“No. I’ve left messages.”
“So have I,” Cookie said. “And listen to this—I’ve been summoned to her house by Lucky.”
“Whaaat?”
“Yeah, she tracked me down, and now I like have to go to her house and explain where Max is.”
“This is bad,” Harry said. “What are you going to say?”
“I dunno,” Cookie said. “I mean, Lucky’s gonna ask me all these questions about where the party was an’ like who the people were an’ was Max staying there. What am I gonna say?”
“Don’t sweat it,” Harry said, annoyingly unconcerned. “It’s Sunday, Max’ll be back soon.”
“I hope so,” Cookie wailed. “’Cause truthfully I’m kinda freaked that she hasn’t answered our calls.”
“Me too.”
“She goes off with some Internet asshole an’ we hear nothing. It’s like too weird.”
“Maybe you’d better tell her mom.”
“Maybe you’d better meet me at her house an’ we’ll tell her together.”
“Can’t,” Harry said flatly. “I’m in Pasadena.”
“Awesome, Harry, you’re a big freakin’ help,” Cookie complained, pulling her car up behind a row of party trucks. “Okay, I’m here now,” she said, parking her Corvette, jumping out and making her way to the front door.
Gino Junior was sitting on the steps with an acne-encrusted friend. “What’re you doing here?” he asked.
“Yeah, what’re you doing here?” his friend echoed.
The two boys were checking her out. Gino Junior and his friends were always doing that, horny little jerk-offs.
“Max isn’t back yet,” Gino Junior offered. “She’s gonna be in way shit with Mom when she gets here.”
“Where is your mom?” Cookie asked, agitatedly twirling her sunglasses and wondering what she was going to say to Lucky.
“In the kitchen,” Gino Junior said. “Screaming at everyone.”
“See ya,” Cookie said.
“Yeah,” Gino Junior said. “At the party. It’s gonna be full of old farts, so let’s sneak off somewhere an’ kill a bottle of vodka.”
“Grow up, Gino,” she said over her shoulder, making her way into the house and through to the kitchen.
Lucky was talking to the caterers, waving her arms in the air. It did not look like she was in a pleasant mood. As soon as she saw Cookie she stopped, marched over to her, took her arm, and steered her out of the room. “Come with me,” she said, black eyes flashing danger signals.
“Uh, Lucky, uh … nice to see you too,” Cookie stammered.
“Don’t give me that ‘nice to see you’ crap,” Lucky snapped, narrowing her eyes. “I was your age once, I do know what goes on. Has Max got some boy she’s meeting? Is that it?”
“Uh … I told you, they—”
“Enough with the bullshit, I want the truth,” Lucky said, maneuvering Cookie into her study where she slammed the door shut. “Now sit down and tell me exactly what’s going on. You didn’t go to Big Bear with her, did you?”
“I, uh, yeah…”
“I’m telling you, Cookie,” Lucky warned, “this is no joke, so don’t fucking lie.”
“Mrs. Golden—”
“And don’t start calling me Mrs. Golden. You’ve always called me Lucky before, so stop with the innocent friend act ’cause I’m not buying it. Let’s get it clear here—I want to know where Max is, and when she’s coming home.”
“Well…” Cookie stammered. “I … I tried calling her a few times. I—”
“We’ve all tried calling her,” Lucky interrupted. “And since she’s not answering her phone, I suggest you quit stalling and start giving me information.”
“Max … uh … she met this guy,” Cookie blurted, because she realized they were at a point where she was forced to tell a few semitruths, and if Max didn’t like it, that was her problem because she should’ve checked in instead of leaving everyone hanging.
“What guy?” Lucky asked through clenched teeth.
“He’s like this really cool guy,” Cookie lied. “And Max … uh … wanted to spend time with him.”
“‘Spend time with him,’” Lucky repeated, raising an eyebrow. “What exactly does that mean?”
“She, uh … wanted to, uh, I dunno,” Cookie mumbled, trailing off.
“And you’re her alibi, right?”
Cookie slumped back in the chair, feeling out of her depth. “There’s no way I can rat Max out. You’ll have to ask her yourself.”
“If she was here, I’d love to ask her,” Lucky said coldly. “So since she’s not, it’s up to you to tell me who the boy is, and what’s his phone number?”
“I don’t know much,” Cookie said, blinking rapidly, wondering why she was the one getting all the shit. “She kind of hooked up with him on the Internet.”
“Are you serious?”
“They’ve been, y’know, like e-mailing for a while. And, um, like I mentioned before, he’s a really cool guy.”
“You’ve met him, have you?”
“Uh … no.”
“Has Max met him?”
“She has now.”
“Oh my God! Save me from stupid fucking girls!” Lucky exploded. “Jesus Christ! You’re telling me Max went to Big Bear to meet up with a guy she found on the Internet, and now we can’t reach her, and you think that’s okay?”
“Max can look after herself,” Cookie muttered.
Lucky shook her head. This was the worst news she’d heard in a long time.
“What’s his name?” she demanded.
“Uh … I dunno,” Cookie mumbled.
“You must know.”
“It’s uh, like Grant, yeah—that’s it. Grant.”
“Grant who?”
“Max never said.”
“Perfect!”
An hour later Lucky and Lennie were still trying to figure out what to do. Max had taken her laptop with her, so it wasn’t as if they could find out anything there. And a brief search of her room revealed nothing. If it wasn’t for the party, Lucky would’ve jumped in her car and driven to Big Bear herself, although she was sure that by this time Max was on her way home. And boy, when Max finally got home she was in for a major lecture.
Lucky had to admit that Lennie was right: in a way she understood Max’s rebellious behavior. At sixteen Lucky had been the original wild one, she’d taken off for weeks at a time before Gino had managed to track her down. But that was then and this was now, and the world was a far more dangerous place.
Max was a smart kid, but unfortunately she thought she knew it all. She was also a beauty in a heartbreakingly young way, and that could get her in big trouble.
Lucky couldn’t help thinking back to Lennie’s kidnapping ordeal. And the time Santino Bonnatti had abducted Brigette and Bobby when they were both so young.
Surely the nightmare couldn’t be happening all over again?
No. It was impossible. Any minute now Max would come walking through the door.
CHAPTER FORTY-TWO
Roasted pig was one of Anthony’s favorite meals. He got a big kick out of seeing the succulent animal—head and all—right in the center of his buffet table. Rosa didn’t disappoint. Sunday brunch she delivered a baby roasted pig with the traditional apple stuffed firmly in its mouth.
“Eeww! Gross, Papa,” Carolina complained, skipping away from the buffet table.
Anthony chased his daughter, caught her, and pinched her bottom. “It’s a tasty treat, Princess,” he assured her. “You’re gonna love it.”
“No, Papa, I won’t love it,” she protested, scampering back to her table where she was sitting with two girlfriends who’d flown to Acapulco with her. Eduardo was also at the table, but he’d elected to come alone. The adults were at their own table, where in addition to the Guerras and the Masterses, Anthony had invited half a dozen other friends who lived locally.
Irma sat stiffly among them, daydreaming about Luis and the quit
e exceptional sex they’d experienced together. She couldn’t get the young, muscled gardener out of her head. Her thoughts drifted to his tongue between her legs, and his fingertips moving so expertly over her nipples.
“What you thinking about, little lady?” Ralph Masters asked, edging nearer, his meaty hand drifting onto her thigh under the cover of the fiesta-style tablecloth.
“Excuse me?” Irma replied, quickly brushing his unwelcome hand away.
“Did you and my friend do it last night?” Ralph whispered in her ear with a salacious leer.
“Ralph, please do not talk to me like that,” she said, shifting in her chair. “It’s most inappropriate.”
Ralph licked his fleshy lips. He was a big man with small eyes and dyed black hair that resembled a bad wig—although it wasn’t. Innes, a woman twenty years his junior, was his third wife.
“Don’t be like that, I meant it as a compliment,” he said in a low voice. “When a woman’s getting the right kind of action I can always tell. My specialty is the tongue.” Suggestively he flicked his tongue at her. “Most men aren’t into oral, but I’m an expert.”
“Good for you,” Irma said, turning her back on Ralph and concentrating on the Mexican businessman sitting on her other side.
Anthony was in his element. Entertaining an admiring group of friends was his favorite way of relaxing, especially with his children present. Carolina was such a ripe little peach, if he wasn’t her father he would pluck her for himself. Thirteen and sweet as pie. Woe betide any boy who came sniffing around Carolina. Anthony would make sure she stayed a virgin until she was twenty-one, then he would personally select a match for her—a male who lived up to his expectations in every way. He beamed at the thought of watching Carolina develop into a young woman, although come to think of it, she was already quite well developed. She had breasts and a cute little ass, she probably even had her period. He reminded himself to ask Nanny.
Eduardo had not brought any friends with him. He was a surly boy with nothing to say for himself. What a disappointment he’d turned out to be, but fortunately Carolina made up for her taciturn brother.
After a long and leisurely lunch, Anthony regaled his guests with several off-color jokes, then out came the karaoke equipment, set up by Manuel.
“Anyone for a song?” Anthony asked, puffing on an expensive Cuban cigar.
“Anthony, please, you sing for us,” begged Fanta Guerra, a comely Latina woman with huge breasts and shoulder-length honey blond curls.
“Yes, Anthony,” Innes, Ralph’s American wife, said, puckering her silicone-enhanced lips. “We’ve missed you so.”
Irma was well aware that both women would make love to her husband given half a chance. She didn’t care; they were welcome to him. Now that she was mentally prepared to move on, she felt a lot stronger.
Anthony took his position near the karaoke machine, microphone in hand. “And what am I singing for you lovely people tonight?” he asked.
“Oh please, sing ‘My Way,’” pleaded Fanta.
Innes, not to be outdone, gushed, “I love it too. You sing it so well, Anthony. You sing it better than Sinatra.”
Their husbands chuckled, while Anthony basked in the praise, and the other guests clapped enthusiastically as they settled into chairs set out in a semicircle.
“So,” Anthony said, playing with the microphone, “what does my little Carolina want to hear?”
Little Carolina didn’t want to hear anything. Little Carolina wanted to run off to a disco with her friends, but she knew that her papa would never allow her to do that. “Whatever you want to sing, Papa,” she said demurely.
“I’m singin’ ‘My Way.’ After that you an’ I gonna perform a duet.”
“No, Papa! Please, no!” she squeaked.
“Yes, Princess, the two of us will make beautiful music,” Anthony said, oblivious to her embarrassment.
Irma had not had a chance to interact with her children. The sad thing was they treated her like a distant relative—it seemed that Anthony and Francesca had managed to completely alienate them. Irma was sad because it wasn’t as if Carolina and Eduardo didn’t love her. Truth was they hardly knew her.
Anthony lifted the mike and began singing. He didn’t have a bad voice, but it was hardly in the Sinatra category.
As he crooned, giving the song his all, he moved amongst his guests, leaning down to serenade and caress the women, a lascivious twinkle in his eye.
He should have been an entertainer, Irma thought. Instead of a drug lord, a controller, a son of a bitch.
Soon she wouldn’t have to put up with him any longer.
Soon she was moving on.
CHAPTER FORTY-THREE
Henry was filled with excitement and a sense of freedom coupled with power, although he was shocked that Maria had tried to escape. She obviously did not appreciate all the trouble he’d gone to.
After her failed attack on him he’d been forced to shackle her ankle once more. He hadn’t wanted to, but in view of her behavior it was necessary.
At least he’d persuaded her to call her mother, which was a wise move, because it wouldn’t do to have Lucky out searching for her daughter. Not that she’d ever find her. They were isolated and perfectly safe where they were.
Muttering under his breath, he made his way around the back of the cabin to the outhouse where he’d imprisoned Ace approximately thirty-six hours earlier.
He’d been putting it off, but he’d known that eventually he’d have to do something.
It infuriated him that this boy had come along and interfered with his plans. Without him, everything could’ve been so clean and simple. Now he had to deal with the situation, and he had no clear idea of how to manage it.
A voice kept screaming in his head:
Shoot him.
Bury him in the woods.
It’s the only way.
But that would be murder, wouldn’t it?
Not if the boy is already dead.
Standing outside the door of Ace’s prison, he strained to hear if there was any movement inside.
Not a sound. Total silence.
This was good. This meant he wouldn’t have to deal with the cousin. This meant that he didn’t have to open the door if he chose not to. He was out of the Pasadena mausoleum and living an adventure. He was not shut in his room watching endless horror movies and pornographic images on his computer. He was the star of his own movie, and this was one role Billy Melina could never steal from him.
AN ADVENTURE
Starring
HENRY WHITFIELD-SIMMONS
and
MARIA GOLDEN
It should be a love story.
It would be a love story.
Now that the cousin was taken care of, he would make it happen.
CHAPTER FORTY-FOUR
The enormous white tent set up on the grounds of Lucky and Lennie’s Bel-Air house was an impressive structure, no expense spared. The tent was ablaze with hundreds of twinkling fairy lights, crystal chandeliers, and garlands of white calla lilies winding around Roman columns. Exotic orchid arrangements were the magnificent centerpieces on each table, along with musk-scented candles in tall sterling-silver holders. The theme was white and silver from the long flowing tablecloths to the pristine place settings.
Before reaching the tent where dinner was to be served, guests gathered around the two Art Deco bars, one on each end of the shimmering blue pool. Sensual Brazilian music played over loudspeakers, while attractive waiters and waitresses circulated holding aloft trays of champagne, wine, and sparkling water.
Venus and Billy were amongst the first to arrive. Bobby was playing host for his mother who was still upstairs dressing. He raced over to Venus, his former boyhood crush, and greeted her with an enthusiastic kiss on both cheeks. “You are looking spectacular,” he said admiringly.
“Doesn’t she,” Billy agreed, claiming possession.
“You know Bobby, Lucky’s son,” Venus said
, introducing the two men.
“Oh yeah, you’re the dude with the club in New York, right?” Billy said.
“A hot club in New York plus a billion dollars when he hits twenty-five,” Venus added, smiling. “And you know how I like young men. You’d better watch out, Billy.”
“Hey, baby,” Billy said, taking her arm. “I’m the only young man in your life, an’ don’t you forget it.”
“As if I could,” she said, hugging him.
“I had a crush on her when I was twelve,” Bobby admitted. “Posters on my wall, CDs on my mind, the whole ten yards.”
“Didn’t we all,” Billy said with a knowing grin. “I can remember—”
“Hey!” Venus objected. “You’re making me feel as if I’m ninety years old!”
Bobby lifted a glass of champagne from a passing waiter and surveyed the arriving guests.
“Got a hunch I’m not gonna be getting much action here tonight,” he said. “It’s like couples’ city. I knew I should’ve imported a date.”
“Sorry, bro,” Billy said, holding on to Venus. “But this one is definitely taken.”
“I can see that.”
“There’s Gino,” Venus said, gesturing across the pool. “C’mon, Billy, let’s go say hello.”
“For an old guy, he looks pretty damn great,” Billy said, squinting.
“Yeah,” Bobby agreed. “For an old geezer, Gino is amazing.”
“Y’know,” Venus ventured, “Billy and I were thinking of maybe developing a movie about his life.”
“No shit?” Bobby said, looking interested. “Have you run it by Lucky?”
“Not yet, but wouldn’t it make an incredible movie?”
“It sure would,” Bobby said. “Gino stories are legendary in our family. When I was growing up, Uncle Costa had tales to tell nobody would believe.”
“Maybe we should sign Uncle Costa up as creative consultant,” Billy suggested. “Is he here tonight?”
“If he is it’s a miracle,” Bobby said with a wry grin. “Costa’s long gone. If he was still around he’d be about a hundred years old.”
“Oh,” Venus murmured dryly as they all headed toward Gino. “The same age as me!”
Gino was delighted to see everyone. All dressed up in a pinstriped suit, white shirt, and red tie, he did not look anywhere near ninety-five—he was still an impressive-looking man with all his own teeth, a healthy head of gray hair, and a ribald sense of humor. He sat in a chair next to the bar, holding court.