Vendetta: Lucky's Revenge (17 page)

IT WAS PAST TEN WHEN LUCKY AND ALEX DROVE
up to Armando’s Strip Palace and Pool Bar—a gaudy, sprawling place that once again appeared to be in the middle of nowhere.

“Another classy joint,” Lucky remarked, taking in the signs, which proclaimed the usual
LIVE NUDE GIRLS
, and the unusual
—NAKED WICKED WILD WILD WIMMIN
!

“Sure you wanna go in?” Alex asked, pulling into the jammed parking lot right behind Daisy’s yellow Chevrolet.

“Yes,” Lucky said, feeling light-headed and ready for anything. “This looks like a happenin’ place.”

Alex realized there was no way she was backing out. Not Lucky Santangelo. Not this woman. “Okay, let’s go,” he said, resignedly parking his Porsche.

Daisy met them as they got out of the car. “I gotta go in the back way,” she mumbled. “Armando’s shitty rules. Where’s my hundred bucks?”

“Don’t you trust me?” Lucky asked, thinking this woman was the least likely candidate to have a name like Daisy.

“I ain’t in this business t’trust no one,” Daisy retorted, hands on hips.

Lucky fumbled in her purse, pulled a hundred-dollar bill from her wallet, and handed it over.

“Tell the guy at the door you’re friends a mine,” Daisy cackled. “
That’ll
get you a bad seat.” She teetered off on stiletto heels, still laughing.

“Lucky,” Alex said with a deep sigh of resignation. “What the
fuck
are we doing here?”

“Getting a drink,” she said, pushing back her long dark hair.

“How about food?” he said, adding sotto voce, “To put in your hollow leg.”

“Ha ha!”

They entered Armando’s. It was four times as big as the last place and just as overcrowded. Three pool tables were lined up on one side of the room. A live band blasted their version of a well-known Loretta Lynn song, and a long, curved bar on which a red-haired stripper cavorted was jammed with beer-swigging cowboys and a scattering of women all dressed up in their cowgirl best.

“Hmm…” said Lucky, surveying the room with a jaundiced eye. “It seems to be one of those country and western deals with a twist. Wanna do a little quick-stepping, pardner?”

“There’s something seriously wrong with you,” Alex said sternly.

“Why?” she replied, feeling pretty good.

“You’re not normal.”

“What’s normal?” she asked flippantly, deciding that in spite of himself Alex was quite a sport.

“Well…” He thought for a moment. “You’re not exactly quiet.”

She burst out laughing. “Oh, I see. You’re into quiet, subservient women, is that it?”

“You know what I mean,” he said, aggravated.

No. She didn’t know what he meant, and quite frankly, she didn’t care. He was here for a purpose, and that purpose was to entertain her.

God! Her world was starting to spin. Better get a grip. Better get it together.

There were no free tables, so once again they found two seats at the bar, crowding in between a couple of surly cowboys. Alex slipped the hostess a twenty, informing her he expected the next available table.

“Jesus!” he muttered as they sat down. “If I don’t get into a fight tonight, I’m the luckiest guy around.”

Once again Lucky brushed back her long hair and laughed. She knew she was drunk, but it didn’t matter. Tonight she wasn’t Lucky Santangelo—businesswoman, head of a movie studio, mother. Tonight she was single and free, and she could do whatever she felt like. And right now she felt like having another drink. Only problem—Alex wasn’t keeping up with her.

“One tequila,” she said, concealing a hiccup. “We’ll watch Daisy do her thing, play a game of pool, then we’re on our way. That’s a Santangelo promise.”

“You and your promises,” he said grimly, glad that he’d stayed comparatively sober.
Somebody
had to know what they were doing.

“No, really,” Lucky insisted. “You
will
meet Gino later. You’re gonna love his stories.”

Alex knew there was no way he was getting anywhere near Gino tonight. “Yeah, yeah,” he said.

“Y’know, Alex,” Lucky said, placing an understanding hand on his shoulder. “I’ve been doing all the talking. Isn’t it about time we got into you?”

“Why?” he said, stone-faced.

“I still can’t get over the fact you never married.”

“Hey, listen, just because
you
were married three times…”

“My take is you must have an overpowering mother whom you secretly hate.”

“That’s not funny,” he said, frowning.

“Did I hit it right on?”

He didn’t reply.

The waitress came over and told them she had a ringside table ready for them. They moved over just as Daisy bounced onto the stage like a dynamo.

Instead of a pole, Armando’s had a fake silver palm tree stuck in the middle portion of the long bar. Daisy worked the palm tree like it was her most intimate lover, doing things to it most people only dreamed about.

The audience began throwing money, stamping, and whistling their approval. Daisy got off on the applause. She squatted down, thighs spread, and began collecting dollar bills.

“Amazing muscle control,” Lucky murmured. “I hope they bring a guy on next.”

“Are you
crazy
?”

“C’mon, Alex, surely you’re into equality between the sexes?”

“Bullshit.”

“Scratch a movie director and find a chauvinist,” she taunted.

“What is it with you?” he asked, exasperated.

“Nothing you’d understand.”

By the time Daisy took it all off, the audience was out of control. Daisy sure knew how to play a crowd. When she was finished, she joined them at their table, out of breath and triumphant, her jet skin glistening with perspiration.

“What you wanna know?” she asked, flopping into a chair.

“Alex,
you
do the talking,” Lucky said.

He shot her a look.
She
was the one who’d dragged him to this joint, and now she expected
him
to ask the questions. Surely she knew he couldn’t give a damn about this black stripper, even if the woman did have an unbelievable body.

Still…visually…in his movie, Daisy would definitely score. Especially the picking up the money with her thighs bit.

“What’s your story, Daisy?” he asked wearily. “Fucked by your father? Beaten by your stepfather? Raped by an uncle? Then you ran away from home…Am I getting there?”

Daisy twirled her fingers through her long red wig and ordered a beer. “My ole man was a Baptist minister,” she said primly. “Wouldn’t allow no sex talk in our house. My daddy was one
strict
motherfucker. Me? I’m a workin’ girl with two kids an’ a lover. I make enough t’see my kids are done right by.”

“Not exactly the story you were expecting, huh, Alex?” Lucky said, needling him.

“Where’s your lover tonight?” Alex asked, ignoring Lucky and concentrating on Daisy.

“Babysitting. She’s into stayin’ home.”

“
She?
” Alex questioned.

Daisy winked at Lucky. “Honey, y’know what I mean. Once you-all had pussy, y’don’ wanna bother with some big, dirty ole
man
. Cock ain’t all it’s cracked up to be—right, baby?”

“Thanks for sharing that,” said Alex, not fond of the direction this conversation was taking.

“So,” Lucky said, amused at Alex’s discomfort. “Where can we reach you?”

Daisy swigged beer from the bottle. “Why you wanna reach me?”

“In case Alex puts you in his movie.”

Daisy held out both her hands, admiring her long, curved nails painted a deep, sparkly purple. “I ain’t no actress,” she said modestly.

“No acting involved,” Alex said.

“Absolutely not,” Lucky added. “You’ll be in the strip scene. Y’know—that’s the one where two guys are talking…”

Daisy got it. “Yeah,
that
ole scene,” she said. “Two guys with some babe behind them shovin’ her big titties in their faces.”

“Right!” Lucky said. Daisy was smarter than she’d thought.

They both laughed.

“Write down a phone number where my casting people can reach you,” Alex said, handing her a book of matches and a pen.

Daisy scrawled her name and number.

Alex wanted out. “Can we go now?” he said to Lucky.

“One game of pool. You promised.”

He looked over at the pool tables and was relieved to see they were all occupied. “No free table,” he said, trying not to sound too pleased.

“
I’ll
get us one,” Lucky said, jumping up.

“No,” he said forcefully. “We’re outta here while we’re still walking.”

Her eyes were dark and challenging; she liked a man who fought back. “Don’t wanna get beat, huh?”

He was too sober and she was too drunk. It wasn’t worth an argument.

They said good night to Daisy and headed for the parking lot.

The cold night air hit Lucky like a block of cement. She stumbled, almost falling.

Alex caught her in his arms. “Whatever happened to your hollow leg?” he asked, breathing in her sensual, musky scent.

“Don’t feel so good,” she mumbled, leaning heavily against him.

He couldn’t help enjoying her sudden vulnerability. This was a new, dependent Lucky. This was how women were meant to be.

Without thinking, he brought his lips down on hers, kissing her roughly, passionately.

It was an electric kiss, surprising both of them.

Lucky knew she was drunk, knew she shouldn’t be doing this, knew it was a big mistake. But all she could see were the pictures of Lennie with the naked blond flashing before her eyes. And all she could feel was hurt and disappointment that he’d let her down.

Lennie had deserted her so cruelly. There was only one way to get even.

And Alex was it.

Two lovers in a cheap motel. Thrashing around on the bed, their clothes leaving an untidy trail across the threadbare carpet. They both felt the urgency of instant sex. No foreplay required. He was harder than he’d ever been, and she was ready.

He touched her breasts, so very beautiful…

She touched his cock, thrilling to the urgent throbbing of his desire…

She moaned when he entered her. An anguished moan of passion and carnal abandon.

They were both into the ride. It was pure, lustful pleasure tempered by no inhibitions—nothing more than a great, uncomplicated fuck.

It was exactly what Lucky needed. And when she came, it released the pent-up anger and hurt and pain and all the other frustrations she’d been holding on to.

Alex shuddered to a climax simultaneously. “Jesus
Christ
!” he exclaimed.

She didn’t respond. She rolled away from him, curling into a tight ball, hugging her knees to her chest.

He didn’t pursue her.

Within minutes they were both asleep.

LYING NEAR THE SOUTHEASTERN CORNER OF
Sicily—high above the dusty road from Noto to Ragusa—was a tiny village that was Donna’s birthplace. She was born in a small house still occupied by her eighty-seven-year-old father, two of her younger sisters and their husbands, her brother Bruno and his wife, and various nieces and nephews. Donna supported everyone, sending them regular food packages, clothes, and luxuries unheard of in such a primitive place.

Since her father had sold her off as a young girl, she’d only visited once; however, she was a legend in the small village and spoken of in revered terms.

Donna’s village was mostly rugged terrain, but a forty-five-minute walk down through the steep hills led to a cliff, below which was the seashore and a catacomb of mysterious caves. Folklore said they were haunted; very few people ever went near them.

As children, Donna, Bruno, and her young love, Furio, had spent much of their spare time exploring the caves. They were not frightened of ancient rumors, although the village elders spoke of ghosts and even worse. Legend had it that after the disastrous earthquake of 1668 that destroyed many towns, the caves
became a place where thieves and murderers made their home. When one of them raped and killed a local girl, the village men—filled with wrath—raided the caves and butchered them all, burying them beneath the ground in a mass grave.

Donna, Furio, and Bruno did not believe the stories; the caves were their playground and nothing could spoil it.

When Donna was taken off to America to become a bride, Bruno and Furio stopped going there.

It wasn’t until Donna sent for Bruno and told him of her plan that he even thought of going back. When she explained what had to be done to avenge the murder of her husband, Bruno was in complete agreement that the caves presented the perfect solution. Located at the bottom of the cliff—dank, deserted, difficult to get in or out of—they were a natural prison.

Lennie Golden knew this to be true. For Lennie had been held captive for eight long weeks, his left ankle shackled to an unmovable rock, allowing him only enough room to hobble around the musty cave.

Every morning he awoke to the same demoralizing sight: a shaft of light filtering in from somewhere high above; the walls of his cave mossy and damp; and he could hear and smell the sea somewhere close.

How close? The dampness made him think that it was dangerously close. What if there was a storm? Would his cave be flooded? Would he die a grim and watery death because there was no way he could escape?

His home.

His cell.

His place of incarceration.

And the worst thing of all was that he had no idea why he was there. He could only assume he’d been kidnapped for ransom. But if that was the case, why hadn’t Lucky or the studio paid the money?

He’d been imprisoned for eight interminable weeks of
misery. He knew exactly how long it was because he’d been gouging marks into the walls of the cave as each day passed. During that time, the only people he’d seen were the two men who brought him his daily meal of bread and cheese. Once a week they replaced the cheese with a hunk of indigestible meat, and twice they’d given him fruit. Right now he was so hungry he would have eaten anything.

Neither of his captors—both surly-looking men in their late thirties—spoke English. They avoided having anything to do with him, shunning eye contact and all conversation.

One or the other of them appeared every day at the same time, placing the food on an upturned crate and leaving immediately. Every few days they emptied the bucket that was his makeshift toilet, at the same time replacing another bucket—filled with murky water—that was his only washing facility.

There was no mirror, or anything to groom himself with. He suspected he resembled a wild man, with long matted hair and an eight-week growth of beard. His clothes were filthy. Once he’d tried to wash them, discovering it wasn’t worth freezing to death while waiting for them to dry.

He could accept the food and toilet situation. He could even accept the bone-chilling cold and damp, and the rats that scurried around the cave all night long—sometimes running over his legs as he lay on the stiff wooden planks that did duty as his bed.

What he could not accept was the hopeless despair and never-ending boredom of having nothing to occupy his mind. Day after day, sitting there, unable to read or write, listen to music or watch TV.

Nothing.

HE…WAS…SLOWLY…GOING…CRAZY.

Lately he’d begun talking aloud. Listening to himself
was a small comfort, for at least it was the sound of a human voice. He’d started going over old routines from his stand-up comedy days, and scenes from his movies. Sometimes he spoke to Lucky as if she were there with him.

In his mind, he often retraced the events of that fateful morning. He remembered being so happy because Lucky was flying in. He’d created a vivid mind picture of her running off the plane into his arms. They fit so well together, they always had.

He recalled leaving the hotel, the doorman pointing to his car. A new driver, not his regular one. Shortly after they’d set off for the airport, the driver had offered him coffee. He’d accepted, gulping down the hot liquid—enjoying the strong, almost bitter flavor.

After that—nothing—no more memories until he’d awakened on the floor of the cave, chained like a rabid dog, with nobody there to explain what was happening.

When the first of the men had appeared, he’d thought he was saved. But no, it was merely the beginning of his nightmare.

Now there was nothing he could do except wait, desperately trying to keep himself sane. And to hope that Lucky was searching for him.

Sometimes he wondered…

Was he dead?

Was this hell?

HE DIDN’T KNOW.