The Santangelos

by Jackie Collins

  “Oh yes, and you’re so perfect,” she said, knowing that she was turning him on.

  After a long pause, he said, “You coming over?”

  “When did you have in mind?”

  “Later—after everyone’s gone.”

  “Why do I always have to wait till everyone’s out of there?” she complained.

  “Because I say so.”

  “Seems you’re forgetting that I’m a legitimate client again.”

  “Premature.”

  “Excuse me?”

  “Forget it,” Eddie said gruffly. “Be here at six. Use my private elevator.”

  “And we’ll discuss our project?”

  “Sure.”

  “Anything else you’d like from me, Mr. Big Shot Falcon?” she asked coyly.

  “I’d like you to stop fucking my father-in-law,” he said with a surly grunt.

  “I’ll take it under consideration,” she said, clicking off her phone and grinning to herself.

  Eddie was jealous. Good. It would force him to pay attention. And if there was one thing that Willow loved, it was attention.

  * * *

  Alejandro surfaced late in the afternoon. Matias gave him his messages—including one from Rafael saying he was on his way back to L.A. Summoning his housekeeper, Alejandro ordered coffee and an omelet, then he reflected on the previous night’s activities. He pictured the two plain Valley girls standing in front of him wearing nothing except the plastic baggies of drugs taped to their imperfect bodies. Then he pictured himself ripping the baggies off the girls, listening to them squeal with pain as the tape tore at their skin.

  Thinking about it gave him an immediate erection, which pleased him. He’d been taking so much Viagra lately that he wasn’t sure if he could get it up without the little blue pill.

  It wasn’t that he needed Viagra like some decrepit old man. No, he simply enjoyed the explosive effect. In his mind, Viagra was heroin for his cock.

  Sitting up in bed, he reached for the remote and tuned into afternoon television. He really enjoyed the talk shows with their dyke hosts and needy audiences. So many women seeking love advice. Who wouldn’t enjoy imagining them naked—all different shapes and sizes—all searching for a man who could satisfy them?

  The women in the audiences reminded him of the two girls, his obedient drug mules. Girls who would do anything for money.

  Thinking of money reminded him of Willow. Matias had mentioned she’d called, so he reached for his cell and called her back.

  “Where’s the money?” she said, sounding shrill. “We can’t get anything started without the cash.”

  “Rafael’s on his way back. He’ll have everything.”

  “He only just left,” Willow pointed out.

  “What difference does that make?” Alejandro said, watching a female on The Daytona Rich Show burst into tears because her boyfriend had cheated on her. She exhibited no shame in front of millions of people.

  “Does this mean you’ll have the cash tomorrow?” Willow asked impatiently.

  “Maybe,” Alejandro said, opening his nightstand drawer and reaching for a small glassine packet of coke, which he proceeded to tip out onto the top of the nightstand.

  “I hope so, ’cause I’ve got everyone on hold,” Willow said.

  “Keep ’em there,” Alejandro said, leaning over to snort a line.

  “Should I come by later?”

  “Not tonight,” Alejandro said, thinking that if the Puerto Rican with the juicy ass returned, she was going to be all his.

  Willow couldn’t make up her mind whether she was relieved or pissed off. Relieved won out—because how many cocks could she service in one day? First the afternoon fling with Ralph. Then later she knew Eddie would expect oral—he always did. So dealing with Alejandro might’ve been one cock too many.

  “Then tomorrow for sure?” she said. “I’ll come over around noon to pick up the cash. We can work on an announcement for the trades, and maybe discuss hiring a top PR. Publicity is king, and it’s essential that we hire the best.”

  Alejandro snorted another line. “Okay,” he mumbled.

  They both clicked off at the same time.

  Settling back into his bed, Alejandro continued watching TV.

  Willow went into her bathroom and started getting ready for her meeting with Eddie.

  Soon their movie would be set to go.

  Both of them envisioned a place for themselves in the Hollywood sun.

  CHAPTER SIXTY

  Persuasion is a funny thing. Sometimes it takes money. Sometimes it takes violence. Chris was adept at either, depending on what the situation called for.

  Pedro, it turned out, was the scruffy and unkempt brother Chris had encountered earlier—except now he’d cleaned himself up and he actually resembled the man from the security tape. Chris suddenly realized that he was the man.

  Exactly as Chris had expected, Pedro came up behind him in the parking lot, stuck a gun in his ribs, and muttered, “Who t’ fuck send you t’ me, mothafucker?”

  This was not the first time Chris had experienced a gun in his ribs, and it probably wasn’t going to be the last. It didn’t faze him. In fact, it didn’t bother him at all, for he knew that whenever he felt like it, he could disarm this ass-wipe and take control.

  Timing was everything.

  “You killed a girl in Chicago,” Chris said evenly. “Why’d you do it?”

  “Who’re you, her husband?” Pedro sneered.

  “Nope. I’m simply an interested party.”

  Pedro dug him hard with the gun, not understanding why the pedazo de mierda wasn’t shaking in his boots. “I ain’t askin’ again—where’d you hear ’bout me?” he snarled.

  “Tell me what happened in Chicago,” Chris countered.

  “Listen t’ me, mothafucker—”

  Enough, Chris thought. I don’t have the time to be standing here going around in circles.

  With one swift move that Pedro didn’t see coming, he disarmed the man—sticking Pedro’s own gun in his stomach. “I’m asking nicely. It’s up to you, because if you don’t care to answer, we’ll be here until you do.”

  “What t’ fuck—” Pedro fumed, trying to figure out what had just taken place. He was not used to being the victim.

  “Yeah, what the fuck is right,” Chris said. “Glad that you’re finally getting it, ’cause I don’t have the time nor the inclination to hang around waiting for you to tell me something that you will tell me, whether it be now or hours from now. Your choice. Now, who hired you to go to Chicago?”

  There was something in Chris’s tone that convinced Pedro he meant business. But Pedro was canny enough to realize that if this big lug wanted information, then why shouldn’t he get paid for it?

  “How much?” he muttered.

  “How much what?” Chris responded.

  “How much you gonna pay me for the info I got?”

  It’s never easy, Chris thought with a weary sigh. How come I always have to end up hurting someone before they give it up? And this ass-wipe will eventually give it up, whether he wants to or not.

  Of course he could pay him. But why would he pay a piece of shit murderer? No. He’d get the information he required, then he’d do Detective Cole’s job for him and point the detective in the direction of the real killer, because he had no doubt that’s who Pedro was.

  Jamming the gun in Pedro’s stomach, he began moving him toward his van.

  “Okay, okay,” Pedro muttered. “We stay out here. I tell you what you wanna know.”

  And with that he jerked his knee up—making a vain attempt to throw Chris off balance. Chris saw it coming and swiftly sidestepped, jamming the gun even harder into Pedro’s soft gut.

  “You want me to shoot you?” Chris threatened. “How do you feel about a bullet in your belly? ’Cause one more move like that, an’ I’ll do it.”

  Pedro grunted.

  They reached the van. Chris shoved him roughly into the back.
It was time to get some answers.

  * * *

  A couple of hours later, Lucky felt the phone she had tucked under her pillow vibrate.

  Rolling over in bed, she glanced quickly at Lennie. He was sleeping soundly. Grabbing her phone, she hurried downstairs to the kitchen.

  Chris had texted her. Pedro A involved with Bobby setup. No connection to Gino. Call me a.m.

  Did he honestly think she was waiting until the morning to call him? No way.

  Grabbing a 7-Up from the fridge, she made her way into her study, shutting the door behind her. Popping open the can, she called Chris.

  “I thought you’d be asleep,” he said.

  “And I thought I’d hear from you earlier.”

  “I got held up. Had to deal with some uh … dental work.”

  “Dental work?”

  “Don’t ask.”

  “So … tell me everything.”

  “Not over the phone, Lucky. I’ll meet you for breakfast.”

  “It’s not a good idea for you to come to the house. Bobby’s starting to make noise about getting involved, and that’s the last thing I need. I want Bobby kept out of this.”

  “Where, then?”

  “There’s a breakfast truck parked above Zuma beach. I’ll see you there at seven.”

  “Got it.”

  * * *

  At six-thirty A.M. Lucky managed to exit the house undetected. Lennie was a heavy sleeper, and the boys were sleeping too, having played video games until three A.M.

  She informed the security guard at the front of the house that she was taking a drive.

  “Should I come with you, Mrs. Golden?” the guard asked, edging toward her.

  “No thanks,” she said.

  “Mr. Golden told us—”

  “Yes, I know,” she said impatiently. “He told you I should have company, and you can tell Mr. Golden that you tried, okay?”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  Hmm … since when had she become “ma’am”?

  She’d left Lennie a note on the bathroom mirror. Meeting Chris for breakfast. Will call you later.

  He’d be pissed, but so what? She didn’t have to answer to him. Truth was, she didn’t have to answer to anyone. And the same went for him. Their marriage worked because they gave each other the freedom to do whatever they wanted. Unfortunately, Gino’s murder had freaked Lennie out, and that was because he knew what she was capable of, and he didn’t want her putting herself in danger. Lennie didn’t understand what revenge meant. He did not share the same mind-set on that subject.

  The Pacific Coast Highway was clear, no traffic. Lucky raced her Ferrari down the winding stretch of road, impatient to hear what Chris would have to say.

  She arrived at Zuma early and spotted Chris’s van already there, parked near the food truck.

  It occurred to her that although she and Chris shared a great working relationship, she actually knew nothing about his personal life. Was he married? Did he have kids? Or maybe just a girlfriend?

  Who knew? Not she. For Gino had taught her that it wasn’t wise to pry into people’s personal lives, not unless they offered up the information.

  Chris was not offering.

  She was not asking.

  Chris had seen her drive onto the spacious open lot and was already approaching her. “Morning,” he said.

  “Hard night?” she asked, noticing that he looked tired.

  “Flying in and out of Chicago in one day wasn’t the greatest. I’m here, though,” he said with a casual shrug.

  “Let’s get coffee,” she said, striding toward the food truck as a couple of early-morning surfers passed by all suited up and ready for action.

  They both got Styrofoam cups of black coffee and sat down at a wooden picnic table overlooking the ocean.

  “I used to come here with Dario when we could escape the Bel Air mausoleum,” Lucky reflected, gazing at the breaking waves.

  “Your brother?” Chris asked.

  “Yeah, Dario was a great kid. Artistic. While all I wanted to do was take over Gino’s business.”

  “That you did.”

  “Oh yes, I certainly did,” she said, sipping her coffee.

  “I’m sure Gino was very proud of you.”

  “Eventually.”

  “It’s going to be another hot one today,” Chris said, squinting at the sun.

  “Okay,” Lucky said. “We’re not here to discuss my personal life or the weather. What’s the story about Bobby getting set up?”

  “You’re going to find it hard to believe.”

  “Try me.”

  Chris began to explain. “This Pedro dude was hired to go to Bobby’s club with a girl as bait to get Bobby to go back to the hotel with her. Then she was to drug him—which she did—and the girl was to get a beating, something Pedro omitted to tell her. The beating was to be blamed on Bobby, so that he’d get arrested and his DA girlfriend would fly to Chicago—taking her mind off the drug kingpin she’s working to take down.”

  “Denver?”

  “Is that his girlfriend?”

  “Yes. She’s part of a drug task force.”

  “Targeting who?”

  “I don’t know the details. Bobby does.”

  “Okay.”

  “I’m confused,” Lucky said, frowning. “Exactly how did this so-called plan turn into a murder?”

  “Like I said, the call girl they hired—Nadia—was not warned about the beating. When Pedro started doing his thing, she fought back, he got carried away, and there you go. One dead call girl.”

  “That’s pretty fucked up.”

  “I told you.”

  “And you’re certain it has nothing to do with Gino’s murder?”

  “No. We’re still at square one on that.”

  “Who hired this Pedro guy?”

  “I can find out if you think it matters. Pedro’s story was that he was hired over the phone. Money was paid via bank transfer. I’ve contacted Detective Cole in Chicago with a full rundown on Pedro. And here’s the kicker. I recorded everything. Got a full confession from the douche.”

  “You must be very persuasive.”

  “I have certain skills.”

  “Where’s Pedro now?”

  “Probably running his sorry ass over the border. I let him go. The shit-bag’s not our problem. Bobby’s in the clear. I’ve already alerted Beverly to take care of the details. The case against Bobby will be dismissed.”

  “That’s great.”

  “You want me to follow up on who hired Pedro?”

  “No. You’re correct, it doesn’t matter. It’s done,” she said restlessly. “Right now we need to concentrate on Gino’s killer. You have to help me with this, Chris. I can’t go on not knowing. Somebody has to pay for what they did.”

  “I understand.”

  “There must be something to lead us in the right direction.”

  “I’ve still got my guy at face recognition working on it. Now that Bobby’s in the clear, I can give it my all.”

  “Thanks, Chris.”

  “Not to worry. We’ll find him. That’s a promise.”

  “And when we do,” she said, her eyes black and deadly, “I’ll deal with him. Me and nobody else. Do you understand?”

  “Only too well.”

  CHAPTER SIXTY-ONE

  As soon as her meeting with Chris was finished, Lucky drove back to the Malibu house, sat down with Bobby, and gave him the news that he would soon be vindicated. She filled him in on everything, including the information that it had all taken place because of the drug kingpin Denver was so intent on locking up.

  For a moment Bobby felt numb. Denver was involved. His Denver.

  Only she wasn’t his Denver anymore, was she?

  Because of Denver’s stubborn determination to take down Alejandro Diego, a girl had gotten herself murdered. A beautiful girl. The girl in the red dress. Nadia. And he’d been targeted due to Denver’s stupid obsession. He was furious.


  After listening to everything Lucky had to say, he decided it was time to go home and confront Denver. Not that it was her fault directly, but because of everything that had taken place, he couldn’t help blaming her—even though he realized that he was being unreasonable. She couldn’t have known to what lengths Alejandro Diego would go.

  The sad truth was that something terrible had taken place. A girl had been murdered, and if Denver hadn’t been so fixated on bringing down Alejandro, it wouldn’t have happened.

  He said good-bye to Lennie and Steven. Gino Junior and Leo were loathe to see him go; they hung on to him, demanding to know when he’d be back.

  “Soon,” he assured them.

  At least he’d gotten to spend time with his family. He felt refreshed, invigorated, and ready to have it out with Denver. What would she have to say when he told her the whole sordid story?

  I could’ve died, he thought for the hundredth time. And all she was worried about was if I was thinking of getting laid.

  He was still angry that she hadn’t trusted him. She’d done nothing to help, and she hadn’t even mentioned Gino’s demise when she’d flown into Chicago to accuse him.

  The more he thought about her actions, the angrier he became. Once again he realized that she was not the girl he’d thought she was.

  By the time he reached their house in the Hollywood Hills it was still early. Her car was in the driveway. No time like the present to deal with the situation.

  He entered the house, and when he couldn’t find her downstairs, he headed upstairs.

  The shower was running. Damn it. The last thing he wanted was a confrontation with Denver while she was naked. He knew exactly where that would lead, and sex was the furthest thing from his mind.

  Or was it?

  Maybe sex would solve their problems. Perhaps a roll around their king-sized bed would make all the bad things go away. He could certainly do with some loving.

  No! A voice screamed in his head. You gotta get things straight first.

  Making his way back downstairs, he went into the kitchen and put on coffee.

  Then he sat at the kitchen table and waited.

  * * *

  Ross was a diversion that Max felt she deserved. Nothing serious. No falling in love, simply a lighthearted distraction from thinking about Billy, the man who’d led her on once again.