“You do whatever you have to.”
“It will be expensive.”
“How much?”
“Thirty dollars.”
“Okay.”
“Cash. No checks.”
I laughed and took out the money. “You want it in advance?”
“It won’t be necessary. I knew you were good for it the minute you walked in. You’re nothing like those types down here.” He pulled out a sheet and began to wrap it around me. “Would you care for a manicure as well?”
“The works.”
“The works” took three hours. It was seven o’clock by the time I got out of the chair and by then I’d heard the whole story of his life. His latest boyfriend had just left him for some rich Santa Barbara queen and he had been completely shattered.
“I almost had a nervous breakdown.” Snip, snip. “You can believe that. After all I did for the little bitch. She didn’t even know which fork to use for the salad when I found her.” Snip, snip. “Now she’s living off the fat of the land. Cartier watch, diamond rings and a Cadillac convertible. But I’m strong. You can’t imagine how strong I am. I pulled myself together and said to myself, ‘Charles, this is ridiculous. She’s not the only fish in the sea. You’ll find someone else. You always have. You always will.’ The little bitch never even wanted to work. Never. I’m a worker. I go out and break my ass to make money, money, money and she lays around the house, watching television and playing with her prick. And she knew how much I loved that big tool of hers sticking out a half mile in front of her. The first thing she’d do when I came home from work exhausted, absolutely exhausted, was take it out and wave it in front of my face and the next thing I knew I was down on my knees in front of her gobbling and sucking and worshipping that thing.”
He pulled the comb through my hair and gently patted the side. “That should do it. How do you like it?”
I looked in the mirror. My hair hadn’t been this short since I graduated from public school. But the color seemed much like my own. “Fine.”
“Makes you look younger, don’t you think?”
I nodded.
“You should use conditioner on your hair, at least twice a week until it grows in. The best thing to do would be to come in at least once a week for a treatment. That way the hair will grow back strong and healthy.”
“Sure.”
He began unwrapping the towel from around my neck. “I’m really glad to be rid of her. I’m much better off now. I’m even saving money again. I didn’t know how much she was costing me until she was gone. She ate enough for six people.”
I got to my feet. “How much?”
“Thirty for the hair. Two for the shave and two for the manicure. Thirty-four dollars.”
I gave him two twenty-dollar bills. “Keep five for yourself and give a buck to the manicurist.”
“Thank you.” He followed me to the door. “Next time give me a call before you come. Ask for Charles. I’ll make time for you.”
“I’ll do that. Thanks, Charles.”
“If you’re not tied up, maybe we could have some dinner. I know a darling Mexican restaurant down here.”
Lunch had done me in. “I’m not big on Mexican food,” I said. “Besides, I have to meet some people at ten o’clock.”
“They have great steaks. And the service is quick. Besides, I enjoy talking to you.”
That didn’t surprise me. He never stopped. But I had two and a half hours to kill and it was better than moping around alone. “Okay, but only if it’s my treat. I insist.” He didn’t give me an argument.
The street was deserted. I put the key in the lock and began to turn it. The night light cast the diagonal shadow of a wire across the glass door. Instinct suddenly raised the short hairs on my neck. Without thinking, I threw myself out of the doorway, facedown on the sidewalk, just as the whole storefront blew out with a thunderous roar.
I was still lying on the sidewalk, my hands over the back of my head, when out of the corner of my eye I saw Lonergan’s car roll up to the curb. The door opened as I scrambled to my feet.
He leaned through the door without getting out. “You all right, Gareth?”
I turned to look at the storefront. It was gone. “Fine.”
“You don’t want to be here when the police come,” he said. “Get in.”
I got into the car and pulled the door closed. It moved away from the curb and around the corner. I leaned back and looked at Lonergan. There was a faint smile on his lips. “What’s so funny?” I snapped.
“Children shouldn’t try to play grown-ups’ games.”
“But I might have been killed!” I said angrily.
“Then you wouldn’t have been as smart as I thought you were,” he said calmly. “But you still have a lot to learn.”
I stared at him sullenly.
His voice turned thin and cold. “How long do you think you would have lasted if I hadn’t protected you? First with Reverend Sam, then with Julio Vasquez. Two minutes after your girl called him, he checked with me. If I hadn’t okayed you, you would have been fed to the wolves.”
I stared at him for a moment, then nodded. “Okay, Uncle John, I apologize. Now what do we do?”
“That’s better, Gareth.” He smiled and leaned back against the seat cushion. “First, we go to see Ronzi and get rid of the paper. I never really cared for that cheap sheet anyway, but it served to get you off the streets.”
“And then what do I do, Uncle John?”
His eyes met mine steadily. “That will be entirely up to you. From now on you’re on your own.”
I didn’t say anything.
“Of course, it would please me if you came in with me.”
“It’s not my game, Uncle John,” I said gently. “You just told me that yourself.”
His eyes grew thoughtful. “Do you know what you’d like to do?”
“Yes, Uncle John. I think I do.”
II
Book Two: The Up Side
27
The pilot brought the Lear down to three thousand feet and put the plane into a long, sweeping turn so that we could see the whole coast of Mazatlán. The blue-green water of the Pacific spilled over the sparkling white sand beaches. Murtagh leaned across the table, his finger touching the window. “We’re coming up on it now, Mr. Brendan.”
I followed the direction of his finger. At first I saw nothing but green jungle. Then, suddenly, there was the airstrip, a clean narrow cut through the trees, and beyond it, the hotel.
At first glance the eleven-story concrete-and-metal structure seemed out of place in this untamed place. But then I saw the thatched roofs of the cottages with their individual pools, the tennis courts and golf courses, the Olympic-size pool and cabanas on the beach, the marina with the game-fishing boats moored one after the other like gulls riding the waves, and I realized that the hotel was part of a separate world.
“Where would the casino be?” I asked.
“Just off the hotel lobby,” Murtagh answered. “Exactly like in Las Vegas.”
Now the hotel was far behind us. In the distance we could see the homes of Puerto Vallarta and behind us the flat sandy haze of La Paz. The turn completed, the pilot began his descent to the airstrip. I felt the shudder as the landing wheels went down and locked into position. A moment later we touched down. The pilot hit the brakes; we pushed against the seat belts for a moment, then eased off as the plane rolled toward the small building.
Lonergan was sitting next to me, his face expressionless. Across the cabin Verita and Bobby were unbuckling their belts. Behind them Bobby’s four models were chattering and his two assistants were beginning to gather their gear.
Bobby got out of his seat. “If we move fast, we can get in at least one set before night falls. We should be able to get some great shots with the sunset on the beach.”
“We’ll be ready,” one of the assistants answered.
Bobby turned to me. “What are your plans?”
; “I’ve got meetings. You go ahead. We’ll all get together at dinner.”
They were off the plane and on their way to the beach before Murtagh finished introducing us to the officials who were waiting to greet us.
There were six of them, including the mayor of the town. All of them were short except one. He was six feet tall, blond and blue-eyed, with a tanned face and white flashing teeth. His name was Dieter von Halsbach. He was Mexican born like the others, but his parents had been Germans who’d emigrated after the war. He was the jefe. And the moment we shook hands I knew something else about him that I hadn’t read in the background reports. He was gay.
Lonergan and I followed Dieter into the white Cadillac limousine. Verita, Murtagh and the others followed in another car.
“I have reserved three bungalows for you, Mr. Brendan,” Dieter said.
“Thank you,” I said. He needn’t have gone to the trouble. From what I had heard we’d probably be the only guests. I glanced out the window at the manicured gardens through which we approached the hotel. “You have done a beautiful job here.”
“We have spared no expense. My father and I believe in doing things right.”
I glanced at Lonergan. If he was impressed, there was no way I could tell. The car swung past the entrance to the hotel and went down a side road toward the beach, coming to a stop in front of the bungalow.
We followed Dieter through the wrought-iron gates to the patio and swimming pool in front of the cottage. Fruit trees laden with oranges and limes cast their perfume on the warm, mildly salted air. A liveried butler and maid opened the door for us.
A bar was already set up in the living room. “Make yourselves comfortable, gentlemen,” Dieter said. “We appreciate you might be fatigued from your journey, so my father and I thought you might want to rest. We can meet you at dinner at ten o’clock.”
We watched him drive off in the limousine. The servants were busy with our luggage. I turned to Lonergan. “What do you think?”
“Eighteen million is too much.” His words were flat.
“They’ve got thirty million in the place.”
“That’s their tough luck. I notice he didn’t take us into the hotel. He probably didn’t want us to see them shooting pigeons in the lobby.”
I laughed. “Uncle John, I’m beginning to think you’re a very suspicious man.”
“They dropped six million in their first year of operation. Four million last year. That’s ten million and they’ve only been open two years.”
“They had the wrong approach. They tried to make this a jet setters’ paradise. But the jet never set.”
He permitted himself a faint smile. “You think you can do better?”
“If I didn’t, I wouldn’t be here.”
“Eighteen million is still too much.”
“I won’t be talking dollars.”
“We’re jumping the gun. We haven’t even started looking around.”
I started for the bar. “Care for a drink?”
“No, thanks. I think I’ll follow the young man’s advice. I’m going to lie down and rest a bit.”
Lonergan went to his room and I fixed myself a scotch on the rocks. I looked out the window at the beach. The sand was white, the water blue and inviting. I walked out to the edge of the beach and stood sipping my drink. The water looked great. I looked up and down the beach. There was no one in sight. I put down the drink, took off my clothes and went into the water naked.
The water was as soft and warm as it looked. I swam a good distance, then turned to look back at the shore, treading water. I could see the whole beach all the way past the hotel until the land curved away.
About five hundred yards down the beach I saw Bobby and his crew setting up for the shooting. Already the big silver reflectors were in place and as I watched, the parasol filters began to open up. They weren’t wasting time. Bobby meant it when he said he was going to get his first set in before sunset.
I turned, put my head in the water and began to swim back to the shore in a slow, easy crawl. I could feel the heat of the sun warming my back and was awash in contentment. There was no doubt about it. They had something here. The good life. The only thing they didn’t understand was that it had to be available to all the people, not just a chosen few.
When I came out of the water, there was a girl standing near my clothing, a giant beach towel outstretched in her hands. I stepped into it silently and she folded it around me.
“I’m Marissa,” she said. “Count Dieter assigned me to be your translator.”
Her long black hair, dark eyes and high cheekbones belied her name. So did the loose peasant blouse and soft Mexican skirt. “That’s not a Mexican name,” I said.
She smiled, showing white, even teeth. “My mother is Mexican; my father is Austrian. I was named after his mother.”
“Are you related to Dieter?”
“We’re cousins.” She picked up my clothes from the sand. “Shall we go back to the cottage? The servants speak no English. If there’s anything you want from them, I’ll be glad to tell them for you.”
“I’m okay,” I said, starting up the beach. At the doorway to the cottage I turned and took the clothing from her arms. “I don’t need a translator. My executive assistant speaks Spanish.”
She hesitated a moment, then nodded. There was disappointment in her voice. “As you wish. But if there is anything else you should want, I am at your disposal. I’m in the guest relations office in the hotel.”
“Thank you.”
“Just one thing Count Dieter wanted me to show you. May I?”
I nodded and followed her into the cottage. A faint scent of verbena floated past me. She bent over the coffee table to press a small button on the side and a drawer rolled out. I looked over her shoulder.
It was all there. A wooden cigarette box of machine-rolled joints with filter tips, a plastic jar of cocaine with four tiny Mexican silver spoons and another box of crushed herbs. “Mescaline?” I asked.
She nodded.
“Thank you.”
She closed the drawer. “I can go now?”
I smiled. “Will you be at dinner?”
“If you want me to be.”
“I think it would be nice.”
“I will see you then.”
After she had gone, I opened the drawer and took out a joint. Then I went into the bathroom and filled the tub with warm water. I smoked the joint while lying in the tub. It was lovely.
Afterward I took a nap.
28
The telephone woke me. It was Bobby. “Can I see you for a minute? I’ve got a great idea.”
“Come on down,” I said. I got out of bed and slipped into a bathrobe. The living room was empty and the door to Lonergan’s room was open. I looked in. He was nowhere around. It was still daylight, even though it was after eight o’clock.
A butler came in, his white teeth flashing. “Sí, señor?”
“Scotch on the rocks,” I tried.
He nodded and went behind the bar. I watched him fix the drink. At least, he spoke that much English. I took the glass and went out to the patio. The air was still warm even though the sun had gone.
I felt good. Very relaxed and low-key. There was something about this place. Not like Los Angeles, where the world kept screaming in my ears. This was really out of it.
Bobby came through the wrought-iron gates. “They really know how to do things here,” he said. “We’ve all got separate bungalows. My boys and I in one, the girls right next door.”
“How did the session go?”
“It was okay. I got a few good shots, but the girls weren’t ready.”
“What went wrong?”
“My fault. I forgot to prep them.”
I laughed.
“You’d think that was the first thing they would do,” he said in an aggrieved voice. “They know they’re coming down here to show pink. You’d think the least they could do is to give themselves a little trim.
Except for the blonde, it’s like trying to shoot through a forest.”
“What are you doing about it?”
“I turned them over to the cunt coiffeur. They’ll be ready tomorrow.”
“I hope he will,” I said. The cunt coiffeur was one of Bobby’s assistants. It was his job to trim the pubic hairs, clean the areas between cheeks of the buttocks and do the makeup for the photo sessions.
“He’d better be,” Bobby said darkly. “I told him if he fucks himself out, I’ll kill him.”
“What’s your great idea?” I asked.
“I’d like to bring King Dong down here for a jungle layout with some of the girls. I got this whole scam where the girls dressed as white hunters come upon him in just a loincloth with his dong hanging out below. They get turned on and try to civilize him. He turns the tables on them and winds up the number one pimp in town.”
“It’s a funny idea, but it won’t be easy to do,” I said. “We caught a lot of flak the last time we used him in a layout.”
“It was all from jerks who were jealous of his cock. But the issue sold a hundred thousand more than any other and is still the biggest copy of the backlist.”
“Circulation said that the gays are all buying it.”
“Sure they are, but so are a lot of women. I’ve seen them go absolutely glassy-eyed and come right in their pants the minute he takes out his tool. Even the most hard-bitten models get turned on no matter how many fuck layouts they’ve done.”
“I don’t know. We’ve got the racist shit to contend with. The blacks say we’re putting them down by playing on the old fear. The red-necks say we’re demeaning white womanhood.”
“Let me get the set. You can always make up your mind when we have the pictures.”
“Okay.” I laughed. “This should be fun. Let me know when you shoot it. I’d like to see what happens.”
“You’ve got to wind up with an inferiority complex. He’s the closest thing to a bull I can imagine. Twelve inches long and he had six orgasms in four hours at our last session.”
Harold Robbins Thriller Collection Page 35