Dangerous Kiss (13 page)

Irena had agreed with his punishment of Teddy. She understood how difficult it was raising a teenager. She had a daughter, Mila, who'd been born in America.

Price didn't see much of the girl, who kept to herself. What he did see, he didn't like. Mila had a bad attitude. She'd been brought up in their household as part of the family, but every time he ran into her she still struck him as an outsider. He discouraged Teddy from hanging with Mila. She was bad news - Price recognized the type.

Teddy flopped into a chair.

'How'd you do at school today?' Price asked, rubbing the bridge of his nose.

'All right,' Teddy said.

Price often wondered if he spent enough time with the boy. Hey, if he wasn't working so hard maybe they could spend more time together, but work came first. It had to. Work paid the bills and kept him straight. Irena, with a little help from his shrink, had taught him that the high he got from working was a better buzz than the one he got from doing drugs.

'Y' know,' Price said, trying to get a dialogue going, 'a good education's everything.'

'You keep on telling me that,' Teddy muttered, his eyes looking everywhere except at his father. 'Only you don't get it. I don't wanna go to college.'

'No, you're the dumb shit who doesn't get it,' Price said warningly. 'You're goin'

whether you want to or not. If I had the opportunity to attend college, I would've considered myself the luckiest dude around. But no, Teddy, I hadda bust my ass workin'. I was out in the street pimping girls when I was fourteen. How d'you think I made it? Sheer guts an' ambition, nothing more. I didn't have no education.

You're gonna have that advantage.'

'Don' want it,' Teddy said, scowling.

'You know somethin'? You're an ungrateful little prick,' Price snapped, wishing he could whack his son like his mom used to do to him.

Somehow he controlled himself: his shrink had warned him never to get physical with Teddy, she'd assured him that repeating patterns never worked.

Jesus! Raising a kid today was a bitch. It didn't matter that he was famous, that he knew what went on out there in the real world. Okay, so he was Price Washington, big fucking star. But he was well aware of how it was for other black men. They still had to struggle with the racism that was rampant in every large city across America, and anyone who denied it was living in an unreal world.

'Listen to me, son,' he said, attempting to be patient. 'Education's it. If you have knowledge, you got the shit.'

'How much education did you need to get up on stage and say motherfucker fifty times a night?' Teddy said, glaring resentfully at his famous dad.

Price slammed his fist on the table. 'Don't you have no goddamn respect, fool?'

he shouted. 'I'm your father, for God's sake. Gettin' up on stage is what I do.

That's how I make money to put food on this table.'

'I don't give a crap,' Teddy muttered.

'You don't give a crap,' Price repeated, his voice rising menacingly. Goddamn it, he wanted to whack this kid so bad. 'I thought takin' you with me to New York might've done you some good. Forget about it. Since we're back, you're worse than ever.'

'That's 'cause you won't let me do what I wanna do,' Teddy said, staring at the tablecloth.

'Uh-huh, and what exactly is it that you wanna do? Sit around the house all day watchin' videos? Or maybe join a gang? You can do that. Go downtown, hang with the dudes in Compton, get yourself shot. That's what black guys are supposed to do, right?' He sighed, thoroughly disgusted. 'The young black men of America are killing each other, an' I've given you a life like you can't believe, an' all you do is hand me shit.'

'Why don't you ever let me see my mother?' Teddy demanded.

' 'Cause she's a whore,' Price said, not prepared to discuss it.

'She used to say that 'bout you.'

'That's not smart, boy,' Price said furiously. 'She's a whore who fucked other men in my bed. An' when I divorced her she didn't want you. Are you listenin' to me?

She signed a paper sayin' she didn't want you.'

'You paid her.'

'Sure I did. An' the whore took the money an' walked.' Price didn't know what to say next. What could he say to a sixteen-year-old kid who thought he knew it all?

Since he'd decided never to beat him, all he could do was encourage him. And that's what he was trying to do, encourage the dumb little shit to get himself an education. As for wanting to see his mom, what kind of garbage was that? Ginee hadn't seen Teddy in twelve years. And, knowing Ginee, she didn't give a damn.

Irena entered the room, her thin face impassive. Irena never interfered between him and his son. She'd tried once, and he'd told her to stay out of family business. Irena knew her place. She was his housekeeper. She organized the workforce that cleaned his house, ironed his shirts, washed his shorts, folded his socks. Irena bought the groceries, drove the car, ran errands, that's what Irena did. And she was good at it.

Both of his wives had hated her. They'd resented that he'd allowed her kid to be raised on the premises, even though Irena and Mila lived above the garage in the back. It was his prerogative if he wanted someone living there, someone who took care of everything when he wasn't around. And Irena was a good cook, too, although some of the Russian shit she dished up didn't exactly appeal to his palate. Over the years he'd trained her not to cook that way. Simple foods were what he liked: steaks, fried chicken, salads. Now she had it down.

'Don't forget,' he said to Irena, 'tomorrow night the guys are comin' by for poker.

Pick up some of that Jewish shit - y'know, smoked salmon, bagels, all of that crap. They like it.'

'Yes, Mr Washington,' she said, serving him from a heaping platter of grilled lamb chops, mashed potatoes and green beans.

When she reached Teddy, he pushed his plate away. 'Not hungry,' he mumbled.

'Don't wanna eat.'

'If I didn't know any better, I'd swear you was doin' drugs,' Price said, staring at him accusingly.

'You should know,' Teddy countered, remembering the many years his dad had been a total addict.

'I'm gettin' damn sick of your mouth,' Price said, narrowing his eyes.

'And I'm sick of you telling me what to do,' Teddy said sullenly.

That was it. Price had had enough. 'You're not hungry?' he roared, getting up from the table and throwing down his napkin. 'Then go to your room, an' don't let me catch a glimpse of your smart ass again tonight.'

Teddy shoved his chair away from the table and slouched out of the dining room.

Price looked at Irena. She returned his look.

'Kids,' he said, with a helpless shrug, sitting down again.

'I know what you mean, Mr Washington,' she agreed.

He reached out his hand. 'C'mere a minute.' She took his hand and moved closer. 'You miss me while I was gone?' he asked, his voice softening.

'Yes, Mr Washington,' she said. 'The house was very quiet.'

'Yeah?' he said, reaching up and touching her left breast, fingering the nipple in a familiar fashion. 'You must've missed me plenty, huh?'

She took a step back, her face expressionless. 'Yes, Mr Washington.'

He chuckled. 'Okay, sweetcakes, maybe later tonight you'll tell me exactly how much you missed me.'

Irena kept the same stoic expression. 'Yes, Mr Washington.'

Upstairs, Teddy paced around his room like a rat on a treadmill. Ever since that fateful night six weeks ago, he couldn't get the horrible scenario out of his head.

Two people sitting in a car. Two people not doing any harm to anyone.

And Mila. Blowing the woman away. Grabbing her jewellery and running.

Blood. Teddy kept on seeing the blood soaking the pretty black woman's white gown.

Jesus! And she was a sister too, which made it even worse.

Mila had told him to forget about it. Once they were back in the jeep she'd started yelling about how it was an accident and nobody's fault. But he knew the horrible truth. It had been no accident. Mila had brutally shot two people, and the woman had died.

The next day it was all over the news on account of the two people she'd shot being famous. Maybe his father even knew them! That thought really freaked him.

'We're gonna get caught,' he'd told Mila. 'They're gonna find us.'

'They can't,' she'd answered, staring him down. 'There were no witnesses.'

'They'll find us,' he'd repeated. 'The gun - where'd you get...'

'It doesn't matter.'

'They could put a trace on it.'

'How? They don't have the goddamn gun.'

'Where'd you hide it?'

'You think I'm stupid?' she'd sneered. 'I got rid of it.'

'What about her jewellery?'

'Don't worry, when the time comes you'll get your share of the money.' And she'd glared at him with a savage look in her eyes. 'Don't ever open your mouth, Teddy Washington. 'Cause if you do, I swear I'll kill you.'

He lived in fear. Fear of his father finding out, and fear of Mila and her threats.

If she was capable of shooting two people, then she was certainly capable of killing him.

Teddy had nowhere to turn.

Chapter Twenty-five

The unreal tragedy had affected all of them. The days drifted into weeks and Lucky was glad she'd made the decision to leave Panther because it gave her time to spend with Lennie and Steven, both of whom desperately needed her -

especially Steven, who was totally devastated by the death of his wife.

She'd placed people she trusted in positions of power at Panther. Since her departure there was not one person running the studio, there were three. Which meant that no decisions could be made without all three of them consulting each other, and since she was on the board, it meant that she was still very much involved. She certainly didn't want the studio being less of a power simply because she'd left. After all, she hadn't sold Panther, she'd merely stepped down as studio head, and this way gave her an option if she ever chose to resume control. She'd decided that if in a year she was no longer interested, then she'd sell. She'd make that decision when the time came.

Carioca Jade was staying at their house, comforted by her cousin Maria. The two little girls were inseparable, sleeping in the same room and spending all their time together. Thank God they have each other, Lucky thought, remembering how she and her brother, Dario, had clung together when their mother was murdered.

Physically Lennie had recovered quickly. His gunshot had been a surface wound and not that bad. It was the shock of losing Mary Lou that he couldn't seem to get over. 'There's nothing you could've done,' Lucky kept assuring him.

'I shouldn't've gone for my gun,' he said, going over it time and again. 'It was a mistake that cost Mary Lou her life. It's like the worst fucking nightmare in the world.'

Lucky didn't know what to say. He was right, it was a nightmare, one they were both trapped in.

Orpheus Studios had shut down production on Lennie's movie until they could recast Mary Lou's role. It might not even get recast because it would put the film way over budget. Lennie had vowed not to return as director. 'I refuse to direct it with another actress,' he'd said. 'Let them get somebody else.'

She'd noticed that he didn't want to leave the house, which is exactly what had happened after his kidnapping. The only time he went out was to take long solitary walks along the beach. He never asked her to go with him, and she didn't volunteer, because she knew he preferred being alone.

He'd hardly mentioned her decision to leave the studio. 'I wanted to tell you,'

she'd explained, 'but then I thought it would be better to surprise you.'

'It's a surprise all right,' he'd said. And that had been his only comment on the subject. She knew he was pissed.

Now she was at home with him every day, and for the first time in their marriage things between them were strained. They weren't even making love, and she didn't know what she could do to make the situation better.

She understood that he was suffused with guilt, but he had to get over it sometime.

Steven was in a complete depression. Like Lennie, he blamed himself, 'I should have gone to the location and picked her up,' he kept on saying. 'It was my mistake. I thought she'd be safe with Lennie.'

They both called Detective Johnson on a daily basis. 'We're not the kind of people who can sit back and do nothing,' Lucky informed the detective. 'We expect action.'

Detective Johnson assured them he was doing his best. He'd interviewed Lennie several times to go over things. Unfortunately, Lennie could only remember so much. And, try as he might, he could not recall the licence-plate number of the jeep.

'We've got it down to about six thousand black jeeps registered in California,' the detective told them. 'That's if the jeep was black. It could've been dark green or blue, even brown.'

'That's encouraging,' Lucky said, unimpressed with his so-called detective work.

'How do you plan on finding the right one?'

'We're working on it, Miss.'

'Don't call me Miss.'

'Sorry, Miz Santangelo.'

Lennie spent many hours with a police sketch artist and who'd come up with a computer likeness of the two suspects. 'She doesn't look any older than Bobby,'

Lucky said, staring at the girl's picture. 'To think that teenagers with guns can snuff out a life just like that. There should be a law against it.'

'There is a law against it,' Lennie said grimly. 'If you carry a gun, you're supposed to have a licence.'

Lucky decided it might be good for Lennie to get out of Los Angeles for a while.

'How about a trip to New York?' she suggested. 'Remember? The early days -

you and me in my apartment?'

'And my big old loft,' he said, with the glimmer of a smile. 'The one you made me sell.'

'I could try to buy it back.'

'Don't be silly.'

'Y'know, Lennie,' she said. 'I keep on flashing back on the night you were shot.

Going to the event and you not being there, then hearing about the shooting.