Deadly Embrace (57 page)

The gunman, totally chilled out on E, was now singing along with
Ja Rule. He seemed perfectly content and happy. Stoned, of course.
Not as angry as before.

"Who are you working for?" she asked, trying again for any kind of
information.

"Man," he muttered, "I'll be glad to dump your sorry mothafuckin'
ass."

"So you're the errand boy?" she said evenly, refusing to shut up.
"Somebody wanted to snatch me, and they used you? Only I bet they
didn't count on people getting killed along the way."

"Hey—
bitch—
what makes you think they wanted
you
?" he asked belligerently.

"It's obvious," she replied. "Why dump the other hostages and just
take me?"

"Maybe 'cause I was thinkin'
of fuckin
you," he said with a
lecherous leer.

The young guy in the front with the long, greasy hair and the
sharp, pointed nose craned his neck to see how she was taking that
piece of information.

She rewarded him with a stony glare.

"Tell you one thing," the gunman in the back chortled. "The bitch
got herself a set of balls."

"Well," she said evenly, "that's more than I can say for you."

* * *

Gus lived in a big, modern house in the Hollywood Hills. It resembled
the house that Mel Gibson had managed to destroy in one of the
Lethal Weapon
movies. Very stark, very white, with large abstract
paintings on the walls. The LA life obviously suited Gus.

Michael sat on a high bar stool in the all-chrome-and-black
kitchen and clicked on the TV. The pretty blond newscaster on Channel
Two was still talking about the hostage situation. "Three of the
hostages abducted from Mario's were recently found outside an
abandoned building in the industrial area downtown. Well-known radio
and TV personality Natalie De Barge was one of them. The hostages
were able to give police an accurate description of the three wanted
gunmen."

Christ
! Michael thought.
Natalie was one of the hostages
too
.

He picked up the phone and tried her number. She wasn't there,
probably still with the cops. He left his cell phone number on her
voice mail.

The newscaster continued her report. "Journalist Madison Castelli
is still missing. Lila Hartford, the young woman thrown from the van
on the freeway, was rushed to the hospital and is currently
undergoing surgery. To sum up, two dead, one seriously injured, and
one missing. The rest of the hostages are apparently safe."

When Gus returned to the kitchen with the same story, Michael said
a sharp, "This changes things. I'm not finished with Bone until I
know where Madison is."

"You sure he's responsible?" Gus asked.

"I'm sure," Michael said grimly.

"Okay, so what d'you wanna do?"

"Go ahead with the plan."

"You got it," Gus said. "The guys are ready. How soon you wanna
roll?"

"Now," Michael said. "Let's get this done."

Marnie and Bone had created a monument to bad taste. They called
it home. Home was an overbuilt, overdeco-rated, neoclassical disaster
in the hills of Bel-Air. A porno empire translated into mega bucks.
Marnie had finally come into her own. The once-impoverished
hairdresser from Queens now considered herself the lady of the manor
and, as such, had surrounded herself with rooms full of ornate,
gilded furniture, elaborate chandeliers, baroque mirrors on every
wall, nude paintings of men
and
women, and a life-size nude
bronze sculpture of herself in the grand foyer. She considered her
home to be her palace. Two security guards working eight-hour shifts
guarded her palace along with two ferocious Dobermans.

In spite of all her riches, Marnie still wanted more. Which is why
she'd been so peeved when Michael had refused to acknowledge the
money Vito had promised her upon his demise. Not that she cared that
much about the money—she was richer than she'd ever dreamed.
But how dare Michael think he could get away with keeping it?

Marnie did not appreciate being crossed, especially by a piece of
shit like little Mikey Castellino. Oh yes, he might strut around
calling himself Michael Castelli—big businessman with his
investments and real estate and shopping centers. But she knew the
real truth about his humble beginnings. And she knew how to punish
him too.

Years ago he'd narrowly escaped getting convicted for thaf Cuban
slut's murder. Let's see him squirm his way out of
this
mess.
It was common knowledge that his wife had left him for a younger man.
So who would doubt that a man with such a murky past was responsible
for his wife and her young lover's murder? No question at all when it
became known they were both shot with
his
gun.

And this time there was no Vito with his powerful connections to
help out.

Marnie cackled at the thought.

Then, just to torture him further, she'd arranged to have his
daughter snatched. He'd hear his precious Madison was gone while
sitting in his jail cell, and there was absolutely nothing he could
do about it.

Marnie had plans for Madison. As soon as Serge, her guard, alerted
her that Madison was on the premises, the girl would be drugged, and
tomorrow she'd be shipped off to a brothel in Pakistan. They paid top
dollar for white girls.

Finally
she'd gotten Michael back for shooting her beloved
cousin Roy.
And
for being the son of that Italian tramp Vinny
had chosen over her. Beth's murder had never punished him enough.
Vengeance all these years later was very sweet.

To celebrate, Marnie had ordered up two exquisite call girls for
the night, paying them three thousand bucks each for the pleasure of
their company.

It was one of the advantages of living in LA; every year a new
batch of ambitious, young would-be actresses came to the
city—hence a better-looking class of hookers.

Marnie was into girls.

Bone was into watching.

Theirs was the perfect marriage.

The two call girls, Heather and Tawny, went about their business
with taut, toned bodies, matching capped teeth, and practiced smirks.
Their sexual activities seemed almost choreographed.

Bone, sitting on a chair in a red silk robe with his fake orange
suntan and dyed black hair, watched every move like a snake about to
strike.

Marnie hovered around the two girls with their silicone-enhanced
breasts and smooth, tanned bodies, waiting for an opportunity to join
in. Liposuction, daily massages, collagen, Botox, and once-a-month
high colonies kept her from falling totally apart—although she
was still a pretty scary sight with her crepey skin, predatory eyes,
and bottle blond hair.

Both Marnie and Bone popped Viagra, claiming it kept them young
and vital, instead of just plain horny and disgusting.

Heather effortlessly raised her long, suntanned legs above her
shoulders. Heftiny strip of pubic hair matched the blond hair on her
head.

This was Marnie's cue to dive in. And dive in she did, sucking out
the juices of a woman who was at least fifty years her junior, while
Bone continued to watch.

The Cadillac took a sharp turn off the Santa Monica Freeway and
headed up to Sunset. The three men in the car were happy. Stoned,
actually. They saw an end to their job and payment in their
pockets.

* * *

Madison's mind was running on overdrive. She had to figure out some
kind of escape move. But what? Throw herself out of the car and risk
being killed? Put up a fight? Or ... talk herself out of it? She'd
always been good at that.

"How much are you getting paid?" she asked.

"To kill people?" her gunman singsonged. "We do that for
nothin'—it's sweet, y'know?"

"I'll double whatever you're getting paid if you let me
go."»

"Why we do that?"

"Why do you do anything? For money, of course."

"How much money?"

"You tell me."

"Fifty thou."

"Okay."

"Where you gonna get money like that?"

"Let me go and I'll get it."

"
Shee-it
!" he sneered.

"You think I'm stupid?"

"No," she said quickly. "Actually, I think you're quite
smart."

"Forget it, lady. We're almost there."

* * *

Serge Gorban checked his watch. It was an old watch he'd bought in
Moscow many years ago, and sometimes it ran slow.

Not
that
slow. His idiot nephew should have been here hours
ago. He'd given him a simple task to perform, and somehow Zaroff had
managed to screw it up, just as he had managed to screw up most
things.

Serge realized that he should never have listened to his pathetic,
whining sister, who had begged him to give Zaroff another chance
after the boy's last disaster.

But listen he had, and now, where
was
the fool?

Never send a boy to do a man's job
.

Any second now, when the whores left the estate, Bone or Mamie
would be calling him in the guardhouse, making sure that everything
was taken care of.

Why had he trusted that no-good nephew of his? The out-of-work
loser was nothing but trouble.

* * *

They were in his penthouse, still in the living room, but soon
heading for the bedroom. Jolie was coming on to him big time, and
Vincent wasn't in the mood to resist. "I like you, Vincent, I always
have," she murmured.

His problems with Jenna tonight were all Nando's fault. If Nando
hadn't insisted on Andy Dale joining them, none of this would have
happened. Now, on top of everything else, Nando was meeting with
Leroy Fortuno and Darren Simmons behind his back. Yes, Nando had
definitely gone too far this time.

"I always felt it should've been you and me," Jolie purred, all
soft skin and glowing eyes.

"Nando's my brother," Vincent said, his resolve slowly weakening.
Resisting Jolie was getting harder by the minute. He'd always had an
eye for her. She was smooth and sexy and sophisticated. Plus she was
a woman, unlike Jenna, who was still a girl.

"I know," Jolie murmured softly. "Only, sometimes brothers have to
part ways. And maybe the time has come..."

He was still mesmerized by her lips. Such soft, pouting, inviting
lips.

Was one kiss such a bad thing? After all, Jenna had run out on
him, and Nando was busy making deals elsewhere.

One kiss ...

His cell phone rang.

"Don't answer it," Jolie said, her voice a silky whisper. "We have
more important things to do."

* * *

Gus's black limousine with its dark, tinted windows, followed by a
large black Suburban, headed up into the hills. Michael felt as if he
was part of a funeral procession. And in a way, that's exactly what
it was.

Welcome to the funeral of Marnie and Bone
.

Gus did not do things on a small scale. He was from the old school
of how to get things done. There were quite a few men packed into the
Suburban. Men ready to deal with anything or anyone who got in their
way. Among them was a dog wrangler who would take care of the
Dobermans.

Michael's only worry was Madison. He knew Vincent could take care
of Dani and himself. Sofia was in Europe. So it was only Madison he
was concerned about.

Madison. His beautiful, smart daughter who was barely speaking to
him, and he didn't blame her. He'd allowed her to live a lie, and
that wasn't fair.

He made a solemn vow that in the future he would make it up to
her. And he'd make it up to Dani, too, the woman who'd stood by him
through everything.

But first he had to take care of these two maggots. Because if he
didn't...

* * *

The Cadillac turned off Sunset and sped up into Bel-Air, the road
twisting and turning all the way to the top.

Madison didn't know what to think. Bel-Air, of all places. What
were they doing there?

She went to look at her watch, realized they'd stolen it, and
tried to figure out what time it was. One a.m.? Two? She had no
clue.

Suddenly the car slowed down and came to a stop in front of a pair
of ornate wrought-iron gates.

"What I do?" the driver asked.

"Ring the fuckin' buzzer. Tell Serge we're here."

They were all so stoned now that no one seemed to notice names
were flying. Madison made a mental note of all of them. Ace, from
earlier. Now Serge. And finally a name for her gunman, her psycho
killer. Zar—short for? She'd find out.

"Zarren?" she said to him, as if she were about to ask a
question.

"Zaroff," he slurred.

"Press the fuckin' buzzer," the one in the front passenger seat
said, leaning across the driver to do it for him.

She wondered if this was the time to make a run for it. The car
was stationary, the music too loud for clear thought. Besides, the
three of them were so out of it they probably wouldn't even
notice.

She decided to do it. Take a risk and go.

She glanced quickly at Zaroff. The Uzi was on the floor of the car
between his feet. His other gun was stuffed in the belt of his
pants.

Good-bye, suckers. I'm out of here
.

And she lunged at the door, wrenched it open, threw herself out,
and began running.

Dani still couldn't sleep. Now that she'd made such an important
decision about her future, she was nervous that she might change her
mind.

Only one way to solve
that
little problem. Dean was staying
at the Mirage.

She picked up the phone and called him.

* * *

The front gate buzzer rang. Serge checked out the security mofiitor
in the guardhouse. He was relieved to see the old Cadillac he'd lent
to Zaroff waiting outside the gates.

Finally
, he thought, pressing the entry button to activate
the heavy gates.