The Love Killers (22 page)

Beth didn't lecture or judge. ‘The Bassalinos have been punished more than enough,' she said quietly. ‘I hope you and Nick can find happiness.'

‘We will,' Lara said confidently. ‘We're going to move to Italy and start over. Nick wants to, and so do I. When we're settled will you visit us?'

‘You bet!' Beth replied.

Bosco Sam and Dukey K. Williams met at the zoo.

‘I ain't truckin' with you past those goddamn monkeys again,' Bosco Sam complained. ‘I'm still smelling monkey piss every time I wear my damn coat.'

Dukey laughed.

Bosco Sam glared.

‘So, what's goin' on?' Dukey asked. ‘Lay it on me, bro', 'cos I gotta be at rehearsal two hours ago. Little blond number held me up.'

‘Dukey, boy, we had a deal.'

‘Right on. Ain't nobody arguing that fact.'

Bosco Sam produced a Hershey bar from his coat pocket and carefully peeled off the wrapper. ‘Deal was I forget the two hundred thou, and you arrange a hit on the Bassalinos. Right?'

Dukey nodded.

‘Okay, Frank Bassalino I give you. But the others? C'mon Dukey, who're you shittin'?'

‘Hey, man—Enzio was the important one. Leroy did a great job.'

‘Leroy Jesus Bauls got his ass chewed off by a pack of fuckin' wild hounds. What was left of him his own mother wouldn't recognize. The cops showed me the photos. I got
very fine
connections with the police.'

‘So?'

‘So the word is that Enzio was got at
before
the house blew. Someone shot him through the heart an' sliced him up with a butcher's knife—just for kicks. You gettin' the picture?'

Dukey licked his lips. ‘No, man, I'm not.'

‘Angelo Bassalino got his in a car wreck. Nick Bassalino's back in L.A. I reckon that still leaves you one hundred and fifty thousand in my debt.'

‘Don't fuckin' lay this shit on me, man,' Dukey said angrily. ‘You can't possibly mean—'

‘I'll tell you what,' Bosco Sam interrupted. ‘With interest we'll call it a straight two hundred thousand. Two days, my man. I'll give you two days. An' that's generous of me.'

‘Come on,' Dukey groaned. ‘You're full of shit. This ain't fair!'

‘Fair? I've been very fair with you. I don't have to tell you what happens next. Two days is generous.'

‘You fat fuck!' Dukey exclaimed. ‘You jealous asshole. You'll get your money.'

Bosco Sam nodded. ‘Sure I will, Dukey boy. Cash. An' I want it by six o'clock tonight.' Abruptly he shoved the rest of the chocolate bar in his mouth and walked away.

Dukey began to sweat.

There was no way he could get two hundred thousand together by six o'clock. No way.

‘The man who comes to you with his dick hanging out may want to make it with you, but does he want to work next to you? Does he want to see you get paid the same money for the same job he's doing? Hey—what about the guy in the street who undresses you with his eyes, fucks you with his mouth to his friends. Is he your equal, baby? Well?
Well?'

The crowd of women, joined by a few males at the rock festival, screamed their agreement.

‘Hey, sisters—you want to be put down by a race of male pigs forever?
Old
pigs with racist, chauvinistic, biased, old-fashioned views on
every
single thing that affects women in America today?

‘To them we are pieces of ass. Look pretty, have the kids, but baby—stay home or you'd better stay quiet.'

Rio Java was speaking between appearances of rock groups. With her frizzy purple hair and sequinned makeup she looked like a rock star herself.

In one year she had become as dedicated and intense as Margaret Lawrence Brown ever was. And her following was just as large. In fact, she attracted an even wider group of supporters than Margaret, as even the freaks liked her.

‘One day I'm going to be president,' she'd tell anyone who would listen. ‘And I'm going to expose the whole stinking, corrupt mess that politics represents.

‘For a start,' she told her friends, ‘I'm exposing that son of a bitch Larry Bolding. He ain't gonna be chasin'
nothin'
when
I
get through with him.'

Larry Bolding, her ex-lover, the politician with the clean-cut image, elegant blond wife, and two perfect little kiddies, was running as a presidential candidate.

Rio held both arms straight up above her purple hair and made fists of her hands.

‘Strike out, sisters!' she shouted. ‘Strike out!! We are going to get what we want. We are going to be EQUAL in every way!'

The crowd whistled and screamed approval.

Rio felt the bullet hit her. She stood very still. She smiled. And the crowd spread out before her whistled and stamped and screamed.

‘Strike out!' Rio managed. But then the blood bubbled up her throat and out of her mouth in one life-taking gush.

The house in Connecticut could only be approached by passing through electric gates and then undergoing the scrutiny of two uniformed guards with pistols stuck casually in their belts.

Dickson Grade passed this scrutiny easily. He was a precise-looking man in a dark business suit. He wore rimless glasses on small brown eyes, and his hair was combed neatly back.

He approached the big house, holding a slim leather briefcase tightly by his side.

A uniformed maid answered his ring. ‘Good afternoon, Mr. Grade, sir,' she said respectfully. ‘Mr. Bolding is out by the pool.'

Dickson Grade nodded, making his way through the house to the patio, which led out to an Olympic-size swimming pool.

Susan Bolding greeted him. She was a most attractive woman, with straight fair hair pulled firmly back in a French twist. Her shapely figure was concealed beneath a loose silk shirt and tailored white trousers.

‘Hello, Dick.' She smiled, kissing him lightly on the cheek. ‘What can I get you? A drink? Tea? Coffee?'

Dickson smiled politely. He found Larry Bolding's wife extremely appealing, but when you were Larry Bolding's personal assistant you sat on thoughts like that and did nothing about them.

‘Coffee, please, Susan. Where is Larry?'

‘Exploring the garden in search of weeds, I think. Honestly, Sunday is the only day he gets time to relax. And you know how he loves his garden.'

‘I'll go find him.'

Dickson walked down a side path until he discovered Larry Bolding playing catch on the grass with his children.

They greeted each other, and then Larry sent the children off to find Mommy. He was a tall, clean-cut man in his early forties. Craggy good looks combined nicely with a deep, masculine voice and a politician's firm handshake.

‘Everything is under control,' Dickson said. ‘A perfect operation.'

Larry Bolding glanced around to make perfectly sure they were alone. ‘Is she—dead?' he asked in a low voice.

Dickson nodded. ‘And nothing to connect it to us. You're in the clear. Oh, and rest assured, the right people will be dealing with her personal effects.'

Larry Bolding sighed and patted Dickson on the shoulder. ‘It was the only way, wasn't it?' he questioned.

Dickson Grade nodded agreement. ‘The only way.'

There have been many imitators, but only Jackie Collins can tell you what really goes on in the fastest lane of all. From Beverly Hills bedrooms to a raunchy prowl along the streets of Hollywood; from glittering rock parties and concerts to stretch limos and the mansions of the power brokers — Jackie Collins chronicles the real truth from the inside looking out.

Jackie Collins has been called a “raunchy moralist” by the late director Louis Malle and “Hollywood's own Marcel Proust” by
Vanity Fair
magazine. With over 400 million copies of her books sold in more than 40 countries, and with some twenty-eight
New York Times
bestsellers to her credit, Jackie Collins is one of the world's top-selling novelists. She is known for giving her readers an unrivaled insiders knowledge of Hollywood and the glamorous lives and loves of the rich, famous, and infamous! “I write about real people in disguise,” she says. “If anything, my characters are toned down — the truth is much more bizarre.”

A New Novel from Jackie Collins…

A Russian billionaire and his state-of-the-art yacht. His beautiful and sexy supermodel girlfriend. And five dynamic, powerful and famous couples invited on the yacht's maiden voyage…

 
A senator and his lovely but unhappy wife.

 
A very attractive movie star and his needy ex-waitress girlfriend.