Lovers & Players

  ‘Beating yourself up won’t help,’ Chris said. ‘You did it, it’s over, and as soon as possible you need to get to a meeting. It’s imperative you attend on a regular basis. Plus you’ve got to find a sponsor.’

  ‘I had one in Italy,’ Jett said, downing his fifth cup of coffee. ‘Any time I felt the urge I called this guy and he talked me down. It worked great.’

  ‘Yeah, well, what obviously does not work great is you not going to meetings,’ Chris pointed out.

  ‘I get it.’

  ‘I hope so.’

  ‘Guess I wasn’t thinking straight with all this stuff goin’ on,’ Jett said, trying to make excuses. ‘Y’ know, Gianna leaving. Amy not wanting to hurt Max.’

  ‘Like, you do?’ Chris questioned.

  ‘There’s no way I want to hurt him. What I do want is to be with Amy.’

  ‘That’s what you want, huh?’ Chris sighed. ‘You’re sure?’

  ‘Yeah, that’s it.’

  ‘You got anything to offer her, little bro’? You thought about that?’

  ‘Huh?’

  ‘If she leaves Max, what makes you think it’ll work out between the two of you? You’ve no steady job, no apartment. You don’t even have a car.’

  ‘Make me feel better about myself, why doncha?’ Jett said wryly.

  ‘I’m being real. Are you?’

  ‘What d’you mean by that?’

  ‘Gianna seemed great. Beautiful, successful, fun. Could be you’re making a big mistake.’

  ‘You don’t get it, Chris,’ Jett said earnestly. ‘I love Amy, and she loves me.’

  ‘Did she tell you that?’

  ‘No, but—’

  ‘She didn’t tell you?’

  ‘It’s early days.’

  ‘So what’s your plan?’

  ‘We don’t have one.’

  ‘Try this.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘How about you leave her alone for a while, let her make her own decisions, then see what happens?’

  ‘I don’t think I can do that.’

  ‘Look,’ Chris said, the voice of reason, ‘force her into doing something now and she’s likely to resent you. When and if she decides to leave Max, it has to be her move, not because you talked her into it. Then, later, if the two of you do get together…it won’t be so bad for Max.’

  ‘I suppose you could be right,’ Jett mumbled reluctantly.

  ‘I know I am. In the meantime, I think you should fly to L.A. with me tomorrow. It’ll give you a chance to get your head straight, put some space between you and this situation.’

  ‘I can’t—’

  ‘Yes, you can,’ Chris said forcefully. ‘I’m booking you a ticket, so get your ass over to your apartment and pack. I’ll see you at the house of horrors in the morning. We’ll take off from there.’

  Max stumbled from Irena’s apartment, his heart beating wildly. This was the second dead woman he’d seen in less than a week. What the fuck was happening to his nice orderly life?

  A few days ago he’d had everything under control–everything except his finances, and now that problem was taken care of. But his personal life was a fucking nightmare. And it was all the fault of Vladimir Bushkin, the Russian prick with his threats and blackmail.

  Because of Vladimir, two women were dead. Somehow or other he must have discovered that Irena was about to reveal his identity as the man who’d killed Mariska, so he’d silenced her too. This time with a gun.

  Totally panicked, Max raced down the concrete stairs. He’d taken one look at Irena and fled, desperate to get out of her room and away from the devastating stench of death.

  As he made his way rapidly down the stairs, he started going over what he’d seen. He hadn’t noticed any blood, just a small neat hole right in the middle of her forehead.

  Maybe she wasn’t dead. He should have felt her pulse. Although why would he touch her?

  Should he call the police? That was the big question.

  Yes.

  No!

  How was he going to explain a second visit to Irena? What if they thought he had had something to do with her murder?

  He had no alibi. Christ! He needed an alibi.

  Amy. He’d go straight to Amy. Tell the police–should they ask–that he’d been with her all night.

  Yes. That was a plan. Had to have a plan, otherwise he’d look guilty as hell. He could just imagine Detective Rodriguez’s smarmy face. Tell me, Mr Diamond, why did you go back to visit Irena a second time? To kill her? Is that it? To stop her telling us that you murdered your wife? Sorry, Mr Diamond–your ex-wife.

  Yes, Detective Rodriguez would go to town on this one.

  I should call my lawyer, he thought.

  Why? I’m not guilty of anything. Best to keep quiet. Nobody knows I’m here. It would be foolish to open anything up.

  Aren’t you going to report a murder?

  No. I’m not.

  And as these thoughts flew around in his brain, he continued hurrying down the stairs, still clutching the canvas bag, sweating profusely, agonizing over what to do next.

  ‘I thought we stay all night,’ Famka said, making a disappointed face.

  ‘Why would I ever want to spend the night with two whores like you?’ Red Diamond said, getting off the bed and starting to dress.

  ‘Because you like us,’ Famka said, in her best girly voice. ‘Because we’re sexy and you like fucking us.’

  ‘Ask your friend why you’re not staying,’ Red said, indicating Sonja. ‘Your blackmailing friend.’

  ‘What you say?’ Famka said blankly, looking from Red to Sonja.

  ‘Didn’t she tell you?’ Red sneered. ‘Cut you in?’

  Famka stared at Sonja. Sonja shrugged, as if she had no idea what he was talking about. Damn him. If the old fart said anything, she would deny it.

  ‘Cut me in on what?’ Famka asked at last, pouting just a little bit.

  ‘She’ll tell you,’ Red said, pulling on his pants. He was bored with both of them. They’d done their job and now he wanted them gone.

  He walked over to the dresser, picked up his wallet and threw a flurry of hundred-dollar bills in their direction. ‘Out,’ he said. ‘Now.’

  Half-way down the stairs, Max tripped and, before he could save himself, he began to fall, crashing down several of the concrete stairs on his knees. The shock and pain hit him immediately, while the canvas bag shot out of his hands and plummeted over the stairwell to the ground floor.

  ‘Shit!’ he muttered, grabbing the side rail and staggering to his feet. Could this day get any worse? His pants were ripped, he could barely stand, and the pain in his right knee was excruciating.

  Somehow or other, he made his way down the rest of the stairs, reaching the bag just in time as a lank-haired youth was about to scoop it up.

  ‘That’s mine,’ Max said, breathing heavily.

  ‘Says who?’ the boy questioned. He was sixteen or seventeen, with sallow features and a sullen attitude.

  ‘It’s mine,’ Max repeated sharply. ‘I dropped it.’

  ‘What’s in it?’ the boy asked, his hand hovering near the handle.

  ‘None of your damn business,’ Max shouted, snatching up the bag and limping towards the door.

  ‘I should get a fuckin’ reward,’ the boy yelled after him.

  ‘Bullshit,’ Max muttered, crossing the street and reaching the safety of his car.

  He leaned against the side of his Mercedes for a moment before he got in. Then he slid behind the wheel, placed the canvas bag on the passenger seat and stared at it.

  What was he going to do with the money and gemstones now? What the hell was he going to do?

  Somewhere in her sleep Amy could hear banging, a doorbell ringing. Slowly opening her eyes, she realized the noise wasn’t part of her dream. Someone was hammering at her front door.

  She groped for the bedside clock and noted it was almost midnight. Now, who would be pounding at her door so late?

>   Jett. It had to be Jett.

  For a moment she lay very still, hoping he’d go away. But he didn’t. The incessant ringing of the bell continued until she was forced to get out of bed before he woke the people in the next apartment.

  She reached for a robe and made her way to the front door. ‘Jett,’ she said firmly, not opening the door. ‘Go away.’

  ‘It’s Max. Will you please open up?’

  Oh, God! Max had found out about her and Jett, and he was here to confront her.

  For a moment she froze, not sure what to do.

  ‘Hurry up, Amy,’ he said, raising his voice.

  Had Jett told him? Confessed? Or had Chris given him the bad news?

  Okay. Don’t panic, she thought. I can handle this.

  Taking a long, deep breath, she flung open the door. Max stumbled inside. He looked dreadful, dishevelled and unkempt, totally unlike the Max she knew. It was obvious that he’d taken the news badly. She wasn’t surprised.

  ‘I…I don’t know what to say,’ she began, searching for the right words. ‘It wasn’t planned…It, uh, just happened.’

  ‘I need to use the bathroom,’ he said, pushing past her. ‘I’ll explain everything in a minute.’

  He hurried past into her bedroom, then she heard her bathroom door slam.

  She stood in the hallway for a moment, nonplussed. What had he meant by I’ll explain everything in a minute? Wasn’t she the one who was supposed to be doing the explaining?

  And was it her imagination, or were his pants all ripped at the knees? And why did he look all sweaty and mussed up?

  Had he and Jett had a fight? That would be so bad–she couldn’t stand it.

  Jett. She should call Jett and find out what had taken place. She could do it while Max was in the bathroom.

  She ran into her bedroom and picked up the phone, keeping a close eye on the bathroom door.

  ‘Hey,’ Jett said, delighted to hear from her.

  ‘What happened?’ she asked, in a low voice.

  Jett hesitated a moment. ‘Look, I didn’t intend to do it,’ he said, trying to figure out how she’d found out about his drinking. ‘It was just one of those things.’

  ‘It’s so wrong,’ she said furiously.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ he said. ‘It’s not something I sat around planning to do.’

  ‘If anyone was going to tell him, it should’ve been me. And did the two of you get in a fight?’

  ‘Who? Me and Chris?’

  ‘What does Chris have to do with this?’

  ‘Well…uh…he helped me out. Y’ know, sobered me up, got me together.’

  ‘You were drunk?’ she exclaimed, horrified.

  ‘Isn’t that what we’re talking about?’

  ‘No,’ she said sharply. ‘We’re talking about you telling Max about us.’

  ‘Huh?’

  ‘He turned up at my apartment a few minutes ago, and he looks awful. You did get in a fight, didn’t you?’ she said accusingly.

  ‘Are you kidding me? We did not get into a fight, and I sure as hell didn’t tell him about us.’

  ‘Then how does he know?’

  They both said it at the same time. ‘Chris!’

  ‘That son-of-a-bitch,’ Jett exclaimed.

  ‘How could he?’ Amy wailed.

  ‘I’m coming over,’ Jett said, making a quick decision. ‘We gotta face this together.’

  ‘No!’ she said helplessly. ‘If you come over it’ll only make things worse.’

  ‘There’s no way you’re handling it alone. I’ll be there as soon as I can. Hang in there, Amy. I promise you- everything’s gonna be okay.’

  She put down the phone as Max emerged from the bathroom. Yes, he did look beat up, there were gaping rips in his pants legs, and one of his exposed knees was dripping blood.

  ‘I–I don’t know what to say, Max,’ she began. ‘I never meant for you to find out like this.’

  ‘Listen to me carefully, Amy,’ he said urgently, ignoring her words. ‘If anyone asks, I was here all night.’

  ‘Excuse me?’ she said, frowning.

  ‘All night,’ he repeated. ‘You understand?’

  She was utterly confused. Did he know about her and Jett or not? And if he did, it was obvious he had something else on his mind.

  ‘I’m sorry to use you as my alibi,’ he continued, ‘but I witnessed something tonight, and if the police think I was there, I’ll get dragged into it, and that won’t be good.’

  ‘Witnessed what?’

  ‘Something bad.’

  ‘How bad?’

  ‘It’s better you don’t know.’

  Suddenly she felt sick. Her mother’s words came drifting back into her head: Max is not a victim, Amy. His wife has been brutally murdered, and the suspicion lies on him.

  ‘What’s going on, Max?’ she asked, pulling her robe tightly round her.

  ‘I told you,’ he said, sitting on the edge of the bed. ‘It’s better you don’t know.’

  ‘If you want me to say you were here, I have to know what I’m shielding you from.’

  ‘Jesus Christ!’ he said furiously, standing up again. ‘Why can’t you do as I say for once?’

  She’d never seen this side of him before, this angry person she barely recognized.

  ‘Does–does this have something to do with Mariska’s murder?’ she asked tentatively.

  ‘Fuck!’ he exclaimed, walking over and banging his fist against the wall. ‘Fuck! Fuck! FUCK!’

  ‘I don’t understand what’s going on,’ she said, moving across the room to get away from him. ‘But whatever it is, I think you’d better go.’

  ‘I come to you for help, and you’re sending me away?’ he said incredulously. ‘This is goddamn serious, Amy. You’d better do as I tell you.’

  He began to move towards her. She backed away.

  ‘What’s the matter with you?’ he demanded. ‘I ask you to do one simple thing, and you can’t. I’m your future husband, for Crissake. We’re getting married.’

  His words filled her with dread. She’d thought she was in love with Max, but it dawned on her that she never had been. He’d represented safety, and now he didn’t. Then she realized that she would never have slept with another man if she’d really been in love with him. Too much to drink or not, it simply wasn’t possible.

  All she wanted at this moment was to get him out of her apartment.

  ‘Are you just going to stand there and say nothing?’ he yelled. ‘Jesus Christ, Amy. I thought I could depend on you.’

  ‘If you tell me what’s going on, then maybe I can help,’ she said, her voice sounding higher than usual. ‘However, if you don’t…’ Her words trailed off as she remembered that Jett was on his way over, and if Max didn’t know about them, the timing of his finding out couldn’t have been worse.

  ‘Forget it,’ Max snapped. ‘I’m out of here. You’re not the girl I thought you were, Amy. You’re not someone I can trust.’ With that he stormed his way to the front door.

  She stayed in her bedroom, rooted to the spot, allowing him to go. Something very bad had happened for Max to be acting like this. Something very, very bad.

  And then the thought popped into her head–was Max responsible for Mariska’s murder? Had he killed her? Shuddering with a sudden icy fear, she ran into the hall and locked the front door behind him.

  Muttering to himself, Max made it downstairs. He was furious with Amy. This was the first time he’d ever asked her for anything, and it floored him that she couldn’t manage to come through.

  The problem was she was too young to understand what was going on. She wasn’t a woman, she was a girl. A very lovely and innocent girl, but maybe thinking they could make a marriage work was a mistake. She wasn’t that great with Lulu, and Lulu needed a mother–now more than ever.

  The image of Irena sitting in her chair with a bullet-hole through her forehead flashed through his mind. Who had killed her? And why?

  Christ! What
was happening? Why did everything seem to be spiralling out of control? He had to get a grip, decide what to do.

  Stepping out of the elevator, he came face to face with Jett. ‘What the hell are you doing here?’ he said, frowning.

  ‘Okay, okay,’ Jett began, speaking fast. ‘I need to explain that it wasn’t anyone’s fault. It was one of those crazy things that just kinda happened. We didn’t plan it, I can promise you that. I had no idea who she was–and she certainly had no clue I was your brother. It was kinda…fate.’

  Max stared at his younger half-brother, the ‘fuck-up’ as Red always referred to him. Was he missing something? Earlier, when he’d hammered on Amy’s door, she’d thought it was Jett. Now why would she think Jett was at her door in the middle of the night?

  It didn’t make sense…or did it?

  And then her words came back to him–I–I don’t know what to say…it wasn’t planned…It just happened.

  Almost the same words as Jett had used. And Amy wasn’t herself, she was nervous and jumpy, almost guilty.

  Of what?

  ‘Tell me about the crazy thing that just happened?’ Max demanded, a helpless anger coursing through him, for he knew he was not going to like what he heard.

  ‘You can’t take it out on Amy,’ Jett said earnestly. ‘You gotta understand that it wasn’t her fault. She’d had too much to drink and, like I said, it was just one of those crazy things—’

  Max got it. Without thinking, he hauled back and slammed his fist into Jett’s chin. Hard. ‘You son-of-a-bitch!’ he screamed. ‘You fucking son-of-a-bitch!’

  Jett swayed on his feet. ‘I’m telling you–you gotta understand,’ he yelled. ‘I love her, an’ she feels the same way about me. There’s nothing you can do.’

  ‘Nothing, huh?’ Max screamed, all the anger and frustration of the past few days reaching boiling point. ‘You fucking asshole loser.’

  ‘You’re just like Red,’ Jett managed, rubbing his chin. ‘Same lousy attitude. Same freakin’ words.’

  ‘Don’t ever compare me to him.’

  ‘Jeez, Max, I feel sorry for you, ’cause you are like him. Why doncha admit it? You’re two of a kind.’

  Max experienced a cold knot of fear and anger in the pit of his stomach. He was losing everything–including his fucking mind. But he was not about to lose his identity. He would never be the man his father was. Never.