Chances

by Jackie Collins

  “O.K.” Enzio’s attention flickered back to the screen, A severe-looking newscaster was reporting on the shooting outside the Pierre. She wasn’t a bad looker—a bit on the skinny side. He squinted and imagined her in the nude. “Vic, do me a favor. Call the Pierre, tell ’em to check out the Santangelo suite, then hang up. Do it from a pay station.”

  Big Victor nodded. “Good idea, boss.”

  “My idea. I’m the only one ever has any ideas around here.”

  “I love you, daddy.” She had whispered the words crouched over him in the ambulance. “You’re going to be all right, I know it. You’ll be fine—honestly.”

  He had not responded verbally—an oxygen mask was clamped down over his nose and mouth—but his black eyes had met hers, held, and told her she was forgiven.

  She had stayed beside him all the way to the hospital, held onto his hand tightly, wanted to say so much, and hoped that it wasn’t going to be too late.

  Once at the hospital, he was rushed through to emergency. Costa arrived shortly after. Lucky could see that he had been crying by his red-rimmed eyes. She squeezed his arm. “He’ll be fine, I can feel it.”

  After a while she managed to get hold of the doctor treating Gino. His long thin horseface was grave. “Your father has suffered a severe coronary thrombosis.”

  “Is he going to be all right?” she demanded fiercely.

  The doctor coughed, covering his mouth politely. “It’s too soon to tell. The medical term for what your father has is arteriosclerosis. This is a condition that affects the heart through hardening of the coronary arteries. These may be either narrowed or actually occluded. In an occlusion…”

  As the doctor droned on, she found herself thinking of Gino as he had been when she was young. Throwing her up in the air, hugging her, kissing her. She was filled with so much love for that man—and for the man who lay in a hospital bed struggling for his life.

  The doctor was concluding his speech. “So you see, Miss Santangelo, things can go either way. Both narrowing and occlusion can be compatible with a reasonably active existence in many patients for quite a few years. We have excellent new drugs to retard the clotting of the blood, and other measures have improved the outlook considerably.” He shrugged noncommittally. “In your father’s case we just cannot tell right now how much damage has been done. If he gets through the night, then the outlook is hopeful.”

  Hopeful. Hopeful. What did that mean?

  She stared at the doctor, hating him with a passion. What did he care whether Gino lived or died?

  “Thank you, doctor,” she said tightly.

  “His condition seems stable at the moment. If you would care to go home, we can call you if there is any change….”

  As if she would want to go home. “Can I see him?” she asked in a low voice.

  “For a moment, I suppose, although the quieter the patient is kept—”

  “Thank you.”

  Gino lay, white as a sheet, in an austere hospital bed. A drip was attached to his arm, his eyes were closed.

  A nurse sat in attendance, a big-boned woman who said—as soon as Lucky entered the room—“No visitors. This is a very sick man.”

  “This man is my father,” Lucky blazed, “and the doctor said I could see him. Would you wait outside, please.”

  The nurse flared strong nostrils but said nothing. She got up and marched from the room, her whole demeanor signaling disapproval.

  Lucky took up a position beside the bed. She was crying, although she didn’t notice the tears falling. She clutched Gino’s hand and whispered, “I’m sorry it had to take something like this to make me realize how much I love you. We can communicate—if we both try—and I want to try. I withdrew from you because that’s what you did to me. I had to reject you first so that you couldn’t reject me. I love you. You’re my father. And I want you to live more than I’ve ever wanted anything in my life.”

  His eyes flickered and opened. “Do me a… favor,” he mumbled. “Save… the emotions… till I can… deal with ’em.”

  His voice was very weak, but she heard the words, knew he understood, and a grin spread over her face. “Anything for attention, huh?”

  “Yeh…. Anything, kid.”

  His eyes closed again, and for a while there was silence. She held firmly onto his hand, and it was almost as if she could feel the love and understanding flowing between them like a psychic force.

  He said something. She leaned closer to hear. His voice was hardly more than a whisper.

  “Dario…” he mumbled. “Family… honor… Santangelo name.”

  “Yes?”

  “You… deal… with… it… Lucky.” He gasped for breath. “Take… revenge… for… both… of us. Bonnatti’s… the… one…. Bonn—”

  “Nurse!” screamed Lucky. “Nurse!”

  Warris Charters was spruced up and ready to go. California chic. Light tan slacks, a Giorgio Armani jacket, Gucci loafers. Optique Boutique shades. Finally. Finally. Finally. It was all coming together.

  He finger-waved the front of his hair in the mirror and descended to the lobby of the Plaza Hotel.

  Lucky left the hospital, her step purposeful. She had already decided what she had to do earlier that day. What had taken place since only confirmed that it was necessary.

  She went straight to her apartment where Boogie waited. “Listen, I’m real sorry about what happened—” he began.

  “Yes,” she said. “It changes a lot of things. I’m not ready to take on Bonnatti right now. I need time. Why don’t you go back to Vegas. We can talk again in a week or so, figure out which way to move.”

  He stared at her. “I thought you were a doer, not a talker.”

  “I thought so too. But right now I have to get my head together. I’m so upset, Boog. There was no love lost between Dario and me, but he was my brother….”

  “Who hit him?”

  “I’ll find out.”

  He made a helpless gesture. “Well, if there’s nothin’ I can do—”

  “Yes, there is something,” she said matter-of-factly. “I want a contract on the Kassari brothers.” She paused and lit up a cigarette. “Get me the best. There’s a hundred thousand dollars for results, fifty thousand a twin. Cash. Can you arrange it? I want it done immediately.”

  “You’d trust me with a hundred grand?”

  “I trusted you with my life, didn’t I?”

  Silently he nodded. “I can arrange it. What about Bonnatti?”

  “We’ll wait on that.”

  As soon as he left, she changed her clothes. White seemed suitable, sensuous folds of a Halston silk jersey dress that she hadn’t worn before.

  She applied fresh makeup and brushed and shook her jet curls. From a locked drawer she took the fine gold chain with the tiny diamond and ruby locket that Gino had given her on her fifth birthday. She opened the locket and gazed at the picture of Gino and her. How alike they looked, even then. She smiled softly and put the locket on. It fitted tightly, like a choker. Next she took from the drawer the diamond earrings he had given her on her sixteenth birthday. They sparkled like the day she had received them, sitting in Las Vegas with Gino and Marco….

  Oh, Marco. Tonight I will not only take revenge for Gino but for you too, my darling, you too.

  She inspected herself in the mirror.

  She was ready.

  Imogene was ready.

  Spandex pants and what she called a boob tube was ready. “Take that shit off,” boomed Enzio. “You look like somethin’ that just got fucked by the Mexican army.”

  “I din’t know there was a Mexican army.” Imogene frowned.

  Big Victor watched her undulate out of the room and licked his lips. Sometimes, when the boss was finished with them…

  “I don’ understand it,” Enzio snarled. “Seven o’clock an’ nothin’ on the friggin’ news. You call the hotel?”

  Big Victor nodded. “The nine o’clock news’ll have it for sure,” he soothed.<
br />
  “It better—or friggin’ heads’ll roll around here.”

  Warris sat on the rear seat of Enzio Bonnatti’s black extra-large Mercedes and reflected on what it must be like to be rich. Not a couple of million dollars rich but the real thing—unlimited funds. Je… sus! What a dream! And if Kill Shot took off it could be more than a dream, it could be a fucking reality!

  He leaned forward and tapped on the tinted glass separating him from the driver. The glass slid open.

  “How long before we’re there?” he asked.

  The strong smell of pot came wafting into the back of the car.

  “Not long,” the driver said casually, a hood in a black suit and shirt, with sly narrow eyes.

  “You always turn on when you drive?” Warris asked in a friendly fashion, hoping that perhaps the driver might offer him a drag. His answer was the glass sliding firmly shut.

  He leaned back against the rich leather and drummed his fingers against the can of film on the seat beside him. Soon… soon….

  “This O.K., honeypuff?”

  Enzio narrowed his eyes and looked Imogene over. She had changed into a red blouse that knotted underneath her mammoth breasts, and with it she wore an unfashionable red miniskirt and knee-length white boots.

  “I suppose so,” he spat. It didn’t matter what she looked like, really. If he wanted to use her he would use her no matter what Warris Charters said. Charters was a pawn, a front man. The film would be made the way Enzio wanted—or not made at all.

  Big Victor appeared in the doorway. “He’s here,” he announced. “Where d’ya want me to put him?”

  Lucky drove her small bronze Mercedes like a seasoned racing driver. She dodged in and out of the early evening traffic expertly. Teddy Pendergrass serenaded her through the stereo speakers, and she smoked continually, lighting each cigarette from the butt of the last. She knew the road to Enzio’s house inside out. If she closed her eyes her car would automatically take her there. How many weekends she had taken refuge at the house. Stayed in the guest bedroom. Swam in the pool. Shared meals with Enzio and whichever son he was talking to that particular weekend. She had been the daughter he had never had. Or so he had said.

  Dirty lying slime. She had trusted him. How he must have been laughing behind her back.

  Her mouth was set in a grim line as the small car raced toward his house.

  Steven and Bobby rode alone in the back of the squad car. Destination: Enzio Bonnatti’s Long Island residence.

  “How do you feel, man?” crowed Bobby.

  “Pretty goddamn good,” replied Steven, “but I’ll feel even better when we have him.”

  “Got a li’l coke for baby?” begged Imogene, hanging onto the sleeve of Enzio’s quilted smoking jacket.

  He shook her off. “For shit’s sake. The man is here that I want you to meet.”

  “I know, babee. But I do want to make a good impression. So please… for baby?”

  He made a face. The younger generation used drugs like his generation used to use booze. “In my bureau. Just one snort. I don’t want you comin’ in all glassy-eyed.”

  “Sweetie, coke makes me sparkle.”

  “Your tits give you all the sparkle y’need. Now hurry up.” He walked out of the room, uncomfortable in the smoking jacket that had cost six hundred bucks but felt more like a straitjacket. Fashion. Made in Italy. Who gave a fast fuck?

  In the library Warris admired bookshelf after bookshelf of fine books. He was frankly amazed. Who would have thought Enzio had the culture to surround himself with such a great collection?

  “Wanna drink?” Big Victor asked. “Enzio’ll be right in.”

  “White wine on ice,” Warris replied, repelled by the look of the fat man.

  Big Victor’s mouth fell open. “Huh?”

  “White wine. Is that a problem? With some ice in the glass.”

  “Yeah. I know wotcha mean. But I open a bottle, who drinks the rest?”

  Warris did not believe what he was hearing. “Make it a vodka then,” he said, adding sarcastically, “if the bottle’s open, of course.”

  Big Victor glared.

  At that point Enzio walked into the room.

  Warris wanted to laugh. The old man looked ridiculous in a quilted satin jacket that threatened to swamp him. “Where did you get that jacket?” he asked immediately.

  “Y’like it?” Enzio preened.

  “On you, anything would look good.”

  Sitting in the back of the patrol car, Steven’s mind began to tick over. With Bonnatti’s arrest it would almost be like starting all over again. So much work lay ahead—but it was the kind of work he looked forward to.

  Somehow Lucky kept on drifting into his thoughts. He wondered what it would be like with a girl like her.

  Had to stop thinking about her. Had to get her out of his mind.

  Lucky Santangelo. Would it matter if he saw her just one more time?

  Yes. It would matter. He was thinking like a moron. Better forget her. Forget those black opal eyes… that long lithe body… those wide sensual lips….

  “Hey, man,” interrupted Bobby, “nearly there!”

  Lucky zoomed by the guard at the gate with a cheery wave. She knew all the boys and they all knew her. A hunch told her that only Enzio and those close to him would know of his deceptions.

  She parked out front and headed for the main door. Two sharp rings and Big Victor was staring at her, his ugly mouth hanging open in amazement. “Lucky?” he questioned, like he wasn’t sure it was her.

  “The very same,” she replied lightly. “Why? Do I look different?”

  “Uh, no. We wasn’t expectin’ you.”

  “I’m on my way to a party close by—figured I’d pay my respects to the man. He’s around, isn’t he?”

  Big Victor swallowed loudly. Somebody had fucked up. Enzio was not going to be happy.

  She strolled into the house. “He’s not busy, is he?”

  “Uh, yeah… he’s busy.”

  “Oh? Anyone I know?”

  Big Victor stared at her. She was cool as a cucumber, all dressed up. Maybe she hadn’t even been at the Pierre. Maybe she didn’t even know about Dario. “Whyn’t you wait in the front room. I’ll tell Enzio you’re here.”

  “Sure thing. Hurry up though, Vic. This is a hot party I’ve got ahead of me, and I don’t want to miss a moment.”

  He stared at her some more, followed her into the living room, saw her sit down, and then departed, shutting the door behind him.

  “If we could run the film of my girl…” Warris said. “All I want you to do is look.”

  “Yeah, I’ll look,” Enzio said expansively, “but I got somethin’ for you ta look at’ll knock both your friggin’ eyes out.”

  “Wonderful,” Warris murmured politely, planning the small role he would quickly add to the script for Enzio’s girl friend. “You said you had a screening room—”

  “This is the screenin’ room,” Enzio crowed triumphantly. “Y’see all these shitty books? Watch this.” He pressed a couple of buttons on the wall and the bookshelves slid out of sight, revealing a projector at one end of the room and a screen at the other. “Snazzy, huh?” he boasted.

  “You mean those books aren’t real?”

  “Naw… fakes. Pretty clever, dontcha think?”

  Warris nodded and headed for the projector to thread his film.

  Big Victor waddled into the room and held a whispered conference with his boss.

  “O.K.,” said Enzio loudly. “You get everythin’ ready, Warris. I got somethin’ come up—but I’ll be back soon. Set it all up.”

  “Oh! You gave me a fright!” shrieked Imogene, staring at Lucky, who had padded silently into the bedroom. “Who are you?”

  Lucky smiled. Enzio’s taste went from bad to worse. She had never seen this deformed dog before. Must be his new discovery.

  “I’m the Avon lady,” she said, still smiling.

  Imogene giggled. “Are y
ou with the Hollywood producer?”

  “Sure thing. Enzio sent me up here to share a little of that coke you’re so greedily imbibing.”

  “Inwhat?”

  “Snorting, honey. Have you had enough?”

  Imogene’s eyes widened. “Why? Is Enzio getting impatient?”

  “He said that if you don’t get that chubby little ass of yours downstairs tout de suite he will personally deal with you. Now we all know what that means, don’t we?”

  Imogene hurriedly dropped the tiny gold coke spoon she was using on a thin line of white powder. “You can have the rest,” she said generously.

  “You’re too kind.”

  The girl wiggled off, and without hesitating Lucky went straight into Enzio’s private bathroom. She opened the cabinet where he kept twelve bottles of equally revolting different aftershaves, and there—in position—was one of the three guns he kept in his bedroom suite. He had boasted of this fact to her one Sunday lunchtime a long time ago. “Any fucker comes t’get me on the crapper an’ I’m ready,” he had bragged. “’Scuse my language.”

  “Hi,” simpered Imogene. “You the producer?” Warris stared at the girl. She was larger than life. He had never seen anything like her.

  “Yes,” he managed, “and you’re…?”

  “Imogene. I’m gonna star in your movie!”

  “Where is she?” roared Enzio.

  Big Victor gazed around the empty room in amazement. “ I don’t know, boss. I put her in here. Maybe she left. She said she had this hot party to go to.”

  “And you don’t think she knew anything?” Enzio inquired disbelievingly.

  “She was cool, boss. Dressed real nice. She had nothin’ on her mind ’cept havin’ a good time.”

  “You’re sure?”

  “I know people, boss. I studied people all my life.”

  Timing was imperative. Lucky checked that Enzio’s gun was loaded, then slowly, deliberately tore the front of her beautiful Halston dress open. Next she picked up the phone, dialed the nearest police station, and gasped out a frenzied, “Please help me—come quickly—I’ve been attacked….” She sobbed out the address and hung up.