Double Lucky

by Jackie Collins

  * * *

  Ten minutes after speaking to Lennie, Danny checked his messages. Sure enough, there was one from Lucky.

  He could’ve kicked himself, for Danny prided himself on always being available to his boss. He quickly scanned her text and experienced a sinking feeling in his stomach.

  Armand Jordan is going around boasting that The Keys is his. Off to Cavendish to confront. Care to join?

  Yes, he would love to have joined if only he’d known. It was all Buff’s fault, flirting with the bartender, taking his mind off work. Threesomes. Ha! Who needed them?

  He called Lennie and filled him in on the situation, telling him about the unfortunate morning meeting and what a chauvinistic pig Armand was.

  “And you let Lucky go over there alone?” Lennie said, his voice heated.

  “I didn’t know!” Danny replied, duly chastised. “Besides, have you ever tried stopping Lucky from doing anything? You know it’s impossible.”

  “I’m on my way to the Cavendish,” Lennie said.

  “I’ll meet you there,” Danny said.

  To hell with Buff and the bartender. Lucky was his priority.

  * * *

  “So!” Ellie exclaimed. “Lots of activity at the party house.”

  “Aren’t you supposed to be concentrating on Billy an’ the girl?”

  “I’ve got more than enough pix of them together. Anyway, they’re back in the villa. Whaddya want me to do, crawl through the keyhole?”

  “Don’t be facetious.”

  “Big words coming from a little guy.”

  “I might be on the short side, but haven’t you heard about large surprises comin’ in small packages?”

  “Lost on me, Kev,” Ellie said, shaking her head. “I told you—I’m gay.”

  “I could turn you.”

  “Confident, aren’t we?”

  “Wanna give it a go?”

  “No thank you.”

  “Can’t blame a dude for tryin’.”

  “However,” Ellie said with a wicked smile, “if you were to suddenly change into Billy Melina…”

  “Fuck you!” Kev said. Why was everything always about Billy?

  “No chance,” Ellie said, laughing. “Not unless you cut off your dick and call yourself Daisy!”

  * * *

  Danny met Lennie at the top of the pathway that led to the villas. “Villa number four,” he said, all business. “Apparently there’ve been complaints about the noise coming from there.”

  “Noise?”

  “Music. My friend at the desk says there must be a party going on. One more complaint and they’re sending security.”

  “Why haven’t they done so already?”

  “They don’t like messing with the high rollers,” Danny explained. “Bad for business.”

  “So you think Lucky walked in on a party?” Lennie said.

  Danny shrugged. “I don’t know. Armand Jordan didn’t strike me as a party animal, unless it involves hookers.”

  “Why does Lucky do this?” Lennie questioned.

  “Do what?”

  “Walk herself into situations she can’t control.”

  “She’s your wife.”

  “Thanks, Danny,” Lennie said dryly. “I think I know that.”

  “I’m sure she’s fine,” Danny said.

  * * *

  Fouad hurried down the pathway toward the villas. He had a bad feeling in his gut. Something wasn’t right, he knew it. Leaving Armand alone to do whatever he felt like doing was not wise. Armand was too volatile a personality—he had to have some restraints. Fouad had always been the voice of reason, a calming influence. The truth was, Armand needed him.

  It was cold out and quite dark, but Fouad could hear loud music ahead of him, and he was sure it must be coming from Armand’s villa.

  As he got nearer, he suddenly encountered two people, a man wearing sunglasses at night and a skinny, raggedy-looking woman. Fouad might have passed them with a polite nod of acknowledgement, except for one thing. Between the two of them they were lugging one of Armand’s distinctive Louis Vuitton suitcases—his initials on the handle.

  Immediately, Fouad knew. It had to be the suitcase packed with money that Armand always insisted on bringing to Vegas. Over $750,000 in cash.

  “Excuse me,” Fouad said.

  Mikey stopped for a moment. “What?” he snarled.

  “I think you have something that doesn’t belong to you.”

  CHAPTER SIXTY-SIX

  On the stroke of midnight, Mr. O arrived in Las Vegas by private plane. A rented town car waited for him at a prearranged spot, the keys under the floor mat as he’d requested.

  Mr. O could have been a GQ model or a famous actor. He was black and beautiful, a cross between Denzel Washington and Blair Underwood. However, Mr. O had chosen a different profession—a profession that would last as long as he wanted. A profession that paid him top dollar, because he was the best at what he did.

  Mr. O was a mechanic. A hit man. A solver of anyone’s problem—as long as the price was right.

  Mr. O was the best at what he did. And only the best hired him.

  This was not the first job he was about to do for Martin Constantine, and it would not be the last.

  Mr. O always took care of business.

  CHAPTER SIXTY-SEVEN

  Mikey was not about to accept shit from anyone. He’d had a trying evening, and now he was all set to take off with the prize—a suitcase stuffed full of Benjamins. The last thing Mikey needed was some random ass wipe stopping him and telling him that the suitcase was not his.

  Luscious hovered next to him, a shivery presence in her tiny skirt and top. She wouldn’t be any help in an argument; she was already a hindrance.

  Mikey had decided that when they reached Randy’s car, he’d send her back, ostensibly to get the others, then he’d drive off into the night, leaving them all behind. They were a worthless crew—including his big ox of a brother. The truth was, he had no use for any of them.

  Mikey took a long steady look at the man confronting him. He did not seem like a threat; he seemed nervous, which was good, because Mikey enjoyed making people nervous.

  “You wanna get outta my way, sport?” he said, standing very still. “I won this suitcase legitimate, so back t’ fuck off.”

  “Yeah,” Luscious said, joining in, her tinny little voice getting on his nerves. “Back t’ fuck off.”

  Mikey shot her a scathing glare. What were they—a comedy duo?

  “I’m afraid I shall have to confirm that with the prince,” Fouad said, asserting his authority, although his hands were trembling and he wasn’t sure if he could handle this.

  “Prince?” Luscious squeaked.

  “This is a gamblin’ town,” Mikey said flatly. “I won this fair an’ square. You don’t hav’ta check with no one.”

  “I’m afraid I do,” Fouad said, standing his ground.

  There was a long moment of silence, then, in a sudden fit of temper, Mikey reached down into his boot and slid out the six-inch hunting knife. He’d had enough jacking around; it was time to go. “Is this what you’re lookin’ for?” he yelled at Fouad. “You wanna get yourself cut, mothafucker? Is that what ya want?”

  “The suitcase does not belong to you,” Fouad said, his throat so dry that he could barely speak. “Kindly leave it and get away from here.”

  “You dumb fuck,” Mikey snarled, plunging the knife into Fouad’s chest. “You dumb, cocksuckin’ fuck!”

  Fouad staggered slightly, thought about his wife and children for a brief second, then fell to the ground.

  * * *

  Standing at the window, Max and Billy watched in horror as the man with the suitcase produced a knife and began stabbing the other man.

  “Oh my God!” Max yelled, panicking. “We’ve got to do something.”

  “I’ll call security,” Billy said quickly.

  “No, no it’ll be too late,” Max urged. “We have to help now.”


  * * *

  Lucky decided there was nothing she could do for Armand except wait for the paramedics. Then she heard yelling, so she ran outside in time to observe Mikey, in a frenzy, stabbing Fouad, who was now on the ground.

  She didn’t hesitate. Grabbing Mikey’s right arm, she twisted it back until she forced him to drop the knife.

  Mikey turned on her in a deadly fury. “You fuckin’ bitch,” he screamed, kicking and punching her. “I’ll fuckin’ kill you.”

  “Oh my God!” Max cried out, still by the window. “It’s my mom. We’ve got to help her!” She ran outside and, without thinking, pounced on Mikey’s back, clinging tightly around his neck and scratching his face, while Lucky attempted to pick herself up and reach the knife.

  With a roar of anger, Mikey sent Max flying, then swooped down and grabbed the knife before Lucky could get to it. At which point Billy joined the fray, springing into action-hero mode, a role he’d played many times on the big screen. He’d had a few fights in his time, and he knew that the best line of defense was attack, so he directed a vicious kick at Mikey’s balls.

  Mikey doubled over for a few seconds before letting out another powerful yell and striking out with the knife, catching Billy down the side of his cheek.

  Blood flowed.

  By this time, Lucky was up, and only thinking of protecting her daughter. She had no idea where Max had come from or what she was doing here, but it didn’t matter. All Lucky wanted was to get Max away from the violence, somewhere safe.

  “Get out of here!” she yelled at Max. “Run! Go get help!”

  “I can’t leave Billy,” Max cried, sinking to the ground and cradling Billy’s head in her lap, attempting to staunch the flow of blood. “He’s hurt. Oh my God! He’s bleeding.”

  Fouad was also on the ground, moaning, while Luscious stood to one side—transfixed. Was it? Could it be? Was she looking at Billy Melina, the movie star?

  Mikey possessed the strength of a bull. His adrenaline was running strong. Three down. All that was left was the woman, and she wasn’t backing away. Oh no. She was staring at him like a black widow spider waiting to pounce.

  He had a strong urge to cut the bitch, cut her good. But even more important was taking off with the suitcase.

  Where the fuck was Randy?

  “Randy!” He roared his brother’s name, and the big oaf came lumbering out of the villa, buttoning up his pants.

  “What the fuck,” Randy mumbled, taking in the chaos.

  “We’re gettin’ outta here,” Mikey commanded. “Pick up the fuckin’ suitcase, an’ let’s go.”

  Lucky stood back and watched them, savvy enough to realize there was nothing she could do, although if she’d had a gun she would not have hesitated to use it. They were the dregs. Criminal dregs. And they were stupid too. She knew without a doubt that they’d be caught within twenty-four hours.

  “So long, bitch,” Mikey said, throwing her a triumphant look. “Whoever t’ fuck you are.”

  The fight was over. The Sorrentino brothers were on their way, Luscious trailing behind them, Seducta left snoring on the couch inside the villa.

  As soon as they were gone, Lucky took stock of the situation. The sudden violence was over. In spite of everything, Max seemed to be okay. Fouad was not so good, and Billy was still bleeding.

  “The paramedics will be here any minute,” she said, gazing intently at her daughter. “Are you okay?”

  Max nodded, a lone tear trickling down her cheek. “I was so scared for you, Mom. I tried to help. We tried to help.”

  “Yes,” Lucky said gravely. “I know you did.” Then she added with the hint of a smile, “We make quite a team. Where did you learn to kick ass?”

  Max gave a wan smile. “From my amazing mom, where else?”

  And they exchanged a warm look.

  Minutes later Lennie and Danny arrived, followed by the paramedics.

  Lucky knew that this was not the right time to ask Max what was going on. There was always another day. And eventually she would find out everything.

  CHAPTER SIXTY-EIGHT

  Mysteries take place, and sometimes they are never solved.

  Take the case of Armand Jordan. The man lost consciousness due to an overindulgence of liquor, heroin, and cocaine. The paramedics arrived in time to save him, but it was not to be, because no one was able to save him from the precise bullet hole right between his eyes.

  Prince Armand Mohamed Jordan had been shot execution style, and only two men knew why.

  To everyone else it was a mystery that would never be solved.

  EPILOGUE

  Three Months Later

  Everyone was questioned about Armand Jordan’s murder, even Lucky. It became quite clear to the investigating detectives that while the melee was taking place in front of the villa, a lone assassin had managed to somehow slip inside the villa and finish Armand off.

  It was a professional hit, no doubt about it. The only witness was an exotic dancer commonly known as Seducta Sinn. But Seducta claimed to have been asleep (passed out) at the time, and saw and heard nothing.

  * * *

  Within days, Mikey and Randy Sorrentino were arrested outside of Nashville and charged with grand theft and aggravated assault.

  They both lawyered up and instantly turned against each other.

  Mikey ended up back in jail, while Randy found himself facing ten months’ probation.

  The money suitcase was eventually returned to Fouad, minus $15,000.

  * * *

  Seducta Sinn reveled in a few weeks of minor celebrity. She was the woman in the same hotel room as a murder victim—a well-known New York businessman. She was an exotic dancer, and all the TV shows clamored for an interview.

  Her newfound fame did not last long, and eventually she resumed her job at Dirty Den’s. A few weeks later she filed for divorce from Mikey, and shortly after that she moved in with Randy.

  The two of them decided they’d found true happiness at last, even though Randy didn’t have a job, and some nights Seducta was too drunk to make it to Dirty Den’s.

  But true happiness comes in all different forms, and they were content.

  * * *

  Luscious vanished with the $10,000 she’d persuaded Mikey to give her from the infamous suitcase. The moment they’d left Vegas, she’d decided she wanted out. Mikey scared her, and she’d finally decided that Randy was an idiot.

  She’d worked on Mikey until he’d agreed to give her some money, then she’d taken it and fled. She hadn’t wanted any involvement in what she thought of as the Cavendish Hotel incident. She’d changed her name and taken a bus cross-country to Chicago, where she got a job as a waitress and faded into the background of a mundane life. For the time being, living a mundane life suited her just fine.

  * * *

  Paco informed Harry, after one brief awkward encounter in the men’s room at Wonderball, that he wasn’t (just as Max had suspected) gay after all.

  A very disappointed Harry continued searching for the right one.

  * * *

  Annabelle and Eddie got married at The Beverly Hills Hotel. It was the first time for both of them, and each of them had their reasons.

  Eddie figured marrying Annabelle was somehow or other getting himself attached to Hollywood royalty. After all, her parents were movie stars, even though her dad, the very famous Ralph Maestro, had probably arranged the murder of her very famous mother, Gemma Summer Maestro.

  Who cared? This was a Hollywood murder. Ralph Maestro walked free.

  And Annabelle decided that marrying Eddie was a good thing because he was a comer with clout and an A-list cluster of clients.

  One day Eddie would run a studio, Annabelle was sure of it. And she’d be Mrs. Eddie Falcon, with power up the wazoo. Not such a bad thing.

  She never spoke of her evening with Armand Jordan. It was best forgotten.

  * * *

  Alex Woods still had lust in his heart for the unobtai
nable Lucky Santangelo. He moved yet another Asian beauty in with him, and bided his time.

  Alex was not a man who gave up easily.

  * * *

  Remaining Venus’s resident stud for almost three months garnered Jorge a huge amount of publicity. The two of them were all over the Internet, a staple of gossip columns, and of magazines that loved nothing better than putting them on the cover. Together, they made a stunning couple.

  The publicity benefited them both. Women were envious of Venus, but they also admired the fact that at forty-something, she was able to attract and keep the attention of such a virile young man.

  Jorge became a known name in his own right. So much so that Calvin Klein hired him to be the face and body of the next big underwear campaign.

  Jorge was on his way to getting exactly what he wanted.

  Fame.

  Money.

  Recognition.

  Love would come later.

  * * *

  Meanwhile, Venus met a Venezuelan avant-garde film director who saw her as more than just a blond and beautiful superstar sex symbol who happened to sing, dance, and act. He saw her as everywoman, an earthy creature whose incredible potential had yet to be unleashed on the world.

  She saw him as the intellectual savior she had been searching for.

  Together they had big plans.

  * * *

  Danny and Buff got married in Oregon. The trip was a wedding present from Lucky, who felt Danny deserved some time off.

  Danny complained all the way about how ridiculous it was that gay marriage was not legal in California, the most laid-back state of all.

  Buff heartily agreed.

  And after five wonderful days, they returned to Vegas in full wedded bliss.

  * * *

  M.J. never did get to take Cassie on the trip he’d planned, for the night of Armand Jordan’s murder was the night she lost their baby, solving all their problems. Although deep down, M.J. couldn’t help feeling that maybe she’d done something to facilitate the miscarriage.

  He desperately tried to put it out of his mind, but somehow it lingered.

  * * *

  Fouad recovered nicely. His wife and children flew to Las Vegas to be by his side, and later, back in New York, they all shared in the surprise that Armand Jordan had split his estate fifty-fifty. Half to his mother, and the other half to Fouad.