Back at her apartment she studied her face in the bathroom mirror. She seemed to look different, only she didn’t know why. Ugly, I look ugly, she thought.
So what good had it all done? Nick appeared to be as resilient as ever. And were they supposed to be glad that Frank Bassalino’s wife was dead, along with his unborn child? Carefully she took off her makeup, then just as carefully she applied more. She did it three times before she was satisfied. It kept her from thinking too hard.
Finally she sat in a chair, staring at the front door, waiting for Prince Alfredo.
* * *
‘You little punk!’ Enzio spat, clapping Angelo round the shoulders, kissing him on both cheeks. ‘You still look like a fuckin’ communist!’
Angelo joined in the laughter that followed. His father had been saying the same thing to him for years.
‘Good to be home, huh?’ Enzio said. ‘It’s nice to be with the family in times of trouble.’
‘Yeah, sure,’ Angelo agreed halfheartedly. If there was any trouble, he wanted to be long gone.
‘You seen Frank yet? I want you to go to him, pay your respects.’
Nick went with Angelo to find Frank. Their older brother was sprawled half-asleep in the kitchen.
‘Hey, Frank, I’m sorry ’bout things,’ Angelo mumbled.
Frank grunted.
‘Shit, this house is depressing,’ Angelo muttered in a low aside to Nick, ‘I hope I’m not supposed to be staying here.’
‘No, you’re at the hotel with Enzio. Anna Maria’s mother and sister are arriving later, they’re going to be here with Frank an’ the kids.’
‘How long does the old man expect me to hang around?’
‘I don’t know,’ Nick said. ‘The funeral’s tomorrow, then Pop has some half-assed idea that we go to Miami for the weekend and see Rose. He wants us out of the city. Personally, I just want to get back to the Coast.’
Angelo scratched his beard. ‘Hey—you ever wished you were born an orphan?’
Nick laughed. ‘Every fuckin’ day, little brother.’
CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE
‘You look wonderful,’ Prince Alfredo Masserini said, kissing Lara on both cheeks. ‘You have not changed, my darling. You are still the most beautiful woman in the world.’
‘It hasn’t been that long,’ she commented.
‘Too long,’ he said accusingly. ‘I have missed you. You have made me look foolish to my friends. All the time they tease me, make jokes. Lara has left, they say.’ He clicked his tongue disapprovingly. ‘Your family business has taken you far too much time.’
‘I’m sorry,’ she said quietly.
‘It is good you are sorry,’ he replied pompously, loosening his tie and examining his handsome face in a wall mirror for the wearisome signs of travel. ‘I think now you will not run off like that again.’
Jesus, he was full of himself! ‘No, I won’t,’ she agreed. ‘I guess it was important at the time, but now…’ She gestured toward the kitchen. ‘Are you hungry? I can fix you bacon and eggs.’
‘Peasant food, my darling. We shall dine out.’
‘I thought it might be better to stay in.’ She moved closer to him. ‘It’s been too long.’
He was flattered. ‘You have missed me, Lara?’
‘Yes,’ she lied.
‘A lot?’
‘More than you’ll ever know.’
Later Alfredo slept. Lara lay beside him in the big bed. She was wide awake, staring into the darkness.
He did nothing for her. He made her feel empty, used. With Nick it had been so different. So very right.
She wondered if Nick was going to turn up. A quick glance at the bedside clock told her it was late, and she hoped he wouldn’t come. It had been stupid of her to give him her key. Such a petty form of revenge.
Prince Alfredo snored offensively. It was very annoying; the noise prevented her from sleeping.
Later she did sleep fitfully, and she had no idea Nick was in the apartment until he switched the bedroom light on and pulled the bedclothes roughly off her and Alfredo. Still half-asleep, she managed a weak ‘Hello, Nick.’
Outraged, Prince Alfredo sat up and furiously demanded, ‘Who is this person, Lara?’ As she spoke he reached for his pure silk underpants.
‘You really win the prize,’ Nick said, shaking his head and staring down at her. ‘Jesus Christ, you really do.’
She didn’t try to cover herself, merely returned his stare.
Prince Alfredo flung on a paisley robe. ‘What do you want?’ he asked, his voice becoming high-pitched and out of control.
‘There’s nothing I want here,’ Nick replied sourly, throwing her front door key so it landed on her stomach. ‘Nothing worth having. Nothing worth paying for.’
‘Cover yourself,’ Prince Alfredo shrieked at Lara.
‘Hey, bud, no problem. I’ve seen it all before,’ Nick said coldly. ‘Every quivering high-class-hooker inch of it.’
‘I don’t understand,’ Alfredo whined.
‘Nor do I, buddy boy, nor do I.’ Nick turned to leave, but Prince Alfredo decided it was time to assert his manhood and grabbed him by the sleeve of his jacket.
Nick shook himself free.
‘Have you slept with her?’ the prince demanded.
Nick’s eyes were ice. ‘Back off, fucker, before I lose my temper,’ he said roughly.
Alfredo grabbed him again. ‘You will answer my question!’
With one easy movement Nick smashed his knee into the prince’s groin. At the same time his fist connected with the royal nose. Alfredo was out for the count.
Lara didn’t move.
Nick paused for a moment and glanced at her. He went to say something, thought better of it, and abruptly left.
* * *
Frank couldn’t sleep. He refused to go to bed; all he wanted to do was sit in a chair in the kitchen guzzling from a bottle of Scotch and occasionally dozing off. It had been that way ever since the accident.
Nobody said anything. They left him alone. Enzio had attempted several times to engage him in conversation about business activities, but after a while he’d given up. ‘When the funeral is over you’ll pull yourself together,’ he’d muttered. ‘A few days in Miami. You’ll spend time with your mother, Rose. It’ll do you good.’
Like hell he’d go to Miami. He wasn’t going anywhere until they found Beth.
Anna Maria’s mother and sister arrived. It was fortunate they did not speak English. After a short greeting they left Frank alone, and that was the way he wanted it. Alone with his thoughts, his plans for the future. Family business did not enter his mind; let Enzio worry about all that crap.
He thought he might take a vacation, go to Hawaii or Acapulco. Somewhere far away where he could be alone with Beth.
After the funeral he would find her, he had no doubt of that.
* * *
Nick left Lara’s apartment in a fury. How could she have screwed him like that? What kind of a woman was she?
He went to the best whorehouse in New York. He needed something to calm him down.
They put out the red carpet for him. Nick Bassalino. Enzio’s son. Frank’s brother. It was almost like a visit from royalty.
The madam, a Scandinavian lady with big boobs and a girlish face, offered to serve him personally. He declined her invitation and chose a sour-faced redhead instead. The woman kept their encounter on the impersonal level he wished for. It was not satisfactory.
Afterward he was so pissed off he got good and drunk on straight brandy.
Finally he went to his hotel, booked a call to April Crawford in Los Angeles for early morning, and slept fitfully.
The call came through while he was still asleep. He held the phone to his ear and listened to the long-distance ringing while he tried to open his eyes. His mouth felt like lead shit.
Faithful Hattie told the operator Miss Crawford was not at home, so he spoke to Hattie.
‘Hey, Hat, what’s h
appening? She’s not still mad, is she?’
‘Haven’t you heard, Mr. Bassalino?’ Hattie sounded embarrassed.
‘Heard what?’
‘Miss Crawford and Mr. Albert were married yesterday.’
He was silent.
‘Mr. Bassalino, are you there?’ Hattie asked in a worried voice. ‘I told Miss Crawford she should have let you know.’
Nick put the phone down, his face tense. He called the desk and had them send up the newspapers, and there it was in black and white. Proof positive.
LAS VEGAS. MONDAY.
April Crawford and Sammy Albert
April Crawford took husband number five today in a quiet ceremony in the garden of Stanley Graham’s Hi-Style Hotel. Sammy Albert, thirty-year-old star of Road Job, Tiger, and Prince California, was the lucky man. His only comment on the twenty-year age difference was, ‘April is a real lady, a class act. Her age is of no interest to me.’
Nick threw the paper on the floor in disgust. Jesus Christ, April was stupid. Any woman who would marry a juvenile super-stud like Sammy Albert was out of her fucking mind. She must have done it in a fit of jealous rage; that was the only feasible explanation.
He couldn’t believe it. April and Sammy! It was a bad joke.
He was angry, and yet at the same time, in a strange way, he was relieved. Now that he didn’t have to answer to April he was free.
And now that he was free maybe he could do something about Lara.
CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX
Leroy Jesus Bauls did not smoke; it was bad for your health, and Leroy never did anything that was bad for his health.
He was still at a loss to explain his behavior at Manny’s. What a stupid, fucked-up thing to have done, getting the old lady and the kid out. So it had turned out all right, and that was fortunate. But it had meant taking unnecessary risks, and that was not his bag.
Never again, he vowed. If anyone got in his way in the future, it was their problem.
Once again he wore his errand-boy clothes as he sat in the parked van a block away from the entrance to the cemetery. A lesson Leroy had learned early in life was that a black in New York could hang around anywhere as long as he dressed the part. Wear something sharp, and stand on a street corner, and the cops were there in no time, hustling you, moving you on. Stand there like a janitor holding a broom, and you were on your own; nobody noticed you.
Leroy was parked in a prime position, the perfect spot to watch the limousines as they arrived in a long, dark, sober parade. His shades were fitted with special telescopic lenses, so recognizing the mourners was no problem.
He noted that Enzio Bassalino was taking no chances. Enzio was surrounded by his men, old cockers in shiny suits with stealthy, darting hands.
Nick and Angelo Bassalino arrived in a car together. They, too, were surrounded by protection as they waited on the sidewalk for Anna Maria’s mother and sister, who came in the next car with the children.
Leroy sat perfectly still, watching, noting every detail.
He was good at waiting. The first words he could remember being spoken to him when he was a kid were ‘You sit still and wait. Y’hear me? Just wait.’ His mother repeated that phrase to him every day when she left him outside hotel rooms. It was only when he was big enough to peek through keyholes that he realized why she wanted him to wait.
Frank Bassalino arrived. Leroy’s knuckles slowly whitened as he gripped the steering wheel hard. It was the only sign he gave that Frank was the one he’d been waiting for.
Eventually they all disappeared into the cemetery grounds, the family, relatives, and friends.
A group of four men remained outside. They split into twos and stayed each side of the gates, their eyes ever-watchful.
Leroy did not move for ten minutes, then he got out of the van, opened up the back, and took out a giant wreath. Slowly he carried it down the street toward the cemetery.
One of the men blocked his path at the gate. ‘Yeah? Whatcha want?’
‘Special delivery for the Bassalino funeral,’ Leroy said solemnly.
‘Leave it here.’
‘Sure.’ He deposited the wreath on the ground, fumbling in his pocket for the receipt book. ‘Sign here, please.’
The man scrawled an illegible signature.
Leroy hesitated, as if waiting for a tip. ‘You want I should take it through?’ he asked. ‘I was given instructions it had to be left graveside.’
‘Just leave it where it is.’
Leroy shrugged. ‘It’s your funeral,’ he muttered under his breath as he walked back to the van.
Exactly six minutes later the four men standing by the cemetery gates were blown to pieces.
Leroy, now parked three blocks away, heard the explosion clearly. He waited for half a minute and then walked back to view the chaos, carrying a brown-paper parcel.
Police sirens screamed through the air. A crowd was gathering.
Leroy found it was easy to place his package on the front seat of Frank Bassalino’s limousine. The chauffeur had left the car and was among the crowd by the cemetery gates. The line of parked limousines was deserted. Leroy realized if he’d so desired he could have left a package in each car. But that wasn’t the way Dukey K. Williams wanted it.
Within minutes Enzio and his sons came rushing out. There was much confusion, women were weeping and screaming, and the crowd was growing by the minute.
Leroy strolled casually off, the first part of his job successfully accomplished.
CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN
Angelo could feel the fear in his stomach, a tight, burning knot of pure terror.
They had been standing by the grave when they heard the explosion. Instinctively he dropped to the ground, burying his head in his hands.
Jesus, what a fucking noise! What was he doing here anyway, in this maniac city, when he should be safely in London?
Nick dragged him up. ‘Stay easy,’ he warned. ‘Don’t panic. Act like a man, for crissake.’
Enzio was already sending people to find out what was going on.
Within minutes they were back with the bad news. A bomb.
Immediately Enzio took command. ‘Go to the cars. Keep alert. Stay in groups. Golli, Segal, hold on to Frank. Nick, look after Angelo.’
Frank appeared to be unaffected by the explosion. He had started the day drunk, and with the help of a flask in his back pocket, he planned to finish the day drunk.
‘Go straight to the airport,’ Enzio instructed. ‘Don’t stop by Frank’s house or the hotel.’
No one argued. With bombs going off around them a weekend in Miami seemed like a good idea.
‘I’ll take Frank with me,’ Nick said.
‘No, you stay with Angelo,’ Enzio insisted, noticing how white-faced and shaken his younger son was. ‘Golli an’ Segal will take care of Frank.’
Nick didn’t argue. All he wanted was to get the fuck out of there before the cops arrived. Let Enzio deal with the police—he was the one with enough connections to wire a building.
They bundled into the cars. Angelo slumped back on his seat. ‘Those guys,’ he mumbled. ‘Those poor goddamn guys…’
‘Why don’t you thank your skinny balls it wasn’t you?’ Nick said grimly. ‘It was probably meant to be.’
‘Me?’ Angelo was incredulous. ‘Why me?’
‘You, me, Frank. What difference? We’re all Bassalinos.’
Angelo nodded helplessly. Yes, they were all Bassalinos, and that meant anyone warring with Enzio automatically included his three sons.
‘Who do you think did—’
‘Listen kid, I don’t want to talk,’ Nick interrupted. ‘Sit back and relax, turn on or something, but leave me alone. I’ve got some thinkin’ to do.’ He closed his eyes. All day long he’d been trying to get his thoughts straight, and it wasn’t easy. For someone who didn’t drink he had one bitch of a hangover. The business with Lara had really turned him over. Jesus, she’d planned it, wanted him to find her in be
d with that Italian piece of shit.
She was a prize bitch.
And yet…
He hoped he’d damaged the guy.
He wished he’d damaged her.
And as for April Crawford—she and Sammy Albert would soon be yesterday’s news. If he really thought about it, they deserved each other.
Lara Crichton was something else. When the trouble was over and he could concentrate, he was going to have to do something about her. She was too special to let go.
‘I don’t know why I couldn’t have stayed in London,’ Angelo complained, interrupting his brother’s thoughts.
Before Nick could reply they both heard the explosion. It came from behind.
The car with Frank in it was behind.
CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT
Prince Alfredo Masserini had suffered a broken nose. ‘I will sue that man for every dollar he has,’ he ranted from his private hospital bed, his perfect Roman nose encased in a plaster cast.
‘You don’t know who he is,’ Lara remarked calmly.
Prince Alfredo swore hotly in Italian, then said, ‘Lara, you are being a very stupid girl. I thought perhaps there was a future for us together, but now…’ He shrugged, trailing off.
Lara got up from the chair beside the bed and nodded. ‘You’re right, Alfredo. You really are.’ She walked toward the door. She’d had enough of him and his whining. News of April Crawford’s surprise marriage to Sammy Albert was all over the papers. What was Nick doing? Thinking? Was he destroyed?
‘Where are you going?’ Alfredo demanded imperiously.
She shook her head. ‘Paris, maybe. The Bahamas. I don’t know.’
‘You wait here a few days,’ he said, condescendingly. ‘I will forgive you. We go somewhere together.’
‘Ah, but I don’t want to be forgiven,’ she replied, her green eyes bright. ‘I’m not a child, Alfredo. The truth is, I’m sorry about your nose. I’m sorry about everything. It’s just best we don’t see each other again.’
‘Lara!’ He was shocked. ‘What do you mean? I have waited these last weeks, I have made certain plans for us. My mother, she looks forward to meeting you. We ski first, then on to Rome, where I will present you to my family.’