Vendetta: Lucky's Revenge (41 page)

“SO,” BRIGETTE SAID, NERVOUSLY PULLING AT HER
hair. “That’s the story. I’m sorry, I don’t know how I get caught up in these things…” She bit her lip, anxiously awaiting Lucky’s reaction.

Lucky stood up from the outdoor table where they were finishing dinner. “There’s no need for you to apologize,” she said soothingly. “You’ve been very unfortunate. Not all men are like Santino Bonnatti and Michel Guy. Although you do seem to have a way of attracting the worst elements.”

“Michel seemed so nice,” Brigette said miserably. “I mean, I
trusted
him. He was older and gentle, and…maybe I even encouraged him.”

“He took advantage of you, Brigette,” Lucky said vehemently. “Any man who ties a woman up and forces her to have sex against her will with another woman…well, this is definitely a bad guy.”

“I tried to warn her,” Nona said, joining in. “Although I had no idea he was such a sicko.”

“And Robertson…did she go along with it?” Lucky asked.

Brigette shrugged. “He told her what to do and she did it. I guess she was stoned.”

“Yeah,” Nona agreed. “A lot of those models think of nothing else except getting stoned and laid. It’s all one big kick.”

“It might be a kick,” Lucky said curtly, “but Michel Guy’s not getting away with it, I can promise you that.”

“I told you,” Nona said, shooting Brigette a triumphant look.

“What’ll you do?” Brigette asked.

“I’ll make time to visit Mr. Guy in New York.”

“He’ll deny it,” Brigette said. “He’ll say I encouraged him—I know he will.”

“Who do
you
think I’ll believe?” Lucky asked softly. “You or him?”

“Me?” Brigette said in a small voice.

“Of course, you, sweetheart.”

Brigette jumped to her feet and hugged Lucky. “Thank you,” she said. “You’re the best!”

“Y’know, if Lennie were alive, he’d break this Michel prick’s balls,” Lucky said.

“I miss Lennie so much,” Brigette murmured sadly. “I miss him every day.”

Lucky nodded, her eyes misting over. “So do I,” she said quietly. “We all do.”

Early the next morning Lucky chartered a plane and flew to New York.

She’d instructed Brigette and Nona to stay at her house in L.A. until she got back, which, if all went according to plan, would be later that same day. Daniella Dion was coming to town, and she was next on Lucky’s list of people to deal with.

In the meantime, her personal lawyer was finalizing the details of getting her studio back.

Morton had called late last night, sounding panicked.
“What if Donna Landsman shows the tape to my wife?” he’d asked. “How can I stop her?”

“That’s something you’ll have to work out with Donna,” she’d replied, not really concerned with his problems after what he’d done to her.

“Jesus, Lucky, if this gets out, I’ll be ruined.”

“You should have come to me in the first place,” she’d said, in a way, feeling sorry for him. “I could’ve taken care of it.”

“I made a mistake,” he’d said miserably.

Big mistake, Morton
.

Today she felt invigorated, invincible. Sometimes the power within her was so strong she was convinced she could do anything.

The plane came in for a smooth landing. There was a car at the airport to meet her. The driver took the freeway to the city, riding the potholed streets to the center of Manhattan where Michel Guy’s office was located. Lucky marched in without an appointment, bypassing two secretaries.

“You can’t see Mr. Guy without arranging it first,” one of the flustered secretaries said, dashing after her.

“Let me correct you,” Lucky said. “I can do whatever the hell I like.”

Michel Guy was sitting in his office, legs propped on his desk, smoking a big fat Havana cigar.

Lucky took him completely by surprise. His legs came off the desk, the cigar came out of his mouth, and he said a startled, “
Oui?
What can I do for you?”

“Do you know who I am?” Lucky said, staring him down.

He stared back at her. She certainly wasn’t a model, but she was an extremely beautiful woman with a vaguely familiar face. “No,” he said at last. “Should I?”

“Maybe you’ll recognize my name—Lucky Santangelo?”

Ah—now he knew exactly who she was, he’d recently read an interview with her in
Newstime
. “You own a studio in Hollywood,” he said, wondering what the hell she was doing in his office. “How can I help you?”

“I thought you might be interested to know the identity of my stepdaughter.”

“Your stepdaughter,” he said blankly.

The secretary stood by the door, glaring at Lucky.

“Okay, Monica, you can leave us,” Michel said, waving her away.

Lucky sat down uninvited and lit a cigarette. “It seems she didn’t tell you.”

“Who didn’t tell me what?” Michel said, irritated and intrigued at the same time.

Lucky’s voice was suddenly cold and hard as she stood up and leaned over his desk. “You know something, Michel? You’re a mean fuckhead with a small dick.”

“Excuse me,” he said, becoming alarmed at her behavior.

“
Schifoso
. You know what that means in English?”

“I’m French,” he said.

“Piece of filthy garbage,” she said, blowing smoke in his face. “
That’s
what it means.”

“What do you want?” he said, deciding he’d better summon help.

“I want to tell you a little story,” Lucky said, sitting down again. “Pay attention, Michel—it’s short and simple.”

This intrusion had gone on long enough. “I’m busy right now,” he said. “I suggest you make an appointment and come back another time.”

“I built hotels in Vegas—two of them,” she said, ignoring his request. “During construction, one of my investors balked at putting up the balance of the money
he owed—even though we had a firm agreement. That night I broke into his apartment with a couple of friends to assist me in case he was foolish enough to get out of line. He awoke to find a nice, sharp knife poised at the base of his penis.” A long, meaningful pause. “Now…what do
you
think he did?”

“I don’t know,” Michel said, realizing she was totally crazy.

“He put up the money, plus, of course,
he
kept his precious cock and
I
kept my hotel.” A short silence. “In the end, everyone was happy.”

He stood up, one eye on the door. “What do you want from me?”

“My stepdaughter’s name is Brigette Stanislopoulos. Perhaps you know her better as Brigette Brown.”

The color drained from his face. “Oh,” he said blankly. “I had no idea who she was.”

“I bet you didn’t. I bet you thought she was some little girl you could fuck with. Blackmail, perhaps? Use as your toy?” Her voice cut into him like a knife. “She’s only nineteen, Michel. Aren’t you ashamed of yourself?”

He’d read all about Lucky Santangelo. She was powerful. She had connections. He didn’t want to find himself on a plane back to Paris with his balls in his mouth.

“I’m telling you,” he said, speaking fast. “I had no idea. When that woman asked me to get the pictures…”

“
What
woman?” Lucky asked, knowing exactly who he meant.

“She paid me a fortune,” Michel said, his words tumbling over each other. “If I’d known Brigette was related to you, I’d never have done it.”

“
What woman?
” Lucky repeated icily.

“Donna Landsman. She paid me to get compromising pictures of Brigette. I…I feel bad.”

“Really? Bad, huh?” Lucky said calmly, picking up an
ivory-handled magnifying glass from his. desk. “You see this, you fucking pervert,” she said, her tone changing. “I should shove this right up your French ass, because that’s exactly what you deserve. But instead, you and I are going to get the pictures.”

“I sent them to Mrs. Landsman,” he said quickly.

“I’m sure you kept the negatives and a set for yourself.”

“No.”

She turned the magnifying glass in her hands, examining the sturdy ivory handle. “Were you listening to the story I just told you? I can promise you, Michel—a knife at your cock is
nothing
compared to what I have planned for you if I don’t get everything immediately. So let’s go to your apartment, or wherever you have them. And let’s not waste any more time.
Capisce?
”

The look in her deadly black eyes convinced him to do exactly as she said.

Lucky didn’t linger; she was on her way back to L.A. as soon as she’d obtained the photos
and
negatives from Michel Guy. She’d also made him sign a letter relinquishing all rights as Brigette’s agent.

“Believe me, Michel,” Lucky had told him. “You’re getting off easy.”

He believed her. Fucking with Lucky would be a big mistake, and Michel was too smart to make that kind of mistake.

Boogie met her at LAX. They drove in silence to her house. Brigette was asleep when she got there. Lucky slipped the envelope containing the incriminating photos and negatives under her door, then she went to bed herself.

In the morning she awoke early and switched on the TV, watching while she dressed.

Morton Sharkey and Sara Durbon were on the morning news.

At eleven
P.M.
the previous evening, he’d blown both their brains out.

THE NEWS OF MORTON SHARKEY’S DEMISE WAS A
big shock to Lucky, she hadn’t realized he was in such an unbalanced state. According to the police report, Morton had walked in on Sara when she was preparing to split for Vegas. They’d had a big fight, overheard by the woman in the next apartment. The fight had culminated in two gunshots. The neighbor had called the police. Before they could get there, Sara’s girlfriend had arrived to fetch her, and discovered the bodies. She’d run screaming from the building.

Lucky felt sad, because whatever Morton had done, he didn’t deserve to die for it. It was especially tragic that he’d taken Sara with him—poor little Sara, who’d only wanted to eat hamburgers and make money.

Lucky immediately tried to contact Morton’s wife. Candice was too distraught to come to the phone. Instead, Lucky spoke to his daughter, who accepted her condolences.

There was only one person to blame for his death—Donna Landsman.

Lucky realized she must get hold of Donna’s set of photographs of Brigette, and also the incriminating tape of Morton with Sara. At least let the man rest with
dignity. He’d had the decency to transfer his shares back to her, and her lawyer assured her that everything would be cleared with Inga by the end of the day. Tomorrow, Panther would be hers again.

Through Kyoko’s studio connection she found out Mickey Stolli’s movements for the next day. He was lunching with Freddie Leon at the Palm.

“As soon as he leaves the studio,” Lucky instructed Boogie, “arrange to have his furniture cleared out, and mine put back in. When he returns from lunch, I’ll be waiting to greet him. Make sure Donna Landsman is there, too.”

Boogie nodded. “There shouldn’t be a problem.”

Brigette was ecstatic when she’d found the photographs under her door. “I promise I’ll
never
do anything to make you ashamed of me again,” she said fervently. “I’m going to do nothing but work, work, work; you’ll be really proud of me.”

“It wasn’t your fault,” Lucky said. “Don’t ever think it was.”

“Did you, uh…look at the photos?” Brigette asked, embarrassed.

“No,” Lucky lied. She’d had to check them out to make sure they were the right ones; she didn’t mention that there was another set. Boogie was already arranging for a professional safecracker to stage a raid on Donna’s house.

“What did Michel
say
?” Brigette asked.

“Forget about that lowlife,” Lucky replied. “The good news is that your contract with him is null and void, he collects no commissions on the jeans deal, and I’m setting you up with another top agency.”

“Thanks, Lucky,” Brigette said, relieved and happy. “Nobody could have done it but you.”

Later in the day Lucky called Johnny Romano. “Have you got ten minutes if I drop by?”

“For you—baby—anything.”

She drove over to his house, a neoclassic mansion in Bel Air with more marble than a mausoleum. A stunning black girl, dressed in a tight white suit and extremely high stiletto heels, led her into the games room where Johnny was playing pool with a couple of gofers. He greeted her with a hug and a kiss.

“I need a favor,” she said. “It’s kind of a weird one…”

“Nothing’s too weird for me,” Johnny said, leading her over to a futuristic pinball machine.

“Well…” she said, watching Johnny play with his new toy. “There’s this very expensive French call girl…”

“Tell me more,” he said, intrigued.

“She’s flying to L.A. from Paris because she’s under the impression she’s been bought as a birthday gift for you.”

He laughed. “For me?”

“That’s right.”

“Baby—it ain’t even my birthday!”

“I know that.”

His sleepy eyes lit up. “Is this some kind of kinky sex thing you’re into? ’Cause if it is, y’know I’m into it, too.”

“It’s more complicated than that—it’s to do with Lennie,” she said, proceeding to tell him of her suspicions. “While you’re with her, I’ll be in the other room with a listening device.”

“Detective work,” he said, nodding to himself. “I like it! When we do this?”

“She’s arriving tonight, I’ve booked her into a bungalow at the Beverly Hills Hotel. Boogie will pick her up at the airport and take her straight there. Will you do it for me?”

“Baby, you can count on Johnny Romano—he’s your man!”

The immigration officer eyed the delectable blond in the Chanel suit reeking of some incredible, exotic scent, and decided she was worth his full attention.

“How long do you plan on staying in America?” he asked, eyes dropping to her rounded breasts with the prominent nipples straining the material of her blouse.

“Maybe a few days,” Daniella Dion said vaguely.

“Is your trip business or pleasure?” he inquired, craning over his desk to get a better look at her sensational legs, showcased in an extremely short skirt.

“A little bit of both.”

“And what business are you in?”

“Lingerie,” she said.

“Lingerie,” he repeated, his throat suddenly dry.

“That’s right,” she said with a small, provocative smile.

He stamped her passport and reluctantly watched her step away from his desk. He couldn’t wait to get home and make love to his overweight wife, this blond definitely had him revved.

Daniella sauntered through customs and located the driver standing outside with her name printed on a large white card.

“Please follow me, Miss Dion,” Boogie said politely, taking her carry-on bag. “Is this your only luggage?”

She nodded.

“Then we can go straight to the car,” he said, leading her down the escalator and through the doors to where the limousine was parked.

Holding open the back door, he watched her slide onto the shiny leather seat. She was spectacular. Even Boogie was impressed.

He got behind the wheel of the limo and took off. “We’ll go straight to the Beverly Hills Hotel,” he said, keeping an eye on her in the rearview mirror. “Unless you wish to stop somewhere first?”

“No,” she said. “You may take me to the hotel directly.”

“There’s Evian, Scotch, or vodka in the back. Please help yourself.”

“Nothing, thank you.”

“Your first trip to L.A.?” he asked conversationally.

“I’m tired,” she said, a touch petulantly. “I don’t wish to talk. Please close the partition.”

He shut the dark-glass partition and called Lucky at the hotel. “We’re on our way,” he said.

“Hey, baby—I want you to know I broke a date to accommodate you tonight,” Johnny said, prowling around the luxurious bungalow at the Beverly Hills Hotel.

“So, I owe you one,” Lucky said. “After I get the studio back, you can come to me with any script you want to make, and we’re in business. That’s a promise.”

“You don’t owe me anythin’, Lucky. You’re the one who turned my career around.”

“You’d have worked it out eventually.”

“Yeah, but you
made
me change.”

“No. All I did was make you realize the smart way. Why do you think Clint Eastwood has lasted all these years? And Robert Redford? They won’t play guys who beat up on women. They’re the hero everybody loves; I knew you could be that guy, too. And now you are.”

“You bet your fine ass,” he said, grinning.

His sexism didn’t bother her, she was used to Johnny, he reminded her of a boisterous puppy.

“Can we go over the questions again?” she asked.

“Go ahead, baby,” Johnny said.

“Okay. When you’ve got her in bed, you say, ‘I know about you and Lennie in Corsica.’ Then she’ll probably say, ‘What are you talking about?’ Then
you
say, ‘You were paid to set him up.’”

“And after that?”

“Well, you’ll have her naked in bed—vulnerable—in a strange country. I guess, depending on what
she
says, I’ll come into the room and ask her myself.”

“Hey, Lucky,” he said, grinning slyly. “You’re payin’ all this money—you want I should do the deed?”

“Whatever turns you on.”

He shook his head and laughed. “I never paid for pussy, an’ baby—I
ain’t
startin’ now.”

“Let me remind you,
I’m
paying, and she’s
very
expensive. Maybe you
should
get our money’s worth.”

“There’s not a condom big enough for me to stick Romano—the magic eye—into a hooker.”

Romano—the magic eye! Was he kidding! “Very delicately put,” she said, trying to keep from laughing.

“Just tellin’ you the way it is.”

“Okay,” Lucky said, hoping Johnny could handle it. “Just remember—she’s
your
birthday present; when I’ve got my answers, you can do whatever you like.”

Daniella sat in the back of the limo, blankly gazing out of the window. She wasn’t fond of traveling and the plane journey had been long and tiring, although she should be used to long hours on a plane because her business often took her out of Paris. One of her regular clients was a Saudi prince who paid an enormous amount of money for her to visit him at his palace in Saudi Arabia once a month; another client was an Indian maharaja who sent for her to come to Bombay several times a year; then there was the Australian media king who summoned her to Sydney twice a year to entertain him and his wife on their birthdays.

She’d made up her mind that the day her bank balance reached a certain level, she would quit altogether
and vanish. She’d take her small daughter and buy a quaint old farmhouse in Tuscany where they could live in peace.

Daniella didn’t care if she never saw another man again. They were animals, all of them. They paid for sex and then imagined they owned her. Stupid fools. They never owned her, they merely borrowed her body for the time it took.

She opened her purse, removed an elaborate solid-gold compact—a gift from the prince—and inspected her face.
I am beautiful
, she thought,
but is that all they see?

Yes
, she told herself,
that’s all they see
.

She took a Valium from her purse, and popped it in her mouth, washing it down with a bottle of Evian. Then she reached beneath her blouse, touching her breasts with the tips of her fingers, twisting her nipples until they began to harden.

As soon as she’d aroused herself, she reached under her skirt, parted her legs, and methodically began rubbing her pussy.

She was so practiced in the art of self-gratification that it took only seconds before she reached a satisfying orgasm.

Gasping aloud, she fell back on the seat, closing her eyes, allowing the sweet sensation to wash over her.

Early on in her career she’d decided that no man would ever be allowed the privilege of making her come. She wanted the power over them, not the other way around. Since then she’d always taken care of herself before an appointment. That way she made sure that whatever they did to her, she was always in control of her feelings.

Adjusting her skirt, she sat up straight, preparing herself for the evening ahead with Johnny Romano. He might be a movie star, but that was not an unusual client
for Daniella. She’d had many other movie stars before him. She’d had kings and princes. She’d had politicians. She’d once had a president.

Tonight was going to be no different from any other night. Business as usual.