Double Lucky (106 page)

“May I ask what's in the suitcase?” Lucky said, pointedly staring at the case Mikey had managed to drag outside the door.

“That wouldn't be your concern, now would it?” Mikey said flatly.

“Maybe I should ask … Arnie,” Lucky said, her face betraying no emotion. “What do you think?”

“I think you should get t' fuck outta here if y'know what's healthy f' you,” Mikey said. “An' forget 'bout anythin' you seen here.”

“Is that what you think?” Lucky said, wondering exactly what was going on. “Really?”

Mikey hated the fact that he didn't seem to be getting through to this cunt. She was standing in front of him chill as a fuckin' tall glass of lemonade. She should be running her ass for the hills, not sassing him with her rich-bitch demeanor.

He stepped aside to let her pass through the door. Best to get rid of her; she reeked of trouble.

“Like I told you—get the fuck outta here,” he said in his most menacing voice.

“I'm not sure I'm planning on doing that,” Lucky replied, cool as an ice cube, still standing in the doorway.

Mikey stepped close to her, so close she could smell his vile breath. “Listen, bitch. Go,” he said, adding a threatening “While you still can.”

Lucky gave him an implacable look and didn't budge.

This infuriated Mikey, who was shocked that she possessed the gall not to run for the hills—which is exactly what she should be doing. He frightened people; they were supposed to be scared. But not this one. Oh no, fuckin' Miss Movie Star was unafraid.

“I'll go when I've talked to Arnie,” she said.

“What're you, his fuckin' wife?” Mikey exploded.

“Would that be a problem if I was?”

Mikey didn't know what to say. If she
were
the john's wife, she'd know about the money—or would she? And if she knew about it, that wouldn't be good, for in Mikey's mind the money was already his, and nobody else was getting their hands on it.

“I don't wanna hurt you,” Mikey threatened. “But hear this: if you don't haul your ass outta here, you're likely t' make it happen, an' it'd be a shame t' mess up your pretty face.”

Lucky felt her adrenaline rise. Nothing and no one frightened her; she'd been through too much in her life. She'd discovered her mother's brutalized body floating in the family swimming pool when she was five. She'd seen her brother's dead body thrown from a moving car. She'd watched her fiancé, Marco, shot to death in front of her. Did this two-bit punk and his scrawny girlfriend honestly think they were scaring her? No way.

It wasn't that she gave a damn about Armand Jordan and what he'd gotten himself into. But the situation intrigued her. And it had been a while since she'd been faced with an element of danger. She felt invigorated and ready for anything.

“I don't know what scam you're pulling—and believe me I don't particularly care,” she said evenly. “Only I'm not leaving until I talk to Armand, so if you'll excuse me, I'm going back inside.”

Mikey put his hand on her arm to stop her.

She shook it off and gave him a look that clearly said,
Do not touch me. Or you will regret it.

There was something in her dark eyes that made him think twice about messing with her. Fuck it. If she wanted to go back inside, let her. He had the money; why hang around? This bitch was about to cause nothing but trouble, so the smart thing would be to get out while things were relatively calm.

“Let's go,” he said to Luscious as Lucky moved past them back into the house.

“Huh?” Luscious responded. “You're gonna let her—”

“I told you,” Mikey snarled. “We're outta here. Now help me with the goddamn suitcase.”

*   *   *

Billy and Max stayed by the window, observing the goings-on at the villa across from them. They'd watched as Lucky marched up to the front door and encountered a man dragging a suitcase out. They'd both assumed that once she realized she was at the wrong villa and that Billy wasn't there, she would leave. But that hadn't happened. She'd gone inside, then reappeared at the door and was now involved in some sort of animated discussion with the suitcase man and a woman. Unfortunately, neither Billy nor Max could hear anything except the blaring music.

“What is she
doing?
” Max said, peering to get a better look.

“Beats me,” Billy replied.

And then they saw her vanish back inside the villa.

“Where do you think Lennie is?” Max said. “This is, like, so weird.”

“Hey,” Billy replied. “It's kinda obvious she's not on to us. It looks as if she's got her own thing goin' on.”

“What do you mean by
that?
” Max asked, wide-eyed.

“I mean it's a coincidence that we happen to be in the next villa. There's some all-night party goin' on over there, an', uh, Lucky's obviously into it.”

“Are you crazy?” Max exclaimed. “Why would my mom be at a party without Lennie?”

Billy shrugged. “Sometimes married couples do things on their own. I dunno, Green Eyes, you just gotta be thankful she's not stalkin' us.”

But Max wasn't thankful, not at all. Something was going on, and she was determined to figure out what it was.

 

CHAPTER SIXTY-THREE

Martin Constantine was not a violent man. Ruthless, perhaps, but when building a business empire one had to be uncompromising and tough. And since he'd come up the hard way, those were two qualities Martin possessed in abundance.

Business, making deals, and accumulating a fortune was Martin's life. That and his exquisite wife, Nona.

Nona and he had been introduced by a mutual acquaintance in New York, and Martin was immediately smitten with the exotic-looking Slovakian beauty queen. So much so that it didn't take long before he'd divorced his wife of thirty years and promptly married the delectable Nona. Martin was sixty-five and Nona was twenty-five. The discrepancy in their ages made no difference to Martin. What was forty years between soul mates?

Eight months into their marriage, Nona had given birth to Martin's one and only son. Since his first wife had only managed to pop out girls—three in a row—Martin was ecstatic. He doted on his wife and his young son. They, along with his business empire, were his life.

Yes, life was very good until the confession.

The confession came one day as they sat at the breakfast table. Nona suddenly broke down in floods of tears. Concerned, Martin asked her what was wrong. In between wracking sobs, Nona told him.

She'd made a mistake. A terrible mistake.

Martin informed her that there was no mistake that could not be rectified.

Secure in the knowledge that he worshipped her, Nona began telling him the story. She told him that she'd gone to Armand Jordan's apartment to view a rare Picasso he'd recently purchased, and that once she was there, Armand had suddenly gone berserk, and viciously raped her in every possible way. Now she suspected that she might be pregnant.

At first Martin had not believed this could happen, that Armand Jordan would dare to commit such a vile act. But once she got talking, Nona insisted on reliving every disgusting detail, including the way Armand had tossed her out of his apartment when he was finished with her as if she were a sack of garbage.

Martin's fury grew. He was not angry at his wife, for she was merely the victim of a perverted monster who had taken out on her his frustration at not getting a building they were vying for. His rage was directed toward Armand.

But Martin Constantine had ways of dealing with rage. And it wasn't long before he took steps to alleviate his anger and his wife's pain.

Nobody messed with Martin Constantine's family and got away with it. Nobody.

Martin knew exactly what he had to do.

 

CHAPTER SIXTY-FOUR

There was no Lucky waiting for him in their apartment, which right away made Lennie uneasy. It was his first night back, and usually when they'd been separated for a while, they didn't leave each other's side. He blamed himself. Lucky had wanted to depart Mood earlier, and because he was being obtuse about Alex Woods, he'd insisted on staying. Now where was his beautiful stubborn wife, and what problem was she dealing with in the early hours of the morning?

Knowing Lucky, she was probably doing this purposely to get his attention. Not that she needed to do that, she'd always had his attention from the very first moment they'd met. Ah yes, their lives were filled with memories … making mad crazy love on a raft in the South of France, falling insanely in love while they were both married to other people, enjoying all kinds of challenging adventures.

So where was she?

He paced around the apartment for a few minutes before picking up the phone and calling Danny.

Danny was at a gay club with his partner, Buff. They were contemplating whether to ask a handsome young barman if he would care to come home with them and spend the night.

Buff was all for it, but Danny was not so sure. He wasn't that fond of sharing Buff with anyone. Why should he?

On the other hand, if it was what Buff wanted, who was he to deprive him?

Danny's phone buzzed. For a moment he panicked. Phone calls in the middle of the night could only mean bad news. His needy mom? His disapproving stepdad? His straight brother who could never hold a job for more than two minutes?

He'd imbibed three cosmos, and decided that he wasn't ready to deal with any kind of a crisis, but he rallied anyway, and answered the phone.

It was Lennie, wanting to know where Lucky was.

“I'm off the clock,” Danny sniffed.

“Does that mean you don't give a shit?” Lennie responded, sounding pissed off.

Danny gathered his thoughts. He was speaking to his boss's husband, so maybe he should make out as if he cared. Which of course he did, but he couldn't help noticing that Buff was whispering in the bartender's ear, and that wasn't right, that wasn't sharing. A threesome meant three people, not two.

“Uh, sorry, Mr. Golden,” Danny said, throwing Buff a dirty look. “I thought Mrs. Golden was with you.”

“She was. But apparently something came up that she had to deal with. Any idea what it could be?”

“No.”

“Okay then.” He waited a moment, then said, “You're sure?”

“Quite sure, Mr. Golden.”

Lennie put down the phone.

Danny clicked off his cell, failing to notice that he had a text message waiting.

*   *   *

Frankie could not believe he was out in the cold with his dick in his hand. Cookie had turned out to be a tough little minx. She hadn't even opened the door for him to collect his stuff. Juvie cunt. She had his clothes and, even more upsetting, his drug stash.

And what exactly had he done? Nothing earth-shattering. He'd been polite to her old man, something that should've pleased her. But oh no, nothing was good enough for Gerald M.'s daughter. She was a spoiled brat, although he had to admit she gave great head.

And thinking of head, what was Annabelle doing with Eddie Falcon? Or rather, what was Eddie Falcon doing with her? Strange bedfellows. Eddie Falcon was a comer; he didn't have to settle for used goods.

Frankie made his way back to the casino in the hope that he might find Gerald M. at one of the tables. They could resume their friendship, especially when he was able to tell Gerald M. that his lovely daughter was safely tucked in for the night.

Frankie felt like doing a couple of lines, but he was fresh out and Cookie wasn't opening her door anytime soon.

He had a name and a number. Randy—the deliveryman.

Frankie decided to give him a call.

*   *   *

“I dunno what,” Max said. “But something shady is going on.”

“Hey,” Billy said. “Your mom's at a party. No biggie.”

“You don't understand,” Max said, trying not to lose patience with Billy, who was starting to annoy her. “Lennie came home today. There's
no way
she'd go to a party without him.”

“Like I said—in marriages certain events happen. Lucky's doin' her own thing. I know she's your mom, but she's one helluva sexy lady, an' maybe Lennie just doesn't do it for her anymore.”

“You are so full of crap, Billy,” Max said, suddenly furious. “You don't know anything about my parents, nothing at all, so kindly shut your face.”

“
And
she has a temper,” Billy said.

“Yes,” Max said, shooting him a daggers look. “She has a temper.”

“Sorry, babe.”

“About what?” Max said, still angry. “Being rude about my parents?”

“I wasn't being rude, I was simply trying to tell you the way it is in some marriages.”

“And what makes
you
an expert?”

“C'mon, Green Eyes,” he groaned. “I don't wanna fight about this.”

“I'm going over there,” she said, making up her mind.

“You're doing
what?
” Billy said, frowning.

“I'm seeing for myself what's going on.”

“Big mistake.”

“Why?”

“'Cause first she's gonna want to know what you're doin' here,” Billy explained. “An' second, if she's havin' herself a good time, you're only gonna embarrass her.”

“It's a party, Billy. I'll sneak in; she won't even see me.”

“Then I'm comin' with you.”

“Not a plan.”

“Why?”

“'Cause if she spots me an' then you, well, you know Lucky—she's not stupid.”

“And if she
does
see you, what're you gonna say?”

“I dunno. I'll think of something.”

“It's not a good idea,” Billy warned.