Harold Robbins Thriller Collection

by Harold Robbins

  The intercom buzzed. “Reverend Sam on the line.”

  Reverend Sam’s voice was genuinely sympathetic. “A terrible business, Gareth, a terrible business. She was a lovely girl.”

  “Yes, Reverend Sam. But I’m calling about Brother Jonathan.”

  “Shocking. I couldn’t believe that the man was capable of such duplicity.”

  “How long did you know him?”

  There was a moment’s pause. “Let me see… seven, maybe eight years…. He joined the mission right after he left the police force.”

  “How did you happen to meet him?”

  “Your Uncle John sent him to me. There had been some threats against my life at that time and he came to work for me as a bodyguard. But then God shone His light on him and he began to devote himself to the mission. By the time we decided that the threats were no longer a problem he had already reached the second level.”

  “I see. Thank you, Reverend Sam.”

  “You’re quite welcome, Gareth. If there is anything I can do to ease your burden, don’t hesitate to come to me.”

  “Thank you again. Goodbye, Reverend Sam.”

  “Goodbye, Gareth.”

  “You’re right about your father, Bobby. He sees only the good in everyone.”

  He managed a smile. “The last of the innocents.”

  “Not the last,” I said. “The first.”

  After he had gone, I sat alone for a while, just thinking. Brother Jonathan still bothered me. On an impulse I sent for Denise.

  She, too, had been weeping. “Poor Verita. I really loved her. Her aura was so pure.”

  “She was a good lady,” I said. “Look, I need help. If what I ask you hurts too much, just tell me. I don’t want to disturb you.”

  “I love you, Gareth. I’ll do anything I can to help you.”

  “When Brother Jonathan had you in transit at the Retreat, was it really me that he was exorcising from your mind?”

  “It seemed like that.” She hesitated. “We always started the transit that way. The first thing he told me was that I had to get you out of my mind and my body.”

  “Did he ever talk about anything else?”

  “I think so. But I don’t remember too well. After the question about you, everything always seemed to go fuzzy.”

  “That’s because he gave you a shot of Pentothal,” I said. “There were still traces of it in your blood when I brought you to the hospital. And it was from one of those injections with an unsterilized needle that you got hepatitis.”

  “That’s the truth serum, isn’t it?”

  “Yes. But it can also be used as a hypnotic. Perhaps there was something he wanted you to disconnect, to forget completely without your being conscious of it.”

  “I don’t know what that could be. After all, I was his secretary for the first year I was down there and it was my job to keep track of everything. I even used to type all his reports.”

  “Reports? To whom?”

  “There were a lot of people. The religious ones to Reverend Sam, of course. The others to… the others….” A puzzled look came into her eyes. “Funny, but I can’t seem to remember.”

  “What were the other reports about?”

  She thought for a moment, then shook her head. “I can’t remember that either.”

  I looked at her silently.

  “I’m sorry.”

  I smiled. “That’s okay.”

  “I’d better go back to work now.”

  I waited until she was halfway to the door before playing my hunch. “Lonergan!” I said sharply.

  She didn’t turn around. “I know. He always gets the top copy,” she said automatically, then continued on to the door as if she hadn’t spoken. She looked back. “Goodbye, Gareth.”

  “Goodbye, Denise.”

  I waited until the door closed behind her before calling personnel. A man answered. “Erikson speaking.”

  “Do you have copies of the personnel forms of the club and hotel employees, Mr. Erikson?”

  “They’re on the computer, sir.”

  “Can I get the readout?”

  “Yes, sir, but you have to know the code.”

  “I need some information. Can you come up to my office?”

  “I’ll be right there, Mr. Brendan.”

  Two minutes later he was standing beside my desk with a code book in his hand. Ten minutes later I had all the information that I sought.

  Each employee was required to give three personal references before being placed on the payroll. One of the three references provided by all the general managers and supply managers of the clubs and the hotel was always John Lonergan.

  It all began to fall into place.

  When I’d gotten into his car after the explosion outside the little store on Santa Monica Boulevard, he had all but spelled it out for me. If he hadn’t protected me, Julio would have fed me to the wolves.

  And Dieter had implied it again in Mexico when he told me that without my uncle’s permission Julio could not exist in Los Angeles and that Lonergan was the only man who could stop Julio from using the airstrip.

  Julio had probably never stopped using the airstrip at all. Not even for one day. And when I’d made the deal for the hotel, Lonergan had it all together. It had to be the most profitable one-man cartel in history. Three hundred million dollars a year with built-in profits at every stage from manufacture to distribution.

  And it hadn’t cost him one penny. He’d done it all with my money.

  51

  It was six o’clock and Lonergan was nowhere to be found. He wasn’t at home, at his Beverly Hills office or at the Silver Stud. My mother had gone to visit some friends at Newport Beach for the day, so she was of no help to me right then. She was expected to be home for dinner, however, so I left word with the butler to have her call when she came in.

  The intercom buzzed. “Mr. Courtland on the line from New York.”

  “You’re working late,” I said. “It’s nine o’clock there.”

  “Our office doesn’t close with the market despite what people think,” he said humorlessly. “Any new developments?”

  “Some.”

  “Anything I can report to the board of governors?”

  “I don’t think so.”

  “What about that girl who killed herself? Logic says she could have been the Trojan Horse in your organization.”

  “She wasn’t.”

  “I hear they’re shipping your magazine back by the thousands,” he said.

  “Millions.”

  He was shocked into silence for a moment. “Would you like me to cancel your appearance at the analysts’ luncheon tomorrow?”

  “Have they withdrawn their invitation?”

  “No.”

  “Then I’ll be there.”

  “I’m just trying to save you some embarrassment,” he said. “Many of them touted your stock to the sky and they feel you took them. They can get pretty rough and they’re not in a happy frame of mind.”

  “Neither am I. See you tomorrow.” I put down the phone and pressed the intercom.

  “Yes, Mr. Brendan?”

  “Charter a plane to take me to New York tonight. I expect to leave sometime between midnight and three in the morning.”

  “Yes, Mr. Brendan,” she said. “Your mother’s on the line, returning your call.”

  “Hello, Mother.”

  “Gareth, I feel so bad for you.” She seemed to mean it.

  “I’m all right, Mother.”

  “How could those Mexicans do such terrible things to you? And after you were so good to her, too. Taking her out of a menial clerk’s position and giving her such an important job. I knew you couldn’t trust her the first time I heard her voice over the telephone. We were just talking about it on the Fischers’ yacht at lunch today. They have such a beautiful yacht. Seventy—”

  “Mother,” I interrupted, “who was talking about it?”

  “We all were. But then Uncle John expl
ained what really happened and we all felt so bad for you.”

  “Uncle John was with you?”

  “Yes.”

  “Is he with you now?”

  “No. He had an appointment for dinner.”

  “With whom?”

  “I thought I heard him mention the name of that nice young man, Dieter von Halsbach.”

  “Thank you, Mother.” I put down the telephone without even saying goodbye and pressed the intercom. “See if Marissa is still in her office.”

  She wasn’t, so I told them to keep trying her at home. They reached her a half hour later. “Do you know where Dieter might be having dinner?” I asked.

  “No. I saw him in the office about five thirty. Then he rushed off for a very important appointment.”

  “Where could he be?”

  “If I hear from him, I’ll have him call you.”

  “Thanks.”

  “Gareth, I’m sorry about Verita. I hope you don’t believe what the papers are saying.”

  “I don’t.”

  “I’m glad. I don’t either.”

  I decided to call Bobby at home. Since there were no secrets in the gay world, I thought he might be able to help. “Do you think you can find out where Dieter is tonight?” I asked.

  “I’ll try,” he said. “It may take some time. Where can I reach you if I do?”

  “I’ll be in the office.”

  He called back at ten fifteen. Dieter had a reservation at the Greek Chorus.

  “The Greek Chorus?” I echoed.

  “That’s right. He took a suite for the whole night. Dinner and everything. Our friend must be flush.”

  I put down the telephone. It didn’t make sense. The Greek Chorus was the most expensive gay brothel in the world. Appointments were by reservation only and the minimum charge was five hundred dollars. I’ve heard of tabs that ran as high as ten thousand for one evening. But that was an Arab who had flown in especially for the night and bought everything and everyone in sight.

  The Greek Chorus was in an old movie star’s mansion high in the Hollywood Hills. Tony pulled the car into the driveway and stopped in front of the entrance. “Wait for me,” I said as I rang the bell.

  A burly man in a dinner jacket opened the door. Another man in a dinner jacket stood just behind him. “Do you have a reservation?” the first man asked.

  “No, but I only have a few hours in town and I heard so much about this place.”

  “Sorry,” the man said, stepping back. “Reservations only.” He began to close the door.

  I stopped it with my foot and showed him a hundred-dollar bill.

  He looked at it impassively.

  I added another hundred to it. Then another, and another and another. I stopped at five hundred. Too much and I would blow it.

  “What’s your name?” he asked.

  “Gareth.”

  “Just a moment, sir. I may have overlooked your name in the book.”

  He stepped inside and spoke to the other man. A moment later he was back. “I’m sorry to have kept you waiting, sir,” he said, pocketing the five bills. “But an ink smudge partly covered your name.”

  I followed him through the door. “This is just a precaution, sir,” he said, stopping me. “Would you please hold out your arms.”

  I did as he asked and he patted me down very professionally. He straightened up. “We don’t allow guns or knives in here,” he said apologetically. “It’s for your own protection as well as that of the other clientele.”

  We passed through the grand entrance hall. The elegant old twenties mansion had been re-created as a gays’ paradise. “Do you prefer any particular type, sir?” he asked.

  “I’m open. I’d like to see them all.”

  “Yes, sir,” he said, opening the door. When I heard the buzz of conversation I realized how thoroughly soundproof the place was. “This is the salon, sir. The fees depend on the person you choose. There is a five-hundred-dollar minimum. Drinks and food are on the house.”

  “Thank you.” I stood for a moment to let my eyes get used to the soft light, then headed for the semi-circular bar at the end of the room.

  Groups of men, many of them nude, were sprawled around the room on couches and chaise longues. I assumed that those who were dressed were clients like myself. The nude men glanced at me as I walked by, but none of them made an obvious approach.

  A man in a dinner jacket leaned across the bar. “Your pleasure, sir.”

  “Scotch on the rocks.” I threw down a five-dollar bill as tip.

  “Sorry, sir,” he said, pushing the bill toward me. “No tipping allowed. You are our guest, sir.”

  “Thank you.” I leaned back against the bar, looked around the room and took a healthy slug of my drink. Then I saw someone I knew and smiled to myself.

  With drink in hand I crossed the room and stopped in front of the naked black man who was stretched out on the chaise with his eyes closed. “Jack,” I said in a low voice.

  King Dong opened his eyes in surprise.

  “Sleeping on the job?” I smiled.

  He sat up slowly. “What are you doin’ here, Mistuh Gareth? I never expected to find you in a place like this.”

  “How about you?” I retorted.

  “I work here one night a week. Sometimes I pick up as much as a grand. It pays the rent. There ain’t much work in modelin’ no more.”

  “Are you interested in a grand clear?”

  “Money’s my middle name.”

  “Remember the Mexican man, the blond one?” I sat down on the couch next to him. “Is he here tonight?”

  A man walked by in a dinner jacket. “Play with my cock,” King Dong said. “That’s one of the spotters.”

  I lifted his joint. I swear it weighed as much as a boa constrictor. The spotter retraced his steps and went out the door.

  “Yes, he’s here,” King Dong said.

  “Do you know what room he’s in?”

  He nodded.

  “Can you get me in to see him?”

  “To do that you got to go upstairs. An’ the only way you gits upstairs is with one of the boys.”

  “I’ll go up with you.”

  “I don’t know,” he said doubtfully. “If’n these guys fin’ out, I’m dead. They killers.”

  “Nobody will find out. There won’t be any trouble.”

  “It’ll cost you five hundred for the house.”

  “Okay.”

  His low voice rumbled through the room. “You in an awful hurry, man.” He laughed.

  “I’ve got a plane to catch,” I said, playing along.

  I followed him to the bar.

  “I got me an eager beaver,” he said to the bartender.

  The bartender didn’t smile. “Five hundred dollars, please.”

  I laid five bills on the bar.

  “Thank you.” He reached under the bar and came up with a gold-plated room key. “Room sixteen.”

  “Six or seven open?” King Dong asked. “You know I don’t do my best work in a room with a low ceiling.”

  The bartender checked again. He changed the keys. “Six.”

  “Thanks,” King Dong said.

  In the far corner of the room he parted some drapes, revealing a staircase.

  “We lucked in,” he whispered. “He’s right next door in room five.”

  “Will I need a key to get in?” I asked.

  He shook his head. “The doors are never locked when the room is in use. Sometimes there’s trouble an’ they have to get in there in a hurry.”

  We reached the first landing. He stopped in front of the door that was emblazoned with a brass number six. He looked up and down the hall. It was empty. “You kin go in there now,” he whispered. “But be careful comin’ out.”

  I opened the next door and slipped into the room. At the same time I saw King Dong disappear into number six.

  All the lights were on. Across the room Dieter lay facedown on the bed. On the floor next to hi
m was an empty hypodermic syringe and a twisted rubber cord. I saw the needle marks on Dieter’s outstretched arm. The future Count von Halsbach was nothing but a junkie.

  I knelt over him and shook his shoulder. He moved but didn’t open his eyes. I heard a sound coming from behind the curtain at the other end of the room. I moved toward it quickly and pulled the curtain back.

  Three pairs of dark eyes looked up at me from around a table, laden with food. I stared down at their grubby faces. They were nothing but children.

  “Qué pasa?” one of the boys said as he stood up. His naked little body was soft and round. He seemed to be the oldest but couldn’t have been more than nine.

  I shook my head. “Nada.”

  He sat down again and they resumed eating as if they had never been interrupted. I let the curtain drop and went back to the bed.

  I shook Dieter harder. He finally opened his eyes and after a moment showed a sign of recognition.

  “Where’s Lonergan?” I asked.

  He shook his head, then groaned. “He’s gone.”

  “How long?”

  “An hour, a half hour. I don’t know. I was asleep.”

  “Go back to sleep,” I said.

  He closed his eyes again. I went to the door, opened it a crack and peered out. The hall was empty. Quickly I went next door.

  King Dong was sitting on the edge of the bed, masturbating.

  “Okay,” I said. “Let’s go.”

  “Just a minute,” he said, reaching for a towel and his orgasm at the same time. He closed his eyes. “Ahh,” he sighed, spilling himself into the towel.

  After a moment, he stood up. He reached across the bed, pulling down the cover and mussing the sheets. “That’s still my favorite way,” he said over his shoulder pleasantly. “Nobody can do it for me like I do it for myself.”

  After wrinkling the bed, he threw the towel into the middle of it. “Okay, now we kin go. I was jus’ takin’ no chances. They might get suspicious if’n evvything was too neat and tidy.”

  “You can pick up your grand at the office tomorrow,” I said, following him down the stairs.

  The man at the door bowed. “I trust everything was to your pleasure, sir.”