Spike whimpered. Guilt slashed Eden’s heart. She reached out, pain jolting her forearm as she bent her wrist. Lightly, with feather touches, she stroked Spike’s fur.
Tears welled in her eyes. It wasn’t fair. Spike was just a stupid dog. An animal not even worthy of sacrifice in Daddy’s chapel. If only she could see the Chihuahua through Mama’s eyes. Then she wouldn’t care one little bit about the dog.
Eden curled up on the bed, pulling the Chihuahua to her belly. Spike’s breathing slowed a bit as he snuggled against her. “It’s going to be okay,” Eden said. “It’s going to be okay.”
She would only close her eyes for a minute.
She wouldn’t fall asleep.
Harold was counting on her. She had to stay awake.
She would only close her eyes for a minute . . .
Drifting . . . drifting . . . sleep . . .
Mama’s face . . . Mama’s words . . . You’re so weak . . . You can’t be no daughter of mine . . . I never wanted you . . . If I had it to do over again I’d rip you from my belly with a coat hanger—
Someone was shaking her.
“Wake up, sweetie.”
By the time Eden clawed her way up from the pit of sleep, the intruder had already handcuffed one of her wrists to the bedpost.
A moment later the other wrist was handcuffed, and none too gently. The pain was supersonic, as if someone had squirted lighter fluid on those burning coals between the bones in her forearm. Still, Eden struggled against the pain. She kicked with all her might as hands closed over legs, but the intruders—for there were two of them—overpowered her, cuffing her ankles as well.
Spike jumped off the bed and crawled to the far corner of the room. Eden twisted and turned, but there was no escaping her bonds.
Tura and Lorelei stared down at her. With all that had happened, Eden had nearly forgotten about her sisters. They’d spent the day setting up the drop site out in the desert. They probably had no idea what had happened with Mama and Daddy—
Eden had to tell them. There wasn’t time for sick practical jokes. “You can’t do this,” she said. “Not how. Mama’s gone crazy. And Daddy is—”
Tura slapped Eden’s cheek. “Save it.”
Lorelei stuffed a pair of panties into Eden’s mouth. “We’re gonna teach you a lesson, Eden.”
“Yeah.” Tura plastered a square of duct tape over Eden’s mouth. “You crossed the line this time, princess.”
Eden stared up at them, unable to speak. They knew. They had to know. They must have talked to Mama while Eden slept. And Daddy . . . why, the way they were acting . . . Daddy was probably dead.
“We’re going to make you pay,” Lorelei said.
Again, Tura’s hard fingers whipped Eden’s cheek.
“You shouldn’t have stolen my Fig Newtons, bitch,” Tura said. “And if you ever touch my vibrator again, I’ll kill you.”
***
When they finished with their sister, Tura and Lorelei noticed the Chihuahua.
The dog could hardly breathe. Hacking and coughing—it sounded like a death rattle or something.
Lorelei said, “The little fucker’s really sick.”
“Yeah. And if he dies, we’re screwed. Nobody’s gonna pay a half a million for a dead dog.”
“What should we do?”
Tura glanced at her watch. “We’ve got another twenty hours until the drop. That’s a lot of time. Maybe we should take the little fucker to a vet.”
“Where are we gonna find a vet at this hour?”
“You remember that guy in Vegas. That old Methuselah you were kidding me about? The one who used to come to the club almost every night?”
“You mean Dr. Gooddoggy?” Lorelei asked.
“Yeah. Frank Newman. He’s the best vet in Vegas. When we quit he gave me his home number. Said if I ever wanted to take him to obedience school, all I needed to do was call.”
Lorelei passed the telephone to her sister. The conversation was short and to the point. “He says his wife is a light sleeper,” Tura said. “He’ll meet us at his office.”
Lorelei grabbed Spike. Tura set the handcuff keys on the edge of Eden’s dresser. “Harold can let you loose when he comes home,” she said. “Unless he wants to have some fun with you, too.”
“Tell your boyfriend we’ll be back by noon,” Lorelei said. “That’ll leave us plenty of time before the ransom drop.”
“And tell Harold that he’s paying us an extra share for this,” Tura added. “He should have had a backup plan in case the pooch got sick. We shouldn’t have to do all his thinking for him.”
Eden tried to tell them about the Harold Ticks Shuffle. Tura and Lorelei didn’t know about Harold’s real plan. But with the duct tape over her mouth, she couldn’t say a word.
They didn’t need to take the dog to a vet. It only had to live until tomorrow. After that it would be dead, anyway.
Eden watched her sisters walk down the hall. The front door slammed. Tura’s old Chevrolet Apache truck rumbled alive. Tires chewed hard-packed desert earth as Tura, Lorelei, and Spike headed for the highway.
It was quiet for one hour . . . then two . . . and finally Eden slept.
The sun began to rise. The pillbox window framed a hard square of light that traveled Eden’s naked body.
She squinted and came awake.
She heard Harold’s car.
Satan, she prayed, give me strength . . .
***
Harold said, “This is fucked. The dog is gone. So are your sisters. Your mama’s gone nuts and your daddy’s probably a corpse.” He shook his head. “And you want to know what else? That asshole Jack Baddalach is still alive, and he knows that Tony has something to do with the dognapping.”
Eden didn’t say a word. She just sat there. Harold couldn’t believe it. She just fucking sat there.
Naked. Rubbing her wrists. Crying.
Jesus Christ. Always with the tears.
She wasn’t going to make him feel guilty, though. No way. It wasn’t his fault that he was late getting back. Tony needed him. His brother needed him. Tony was hurting. Man, he couldn’t just walk out on Tony when he was like that. No way.
So they drank two sixes of Olde English. So they took some Percodan. So what?
He wasn’t going to feel guilty. No way.
And this crying shit. It had to stop. Right now.
“Eden, I told you . . .” he began. “I told you not to let anyone touch the dog. I told you that, didn’t I?”
She nodded. Big heavy sobs now. Oh, man.
“Fuck,” he said, banging his fist against the door. “Fuck!"
Eden cringed as if he’d hit her. Jesus. His hand all of a sudden felt like it was busted, and she was acting hurt.
“I told you it was important.” Harold tried to stay calm. “I asked if you understood. I told you not to fuck things up.”
Eden looked up at him. Her icy blue eyes were wet with tears, like the irises were melting or something. She opened her mouth, but no words came out.
Harold picked up his .357. “I even gave you my fucking gun, Eden.”
She opened her arms to him, spread wide, palms open.
Oh, man, he couldn’t take this. Seeing her all fucked up. It was like everything was changing right before his eyes. Like getting out of Corcoran all over again. Like going to that hotel room, opening the door, and seeing that familiar anaconda tattoo on a woman he didn’t even recognize . . .
Turning around. Walking out . . .
“I’ve got to go set up the drop,” Harold said, even though it was way too early for that.
He couldn’t get out of there fast enough.
***
“Don’t go,” Eden said. “Don’t go.”
But he did. Harold was already gone when she said it. He had left her behind. And she loved him. She really did.
She couldn’t stop crying. It seemed she would never run out of tears. She had enough for everyone—for Harold, for Tura and Lore
lei, for Mama and Daddy, for the little dog . . .
Eden cried for all of them.
She did not cry for herself.
It was much too late for that.
JACK WAS JUST ABOUT TO PHONE ANGEL GEMIGNANI WHEN SHE KNOCKED ON HIS FRONT DOOR.
“I just got your message,” he explained. “What’s going on? You didn’t sound so great.”
Angel didn’t look so great, either. Her eyes were red and puffy. She had obviously spent the night crying instead of sleeping.
Jack showed her to the living room. “I couldn’t stand waiting around the Casbah,” she said. “I had to get out. I figured maybe you didn’t return my call because of the other night. I know you and Grandpa Freddy are friends and everything . . . and I know I must seem like some kind of schizo to you. I guess I came on pretty strong, and then when my granddad showed up—”
“It takes two to dance that dance,” Jack said. “Don’t be so hard on yourself.”
Angel smiled one of those peculiar smiles that holds no pleasure. “Anyway, I thought maybe you were mad at me. I’m glad you’re not, because I really need to talk to you. If Tony Katt has something to do with Spike’s kidnapping . . .”
“I’m not mad,” Jack said. “And I was going to call you. I just got in. As for Tony Katt, I’m not sure what part he plays in all this. All I know for sure is that one of the dognappers is an old friend of Tony’s.”
“Okay.” Angel yawned. “God . . . what time is it, anyway?”
“Almost five.”
Angel sat down on Jack’s couch. “I can’t even remember the last time I was up this early.”
“You mean when you weren’t still up from the night before.”
Jack had intended the comment as a joke. Judging from Angel’s expression, she didn’t take it that way. She looked as if she’d been slapped when she least expected it.
“Hey,” Jack said. “I’m sorry. Whatever I said—”
“It’s okay.” Angel wiped her eyes. “I’m just really tired. This whole thing with Spike has me seriously screwed up.” Jack handed her a Kleenex. “I was just going to make some coffee. Feel like a cup?”
“Sure.”
Jack ground some French roast and got the coffee brewing. From the kitchen, he kept an eye on Angel. The way she was fidgeting, he got the feeling that she wouldn’t be able to sit still for long.
He was right. Angel rose and sorted through the old suspense paperbacks piled on his desktop, laughing softly at overblown cover copy hacked out in the fifties.
At least she could still laugh. Jack poured two cups of coffee and returned to the living room. Angel was looking at the framed picture of Kate Benteen that he kept on his desk, the one that he had clipped from an old issue of Vanity Fair. “Is this your girl?” Angel asked.
“Well, she’s nobody’s girl." Jack smiled.
So did Angel. “One of those, huh?”
“Yeah. One of those.”
“So what’s the story?”
“I’m waiting to see if she calls me or not.”
“How long have you been waiting?”
Jack blushed. He suddenly felt like looking at his shoes. Angel asked again. “How long?”
“Almost a year.”
“Uh-huh.” Angel smiled. “So, like I said, what’s the story?”
The question hit Jack between the eyes. He had to think about it for a minute. The whole thing with Kate was so complicated. But Angel’s question was really simple.
So was Jack’s answer, though this was the first time he had ever articulated it. “I guess the story is that I’m in love with her, and I’m waiting to see if she’s in love with me.”
“Do you know how long you’re going to wait, Jack?”
“No, I don’t. If I put a date on it, and she didn’t call . . . well, I guess I don’t want to think about how I’d feel the day after that.”
Angel set the picture on Jack’s desk. “She’s a lucky girl. I mean woman. She may not know it, but she’s lucky.”
Jack didn’t say anything.
“I guess I’ve spent a lot of time not being lucky,” Angel said. “I guess in a lot of ways it’s my own fault.”
Jack said, “Don’t be so hard on yourself.”
“Oh, I think I’m way past due being hard on myself.” Angel sipped her coffee. “Let me tell you about me and Tony Katt . . .
***
Angel thought pink ladies were the prettiest cocktail going. She loved the thickness of the drink and the way the taste of gin and cream and grenadine lingered on her tongue.
The gin warmed her inside and made her glow outside. Angel was usually kind of nervous, actually. She didn’t have a whole lot of self-confidence, and she knew it. Oh, she acted tough enough. Hell, she had a rattlesnake tattoo and a closet filled with black clothes, and having those things made it easier to act like she actually was the way she wanted to be.
But Angel knew the difference between acting tough and being tough. You could buy a tattoo. You could buy black clothes. But you couldn’t buy confidence.
That was why she took Spike everywhere she went. He made her feel better and gave her something she could talk about if things got uncomfortable. Spike was especially good at parties. Get a stranger talking about your cute little dog and you wouldn’t have to talk about yourself at all.
But back to the pink ladies. The pretty pink color, the taste, the warm glow—that was all good. But the best part came when a guy asked her if he could get her a drink. Tell a guy you wanted a pink lady, and he kind of looked at you in a different way. Angel really believed that was true.
And that was the first thing Tony Katt asked her. “Can I get you a drink?”
Angel said, “A pink lady would be lovely.”
“How about for your dog?”
“Oh no, he’s driving.”
Ha ha ha ha. They had a real good laugh over that one. Tony went for the drink. He was gone for quite a while. The party was really slammed. A big New Year’s Eve deal at the Skull Island Hotel & Casino. Angel had lost track of all her friends at the celebrity wingding at the Mirage. Way too many mellow LA rockers at that one for her taste, so she’d cut out on her own.
Along the way she had a couple more pink ladies. And now the heavyweight champion of the world was getting her another. She couldn’t fucking believe it.
She waited for Tony to return. God, he was the heavyweight champion of the world. And in a room filled with women who would probably sit up and beg just to talk to him, he was getting a drink for Angel Gemignani.
Angel felt the glow. Suddenly she felt really pretty, which she usually didn’t. But right now she knew that she was pretty, wearing a little sleeveless Versace number that was as black as sin.
The dress was very expensive. Anyone would look hot in it.
Image was everything. Image could cover up a lot.
And here came Tony with her drink, and he was staring at her. Like, right at the rattler tattoo.
“Watch out,” he said. “A buddy of mine gave me a serious warning about girls with snake tattoos.”
“Yeah,” she said, all throaty like Lauren Bacall. “You’d better watch out.”
Tony gave her biceps a little squeeze and she kind of laughed. “You’re Angel Gemignani, right?”
“Yeah,” she said, all surprised. She couldn’t believe that the heavyweight champion of the world knew who she was. “Angel,” he said. “That’s a pretty name.”
“Thanks.” Angel’s real name was Angela. But she hated it. Angela sounded so clunky.
“We’ve got a few mutual friends.” Tony ticked off five or six names, mostly guys Angel had dated at one time or another, a couple girlfriends, too. “Vegas is really a small town, isn’t it?” He took her hand and kissed it. “I’m surprised we haven’t met before.” He held her fingers in his. “By the way, my name is Tony Katt.”
“Like I don’t know who you are.” Angel didn’t know what else to say.
But that was oka
y because Tony did. He could really talk. He sounded like he’d been to college and then some. He sure didn’t sound like a guy who’d come out of a state prison in California.
But Angel knew that Tony had done just that. She’d seen him win the heavyweight championship. Grandpa Freddy was a big boxing fan. He went to all the fights. He took Angel to see that one.
She remembered watching Tony in the ring that night. She remembered his muscles, and his tattoos, and the way he looked so tough, so . . . confident.
But he didn’t seem egotistical at all. Not now. Not like he did on TV. Maybe that was all an act, because he seemed really nice.
They danced a little, but it was hard to hold Spike and dance at the same time. Tony got Angel another pink lady. She didn’t really want another drink. She barely sipped it. Tony set Spike on his lap and started petting him. He talked and talked.
But then Tony started glancing at his watch, and she couldn’t help but notice that.
“Sorry,” he said finally. “I realize that it’s terribly rude of me. But I’m supposed to meet my fiancee at another party before midnight. And it’s almost eleven now.”
“Oh,” Angel said. She didn’t know what else to say, because she had started to think that . . . well, maybe .. . but if Tony had a fiancee and—
“Hey,” Tony said. “Why don’t you join us?”
Angel wasn’t sure. Tony seemed like a really nice guy. But going off with him when they’d just met—
“I’m sure my fiancee would love to meet you,” Tony said. “Her name is Porschia Keyes. She’s a dancer here at Skull Island.”
That was different. If Tony’s fiancee was going to be at the party—
“It’s mostly a celebrity crowd. Nothing but fun people. So you know you qualify on both counts.”
Angel felt that glow. He really did like her.
“C’mon,” he coaxed. “It’ll be fun. Really.”
“Sure.” She rubbed the rattlesnake tattoo like it was Aladdin’s lamp. “Why the hell not. I’m always up for fun.”
The Ten-Ounce Siesta Page 13
