?” Nona said. “We could have spent tomorrow at the beach.”

“I thought we’d go shopping, drop some money.”

“Oh, Brigette, Brigette—what am I gonna do with you?”

“Shopping is therapy, Nona.”

“Sure.”

“Should I phone Isaac?” Brigette asked, feeling better now that she’d spoken to Lucky. “He’ll be wondering what’s happened to me.”

“Why would you want to be with a guy who’s only interested in getting high?”

“What’s wrong with that?”

“You’re at the start of a big career. Don’t mess it up.”

“You sound like my
mother
.”

“Oh, great. Just ’cause I’m trying to be the sensible one around here.”

“No. You’re right. My mother would never say anything like that. She’d be too busy out screwing rock stars.”

“We all know you didn’t have a normal childhood,” Nona said, and sighed. “Neither did I.”

“I guess if we can survive our parents we’re pretty fortunate, right?” Brigette said.

“Right,” Nona agreed. “Let’s go to bed.”

“Bed?” Brigette exclaimed. “It’s only eleven-fifteen.”

“Brigette—”

“Okay, okay.”

Alex watched the door, waiting for Lucky to reappear. After five minutes, he knew she wasn’t coming back. “Excuse me,” he said, getting up from the table. He walked outside, found a waiter, and said, “Where’s Miss Santangelo?”

“Don’t know, Mr. Woods.”

He went to the front door and asked a valet parker, “Did Miss Santangelo leave? Did she take my car?”

“No, Mr. Woods, she ordered a cab.”

He had half a mind to make a quick exit, but Abigaile and Mickey would never forgive him, not to mention Tin Lee, who was sitting beside him with a frozen smile on her face. God, how had he gotten himself into this position?

Lucky did what she wanted to do. He’d been like that once. Now he was a typical Hollywood player, toeing the line so he could get his fucking movie made, and Lucky had run out on him yet again.

He returned to the dining room. “Abigaile,” he said, “Lucky wasn’t feeling well, she went home.”

Abigaile exchanged a look with Mickey.

Donna smiled, bitterly triumphant. She’d won. She’d driven the bitch away.

Now all she had to do was figure out how to get rid of her permanently.