“Things are that serious?” Athena said.
“Yes,” Cross said.
“And you can’t tell me anything about it?” Athena asked.
Cross didn’t answer for a moment. “You’ll be safe,” he said. “And I think I’ll be safe. I can’t tell you any more than that.”
“I’ll wait,” Athena said. She kissed him and then walked out of the bedroom and out of the suite. Cross watched and then went out to the balcony to see her emerge from the Hotel and onto the colonnade. He saw the car with his security guards drive her to her Villa. Then he picked up the phone and called Lia Vazzi. He told Vazzi to tighten security around Athena even more.
By ten P.M. the theater section of the ballroom of the Xanadu Hotel was full. The audience was gathered waiting for the first rough cut showing of Messalina. There was a premiere seating section that consisted of soft armchairs with a telephone console in the middle. There was one empty seat with a wreath of flowers bearing Steve Stallings’s name. The other seats held Claudia, Dita Tommey, and Bobby Bantz and his companion, Johanna, Melo Stuart and Liza. Skippy Deere immediately took possession of the phone.
Athena was the last to arrive and was cheered by the crew and stunt men below the line. The above-the-line people, the supporting cast, and all the people seated in the armchairs applauded and kissed her on the cheek as she made her way to the center armchair. Then Skippy Deere picked up the phone and told the projectionist to begin.
Against the black background the line “Dedicated to Steve Stallings” appeared, and the audience applauded in a muted, respectful fashion. The insertion had been opposed by Bobby Bantz and Skippy Deere, but Dita Tommey vetoed them, God only knew why, Bantz said. But what the hell, it was only a rough cut, and besides, the sentimentality would create some press.
Then the picture came on the screen . . .
Athena was mesmerizing, she had even more sexuality on screen than she had in real life and a wit that was no surprise to anyone who knew her well. Indeed Claudia had written lines specifically to show off this quality in her. No cost had been stinted, and the crucial sex scenes were done in good taste.
There was no question that Messalina, after all its troubles, would be a major hit. And that, without final music and special effects. Dita Tommey was ecstatic, she was finally a Bankable Director. Melo Stuart was calculating how much he would ask for Athena’s next picture; Bantz, looking not too happy, was worrying about the same thing. Skippy was counting the money he would make; finally he could own his own jet.
Claudia was more thrilled than any of them. Her creation was up on the screen. She had sole credit and it was an original screenplay. Thanks to Molly Flanders, she had gross points. Of course, there had been a little rewrite by Ben Sly but not enough for a credit.
Everybody was clustered around Athena and Dita Tom-mey, congratulating them. But Molly had her eye on one of the stunt men. Stunt men were crazy bastards, but they had hard bodies and were great in bed.
The wreath for Steve Stallings had been brushed to the floor, and people were trampling it. Molly could see that Athena had detached herself from the crowd to pick it up and place it back on the chair. Athena caught Molly’s eye and they both shrugged, Athena giving a shy smile as if to say, That’s movies.
The crowd moved to the other side of the ballroom. A small band was playing, but everyone rushed the buffet tables. Then the dancing began. Molly went up to the stunt man, who was glowering around; it was at these parties they were most vulnerable. They felt their work was not appreciated, and they resented like hell when the flabby male star was allowed to punch them out on screen when they could kill the faggot bastard in real life. Just like a stunt man, his cock is already hard, Molly thought, as he led her onto the dance floor.
Athena only spent an hour at the party. Receiving everyone’s congratulations, she was gracious, and yet she observed herself being gracious and she hated it. She danced with the “best boy” and other members of the crew and then with a stunt man whose aggressiveness made her decide to leave.
The Xanadu Rolls was waiting for her with an armed driver and two security guards. When she got out of the Rolls at her Villa, she was surprised to see Jim Losey coming out of the adjoining Villa. He approached her. “You were great in that movie tonight,” he said. “I’ve never seen a better body on a woman. Especially that ass.”
Athena would have been wary except that the driver and both security guards were already out of the car, positioned. It was part of her theatrical training, the blocking out of the stage where actors position themselves. She noted that they placed themselves so that none of the lines of fire would jeopardize any of them. She also noticed that Losey viewed them with a mild contempt.
“That was not my ass,” Athena said, “but thank you anyway.” She smiled at him.
Suddenly Losey was holding her hand. “You’re the greatest-looking woman I ever met,” he said. “Why don’t you try a real guy instead of those phony actor faggots.”
Athena took her hand away. “I’m an actor too, and we’re not phonies. Good night.”
“Can I come in for a drink?” Losey asked.
“I’m sorry,” Athena said, and rang the bell to the Villa. The door was opened by a butler Athena had never seen before.
Losey took a step to go in with her, and then to her surprise, the butler walked outside and quickly pushed her into the Villa. The three security guards formed a barricade between Losey and the door.
Losey looked at them with contempt. “What the fuck is this?” he said.
The butler remained outside the door. “Miss Aquitane’s security,” he said. “You will have to leave.”
Losey took out his police ID. “You see who I am,” he said. “I’ll kick the shit out of all of you, and then I’ll lock you up.”
The butler looked at the ID. He said, “You’re Los Angeles. No jurisdiction.” He pulled out his own ID. “I’m Las Vegas County.”
Athena Aquitane had remained just inside the doorway. She was surprised her new butler was a detective, but now she was beginning to understand. “Don’t make a big deal out of it,” she said, and closed the door against all of them.
Both men put their IDs back into their jackets.
Losey gave each in turn a hard stare. “I’ll remember you guys,” he said. None of the men reacted.
Losey turned away. He had more important fish to fry. In the next two hours Dante Clericuzio would be bringing Cross De Lena to their Villa.
Dante Clericuzio, Renaissance hat perched on his head, was having a great time at the wrap party. He used fun to prepare himself for serious action. A girl in the catering crew had caught his attention, but she gave him no encouragement because she had focused on one of the stunt men. The stunt man had given Dante threatening looks. Lucky for him, Dante thought, I have business to do tonight. He looked at his watch, maybe good old Jim had managed to snare Athena. Tiffany had never showed, though she had been promised. Dante decided to start a half hour early. He called Cross, using the private number with the operator.
Cross answered.
“I have to see you right away,” Dante said. “I’m in the ballroom. Great party.”
“So, come up,” Cross said.
“No,” Dante said. “These are orders. Not on the phone and not in your suite. Come on down.”
There was a long pause. Then Cross said, “I’ll be down.”
Dante stationed himself so that he could observe Cross making his way through the ballroom. There seemed to be no security around him. Dante patted down his hat and thought back to their childhood together. Cross had been the only boy who had made him fearful, and he had fought him often because of that fear. But he loved the way Cross looked, had often been envious. And he envied his cousin’s confidence. It was just too bad . . .
Once he killed Pippi, Dante had known he could not let Cross remain alive. Now, after this, he would have to confront the Don. But Dante had never doubted that his grandfather l
oved him, he had always shown his love. The Don might not like this, but he would never invoke his awful power to punish his beloved grandson.
Cross was standing before him. Now he had to get Cross to the Villa where Losey was waiting. It would be simple. He would shoot Cross, and then they would drive his body out into the desert and bury him. Nothing fancy, as Pippi De Lena had always preached. The car was already parked behind the Villa for transport.
Cross said to him abruptly, “So what is it?” He did not look suspicious or even wary. “Nice new hat,” he said and smiled. Dante had always envied that smile, as though the guy knew everything Dante was thinking.
Dante played it very slow, very low-voiced. He took Cross by the arm and led him outside, in front of the huge colored marquee that had cost the Xanadu Hotel ten million dollars. The flashing blue, red, and purple bathed their figures in cold light blanched by the desert moon. Dante whispered to Cross, “Giorgio flew in, he’s at my Villa. Top secret. And he wants to see you right away. That’s why I couldn’t say anything on the phone.”
Dante was delighted that Cross looked concerned. “He told me not to tell you anything, but he’s pissed off. I think he found out something about your old man.”
At this Cross gave Dante a somber look, almost one of displeasure. Then he said, “OK, let’s go.” And he led Dante through the grounds of the Hotel to the Villa compound.
The four guards at the compound gates recognized Cross and waved them through.
Dante opened the door with a flourish and doffed his Renaissance hat. He said, “After you,” and smiled slyly, which gave his face a puckish humor.
Cross walked in.
Jim Losey was filled with cold rage when he turned away from Athena’s guards and walked back to his own Villa. Yet there was a part of his brain that assessed the situation, gave out a warning signal. What were all those guards doing around? But, shit, she was a movie star and that experience with Boz Skannet must have scared the hell out of her.
He used his key to get into the Villa, it seemed to be deserted, everyone was at the party. He had more than an hour to get ready to receive Cross. He went to his suitcase and unlocked it. There was his Glock, gleaming, wiped clean of oil. He opened his other suitcase, which had a secret pocket. In there was the bullet-filled magazine. He put them together, put on a shoulder holster and tucked the gun inside. He was all set. He noted that he was not nervous, he was never nervous in these situations. That was what made him a good cop.
Losey left the bedroom and walked into the kitchen. There were sure a lot of hallways in this Villa. From the refrigerator, he took a bottle of imported beer and a tray of canapés. He crumbled one with his teeth. Caviar. He gave a little sigh of pleasure, he had never tasted anything so delicious. This was the way to live. This was his for the rest of his life, the caviar, the showgirls, maybe some day Athena. He just had to do his job tonight.
Carrying the tray and bottle, he went into the huge living room.
The first thing that startled him was that the floor and the furniture were covered with plastic sheeting, giving the whole room a ghostly white glow. And then, seated in a plastic-covered armchair, was a man smoking a thin cigar and holding a glass of peach brandy. It was Lia Vazzi.
Losey thought, What the fuck is this? He put the tray and bottle on the coffee table and said to Lia, “I’ve been looking for you.”
Lia puffed his cigar, took a sip of brandy. “And now you’ve found me,” he said. He stood up. “Now you can slap me again.”
Losey was too experienced a man not to be alert. He was putting things together. He had wondered why the other apartments in the Villa were vacant, it had struck him as strange. He casually unbuttoned his jacket and grinned at Lia. More than a slap this time, he thought. It would be an hour before Dante arrived with Cross, he could work while waiting. Now that he was armed, he had no fear of being one-on-one with Lia.
Suddenly there was a flood of men in the room. They seeped in from the kitchen, the connecting foyer, from the video/TV room. They were all bigger than Jim Losey. Only two of them had drawn guns.
Losey said to them, “You know I’m a cop?”
“We all know that,” Lia said in a reassuring voice. He stepped closer to Losey. At the same time, the two men pressed their guns against Losey’s back.
Lia flipped his hand inside Losey’s jacket and came out holding the Glock. He handed it to one of the men and then gave Losey a quick pat-down.
“Now,” Lia said, “you always had so many questions to ask. Here I am. Ask.”
Losey still had no real fear. He was just worried that Dante would arrive with Cross. He could not believe that a man like himself, who had had the great good fortune to remain alive in so many dangerous situations, could finally be overcome.
“I know you set that guy Skannet up,” Losey said. “And I’ll get you for it sooner or later.”
“It will have to be sooner,” Lia said. “There’s no later. Yes, you are right and now you can die happy.”
Losey still could not believe that anyone would dare to murder a police officer in cold blood. Sure, drug dealers would exchange bullets, and sure, some crazy nigger would blow you away because you showed a badge, as would fleeing bank robbers, but no mob guy would have the balls to execute a police officer. It would be too much heat.
He reached out to shove Lia away, to achieve a dominance over the situation. But suddenly there was a shocking line of fire slashing through his stomach and his legs trembled. He started to crumble to his knees. Something thick slapped against his head and his ear was on fire and he could not hear. He sank to his knees and the rug felt like an enormous cushion. He looked up. Standing over him was Lia Vazzi, and in his hands was a thin silk rope.
Lia Vazzi had spent two whole days sewing together the two body bags he would have to use. They were of dark brown canvas with a drawstring at the head. Each bag could contain a large body. There was no possible leakage of blood from the bag, and once you drew the string, you could sling it over your shoulder like an army duffel bag. Losey had not noticed the two bags lying on the sofa. Now the men stuffed his body into one, and Lia drew the string tight. He left the bag leaning upright against the sofa. He gave orders to the men that they were to surround the Villa but were not to appear until he summoned them explicitly. They knew what they were to do after that.
Cross and Dante strolled from the compound gates toward Dante’s Villa. The night air was oppressive with the cauldron of heat spewed from the day’s desert sun. They were both perspiring. Dante noted that Cross was dressed in slacks, open shirt, and buttoned jacket, that he could be armed . . .
The seven Villas, their green flags waving slightly, made a magnificent sight under the desert moon. They looked like edifices from another century with their balconies, their frilled green awnings over the windows, their huge white doors decorated with gold. Dante held Cross by the arm. “Look at that,” he said. “Isn’t it beautiful? I hear you’re fucking that great-looking broad in the movie. Congratulations. When you get tired of her let me know.”
“Sure,” Cross said amiably. “She sort of likes you and your hat.”
Dante took off his hat and said eagerly, “Everybody likes my hats. Did she really say she likes me?”
“She’s enchanted by you,” Cross said dryly.
“Enchanted,” Dante said musingly. “That’s really classy.” He wondered for a moment if Losey had been able to get Athena into their Villa for a drink. That would be the icing on the cake. He was tickled that he had distracted Cross, he had noticed the slight irritation in his cousin’s voice.
They were at the door of the Villa. There seemed to be no security guards around. Dante pressed the bell, waited, and then rang again. When there was no answer, he took out his key and opened the door. They entered Losey’s suite.
Dante was thinking, Maybe Losey was in the sack with Athena. Which was a hell of a way to run an operation, but he would have done the same thing.
/> Dante led Cross into the living room and was astonished to see the walls and furniture covered with clear plastic sheets. Leaning against the sofa was a huge brown duffel bag standing upright. On the sofa was an empty duffel bag of the same kind. All under plastic. “Jesus Christ, what the hell is this?” Dante said.
He turned to face Cross. Cross was holding a very small gun in his hand. “To keep the blood off the furniture,” Cross said. “I have to tell you, I never thought your hats were cute and I never believed that a mugger killed my father.”
Dante was thinking, Where the hell is Losey? He called out to him, meanwhile thinking that such a small-caliber gun could never stop him.
Cross said, “All your life you were a Santadio.”
Dante whirled sideways to give a smaller target and flung himself on Cross. His strategy worked; the bullet hit him in the shoulder. He had a fraction of a second of joy, that he would win, and then the bullet exploded, taking away half of his arm. And he realized there was no hope. Then he really surprised Cross. With his good arm, he began pulling up the plastic sheeting from the floor. Blood pouring from his body, his arms filled with plastic sheeting, he tried to stagger away from Cross, then held up the sheets of plastic as a silvery shield.
Cross stepped forward. Very deliberately he fired through the plastic, then fired again. The bullets exploded, and Dante’s face was almost covered with tiny bits of plastic turned red. Dante’s left thigh seemed to separate from his body as Cross fired again. Dante fell, the white rug now held concentric circles of scarlet. Cross knelt beside Dante and wrapped his head with plastic and fired again. The Renaissance cap still on his head exploded upward into the air but remained attached. Cross saw that the hat was secured to the head by some sort of clip but now it rested on an open skull. It seemed to float.
Cross stood up and put the gun in the holster in the small of his back. At that moment Lia came into the room. They looked at each other.