Lovers and Gamblers (86 page)

The house was quiet. Jorge had gone to an important meeting at Carlos’s house. Doris was out at a dinner.

Jorge had not suggested she accompany him. Doris had.

Evita’s body shook with her own sobs. She kept on thinking of Cristina – her wilful fiery daughter – a woman – but no more than a child really. That child was lying dead somewhere. Dead because of her involvement with a boy called Nino. Evita was sure of
that
. If Jorge had been firmer. If… If… If…

Slowly Evita opened the bathroom cabinet and extracted the bottle of sedatives the doctor had prescribed for her. She tipped them out – all of them. There were plenty. Everyone knew Evita. They knew she was a cool, calm, intelligent woman. It would never even enter the doctor’s head to limit the amount of pills he gave her.

She picked up the pills, one by one – and swallowed them down with the help of a tumbler of water. When they were all gone she extracted another bottle from the cabinet. Jorge’s sleeping pills – large turquoise capsules. Methodically she swallowed every one of those. Now she was feeling tired. Her body was aching, and she felt a strange sickness.

Unsteadily she walked into the bedroom, and climbed into bed. Her eyes were blurring, distorting everything around her. She closed them, peacefully aware that she would never have to open them again.

* * *

Talia Antonios had killed the hope that Al King and his plane were being held somewhere for ransom. In a brisk no-nonsense way, she had explained the situation to Carlos Baptista as they walked through the public park near his office. She had explained about the organization P.A.C.P. and Nino’s involvement.

‘We were expecting the plane,’ she explained without emotion. ‘We probably could have claimed that we did indeed have the plane and collected the million dollars that was to have been our price. But what then? You would have paid the money – and we would not have been able to produce the goods. Not so hot for our reputation – who would have ever paid us ransom money again? We are a serious organization – dedicated to helping the oppressed and the poor. Our work is just beginning. Soon we will be famous for our deeds. We will deal honestly – and people will respect us. If we should kidnap – well – say
you
for instance – then we would demand a suitable ransom and if it was paid, you would be returned unharmed. If it was not paid, you would be returned anyway – in little pieces. But the point is you would be returned – either way. Are you understanding me?’

Carlos gulped. The woman was obviously mad and had to be handled with extreme caution. He glanced around, hoping that indeed the police were having him followed.

‘So,’ Talia continued, ‘it is quite obvious what must have happened. Nino was able to seize the plane, but unfortunately it must have crashed before it reached us.’

‘Perhaps Nino has taken the plane elsewhere,’ Carlos suggested.

‘Utterly impossible,’ Talia snapped. ‘Nino is –
was
– dedicated. Circumstances must have arisen to cause the plane to crash. They are all dead, Señor Baptista, and the reason I have come to see you is to know if you wish to pay for the privilege of recovering the bodies?’

‘Do you
know
where the plane crashed?’ Carlos asked incredulously.

‘Not exactly. But for the reward money you have offered – fifty thousand dollars, isn’t it? Then I could supply you with an exact flight plan. With that information it would merely be a matter of time before the plane was found.’ She paused, then added meaningfully, ‘I am sure that you would want to see your son have a proper burial.’

‘You
cona
!’ Carlos spat in her direction. ‘What kind of a person are you? Do you have no feelings? Can you just talk about people being dead – my
son
. You
cona
– I will have you arrested!’

She shrugged. ‘For what? You have nothing on me. I would of course deny this whole conversation. I didn’t
have
to come and see you, did I?’

‘I expect fifty thousand dollars was persuasion enough.’

‘If you wish to accept our offer, have the money in used notes by noon tomorrow. I will telephone you with further instructions. When the money is safely in our possession you will receive the flight plan.’

‘I’m supposed to just trust you?’

‘I told you,’ replied Talia coldly, ‘the P.A.C.P. is a very trustworthy organization. If we get the money – you get what
you
want.’

Carlos had related the entire conversation to the Police Chief and Jorge. They were all of the opinion that Talia knew what she was talking about.

‘We will pay,’ Carlos had finally decided.

‘Yes,’ Jorge had agreed. He wanted to recover his baby girl’s body as soon as possible. Numb with shock he kept this new information to himself and did not even reveal it to Evita.

Talia had informed Carlos that Cristina had been working with Nino. Had helped to execute the whole stinking mess!

Of course Jorge did not believe it. Anyone who knew Cristina would see at once it was a bunch of lies. She had been an innocent party to a series of bizarre events. She was not to blame. No way could she possibly have been knowingly involved in any kind of terrorist plot.

* * *

‘It looks like a movie set,’ Linda muttered, as the chauffeured Mercedes drew up outside Carlos Baptista’s palatial white mansion.

‘A simple palace…’ Cody observed.

‘I wonder what he is like.’

‘He sounds pleasant enough on the phone.’

A butler ushered them into an ornate room and poured them drinks. Then Carlos himself appeared. He greeted them both warmly, hugging Linda as if she was an old friend. She liked him immediately – although physical contact from a stranger would normally have repulsed her.

‘The news is not good,’ he told them both gravely. ‘I think we have to assume beyond question they are all dead.’

Jorge Maraco arrived then, and they went into the dining room and struggled through a meal that no one was really interested in eating.

‘Please excuse my wife for not joining us,’ Carlos explained. ‘As you can imagine… she is… Louis was her favourite…’ His voice broke. ‘He was a very fine boy. Very good-looking, very intelligent—’ He covered his grief with a gruff laugh. ‘Not like his father, you know.’

During the course of dinner he explained the situation to them. Telling the story as he knew it, trying to piece together the bits he didn’t know. ‘So you see…’ he finished off at last, ‘I think we must believe this woman, and with the flight plan we will be able to trace the plane. Without the right information… Well – up to now our search planes have come up with nothing. Tomorrow we will pay the money. Tomorrow I think we will find them – God rest their souls.’

Linda was very depressed when the chauffeur dropped them back at the hotel. She wanted to cry, but tears again refused to come.

Cody had lapsed into his own silence.

They rode up in the elevator not saying a word to each other. Outside her door Cody kissed her absently on the cheek. ‘Goodnight,’ he said quietly.

Goodnight. What was so good about it? She marched into her room, slammed the door, and flopped down on the bed.

Why
had
they come here? What was the point?

Deep down she knew the point. When the plane was found – when the bodies were brought back… Well, she wanted to be sure that Paul had someone around who cared… It was silly… after all, he would never know… But all the same she felt that it was only right.

She sighed restlessly. She would never sleep. She felt strung out and tense.

The hell with it! Suddenly she didn’t care
what
Cody thought of her. He could take her as she was or not at all.

She jumped off the bed and went to the communicating door. She released the lock on her side, and knocked loudly. ‘Cody – hey, Cody – can you hear me?’

It was minutes before he unlocked his side and appeared, wearing a towel knotted around his middle.

‘I was just going to take a bath,’ he explained. ‘What is it?’

‘Why don’t we bathe together? I’ve
had
being alone.’

* * *

Jorge stayed and drank brandy with Carlos into the early hours of the morning. He did not want to go home. He did not want to be alone. He did not want to face what were more than likely to be proved irrevocable facts.

He dreaded telling Evita, and decided not to tell her anything definite until the plane was actually found.

Dawn was already breaking when he let himself into the house. He went straight to his study and sat at his desk for a while staring at the various framed pictures of Cristina. A pictorial history of her short life. There she was a few hours old – then a saucer-eyed four – at ten, riding her pony – at twelve, reading a book – fifteen, a formal portrait. He had no recent photos – she had suddenly become camera-shy and refused to be photographed.

Wearily he made his way upstairs. Exhaustion was creeping over him, and he wanted to be up early – perhaps go out in one of the search planes.

Evita was asleep in the darkened bedroom. He barely glanced at her. He threw his clothes off and walked in the bathroom. At first he didn’t notice the two empty pill containers. Then he saw them and picked them up curiously. Wasn’t one of them his… He read the label on the side – ‘Jorge Maraco – sleeping tablets.’ That was strange… He hadn’t used them for weeks…

He picked up the other empty container. ‘Evita Maraco – sedatives.’

He stood very still for a moment – the full implications slowly seeping through to his muddled brain. Sleeping tablets… sedatives… empty…

He walked into the bedroom.

Evita lay very still, uncannily still.

He took her hand, it was extremely cold.

He felt for her pulse. There was none.

She was dead.

* * *

Carlos paid Talia. She kept her side of the bargain and within hours a duplicate copy of the two pages of neatly scripted flight plans were on his desk.

Search planes were in the air almost immediately. For two days they scoured the route, but could spot nothing. This was not surprising because the missing Al King plane had been flying over the dense interior of the Amazon jungle, and to spot a crashed plane beneath the thick foliage was virtually impossible. Even if the wreckage was found everyone knew that by this time there would be no hope of any survivors.

On the Monday the search was called off. Al King and his plane had been missing exactly ten days.

Carlos Baptista held a news conference and revealed the facts about a mystery woman and an organization named as the P.A.C.P. ‘In view of the information received we must assume that Señor King’s plane did indeed crash, and that he and his fellow travellers died as a result. It would seem futile to continue the search. Al King must be declared officially dead.’

* * *

Linda and Cody were on a plane back to Los Angeles the same day.

In New York, Melanie King – soon to be Mrs. Manny Shorto – appeared once again on television. ‘I am deeply saddened by the news,’ she said. ‘Manny and I will be praying for them all.’ Later that evening Manny and Melanie were to be found hosting what appeared to be a celebration party, and she was joyfully heard to confide to practically everyone in sight, ‘Now we can get married at once, don’t have to go through all that divorce
shit!
’

In Los Angeles Lew Margolis signed a blonde amazon ex-tennis player to be the new ‘Man Made Woman’. He also took a repentant Doris back and announced plans for her to star in a controversial new film about lesbianism.

In New York Aarron Mack announced his engagement to a sixteen-year-old German countess. ‘She will be the new Mack girl,’ he announced to the world, without so much as a word of condolence about Dallas.

At Malibu beach, Karmen Rush gave an exclusive interview to
Macho
magazine in which she revealed Al King was the most exciting lover she had ever had.

In New York Marjorie Carter snorted that Karmen Rush couldn’t have had many lovers.

In London Edna King packed away the last of Al’s clothes and sent them to a local charity. She was about to start on Evan’s things when she realized she would be late for her pottery class – late for John…

Hurriedly she left the house.

In Chicago Van Valda threw a big party. ‘
In Memoriam Al King
,’ the quickly printed invitations read. ‘Al wouldn’t have wanted a wake,’ Van puffed, his pipe lodged firmly in the corner of his mouth, ‘he would have wanted all of his friends to have a good time.’

Of the two hundred and twenty-three guests, Al had personally known six – and they were only vague acquaintances.

In Long Island, Ed Kurlnik gazed out of his bedroom window overlooking the sea. He sipped at a heavy tumbler of neat scotch. His hand was shaking. There would never be another Dallas – never. She had been the sexual realization of a lifetime of searching. He regretted ever letting her go.

Meanwhile, the immaculate Dee Dee entertained a senator and a foreign ambassador to a sumptuous lunch served on the terrace. While her twin daughters, Cara and Dana, entertained movie star Ramo Kaliffe on their speedboat.

In Philadelphia the ex-Miss Miami Beach, now ‘Miss Coast to Coast,’ sat down to write her memoirs. She devoted two whole chapters to Al King and their ‘lasting and meaningful’ affair. She devoted one terse line to Dallas – claiming she had been stripped of her title for unseemly behaviour.

In Los Angeles, Glory and Plum hung around outside a rock concert hoping to score a little coke – their new kick. ‘Hey – bad news Evan hadda trash out that way,’ Plum said.

‘Yeah, man,’ Glory agreed. ‘Shame he never had an address for us – he mighta laid a little bread on us in his will.’

‘You think he hadda will?’

‘Yeah – all these rich dudes got wills.’

‘Shit! You’re probably right. What a bummer. I guess we really lost out.’

In a recording studio in Memphis, Rosa and Sutch of The Promises were cutting an album track.

‘Mothafucker deserved to go that way,’ Rosa spat. ‘I hope he suffered!’

‘Aw,’ Sutch protested, ‘don’t be so hard – he had his good points.’