The Love Killers (6 page)

So she played it very smart, refusing to go out with him at all. Instead she cultivated his friends. Everywhere Jamie went, she was bound to be.

His best friend, Eddie Stephen Keys, fell madly in love with her and proposed. Lara wasn't prepared to settle for anything less than her original choice.

It took several months for her to get through to Jamie. And then suddenly one day he knew, and that was that. He chartered a jet, they got married in Tahiti, and the world press embraced them as the latest Beautiful Couple.

Their marriage lasted exactly one year. A year during which Lara became a celebrity.

Then just as suddenly it was over; they both wanted a divorce. They were equally bored by the restrictions of marriage and the drudgery of being with each other all the time.

It was a friendly parting of the ways. Jamie agreed to pay her a generous settlement, and she took off for Tijuana, where she got a quick divorce, and then on to Acapulco, where she met her first Italian prince.

Since that time Lara had moved around. All the best places at the best times with the best men. It was only when Margaret was shot that she finally stopped to think. What was she doing with her life? Why was it so important to be in the right place at the right time with the right man? Why did she constantly seek out hedonistic, boring escorts who could offer her nothing but money? Was it
that
exciting to be photographed at every airport? Quoted in every empty fashion magazine?

And why did she need to travel down the Nile? Safari in Africa? Ski in Gstaad? And summer in Sardinia?

On reflection, it all seemed such an empty life. The death of Margaret, traveling to New York, and spending time with Margaret's friends and her sister Beth had finally made her realize this.

Now her mind was made up. She was determined to help avenge Margaret's death.

Nick Bassalino was the perfect opportunity. And soon he would be all hers.

* * *

Lara had been brought to the party by Jeanette and Leslie Larson, a young couple whose only claim to fame was that Les's mother was one of the richest women in the world. Lara had arrived in L.A. several days before. She was staying with the Larsons as their houseguest, and they were thrilled to have her. Within a week she knew she'd get to meet Nick Bassalino, for April Crawford was known to be an avid partygoer. Running into him so soon was pure luck.

She pointed him out to Jeanette. ‘Who's that man?' she asked casually.

‘I guess you mean Nick,' Jeanette replied with a knowing laugh. ‘He's April Crawford's boyfriend, and he's
strictly
not up for grabs. The guy is crazy about her, follows her around like a nanny. Why? Do you think he's attractive?'

‘Is he an actor?' Lara asked, countering the question.

‘No, he's some sort of hustler, wheeler-dealer. Les says he's a hood.' Jeanette giggled. ‘You
do
find him attractive, don't you?'

‘Not really.' She faked a yawn. ‘A bit too obvious. All tight trousers and teeth.'

Jeanette nodded. ‘Anyway, as I said, he's well taken care of, and let's face it, darling, hardly your style.'

Lara wondered exactly what Jeanette thought her style was.

The party was a bore, but Lara knew that somehow she had to meet Nick. Sammy Albert, an actor with the reputation of a super stud, was busily trying to persuade her to split and go to a club called The Discotheque. She'd told him no three times, but he was enamored and continued to follow her around, trying to get her to change her mind.

‘Do you know April Crawford?' she asked at last. I'd love to meet her.'

‘Do I know April! I've had her!' Sammy joked, taking her over and introducing her.

April's eyes were bloodshot, her lipstick smeared. ‘Hello, dear,' she said icily. Competition was not her favorite thing.

Lara turned on the charm and flattered the movie star as she steered the conversation to a mutual friend who lived in Rome.

Suddenly Nick appeared. Deftly removing the too-full glass from April's hand, which was slopping on her dress, he replaced it with a half-full one.

‘Do you know Nick Bassalino?' April asked, patting him fondly. ‘This is Lara—Lara…'

‘Crichton,' Lara said, gazing directly at him as she accepted his firm handshake with an equally warm pressure of her own. The man was too handsome for his own good.

He had brown eyes, friendly and open. ‘Glad to meet you,' he said.

Want to bet? she thought.

‘Why don't we go to The Discotheque?' Sammy asked yet again. ‘April? Nick? Maybe one of you can persuade Lara to come, too.'

‘Wonderful idea,' April said gaily. I feel like dancing, and Janine's parties—dear girl that she is—do get rather stuffy.'

‘Will you come?' Sammy asked Lara.

She nodded. ‘I'd better tell Les and Jeanette.'

‘How about that?' Sammy said, watching her walk away. ‘Is she something or
what?'

April laughed. ‘Sammy darling, every time you meet a new girl it's always a grand love affair for about a minute and a half.'

‘Just give me a minute and a half with this one and I'll be happy forever!'

When Lara returned they left. She went with Sammy in his Maserati, while April and Nick followed in the Mercedes.

‘I could easily lose them,' Sammy said, placing an amorous hand on her knee. ‘We could go by my place and pick up some outasite grass. Huh? What do you say?'

Lara removed his hot hand. ‘I gave it up,' she replied coolly.

Sammy was speechless. He received thousands of fan letters a week from girls merely wanting to touch him, and this one didn't even care to go with him to his house. It had been a long time between turndowns.

The Discotheque was crowded as usual, but a table was soon cleared for Sammy Albert and April Crawford. Movie stars always got premium treatment; it was one of the fringe benefits of being famous.

April ordered a double Scotch and immediately dragged Sammy onto the tightly packed dance floor.

‘They're old friends,' Nick said, feeling the need to explain. ‘Sammy got his first break in one of April's films.'

Lara smiled. ‘It doesn't bother me if it doesn't bother you.'

‘Hell, I don't care. I like April to enjoy herself, it does her good. She's a great little gal, got a lot of energy, a real tiger!'

Lara looked at him intently to see if he was putting her on, but he didn't appear to be. He was watching April on the dance floor, a proud smile on his face.

‘You and Sammy must be about the same age,' she remarked.

He knew what she was getting at. ‘I don't know.' He shrugged. ‘Who cares about age? You know something? April's got more energy in her little finger than I have in my whole body.'

April this, and April that. Nick Bassalino was not going to be quite as easy to crack as she'd imagined. She was used to men falling about—married, single, it made no difference. One of Lara's famous quotes—printed all over the world—was ‘Most men are easy lays.' She had always found that if there was a man she wanted, he was to be had.

Not that there had been that many. There was the count; he had lasted two years. Then the film star, only a few short months. After him the German prince, a year. And then the English lord, a mere eighteen months. The Greek shipowner had lasted nearly a year. And finally Prince Alfredo Masserini. She had thought that perhaps Alfredo was the right one. He had the film star's looks, the Greek shipowner's money, the English lord's youth, and the count's charm. But in spite of it all he'd turned out to be a self-centered egoist. Like me, she thought, with a short, brittle laugh.

‘What are you laughing at?' Nick asked curiously, trying to keep his eyes off her cleavage.

‘Nothing that would amuse you.' She shook her head in a languid, sexual fashion so that her long, thick hair swirled forward.

He glanced at her quickly. This woman was incredibly beautiful. But what was beauty in a town like Hollywood? So many girls, so many different shades of sexy, pretty, and gorgeous. So many different shapes and sizes. Something to appeal to everyone. In Hollywood beauty was a commodity, a close relation of the hard sell.

April Crawford was something else. April was class, and distinction, and acceptance. April was a ticket to ride up there among all the movie idols he'd worshiped since he was a little kid.

Oh, no, he wasn't going to blow April out for a quick dip in this one's honey pot. April was a jealous lady, sharp, and full of pride. If she ever caught him straying, the shit would really hit in no uncertain fashion.

‘I hope you're coming to the party Jeanette and Les are throwing for me tomorrow night,' Lara said casually.

‘April makes all our social arrangements. If she knows about it, we'll be there. My lady hates missing a party.'

Lara smiled and widened her eyes. ‘Great,' she murmured.

What a schmuck this guy was—he was going to be easy.

Frank Bassalino was Enzio's oldest son, and Enzio depended more on him than on the others, for when he had opted for semiretirement it was Frank who took over some of his more important business enterprises.

‘One day,' Enzio was proud of saying, ‘Frank is going to be The Man. One day not so far off.'

Frank got along well with Enzio's older business associates. They were difficult men, quick to criticize, but he was managing to create a connection.

In some ways Frank was stronger than Enzio. Born and brought up in one of the tougher districts of New York, he'd always had to fight for what he wanted, in spite of his father's position.

Frank was not a man to cross. Thirty-six years old, he had worked for Enzio since he was sixteen and seen all aspects of his business. He had been involved in protection, prostitutes, dope, the numbers racket. Once he had enjoyed being the hit man, but Enzio didn't approve. It was too risky and dangerous.

In his time Frank had been a womanizer in the true Bassalino tradition, going through an incredible number of females—used and thrown away like so many old Kleenex. Until, at the age of twenty-nine, he had seen a picture of Anna Maria, his cousin in Sicily, and immediately sent for her. She was fourteen years old and spoke no English. Enzio paid her family a dowry and arranged everything. When she arrived in America, Frank married her.

Like father like son. Both men had opted for a partner from the old country. Although unlike Rose, Anna Maria was timid and quiet. At twenty-one she still didn't speak much English.

Frank and Anna Maria lived in an old brownstone house in Queens with their four children, and she was expecting another.

Frank didn't stray much now. The occasional hooker he could beat up was about his only weakness.

* * *

When the time came to put the revenge plan into action, Rio said she wanted a shot at Frank Bassalino. She was outvoted. According to the extensive dossier they'd managed to get on him, she wasn't his scene, not his style at all. No, they all decided, the only chance with a man like Frank Bassalino was someone fresh and innocent. A girl who would remind him of his wife when he'd first brought her to America. Beth was the obvious choice.

It turned out that there was a perfect opportunity. Frank was looking for a nanny to teach his children English. He had registered with three employment agencies and turned down all the applicants, who were mostly black or Mexican. It was decided Beth should apply for the job.

She changed her hippie clothes and put on a plain blouse and skirt. Then, with her pale hair tied back, her simple outfit, and her false references, she turned up at his house for an interview.

A maid showed her into an old-fashioned living room. The furniture was worn, and there were many religious pictures on the walls. Beth glanced around, her heart racing with anticipation.

She waited for over half an hour, and then Frank Bassalino strode into the room with Anna Maria hovering behind him.

He was a powerful-looking man with black hair, hooded dark eyes, a moody mouth, and a beaky nose. He was attractive in a brutal way.

Beth loathed him on sight. She knew men like him—big, violent men who resented any change. Men whose physical strength was their prime weapon.

With an involuntary shudder she remembered the night at the commune when men like Frank Bassalino had come calling in the middle of the night. There were eight or nine of them, and they were drunk.

The band of drunken louts had roared up in two cars, laughing and swigging from bottles of booze. The farm was situated well off the main road. There were no neighbors, no one to whom they could run for help.

The front door wasn't locked, and the men had burst drunkenly in, kicking the old sheepdog, Shep, until he was a beaten pulp. Then they had dragged the girls out of bed and raped them one by one while the boys were roughed up, laughingly, methodically. The men had jeered and called them names, told them to get a haircut and a job and stop piss-assing around.

It was no match. The men were big and strong and filled with the righteous power of do-gooders.

‘If you were my daughter,' one of them had hissed in Beth's ear as he'd pumped away inside her, T

I'd tan your hide until you couldn't walk for a week.'

Before leaving they'd cut the boys' hair, crudely hacking away with a rusty pair of kitchen scissors. Max had needed seventeen stitches in his scalp.

This outrage had taken place two years before, yet Beth still slept unsoundly, still felt revulsion when faced with a man like Frank.

‘Hmmm.' He looked her over. ‘You're kinda young, huh?'

‘I'm twenty,' she replied. I've been working with children for the past three years. Did you read my references?'

He was surprised to see such a young and pretty girl. It was almost too good to be true after some of the garbage the agency had sent him. His kids would love this one, she looked so clean and nice.