Summoning every ounce of strength he had left, he slammed two more solid left hooks straight at Bull Ali’s jaw—one sledgehammer blow after the other.
To the crowd’s surprise and shock, Bull Ali fell to the canvas like a lead weight and failed to get up.
The referee started the count. “One . . . two . . . three . . .”
“Get up!” the crowd began chanting. “Get up!!”
“. . . four . . . five . . . six . . .”
“Get up, you piece of shit!” screamed Bull Ali’s beautiful, serene wife.
“. . . seven . . . eight . . . nine . . . ten!”
Pandemonium reigned.
Antonio “The Panther” Lopez was the new champion—exactly as he’d predicted.
•
The crowd poured out of the arena, buzzing with the heady excitement of the surprise ending to a truly great fight.
“I never thought he’d pull it off,” Madison said, as they made their way toward the entrance.
“I did,” said Cole, close behind her. “He’s got killer eyes.”
“Enough about the eyes,” said Mr. Mogul, stopping to air-kiss Pamela Anderson—a blond vision in a red rubber tube dress.
“Mr. Mogul knows everyone,” Cole confided.
“Ah, but you know all their dirty little secrets,” Natalie said wickedly. “Like who’s had breast implants, lipo, penile enhancements—”
“Do you, Cole?” Madison asked, quite amused. “That could be a fascinating story. The plasticization of Hollywood. Lipo in La La Land. Victor would love it!”
“We did a segment on lips,” Natalie said. “I wanted to call it ‘Who’s Been Kissing Whose Ass?’ But the midget brains who run the network didn’t get it.”
Jake caught up with them as they continued to jostle their way out of the arena. He grabbed Madison and hugged her. “We won!” he said happily. “Now I can buy you a present.”
“We did?” she replied, ridiculously pleased to see him.
“Yes, and we got our cover too. I know the shot I want Victor to use.”
“I’d better call him,” Madison said. “He’ll be screaming for the piece I’m writing like yesterday.”
“Where are we meeting Jamie?” Cole asked.
“Ooops, I’d better call her room,” Natalie said, pulling out her cell phone. “And then—I don’t know about anybody else, but I’m in the mood for food!”
•
“We lost, dammit,” Chas growled, not at all pleased. “Five thousand big ones.”
“You lost,” Renee pointed out with a triumphant smile. “But me,” she boasted, “being such a smart cookie, I bet on the winner.”
“Ya did?”
“Should’ve followed my lead, darlin’. You know I always pick winners.”
“Ya sure do,” Chas said, chuckling.
“Remember that time at the racetrack—”
“When ya begged me to bet on—”
“The horse that was twenty to one—”
“An’ I told ya it was crazy.”
“An’ I said you were the crazy one.”
“An’ then—”
“Oh for God’s sake!” Varoomba yelled hysterically. “Can you two stop with the reminiscing; it’s making me sick!”
•
“What was that all about before?” Rosarita said, as they were swept along by the crowd toward the exit.
“It was about us,” Dexter said grimly.
“Us?” she questioned, wondering why he was still standing. Damn Holland and its phony mail-order poisons.
“I’m leaving you, Rosarita.”
“You’re doing what?” she said incredulously.
“I’ve met someone else. Someone sweet and decent. Someone who will make me happy.”
Oh, this was rich. He was leaving her. Before or after he dropped dead?
“You’re pathetic,” she sneered. “A sad excuse for a man.”
“I understand you have no respect for me,” he said evenly, keeping his temper, because above all else he was a gentleman. “So this’ll be best for all concerned. But I’m warning you, if I give you the divorce you’ve wanted for so long, and ask for nothing in return, then you must swear to me that I will receive free access to our baby.”
“Our baby, huh?” Rosarita said, in a state of simmering fury. “Our baby. Sorry, Dex, but what makes you foolishly think that you’re the father?”
And just as she said those words, they reached the press line, and Martha leaped forward, hanging onto her son as if he were the last lifeboat in a stormy sea.
“Dickie!” Martha shouted joyfully, sensing her moment in the sun was at hand. “Tell the photographers to take a picture of you with your mommy! It’s all the rage!”
•
“She wants to see us,” Natalie said.
“Who wants to see us?” Madison said.
“Jamie.”
“She will, any minute. Didn’t you tell her we’re on our way to the restaurant?”
“I did, but she’s adamant that we go to her room. Just you and me.”
“Just you and me, huh?” Madison said disbelievingly. “Come on, Natalie—what kind of an idiot do you imagine I am?”
“What?” Natalie said.
“Oh yeah, she opens her door, ushers us in, and there’s a bunch of people yelling “Happy birthday,” and a surprise cake and a studly cop who conveniently turns into a male stripper. I know your games.”
Natalie shook her head. “I promise you, Mads, nothing like that is going to happen. Jamie said it’s important that we go to her room immediately. You and me, not the others.”
“I swear to you . . .” Madison said, frowning. “If you’re having me on, I’ll kill you.”
“I’m not,” Natalie said.
“Jake,” Madison said, turning to him, “do you know anything about this?”
He held up his hands. “I’m totally innocent.”
“I bet you are. And I’m the Pope in drag.” A beat. “You know, guys, you’re not fooling me—not one little bit.”
“Call Jamie,” Natalie said.
“Oh yeah, like she’ll tell me the truth.”
“No, I’m telling you the truth. She sounds too upset to say much of anything.”
“If she’s so upset, why does she want to see us?”
“Probably to tell us what she’s upset about,” Natalie said patiently. “You know Jamie, she can’t deal with confrontation. Peter’s probably called her, and she’s sitting there having an uptight fit.”
“Okay,” Jake said. “Here’s the deal—you girls go get Jamie, and we’ll meet you at the restaurant.”
“Do me a favor,” Madison said coldly. “Don’t call me a girl.”
“What should I call you?”
“A woman. We women will go get Jamie.”
“Fine. You women go get Jamie, and make it quick.”
Madison grumbled all the way to the elevator. “I know this is a scam,” she said. “And I hate it. I hate birthday cakes and singing and all the shit that goes with it. And especially now that I’m thirty. Do you realize how old thirty is, Nat?”
“Yes, I do, because my birthday was a month ago, remember? I’m already an old bag, and I’m hosting a show I don’t give a shit about.”
“You get off on every minute of your newfound fame. I noticed Jack Nicholson waving to you at the fight like you were old friends.”
“Jack flirts with everyone.”
“He does?”
“Constantly. It’s part of his dubious charm.”
Three Chinese couples joined them in the elevator as they traveled up to Jamie’s floor.
“I’m telling you,” Madison warned as they walked down the corridor. “One male stripper, one cake, one anything, and I’m out of here.”
“I promise you,” Natalie said, knocking on Jamie’s door. “I have no idea what this is about.”
“Who is it?” Jamie called out.
“Us,” Natalie said. �
�Your loyal friends—remember?”
Jamie inched the door open, keeping the security chain firmly in place.
“Hi,” Natalie said. “Can we come in? Or would you sooner we camped out in the corridor?”
“What is going on?” Madison demanded. “And why are you wearing a bathrobe?”
“Maybe she’s the surprise stripper,” Natalie suggested with a giggle.
“It’s just the two of you, isn’t it?” Jamie said, nervously trying to peek past them. “You didn’t bring anybody with you?”
“Yeah, we’ve got Kris Phoenix and his girlfriend right behind us,” Madison said dryly. “He mumbled something about coming over to fuck you.”
“That’s not funny,” Jamie said, quite distraught. “Something terrible has happened.”
“What?” Madison said.
“I’m opening the door,” Jamie said. “When I do, come in quickly and close it right behind you.”
“Jamie, stop acting like you’re in the witness protection program,” Madison said impatiently. “Is Peter here?”
“No,” Jamie replied, tentatively opening the door.
They entered the room, and the first thing they saw was a naked Joel Blaine sprawled facedown across the bed.
“I knew it!” Madison said. “I knew it! This is some kind of weirdo birthday joke.”
Jamie stared at them, her eyes wide and fearful. “This is no joke, guys,” she whispered. “Joel is dead.”
CHAPTER
61
ANTONIO “THE PANTHER” LOPEZ was born to be champ. Carried aloft to his party like a king, he was surrounded by stars. He was the champion. He was the fucking champion! And he was one happy guy.
The cut above his eye had been treated and dressed, and although—much to his chagrin—his face was swollen, he still looked good as he hit his party like a tornado, accepting all the congratulations and adulation that came his way.
His manager was a sweating, happy wreck, as he fended off well-wishers, hangers-on, predatory females and members of the press.
“Mr. Leon Blaine wants to meet you,” his manager whispered, shaking and sweating at the same time. “You know who he is, Tonio?”
“No, who is he?” Antonio said, grinning widely. “Some big, important motherfucker?”
“Mr. Blaine is one of the richest men in the world,” his manager said reverently. “And he’s with Carrie Hanlon.”
“Aha!” Antonio exclaimed. “Now you’re talkin’. Is she gonna be my prize cunt for the night?”
“Watch your mouth,” his manager warned, wondering how he was ever going to control Tonio now that he was the new champion.
•
“I still don’t understand where Joel is,” Carrie said irritably, unwilling to be stuck with Leon and the Asian prison guard, as Joel had so aptly labeled Marika.
“Who knows with that boy,” Leon said. “He’s always been a fuck-up, excuse my language.”
“Aren’t you concerned that he missed the fight?” Carrie said casually.
“I’m never worried about anything Joel does,” Leon replied. “As long as it doesn’t cost me money.”
Carrie checked out the crowded party to see if she knew anyone there who owned their own plane. Anything was better than hanging out with Leon and Marika.
She wondered what had happened to Eduardo. Now that she was in the mood, he could be just the diversion she was craving. Sex with a hot young bod. Always a kick!
Across the room she spotted Jack Nicholson talking to Oliver Stone—both acquaintances of hers. Without a word of good-bye, she made her way over to them and joined in their conversation.
“That girl is common,” Marika said to her retreating back.
Leon nodded. Marika was a smart woman. He was fortunate to have her; she always came through and saved him from doing anything too indiscreet.
•
Dexter’s mind was on fire. Rosarita was even worse than he’d imagined. “What makes you think you’re the father?” What kind of woman said a thing like that to her husband?
He was right to leave her. She’d practically told him to his face that it wasn’t his baby.
But then, she could be lying. Rosarita was a proficient liar; he knew that only too well.
He’d grant her the divorce she’d always wanted, but as soon as the baby was born, he’d insist on a blood test to ascertain who the real father was. If she thought she could get away with keeping their baby from him, she was very much mistaken.
He sought out his father, who was hovering by a roulette table. “Listen, Dad,” he said. “I have to leave.”
“How can you leave?” Matt said, frowning.
“I’m flying back to New York. Tell Chas I’m sorry.”
“Is Rosarita going with you?”
“No, she’s not.”
“But we’re all leaving tomorrow. Why can’t you stay until then?”
“Because I have something else to do, and I want to start doing it now.”
•
“I’m getting Jake,” Madison said.
“You can’t do that,” Jamie said, panicked.
“Well, my God, we’ve got to do something.”
“What happened here anyway?” Natalie asked, circling the bed.
“It was . . . it was an accident,” Jamie said. “We were about to make love . . . and then . . . he was on top of me . . . and he . . . he couldn’t get an erection. And then he just . . . began to feel bad.”
“Pretty damn bad,” Natalie interjected.
“Oh my God!” Jamie gasped. “Have I killed him? Is this my punishment for leaving Peter?”
“Don’t be so Catholic,” Natalie said, holding out her arms. “Come here, baby. You haven’t killed anyone. The guy probably had a heart attack.”
“No, I killed him,” Jamie fretted. “I know I did.”
“You didn’t,” Madison insisted.
“Yes—I did!”
“We’d better call the paramedics,” Madison said.
“No,” Natalie said sharply. “Do you realize what this’ll look like? We have to figure out how to deal with this before we call anyone.”
“That’s why I need to get Jake here,” Madison said. “Let him get his mind around it.”
“Nobody else must know,” Jamie said, panicking again. “Only you two.”
“Then how should we handle this?” Madison said, thinking aloud.
“I don’t know,” Jamie said, bursting into sobs, which didn’t help matters.
“Oh Jesus,” Natalie said, staring down at Joel’s hairy back. “Are you sure he’s gone?”
Madison ventured over and felt his pulse. “He’s gone,” she confirmed.
“What the hell were you doing with Joel Blaine anyway?” Natalie said, turning on Jamie. “I warned you about him.”
“He was here, Kris Phoenix wasn’t,” Jamie said tearfully. “I had to do something to get back at Peter.”
“Screw Peter,” Natalie said adamantly. “That bastard. Look at the mess he’s got you in.”
“I have an idea,” Madison said. “When I was a kid, I remember my father flying to Vegas all the time. He always stayed at this hotel. He said he had investors whom he had to see personally. I don’t know if he can help us, but since he obviously knows Vegas well, I think we should give it a try.”
“Give what a try?” Natalie said.
“Attempt some sort of cover-up,” Madison said. “Let’s be realistic. You’re right. If Joel is discovered dead in Jamie’s room, she’ll be a suspect. It could turn into a big scandal. So . . . maybe Michael can come up with a solution.”
“You’d really call your dad for me?” Jamie said.
“Yes. And I’d better do it before I change my mind.”
“Okay,” Jamie said meekly.
“Use my cell phone,” Natalie suggested. “That way there’s no records.”
Madison took a deep breath and checked her watch. It was ten-thirty in Vegas, which meant it would be
after midnight in New York. She hadn’t spoken to Michael in a while now. She’d been planning not to speak to him at all until she felt ready to deal with his lies. But this was an emergency, so she had no choice.
Her throat was dry as she punched out his number.
“Yeah?” He answered the phone tersely.
“Michael?” she said.
“Maddy—is that you?”
“It’s me.”
“Jesus, what time is it?”
“It’s late. Were you asleep?”
“I was watching television, must’ve drifted off.” A loud yawn. “What’s up?”
“I’m in Vegas.”
“What’re you doing there?”
“I’m here on a story, but . . . something bad has happened.”
“What?” he said, sounding more alert.
“It’s . . . it’s my friend, Jamie. She uh . . . she was in her room at the Marigiano, and . . . she was in bed with this guy—who happens to be Joel Blaine, the son of Leon Blaine.”
“And?”
“We think he might have had a heart attack, ’cause he’s dead in her bed, and we don’t know what to do.”
“Who’s we?”
“Jamie and Natalie. My friends from college.”
“So you’re telling me that you’re standing in a hotel room with your girlfriends, and there’s a rich guy’s son dead on the bed?”
“Yes, and I’m calling you because you’re the only person I can think of who might be able to help us.”
“Oh, I’m good for helping with a dead body, huh?” he said dryly.
“Michael—I’m begging for your help. We’re kind of desperate.”
“What’s your room number?”
“It’s 503.”
“Stay tight. Don’t move. Within fifteen minutes I’ll have somebody at your door.”
“You will?”
“His name is Vincent Castle. You got that—Vincent Castle. He’ll take care of everything. Is that good enough for you?”
“Yes, Michael,” she said, and clicked off the phone. “It’s taken care of,” she said, turning to Natalie and Jamie.
“What’re you talking about?” Natalie said. “Nothing’s taken care of. The three of us are still in here with a dead body.”
Lethal Seduction Page 42
