It was one of the advantages of living in L.A.; every year a new batch of ambitious, young would-be actresses came to the city—hence a better-looking class of hookers.
Mamie was into girls.
Bone was into watching.
Theirs was the perfect marriage.
The two call girls, Heather and Tawny, went about their business with taut, toned bodies, matching capped teeth, and practiced smirks. Their sexual activities seemed almost choreographed.
Bone, sitting on a chair in a red silk robe with his fake orange suntan and dyed black hair, watched every move like a snake about to strike.
Mamie hovered around the two girls with their silicone-enhanced breasts and smooth, tanned bodies, waiting for an opportunity to join in. Liposuction, daily massages, collagen, Botox, and once-a-month high colonics kept her from falling totally apart—although she was still a pretty scary sight with her crepey skin, predatory eyes, and bottle blond hair.
Both Mamie and Bone popped Viagra, claiming it kept them young and vital, instead of just plain horny and disgusting.
Heather effortlessly raised her long, suntanned legs above her shoulders. Her tiny strip of pubic hair matched the blond hair on her head.
This was Mamie’s cue to dive in. And dive in she did, sucking out the juices of a woman who was at least fifty years her junior, while Bone continued to watch.
The Cadillac took a sharp turn off the Santa Monica Freeway and headed up to Sunset. The three men in the car were happy. Stoned, actually. They saw an end to their job and payment in their pockets.
Madison’s mind was running on overdrive. She had to figure out some kind of escape move. But what? Throw herself out of the car and risk being killed? Put up a fight? Or . . . talk herself out of it? She’d always been good at that.
“How much are you getting paid?” she asked.
“To kill people?” her gunman singsonged. “We do that for nothin’—it’s sweet, y’know?”
“I’ll double whatever you’re getting paid if you let me go.”
“Why we do that?”
“Why do you do anything? For money, of course.”
“How much money?”
“You tell me.”
“Fifty thou.”
“Okay.”
“Where you gonna get money like that?”
“Let me go and I’ll get it.”
“Shee-it!” he sneered. “You think I’m stupid?”
“No,” she said quickly. “Actually, I think you’re quite smart.”
“Forget it, lady. We’re almost there.”
Serge Gorban checked his watch. It was an old watch he’d bought in Moscow many years ago, and sometimes it ran slow.
Not that slow. His idiot nephew should have been here hours ago. He’d given him a simple task to perform, and somehow Zaroff had managed to screw it up, just as he had managed to screw up most things.
Serge realized that he should never have listened to his pathetic, whining sister, who had begged him to give Zaroff another chance after the boy’s last disaster.
But listen he had, and now, where was the fool?
Never send a boy to do a man’s job.
Any second now, when the whores left the estate, Bone or Mamie would be calling him in the guardhouse, making sure that everything was taken care of.
Why had he trusted that no-good nephew of his? The out-of-work loser was nothing but trouble.
They were in his penthouse, still in the living room, but soon heading for the bedroom. Jolie was coming on to him big time, and Vincent wasn’t in the mood to resist.
“I like you, Vincent, I always have,” she murmured.
His problems with Jenna tonight were all Nando’s fault. If Nando hadn’t insisted on Andy Dale joining them, none of this would have happened. Now, on top of everything else, Nando was meeting with Leroy Fortuno and Darren Simmons behind his back. Yes, Nando had definitely gone too far this time.
“I always felt it should’ve been you and me,” Jolie purred, all soft skin and glowing eyes.
“Nando’s my brother,” Vincent said, his resolve slowly weakening. Resisting Jolie was getting harder by the minute. He’d always had an eye for her. She was smooth and sexy and sophisticated. Plus she was a woman, unlike Jenna, who was still a girl.
“I know,” Jolie murmured softly. “Only, sometimes brothers have to part ways. And maybe the time has come . . .”
He was still mesmerized by her lips. Such soft, pouting, inviting lips.
Was one kiss such a bad thing? After all, Jenna had run out on him, and Nando was busy making deals elsewhere.
One kiss . . .
His cell phone rang.
“Don’t answer it,” Jolie said, her voice a silky whisper. “We have more important things to do.”
Gus’s black limousine with its dark, tinted windows, followed by a large black Suburban, headed up into the hills. Michael felt as if he was part of a funeral procession. And in a way, that’s exactly what it was.
Welcome to the funeral of Mamie and Bone.
Gus did not do things on a small scale. He was from the old school of how to get things done. There were quite a few men packed into the Suburban. Men ready to deal with anything or anyone who got in their way. Among them was a dog wrangler who would take care of the Dobermans.
Michael’s only worry was Madison. He knew Vincent could take care of Dani and himself. Sofia was in Europe. So it was only Madison he was concerned about.
Madison. His beautiful, smart daughter who was barely speaking to him, and he didn’t blame her. He’d allowed her to live a lie, and that wasn’t fair.
He made a solemn vow that in the future he would make it up to her. And he’d make it up to Dani, too, the woman who’d stood by him through everything.
But first he had to take care of these two maggots. Because if he didn’t . . .
The Cadillac turned off Sunset and sped up into Bel-Air, the road twisting and turning all the way to the top.
Madison didn’t know what to think. Bel-Air, of all places. What were they doing there?
She went to look at her watch, realized they’d stolen it, and tried to figure out what time it was. One A.M.? Two? She had no clue.
Suddenly the car slowed down and came to a stop in front of a pair of ornate wrought-iron gates.
“What I do?” the driver asked.
“Ring the fuckin’ buzzer. Tell Serge we’re here.”
They were all so stoned now that no one seemed to notice names were flying. Madison made a mental note of all of them. Ace, from earlier. Now Serge. And finally a name for her gunman, her psycho killer. Zar—short for? She’d find out.
“Zarren?” she said to him, as if she were about to ask a question.
“Zaroff,” he slurred.
“Press the fuckin’ buzzer,” the one in the front passenger seat said, leaning across the driver to do it for him.
She wondered if this was the time to make a run for it. The car was stationary, the music too loud for clear thought. Besides, the three of them were so out of it they probably wouldn’t even notice.
She decided to do it. Take a risk and go.
She glanced quickly at Zaroff. The Uzi was on the floor of the car between his feet. His other gun was stuffed in the belt of his pants.
Good-bye, suckers. I’m out of here.
And she lunged at the door, wrenched it open, threw herself out, and began running.
1:45 A.M.
Dani still couldn’t sleep. Now that she’d made such an important decision about her future, she was nervous that she might change her mind.
Only one way to solve that little problem. Dean was staying at the Mirage.
She picked up the phone and called him.
The front gate buzzer rang. Serge checked out the security monitor in the guardhouse. He was relieved to see the old Cadillac he’d lent to Zaroff waiting outside the gates.
Finally, he thought, pressing the entry button to activate the he
avy gates.
He continued watching the monitor as the gates rolled open. The Cadillac stayed put.
“Come on,” Serge muttered under his breath. “Drive in, you fool.”
Then he saw his idiot nephew jump out of the car and take off.
What was happening?
Serge didn’t know, but he’d soon find out. Making sure his gun was secure in his underarm holster, he set off to investigate.
The limousine slid to a stop a short distance from the entry gates to the Bel-Air mansion.
“What’s the deal?” Gus asked, leaning forward to ask his driver.
“We’re checkin’ it out,” the driver said. “Seems there’s a car blocking the gate.”
“Going in, or out?” Gus asked.
“Stationary.”
Michael took himself back many years to the night in Central Park when he’d shot Roy. The waiting was the worst. Not knowing what would happen. Hoping everything would go down smoothly. Never sure.
Then the moment when it happened. The act of vengeance executed. Bang bang—you’re dead. It was almost like playing a game.
Was he capable of doing it again?
Yes. They’d been capable of murdering Stella and her boyfriend in cold blood.
Mamie and Bone deserved the ultimate punishment.
Madison had always fancied herself an athlete. At school she’d excelled at sports, and living in New York, she’d always made sure to work out at the gym at least a couple of times a week.
Thank God! Because she was now in a life-or-death situation, and only her speed and agility could save her.
She was faster than her captives and a lot smarter. If she could outrun them she could possibly hide in the heavy underbrush at the top of Bel-Air until it was safe to emerge.
The house they’d been taking her to stood alone. No neighboring houses, only steep hills and brush and trees. Not that she could see much of anything as she stumbled into the bushes. It was pitch black. There were not even any streetlights because they weren’t on a proper street.
Her heart was pounding like a sledgehammer. It felt as if it might burst out of her chest and explode. She could hear her captors somewhere behind her, cursing and threatening as they chased her up the hillside.
A branch hit her in the face, almost knocking her down. Dizzily she moved on, clawing her way through the thick brush.
She stopped for a moment to catch her breath, bent over, stood up, and kept going. Climbing, climbing, one foot in front of the other. Don’t look back. Keep going. Mustn’t weaken.
And then suddenly, as she put her right foot forward, she lost her balance and began falling, tumbling downward over the side of a precipice.
“You moron!” Serge exclaimed, slapping his nephew hard across the face with the back of his hand. “Your shit could cost me my job.”
“Didn’t know she was gonna run,” Zaroff said sullenly. Not such a big man now that his uncle had gotten hold of him. Serge was notorious in the Gorban family. A tough, scowling man with a vicious attitude, he’d arrived from Moscow via Switzerland several years ago. Rumor had it that he’d been involved with the Russian mafia and had been forced to flee because of a misunderstanding about some missing money.
He’d soon landed a job working as chief security adviser for Mr. and Mrs. Porno—a title Zaroff had bestowed on them when he’d done a few maintenance jobs around their house. Zaroff hated the way his uncle kissed their big, fat American asses. They were a couple of freaks—especially the hateful woman, who’d tried to come on to him.
“You arrive here hours late,” Serge scolded, “with no girl. And you bring those other losers with you. What the fuck is the matter with you?”
“I had some problems,” Zaroff mumbled. “Needed help.”
“You needed help to get one girl from the airport?” Serge demanded.
“Couldn’t work it there,” Zaroff muttered. “Hadda follow her to a restaurant. There were complications . . .”
“You’re shit!” Serge spat in disgust. “Dog shit. No,” he said, changing his mind. “Dog shit’s too good for you. You’re fuckin’ pig shit, that’s what you are. Now take my flashlight and your useless friends, an’ go find the girl.”
“I don’t do S and M,” Tawny said, all teeth and perfect tits.
“Nor do I,” Heather chimed in. She was fairly new at the game and followed everything Tawny did and said.
“Putting on rubber masks is not S and M, you moronic cunts,” Bone snapped. “Put on the fuckin’ masks an’ stop your bitchin’.”
“I’m out of here,” Tawny said, getting off the bed.
“Me, too,” Heather agreed.
Mamie was in the bathroom, otherwise the argument would not have happened. She was as fond of the rubber masks as he was. But she also knew that special girls had to be booked for such activities, and tonight she’d requested pretty ones. Pretty did not come cheap. And pretty hardly ever wanted to do anything unusual.
Bone’s fury escalated. Were these two pieces of trash actually telling him no?
He stood up, his red silk robe flapping open, revealing a poor excuse for a cock.
Heather made the unforgivable error of tittering. Bone moved faster than a man half his age, and whacked her so hard that she fell like a log, hitting her head on a side table.
Tawny began to scream. Mamie ran out of the bathroom wearing a man’s suit and flourishing a riding crop. “What have you done?” she yelled at Bone.
“Cunts,” he muttered.
“Jesus!” Mamie exclaimed, turning on a still-screaming Tawny. “Shut your mouth!”
Tawny shut up and began feverishly dressing, while Heather remained motionless on the floor.
Mamie assessed the situation. It was bound to cost money, and if there was one thing Mamie hated, it was spending unnecessary money.
“I’m calling Serge,” she said, buzzing the guardhouse. “He’ll take care of it.”
Serge got behind the wheel of the Cadillac and moved it to the side of the driveway, muttering to himself all the while. As he was doing so, a black limo slid into view.
Serge marched over to it. “Yes?” he said to the driver, thinking that the limo probably contained more hookers. The two people he worked for were insatiable. Sex parties sometimes went on all through the night.
“Guests for the house,” the driver said.
Serge could feel the comforting bulge of his gun tucked snugly in his shoulder holster. He wished he had the security of the gate between him and this unknown limo, but unfortunately, he’d been caught unaware.
“Who do you want to see?” he asked.
Before he could say any more, the Suburban rolled up behind the limo and two men with automatic weapons jumped out.
Serge had no chance to pull his gun. He was wrestled to the ground and overpowered, while the limo headed up the driveway, the Suburban right behind it.
As the car approached the house, two huge Dobermans came racing over, growling ferociously. The dog wrangler jumped out of the Suburban waving large, juicy, raw steaks under the dogs’ noses.
Once the dogs were taken care of, several other men sprang into action, sealing off the servants’ quarters and making sure no one else was around.
As soon as everything was secure, the driver opened the door for Gus and Michael, and they got out of the limo outside the house.
“Showtime,” Gus said calmly. “I hope you remember the tune. It’s been a while, hasn’t it?”
Michael nodded. “Some things you never forget.”
And the two of them entered the house.
“Where the hell is Serge?” Mamie screamed. “When I buzz, he’d better get on the fuckin’ line—pronto—or he’s fired!”
“He’s probably taking a piss,” Bone muttered.
“Jesus Christ!” Mamie said.
Tawny was now dressed and sitting on a chair. “I’d like to leave,” she said.
“I’m sure you would, dear,” Mamie replied.
“Now that you’ve ruined our evening.”
“What did I do?” Tawny asked.
“You’re hookers,” Mamie reminded her. “Don’t you understand that hookers are supposed to do anything the client wants? And if my husband wants something, you shouldn’t argue. This is all your fault.”
“It is not,” Tawny said, thinking that it was better if she didn’t argue any further. Obviously this couple was totally insane. She couldn’t wait to get back to her madam and complain about them.
The worrying thing was that Heather had not moved. She was still lying on the floor.
“Don’t you think we should call a doctor?” Tawny suggested.
“Oh yes, let’s announce it to the world,” Mamie said sarcastically.
“We can’t just leave her lying there.”
“Why do you think I’m trying to get my guard?” Mamie said. “He’ll drive her to the hospital. You don’t have to worry about her.”
“But I am worried about her.”
“Don’t, dear,” Mamie said, fixing her with a cruel smile. “It’s in your best interest not to remember anything about tonight. Do you understand?”
“You’re sure?” Dean said, holding the phone to his ear.
“Absolutely sure,” Dani replied, determined to go through with this.
“What made you change your mind?”
“I was thinking about how you always said that we’d be so happy together. And Dean,” she added softly, “I finally realized that you’re the only person who really cares about me.”
“You’re worth it,” he said.
“Let’s not wait,” she said quickly.
“Fine with me. We can do it tonight if you like.” He glanced at his watch. “It’s morning. Nothing unusual about a three A.M. wedding in Vegas. I can pick you up in half an hour.”
“Tonight’s a little too soon,” she said, laughing nervously. “How about noon tomorrow?”
“Are we telling anyone?”
“Maybe Vincent.”
“Dani, was Michael with you tonight?”
“Why are you asking me that?”