Harold Robbins Thriller Collection

by Harold Robbins

  I was silent. He was right. I couldn’t go anywhere without him. I was locked in. “I’ll have to think about it.”

  “How much time do you want?”

  “A month.”

  “You got two weeks. That’s as long as I can hold them off.” He got out of the chair and went to the door. He looked back at me, his hand on the doorknob. “You’re a strange man, Gareth. Just a few weeks ago you were on the balls of your ass scrounging unemployment checks. Now I’m offering you a clean hundred grand and you want to think about it. What’s the matter with you? Don’t you want to be rich?”

  “You’re forgetting one important thing, Ronzi.”

  “What’s that?”

  I smiled at him. “Money doesn’t mean that much to me. I was born rich.”

  17

  “We’re in trouble,” Persky said. “The printer just told me we’re short four pages of copy.”

  “How the hell did that happen? How much time do we have to do it?”

  “One day. He needs it by Monday morning if he’s going to run seventy-five thousand copies.”

  “Damn.” I stared down at the desk. The schedule for the next two issues had only about half the copy needed.

  “He wants an answer now. It’s the only way he can get the issue out in time.”

  “Tell him he’ll have his copy Monday morning.”

  Persky went back to his desk. I looked over at Eileen, who’d come in a few minutes earlier and was sitting opposite me, a faint smile on her face. “You have this trouble at your paper, too?”

  “No, we’re locked in by the school schedule.” She got to her feet. “Maybe I’d better go. You’re up to your head. We can talk some other time.”

  “You don’t have to go,” I said quickly. “It’s not so bad. I have thirty-six hours.”

  “You need some writers, Gareth. You can’t do it all yourself.”

  “I’ll get to that next week. Right now I’m in trouble.” I looked up at her. “Maybe you can help me. I have an idea, but I think a woman should write it.”

  “I don’t have much time. I’m pretty busy at school.”

  “Okay. It was just a thought. You probably wouldn’t be interested.”

  She sank back into the chair. “Tell me anyway.”

  “Right now all the magazines cater to men and their sexual fantasies. I think an article on women’s fantasies would make good reading.”

  She thought for a moment. “It might.”

  “Do you think you could write it?”

  “Wait a minute. What do I know about the subject? I’m no expert.”

  “That makes two of us. I don’t know anything about publishing either. But I am going to be getting a paper out every week.”

  “It’s not the same thing.”

  I smiled. “Do you have any sexual fantasies?”

  “That’s a silly question. Of course I do. Everyone has.”

  “Then you’re an expert. Especially if you write about your own.”

  “But that’s personal,” she protested.

  “We won’t tell anyone. We’ll change the names. We’ll lay it on Mary X, Jane Doe and Susan A.”

  She laughed. “You make it sound so easy.”

  “It could be fun.”

  “You might find out I have a very dirty mind.”

  “Giving mental head isn’t bad either. How about it?”

  “I could try. But I’m not promising anything.”

  “There’s an empty desk and typewriter over there.”

  “Do you want me to start right now?”

  “We’ve only got thirty-six hours.” As I looked down at the layouts for the next few issues, I realized that this was just the beginning of what would be a continuing battle against deadlines. I turned back to her. “You’re absolutely right. I need more writers. Will you take over as features editor for me?”

  “Aren’t you jumping too quickly? You don’t even know if I’m any good.”

  “If your mind is as dirty as you think, you’re good enough for me.”

  She laughed. I could see she was pleased. “Let’s wait until I finish the article. Then we’ll decide.”

  “It’s a deal.” I held out my hand.

  “I still don’t know how you talked me into it,” she said as we shook hands.

  “Virgin’s last words,” I said. I left her huddled over the typewriter, staring at a blank sheet of paper, and went upstairs. A cold shower would help. I hadn’t had much sleep last night and I was beginning to fade.

  Verita was waiting for me when I came out of the shower. “I have some checks for you to sign.”

  “Okay.”

  She followed me into the kitchen and placed the folder in front of me on the table.

  “How are we doing?” I asked as I signed the checks.

  Verita sounded pleased. “We’re okay. Seventy-five thousand copies next week gives us a net of eleven thousand two hundred and fifty dollars on circulation alone. Add advertising to that and we could come up with fifteen thousand dollars.”

  “Net?”

  “Net.” She smiled.

  Ronzi was no fool, I thought. A hundred grand for three-quarters to a million dollars a year was not a bad deal. For him. He had been way ahead of me. I glanced back at her. “Now maybe you’ll quit your job at the unemployment office.”

  “I gave notice yesterday.”

  “Good. Beginning next week, you get a hundred-dollar raise.”

  “You don’t have to do that.”

  “Without you none of this would ever have happened. If I’m going to make it, so are you.”

  “It’s not the money, Gary. You know that,” she said earnestly.

  “I know it.” I leaned across the table and kissed her cheek. “Tonight we celebrate. I’ll take you to La Cantina for the best Mexican dinner in town. Then we’ll come back here and turn on.”

  “I would like that very much.”

  “So would I.”

  But it didn’t work out that way at all. Half an hour later I got a call from the hospital. Bobby wanted to see me. I grabbed the keys to Verita’s car and ran.

  The Rolls was still in the lot where I had left it. I pulled the little Valiant into the next parking space. Reverend Sam was waiting just inside the doors.

  “How’s he doing?” I asked.

  His face was gray and weary. “They finally stopped the bleeding.”

  “Good.”

  “It was touch and go for a while. He was losing blood faster than they could get it into him.” He took my hand. “Now he won’t let himself go to sleep until he sees you.”

  “I’m here.”

  Reverend Sam opened the door to Bobby’s room and I followed him inside. Bobby was lying on his back with saline solution dripping into one arm and a tube running into his nose.

  The nurse rose from her chair. She looked at me disapprovingly. “Don’t be too long,” she said and went out the door.

  We moved to the side of the bed. “Bobby,” Reverend Sam said.

  He didn’t move.

  “Bobby, Gareth is here.”

  Slowly Bobby opened his eyes. He found me. A faint smile came to his white lips, then disappeared. His voice was a whisper. “Gareth, you’re not angry with me?”

  “Of course I’m not angry.”

  “I was afraid… you were.” He blinked his eyes. “I love you, Gareth. Truly I do.”

  I pressed his hand. “I love you, too.”

  “I—I didn’t meant anything. I thought it would be fun.”

  “It’s over,” I said. “Forget it.”

  “My job. I don’t want to lose it.”

  “You’re not going to lose it. Just get well. It will be there when you get out.”

  “I just don’t want you to be mad at me.”

  “I’m not mad. You concentrate on getting better. We need you back on the paper. Your photo layout sold out our first edition.”

  The faint smile came back. “Really?”

&nbs
p; “Really. Ronzi wants us to print seventy-five thousand next week.”

  “I’m glad.” He turned toward his father. “I’m sorry, Dad.”

  “It’s all right, son. Just do as Gareth says and get well. That’s all I want.”

  “I love you, Father. I’ve always loved you. You know that.”

  “And I love you. Do you know that, son?”

  “I know, Father. But I never was what you wanted.”

  Reverend Sam looked at me. I could see the anguish and tears in his eyes; then he turned back to Bobby and, bending forward, kissed his cheek. “You’re my son. We love each other. That’s all I want.”

  The nurse came bustling back into the room. “That’s enough time,” she said sternly. “Now he must rest.”

  Out in the corridor I turned to the Reverend. “Now you’d better get some rest before we have to take another room in here.”

  A weary smile crossed his lips. “I don’t know how to thank you.”

  “You don’t have to. That’s what friends are for. Besides, Bobby’s a very special boy.”

  “You really believe that, don’t you?”

  “Yes. What he needs is time. He’ll find himself.”

  He shook his head wearily. “I still don’t understand it. What kind of people can do a thing like that?”

  “Sick,” I said.

  “I never knew things like that existed. Something ought to be done about them. Bobby can’t be the only one they’ve done it to.”

  “Probably not.”

  He gave me a peculiar look. “Lonergan asked me not to go to the police. He said that it would get you into trouble.”

  “I put two of them into the hospital and they filed charges,” I said. “The police are looking for me right now and if you called, it would lead them right to me.”

  “There isn’t a court in the land that would hold you when they heard the real story.”

  “Maybe. But Bobby went there of his own free will and I am guilty of illegal entry and assault. The courts don’t have much sympathy for a gay boy who gets himself raped.”

  Reverend Sam was silent for a moment. “Then it has happened before?”

  “Like maybe ten thousand times a year in this city alone.”

  “God.” He took a deep breath.

  I put a hand on his shoulder. “You go home to sleep. We can talk some more tomorrow.”

  We walked toward the entrance and were almost at the door when the receptionist called after us. “Mr. Brendan.”

  “Yes?”

  “I have a call for you.”

  “You go ahead, Reverend Sam. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

  I saw his stretch-out Mercedes pull away as I took the phone. “Hello,” I said.

  “I have Mr. Lonergan for you,” a girl’s voice said.

  There was a click, then his voice. “Gareth, where are you?”

  “I’m at the hospital, where your girl reached me.”

  “Good. Don’t go back to the paper.”

  “I’ve got work to do. I’ve got to get next week’s paper out.”

  “There’s no way you can publish a paper from the cemetery,” he said in his flat, expressionless voice. “I just learned they shopped a contract on you.”

  “You’ve got to be kidding.”

  His voice was annoyed. “I don’t joke about things like that. You get out of town until I can straighten this out.”

  “How the hell can they get away with something like that?”

  “Your fag friends carry a lot of muscle. I’ll get it put away, but it might take some time. And I don’t want you to get killed in the meanwhile.”

  “Shit.”

  “I don’t want anyone to know where you’ve gone. People have a way of talking whether they want to or not. One wrong word and you get buried.”

  Suddenly I was angry. “I don’t like being pushed around. I’ll go up to Mulholland Drive and kill the son of a bitch.”

  “That would make it easy for them. They’d cut you down before you got to the door. You do as I say.”

  I was silent.

  “Did you hear me?”

  “Yes.”

  “Are you going to do as I say?”

  “Do I have any choice?”

  “No.”

  “Then I’ll do it.”

  I heard his faint sigh but couldn’t tell whether it was relief or not. “Now you get your ass out of there in a hurry and call me tomorrow evening at six o’clock. I’ll bring you up to date.”

  “Okay.”

  “And be careful,” he warned. “He’s got professionals. They don’t play around. They’re all business.”

  The phone went dead in my hand. “Everything all right?” the receptionist asked.

  “Just lovely, thank you,” I said and went out the door.

  18

  I knew I’d made a mistake the minute I walked into the parking lot and saw the two men standing next to the Rolls. The next time I would pay more attention when Lonergan told me to be careful. I would have cut and run, but they saw me at the same moment I saw them. Running would have meant a bullet in the back. I continued toward the Valiant as if there were nothing unusual going down. They watched me get into the small car, put the key into the ignition and start the engine.

  The taller of the two men walked around the Rolls and put a hand on the window, which was rolled half-way down. “Do you know who that Rolls belongs to?”

  “No.”

  “We’re looking for a tall guy about your size who was driving this car. See anybody like that in the hospital?”

  “You guys cops?”

  “Private. The guy’s behind on his payments.”

  I looked at the Rolls, then back at him. “For twenty bucks I can hot wire the car for you.”

  The man’s face turned ugly. “Don’t be a wise guy,” he snarled. “Did you see him or didn’t you?”

  “Nope. I didn’t see anybody like that.”

  He took his hand away. “Okay then. Blow out of here.”

  I put the Valiant in reverse and started to back out. “Wait a minute!” the man on the other side of the Rolls called out.

  For a brief second I toyed with the idea of hitting the accelerator and jamming out. The glint of light off the barrel of a silver-blue silencer-equipped .357 Magnum changed my mind. There was no way I could outrun a bullet from that gun. I stopped the car.

  For the first time I noticed the sedan parked on the other side of the Rolls. He pulled open the rear door and I could see someone lying on the floor. “You!” he snapped. “Get out here!”

  Slowly the figure got up. When I saw who it was, I remained impassive as I stared into Denise’s face and prayed.

  “Do you know this guy?” he snapped.

  There was a big black bruise on her cheek and she looked at me through swollen eyes. I gripped the steering wheel so that my hands wouldn’t shake. She blinked. “No,” she mumbled through puffed lips.

  The man turned back to me. I held my breath. Then he nodded. “Get outta here!”

  I put the car into gear again and began backing out as he pushed Denise back into the sedan and slammed the door on her. The two men walked behind the Rolls and leaned against the trunk.

  In my rearview mirror I could see them watching me until I reached the far end of the parking lot and turned into the exit lane. Then they turned their backs. I think I would have kept on going, but then I saw Denise’s face, staring out the back window of the sedan.

  That did it. I felt the bitter gall rise in my throat. The innocents. Why did it always have to be the innocents? I felt just as I had that day in Nam when we went into the village and I saw the torn and broken bodies of women and children lying in the rubble after we had finished shelling.

  I was almost at the exit when I did it. It was all reflex. Without thinking, I swung the car back into the entrance lane, threw the lever into low gear and pushed the accelerator to the floor. The little Valiant almost leaped off the road.

&
nbsp; The man with the gun began to straighten up and raise his hand. I could see his startled face in the windshield as I spun the wheel, sideswiping them with the little car, pinning them to the Rolls.

  I felt the crunch and the shock and heard the scream of pain as the little Valiant bounced off the heavy Rolls like a Dodgem in an amusement park. I twisted the wheel, turning the little car completely around, then stopped it and jumped out.

  They were sprawled on the ground. Their legs, twisted and broken, were spread out at awkward angles to their bodies. The man with the gun was out cold, his head under the bumper of the Rolls. The other man was half sitting, hanging on to the bumper. His face was white and he was sweating with pain. His gun was on the ground next to him.

  I scooped it up as Denise came out of the sedan. She was crying. I didn’t give her time to talk. “Get into the car!”

  She seemed frozen. I pushed her roughly. “It’s all right. Get into the car!”

  She still didn’t move. I bent over the man. “Who are you working for?”

  “Fuck you, you crazy bastard!”

  I pulled the safety on the gun and put a bullet into the ground between his legs. “You get the next one in the balls.”

  His lips tightened.

  I shoved the muzzle of the gun into his crotch. He almost screamed. “I don’t know!”

  “You’re lying!” I made as if I were going to squeeze the trigger.

  “No!” he screamed. “We got the contract from back East. A grand to take you out.”

  I stared into his face. There wasn’t a man alive who could lie with a gun in his balls.

  “Johnny wanted to hit you the minute you came into the lot. I was the one that said, ‘Wait.’”

  “He’s telling the truth, Gareth,” Denise said suddenly. “I heard him.”

  “You get in the car,” I said, still looking down at him.

  “I saved your life,” he almost screamed. “Hers, too.”

  I straightened up, putting the safety back on. “I’ll send you a thank-you note.”

  I took her arm and shoved her toward the Valiant. The doors on the passenger side were all bashed in, so I pushed her across the seat and got in after her. We were out of the parking lot before the first man out of the hospital came around the corner.