Lucky

by Jackie Collins

  In all his years Gino had never been really involved with a married woman. Oh sure, he had experienced one-night stands, afternoon matinees and the like. Once, long ago in his youth, he had indulged in a steamy affair with the super-sophisticated Clementine Duke – wife of a Senator. But this thing with Paige was different. He was an old man and she allowed him to feel alive. She made him laugh, and he knew he wanted her in his life on a permanent basis.

  After lunch he broached the subject casually. ‘You ever thought of leavin’ Ryder?’

  They were seated at a table by the window overlooking a magnificent ocean view. She gazed out to sea. ‘Ryder needs me,’ she said quietly. ‘So do my children.’

  ‘Bullshit!’

  ‘True.’

  ‘Your old man wouldn’t give a camel’s crap if you walked out tomorrow. An’ your kids are all grown up.’

  She looked at him levelly. ‘Thanks a lot. You certainly know how to make a person feel wanted.’

  ‘C’mon, kiddo. I want you. That’s what I’m sayin’.’

  ‘You’ve got me.’

  ‘For a lousy weekend.’

  ‘Maybe more might be too much for both of us.’

  He couldn’t figure her out. Why wasn’t she jumping? All his life women had jumped.

  Maybe that’s why he liked her. Paige did what she wanted, when she wanted.

  ‘I’d better call the house,’ he said, getting up from the table. ‘Otherwise they’ll be summonin’ the FBI.’

  She watched him walk from the restaurant. He had style, Gino Santangelo, real style.

  Chapter One-Hundred-Thirty-Three

  Seeing Boogie made Lucky feel safe. He was always at her side in times of trouble, and she knew she could depend on him.

  He was his usual understated self in faded army fatigues and scuffed sneakers. Under his arm he carried a leather bag stuffed with the ransom money. His pale blue eyes darted this way and that as they hurried toward the car.

  She told him once again everything she knew. ‘Do you think we should bring the police in?’ she asked anxiously, not quite sure of her own decision.

  ‘No way,’ he said. ‘No outside interference.’

  She was glad he was with her. Since Gino was on the missing list, Boogie was her only security.

  ‘This is what we’re going to do,’ she explained. ‘We’ll make the ransom drop at Farmer’s Market, and hope and pray the children are returned. Caveman will follow the money pick-up—’

  ‘No. I’ll do that,’ Boogie interrupted quickly. ‘There’s nobody better at shadowing than me.’

  ‘Good. We’ll have a surveillance truck with full telephone contact and radio communication. Everything’s being set up.’ She waved a slip of paper at him. ‘This is the latest address of the guy I think’s involved. Tim Wealth – an out-of-work actor. The Guardian is checking the address now – he’ll phone as soon as he comes up with information.’

  Boogie looked at her penetratingly. ‘And how are you coping?’

  She was silent for a moment. When she finally spoke her voice was tense yet laced with steel. ‘I’ll be all right, I just want the children back safely. And when I get them . . .’ Her black eyes hardened. ‘. . . the sonofabitch who took them will wish he never lived.’

  Chapter One-Hundred-Thirty-Four

  The Bonnatti living room was immaculate, every piece of furniture polished to a dazzling shine. The damask couch featured plastic coverings on each arm, and there was a black grand piano in one corner with an old lace shawl thrown over it, and lots of fake antique frames filled with family photographs on the top.

  Steven didn’t care to sit down. He was not there for social niceties. ‘Mrs Bonnatti,’ he said. ‘Your husband is the lowest form of human life.’ He threw the copy of Comer magazine he had brought with him onto a table. ‘The lady on the front is my fian-cée’, he said angrily. ‘Or rather, the face is hers, the body is not.’

  ‘Eh! Why you showa me this?’ Donatella shrieked. ‘I no lika these filthy magazines inna my house.’

  ‘I’m glad to hear that,’ Steven said harshly. ‘But your husband has no such objections. He publishes them.’

  He picked up the magazine and flicked through it until he reached the pictorial spread that purported to be Mary-Lou. ‘Take a look at these pictures, Mrs Bonnatti.’ He thrust the magazine toward her. ‘These are fake pictures. You understand me? Fake! Mary-Lou Moore’s face and somebody else’s body.’

  ‘I no looka this dirt,’ Donatella insisted, sorry now she had invited this stranger in. She had hoped to find out something about her husband, but not this sort of something.

  ‘Mary-Lou Moore tried to kill herself because of these pictures,’ he said roughly. ‘She tried to kill herself because of your sick, sadistic husband.’

  ‘I donta know nothing,’ Donatella said sulkily.

  ‘No? Well isn’t it about time you started finding out? If I were you I—’

  The phone rang and he stopped abruptly. Glad of the diversion, Donatella rushed to answer it. If it was Santino she would order him home at once. He would be angry she had allowed a stranger into the house, especially a black stranger. Santino was always warning her about crime and robberies, and the very risk of stepping out onto the street.

  Goddamn Santino. If he was involved with filthy magazines she would never forgive him. He had a publishing company, but they published computer and technical things, Santino had told her so himself.

  Ah . . . but could she trust him? He never confided much of anything. She knew he was involved in certain bad things, but over the years she had grown used to his secretive ways concerning business. ‘Never you bringa anything home,’ she had once warned him. And he never had.

  Now she had pornography in her own house, and the black man claimed Santino was responsible.

  She picked up the phone. ‘Whosa this?’ she shouted.

  A husky female voice. ‘Mrs Bonnatti? Donatella?’

  Impatient. ‘Yes, yes. Whosa this?’

  ‘There is a house on Blue Jay Way in the Hollywood Hills where your husband keeps his mistress,’ the voice whispered.

  ‘What? Whata you talking?’

  ‘Mistress. Girlfriend. Sexual playmate.’ The voice murmured the full address, then added, ‘Why don’t you come over and see for yourself?’ Click.

  Chapter One-Hundred-Thirty-Five

  The Irish maid in the New York hotel complained to the night manager when she got off duty at 6.45 p.m. ‘Goddammit, Albert, I can’t be gettin’ inta room four twenty-five all day long.’

  ‘Don’t worry about it,’ the long-haired manager replied.

  ‘I ain’t worried,’ she replied scornfully. ‘But I got half me supplies locked up in that big storage cupboard in the bathroom.’

  ‘You’ll get ‘em out tomorrow.’

  ‘If he’s not lyin’ dead in his bed,’ she sniffed.

  ‘Who?’

  ‘That musician person – Flash.’

  The night manager twitched his nostrils. He had just returned from vacation and didn’t know the legendary Flash was staying with them. ‘Why do you say a thing like that?’ he asked, thinking the woman was a flake, but he’d humour her anyway.

  ‘It wouldn’t be the first time in this hotel,’ sniffed the maid. ‘And that room is too quiet today. He’s usually got music playin’ and people comin’ and goin’.’

  ‘Let’s go see,’ suggested the manager, eager to meet the rock star.

  The maid laughed derisively. ‘Look at you! Can’t wait to view a body! Shame on you.’

  ‘Come on,’ he encouraged, walking out from behind the desk.

  ‘Go yourself,’ she said rudely. ‘I’m off to cook me husband’s dinner, and he doesn’t take kindly to its bein’ late.’

  She hurried off, and the busy switchboard caught the manager’s attention. He fielded a few calls, then decided that maybe he should take the opportunity of meeting the great Flash in person. He removed the pass key from
a drawer, and left the desk in charge of a stoned Puerto Rican porter. Not that he was exactly straight himself. Nothing serious. A couple of Quaaludes just to get him through the night shift. Maybe Flash would have something better to offer him.

  Puffed with anticipation he rang for the rusty elevator.

  Chapter One-Hundred-Thirty-Six

  They made it to Farmer’s Market on Fairfax with twenty minutes to spare. Parked next door in the CBS parking lot was the surveillance van Lucky had requested. Its driver was an ex-detective named Dave.

  ‘Wire both me and Boogie,’ Lucky instructed, ‘I’ll do the drop and Boogie’s going to handle the tail. You’ll stick with him, and keep in full contact with me.’

  ‘No problem,’ Dave said. He was tall and agile, and would be well compensated for his trouble.

  Lucky hoped he was smart. She needed smart more than anything.

  * * *

  Santino had a naturally suspicious nature. And even though the people who worked for him professed to-the-death loyalty he didn’t trust them one inch. Certainly picking up a million bucks cash was too much temptation to put in anyone’s path. So he decided to stay along for the ride, and see that a couple of hundred thousand didn’t vanish along the way. If what Tim Wealth promised was true, the entire operation was a cinch.

  Lucky Santangelo must be going through the fucking ceiling, and he was glad. She would go through a whole lot more before she ever saw her kid again – if she ever saw her kid again.

  Santino smiled to himself. What a day this had turned out to be – there was no revenge sweeter than a revenge long awaited.

  * * *

  Farmer’s Market was a tourist’s paradise, a large complex of open-air souvenir shops, trinket emporiums, and a covered food market selling everything from mangos to Italian salami.

  Lucky found the B. Dalton bookstore right in the middle. Slowly she walked toward it, carrying the leather carry-all containing the ransom money. Outwardly she was calm, but a cold anger beat inside her head, and she wanted to scream aloud with fury and frustration.

  The bookstore was busy, business was brisk. Eyes watchful, she looked around for the diet book section. A fat woman in white polyester pants perused Jane Fonda’s exercise book, but apart from her the area was quiet.

  Lucky consulted her watch. Two minutes to four o’clock.

  The fat woman put the Fonda book down and ambled off.

  Lucky looked at her watch again. One minute to go.

  She wondered where Boogie was, but it didn’t worry her when she couldn’t see him. Boogie blended into a crowd and vanished.

  Four o’clock exactly.

  Carefully she placed the leather bag in a corner and left the store by the other entrance. Once outside her immediate instinct was to go back in and grab the person who made the collection. But she couldn’t do that. She had to wait. See if the children were returned. Just wait.

  Boogie would take care of that end of it. There was a hidden tracking device in with the money. It wouldn’t get far without Boogie.

  * * *

  Santino elected Blackie to make the pick-up, while he waited in the car with Roberto and Brigette and his other two henchmen. They parked on the street outside K-Mart, a block away. Blackie was large and lantern-jawed with lank hair and a permanent scowl.

  ‘Don’tcha take long gettin’ back here,’ Santino commanded. He leaned over and patted Brigette on the thigh.

  She shrank away from him.

  ‘Teenager an’ I can’t wait to get it on,’ Santino leered. ‘That right, chicken? That right?’

  Chapter One-Hundred-Thirty-Seven

  ‘Slow down,’ Paige said. ‘You’re going to kill us, then you’ll be no use to anyone.’

  ‘You wanna drive?’

  ‘Frankly, yes.’

  Gino swerved her Porsche into the side of the road, and they changed places. She buckled her seat belt and instructed him to do the same. He did so reluctantly – taking chances had always been more his style.

  Expertly she steered the car back into the flow of traffic on the Pacific Coast Highway. They still had a good two-hour drive to go before hitting L.A.

  ‘I never felt so helpless in my life,’ Gino groaned. ‘When I get my hands on the motherfucker who’s responsible he’ll wish he never lived.’

  ‘Don’t talk,’ Paige responded, driving even faster than Gino, but less erratically. ‘Save your energies. Lucky must be frantic, she’ll need you when we get there.’

  ‘I should’ve been with her,’ Gino lamented. ‘Jeez! Who would do a thing like this? Who would dare?’

  * * *

  Lennie wanted to call the police.

  ‘You can’t do that,’ Alice said, with a firmness unlike her usual self. ‘Lucky says everything is under control.’

  ‘Under whose control?’ he shouted angrily. ‘And why hasn’t anyone reached Olympia?’

  ‘We’ve tried,’ Alice said, ‘and she’s unreachable.’

  ‘Jesus Christ!’ he exploded. ‘Brigette is her daughter. She should be here. Or at least know what’s going on.’

  ‘I keep on trying.’

  ‘Where’s Lucky now?’

  Costa entered the room. ‘I just heard from her. The money has been dropped off. Boogie’s tailing it. All we can do now is wait and see if the children turn up.’

  ‘Well I can’t sit around waiting’, Lennie yelled. ‘Where is she? Give me the phone number of the car.’

  Reluctantly Costa did so. ‘She won’t like being bothered,’ he warned. ‘She wants the line kept clear.’

  ‘I don’t give a fuck what she wants,’ Lennie shouted. ‘I’m involved. Too bad if she doesn’t like it.’

  * * *

  Donatella Bonnatti stared at Steven. ‘Eh – Mister Berkeley. You coma see my husband. He no here. So now you go, huh?’

  Steven studied her carefully. She was agitated and impatient. Whoever was on the phone had upset her. His hunch told him it wasn’t Bonnatti, but it was something to do with Bonnatti.

  Donatella stalked to the door. The buttons of her house-dress strained, revealing a large bosom and sensible underwear. ‘You leava now. I have to go out.’

  Steven nodded. ‘I’ll be back to see Santino.’

  She was distracted, dying to get rid of him. The pornographic magazine and Santino’s involvement didn’t seem to matter to her anymore. Something else was on her mind.

  ‘You do whata you wanta do. Okay. Okay.’

  She hustled him out of the front door and slammed it firmly.

  He sat behind the wheel of his rented car, drove down the driveway to the street, parked and waited. Fifteen minutes later the Toyota appeared, Donatella at the wheel.

  She set off toward Hollywood.

  Steven followed.

  Chapter One-Hundred-Thirty-Eight

  Eden paced the house restlessly. She attempted to put makeup on her face, but her image was distorted by the marks of Santino’s vile fists. Not forever. Thank God. Bruises and black eyes healed. A week, two weeks, and she would be back to normal.

  Zeko sat out by the pool facing the house, tossing nuts into his ugly open mouth. He was a cretin. She hated him almost as much as she hated Santino. They were both pigs who thought all women were less than human.

  She stared at the kitchen clock. It was past four. Tim was waiting for her, and there was no way she could show up.

  Screw Bonnatti. She would get away from him eventually – one way or the other.

  Outside in the driveway she heard a car pull up. Hopefully she ran to the front window and peered out, only to see Santino emerge. He was accompanied by the two goons he always travelled with, and there was a young teenage blonde and a little boy with them.

  Was he bringing his children to see her? She could not believe even Santino would stoop that low.

  Quickly she rushed into her bedroom and closed the door. It was cool in there, with just the slight hum of air-conditioning to keep her company.

 
; She heard people enter. There was no way she was coming out to meet them. He couldn’t make her. What could he do? Kill her?

  * * *

  ‘C’mon, chicken,’ Santino leered, pulling Brigette inside the house.

  Her heart was beating so fast she could almost hear it. Alice had told her stories about girls who disappeared from home. ‘White slavers,’ Alice had clucked knowingly, ‘sit next to unsuspecting girls in movie theatres and stick needles in their arms. Then they spirit them away to God knows where.’

  Brigette had laughed at Alice when she told her lurid tales like that. She had sneered at Lucky when she spoke of possible kidnappers. But now that she realized the seriousness of her situation, she knew how right they both were with their warnings and admonishments.

  She wondered what was going on up at the house in Bel Air. Was Lucky there? Olympia? Gino? Lennie? Had they called the police? Were they searching for her and Roberto?

  She felt like a little girl again, lost and lonely. And yet she had to be strong for Roberto. He trusted her. He clutched her hand as if his life depended on it. Maybe it did.

  She spoke up bravely. ‘You’ve got the money,’ she said, desperately trying to keep the tremor out of her voice. ‘Now you’re supposed to let us go like Tim promised.’

  Santino cackled. ‘Tim. Who’s Tim?’ He threw a glance at one of his hoods. ‘Any of ya guys know who Tim is?’

  ‘Never heard of him, boss,’ said Blackie.

  ‘Naw, don’t know,’ agreed the other yes-man.

  ‘C’mon, chicken,’ Santino urged, pulling Brigette toward the bedroom. ‘Bring the boy too. He can watch – get an early education.’ He roared at his own humour. ‘The three of us gonna make a pretty picture – a pretty picture ta send t’his mommy.’

  He kicked open the bedroom door.

  Eden faced him.

  ‘Out, cunt,’ he ordered.