“Show the bastard in, but keep on guard. If anyone makes a move, you know what to do.”
Ivan stepped in, Ned by his side. Sean and Marty were hanging by the door.
All the men knew each other. All stood tense and wary, sizing each other up for the moment before Carl, forcing a fake wide smile, rose and came around his desk to extend his hand. Ivan ignored it.
Raising an eyebrow, Carl let his hand drop.
“What brings you to see me, Littlefield? Guess it’s not a friendly visit.”
“Show him the picture, Ned.”
Ned stepped forward. Earl and Albert stepped forward, too. Ned didn’t even spare them a glance as he handed Cothane his cell phone with the displayed picture of Roger lying in a pool of his blood.
Carl masked his surprise, thinking, damn, guess I underestimated the bastard.
Putting on his most innocent expression, his eyes met Ivan’s gray-daggered gaze.
“Looks like I’ll have to find another lounge singer. Is that why you’re showin’ me that picture? What did the poor kid do to you?”
“I think you know. I’m showing you the picture as evidence you should never send a boy to do a man’s job. If you want to ‘mess with my head’, which I think is the way Roger Dalton put it, you’ll have to do better than having an inexperienced kid flirt publicly with my wife.”
Carl tried to look nonplussed as he thought, stupid little sonofabitch ratted me out. If he ain’t dead, he’ll wish he was.
He shrugged off his rage as he said, “Look, Littlefield, I don’t know what you’re talking about. But I heard the talk about Roger and your pretty little wife. Him being quite the ladies’ man and all I wasn’t surprised. Can I help it if my hired help gets the cunts clamoring after him, even the newly married ones?”
Other than the flashing of hatred in his eyes and the dropped timbre of his voice, Ivan gave no indication of his true state of mind as he gritted, “Do not refer to my wife as a cunt again, Cothane. And we both know what came down, or what you hoped would come down. But it didn’t.
“My wife would never betray me in the first place. True, she came to your casino and she enjoyed a show. She showed poor judgment in her choice of places to frequent and in allowing that bastard to flirt publicly with her, but that’s because she’s young and not wise to the devious ways of people like you.
“So cut the crap, Cothane. If you want to cross me, let it be me you cross. Don’t try bringing my wife into the equation again. That could prove to be a lethal mistake. Consider this your first and last friendly warning. Are we clear?”
Albert and Earl took a menacing step forward, their hands going beneath their jackets. Ned and the other bodyguards stepped forward also, doing the same. All men were stopped by censuring looks from both Carl and Ivan.
“So what’re you saying, Littlefield? Are you threatening to waste me over a stupid little snatch?”
Ivan hissed, “There are all kinds of way to lay waste, Cothane. And in case I haven’t made myself clear, don’t ever refer to my wife again as a snatch or a cunt!”
Ivan shot a knowing glance at Cothane’s two thugs. They tensed, eying him back nervously.
“Now, let’s lay our cards on the table. We’ve had our share of run-ins over the years, Cothane, but until now we’ve both played it straight up. I’m willing to chalk this last incident up to poor judgment on everybody’s part.
“To show you my good faith, in an effort to keep the peace between us, which would be to both our advantages for the time being at least, here’s the money Roger Dalton said he owed you, while he could still speak.”
Ivan tossed the envelope to the desk. Carl didn’t bother to pick it up.
“Is a hundred thousand the correct amount?”
“Yeah.”
“It’s all there. You can count it”
Keeping his eyes locked on Ivan’s, Carl gritted, “No need to count it. What I can’t figure is why you’d be paying off Roger Dalton’s debt.”
“Because he’s obviously unable to now. And since that’s my fault, I consider it has become my debt and I always square my debts.”
“I see, so you’re saying that this gesture is just to appease your conscience, right? For snuffing the kid?” Cothane snorted. “That’s hard to swallow seeing as how it’s common knowledge you don’t have a conscience, Littlefield. I’m kinda caught in a quandary here, wondering if I should report this to the cops or not.”
Ivan’s eyes turned a colder, icier gray as he spat back, “Evidently the fact that I have no conscience isn’t common knowledge, Cothane, because if you truly believed that you’d know a man without a conscience is one you shouldn’t tangle with, because once you do, there’s nothing stopping him from extracting ultimate revenge. Maybe not today or tomorrow, but eventually, and when least expected.
“And if you think reporting this incident to the police is in your best interest, then by all means, do so. But since there is no definable evidence and no body, I think all that would accomplish is bringing the authorities into the equation and I don’t think you would want them to delve too closely into your, shall we say, questionable activities here at the Roman Spa.
“So for the present, suffice it to say, there’s enough space in Vegas for both of us to conduct our businesses without interference. If you keep to your side of it, I’ll keep to mine and we can call it even.”
Having made his point, Ivan studied Carl Cothane for a second before letting his steely gaze drift ominously to the two men flanking him. The unspoken promise of future retribution was clear to them, as well, as he acknowledged them with a nod.
“Good day, gentlemen.”
As soon as he was certain Ivan was gone, Carl Cothane exhaled a string of expletives, ending with, “Who the bloody hell does he think he is, coming into my club and making threats? ‘Suffice it to say’,” he mocked. “The uppity sonofabitch!”
“You want me and Sally to pay him a little visit later, boss, sometime when I can catch him without his goons?” Albert asked, fingering the stiletto holster.
“No. For one thing, he never goes anywhere without them, and like I said before, everybody would know I was behind the hit. For now we’ll let sleepin’ dogs lie. And that’s what Ivan Littlefield reminds me of, a junkyard dog ready to fight over his bone. But his time will come. This little game is far from being over. I’ll get even with the sonofabitch, one way or another. I just have to figure out the smartest angle without getting myself in too deep.
“The immediate problem I’ve gotta solve is, who the hell can I get as a lounge act, now that Roger has been snuffed? God, I wish I could find the body and lay the blame at Littlefield’s feet, but I know he’s too smart for that. Roger Dalton will never be found.”
Settling in his chair, Cothane cursed, “Dammit to hell! Who the fuck can I get to sing in the lounge?”
“I heard there’s a new guy singing down at the Commodore who’s packing them in. Maybe you could persuade him to quit there and sing here, boss,” Earl said. “Or maybe me and Albert could persuade him.”
“So he’s good?”
“Yeah and a looker, too. But the Commodore isn’t as nice as the Roman Spa, so ten to one, he could be enticed to leave there and come here.”
“But he’s probably under contract. That would present a problem I don’t need.”
“Don’t think so. My buddy works there and he said the guy, Jared Clark, I think his name is, just signed on for a temporary trial time. No contract yet.”
“All right. Then go talk to him; invite him here and I’ll seal the deal. Wonder if he’s a gambler. Well, even if he’s not, that habit can be induced. Soon as he agrees to the deal, get some pictures of him. Have posters made and exchange Dalton’s for his in the lobby, then make sure the billboard advertisements are changed ASAP.”
Chapter 21
A Hard Fall
Andrea lay on the bed in the indoctrination room, miserably lonely and depressed, curled into a fet
al ball from the lingering affect of menstrual cramps and wondering what Ivan had told Lydia about her sudden absence from the rest of the house.
Even though Ivan had said she needn’t stay naked, Andrea had shed her clothing, only leaving on her panties because she had started her period a few days before.
Flouncing on the bed, she consoled herself with the knowledge that at least this was the last day of her period.
She ached with wanting Ivan. She flounced to a supine position, hoping to hear the door open and see him come striding through it saying he had at last forgiven her.
Each day had seemed interminable. The nights she had spent tossing and turning, plagued by lustful desires and the uncertainty of her future before crying herself to sleep. And every night she had dreamt of Ivan’s lips on hers, his hands smoothing down her body and his penis coming to life in her mouth.
* * *
In the downstairs office, Ivan sipped scotch and watched Andrea on the monitor, longing to go to her; to hold and comfort her; to make love to her.
It had been a struggle every night to stay away. Watching her now, Ivan realized that he was punishing himself more than he was punishing her, so at 2:15 a.m., the scotch having mellowed his fury, Ivan lost the battle with himself and climbed the stairs on unsteady feet, heading for the indoctrination room.
Andrea was startled from the restless sleep she had finally fallen into by Ivan falling down heavily on the bed beside her.
Her first inclination was to throw herself into his arms. But when she switched on the bedside lamp and saw his cold eyes raking her up and down as though she disgusted him, she knew he was in no mood to be cajoled by either an embrace or an explanation.
She smelled the liquor on his breath and when he spoke, his slightly slurred speech confirmed what she was thinking.
He’s drunk.
“Tell me, Andrea, my—my little insatiable pet, did you enjoy letting Roger Dalton paw you?”
“No. I mean, he didn’t paw me, Ivan.”
He grabbed her shoulders and shook her hard.
“You lie! I saw the picture of him touching your back. I’ve waited this long to talk to you because I was getting hold of my temper so I wouldn’t hurt you. Now I just want straight answers from you. If you value your life you won’t lie to me again.”
“Ivan, I don’t consider Roger Dalton touching my back as we walked down the street really touching, and certainly not pawing,” she insisted miserably, wincing at the iron grip he still had on her shoulders.
Ivan spat, “Well I do! And what the hell did I tell you about another man touching you? Do you recall that, Andrea?”
Frustrated tears rushed out and rolled down her cheeks.
“Yes, I do, and I’m so sorry. Please forgive me, Ivan. I—I didn’t think you’d care if I went to the casino, especially since Ned escorted me. How many times do I have to tell you that? I just wasn’t thinking.”
“We’ve already established that,” he gritted, releasing her and moving back slightly. He raked a hand through his hair as he asked, “So it won’t ever happen again? You’ll never again act like a whore in heat, letting some other man touch you, lust after your body while you expose your breasts to him?”
Andrea shook her head, tears trailing down her face. “I—I wasn’t acting like a whore, Ivan. And I—I didn’t expose my breasts to Roger. But no—not ever again will I let another man so much as touch me.”
“Yes, you were acting like a whore, Andrea! And when I went to confront Cothane, even he called you a cunt and to Cothane, it was the same as calling you a slut, which is what you acted like. You should have realized how your crude public display would look, Andrea.”
Realizing it was useless to try and reason with him when he was in such a state, Andrea simply hung her head and mumbled, “I’m sorry. I didn’t realize. Please forgive me, Ivan.”
Lifting her tortured gaze, she beseeched him, “I miss you so much at night. Please stay with me.”
“Saw you got your period.”
Andrea nodded. “Yes. But it stopped today. Please don’t leave me tonight.”
Ivan steeled himself to ignore her pleas. He was having more difficulty than he’d thought he would, being this close to her, trying not to get lost in her tear-filled, swampy green eyes.
His cock swelled with desire and he shifted uncomfortably to relieve some of the pressure.
Exercising every ounce of will power he could muster, Ivan stood and walked unsteadily to the door without saying another word, pretending he wasn’t moved by her sobbing and once outside, he stood clenching and unclenching his fists.
He wanted to go back and put his arms around Andrea, but the rage roiling through his stomach, combined with his wounded pride, stopped him.
I’ll leave her another day or two. I can’t let her know I care this much for what she feels. I can’t let her know how much I want or need her, or how much she’s hurt me with her betrayal. I will not let her get the upper hand.
As he readied for bed, Ivan tried not to make comparisons, but he couldn’t help but mentally relive a portion of his early childhood—his mother verbally castrating his father—his father always backing down and begging to be taken back into her good graces—his own frustration as he witnessed their fights.
Kicking off a shoe, Ivan declared adamantly, “I will not let that happen. Dammit to hell, I will not be like father!”
He stretched out on the bed, lonely and needing Andrea, his hard on causing an ache in his groin as he hoped for sleep.
* * *
The two days Ivan let go by without returning to Andrea seemed like forever to him. When he finally opened the door and saw her sitting dejectedly on the vanity stool, her shoulders slumped, her head in her hands, looking every bit the bedraggled waif he had first met and rescued, it was all he could do not to gather her in his arms and kiss the pain away.
Having heard him enter, without looking up Andrea asked, “I’ve been wondering what you did to poor Roger Dalton, Ivan.”
Incensed that her first thoughts when he came near her again were on Roger, Ivan snarled, “Rest assured he got what he deserved. He’s gone, so if you’re thinking to look him up once you’re released, forget it.”
Andrea looked at him then. Ivan was stricken by her haggard appearance; by her pallor; by the circles under her eyes and her unkempt hair.
She shook her head in disbelief, asking, “Why would you think that, Ivan? Why would you think I wanted to go to Roger Dalton? I told you that whole evening was nothing more than a stupid mistake and a perfectly innocent situation. I couldn’t care less about Roger Dalton, other than the fact that he’s a human being who did nothing to deserve being killed.”
“Killed? My God, Andrea! Is that what you think? That I killed him?”
“Didn’t you?”
“On top of being a fool, you also think that I’m a murderer?” Ivan snarled, more upset by her assessment of him than he wanted her to know. “I didn’t say I killed him, for God’s sake, only that he got what he deserved.”
“So you just hurt him?”
Splitting hairs, Ivan let his mind slide over the truth. Knowing that what really went down wouldn’t set well with her, and since it wasn’t him who had personally hurt Roger, Ivan decided to skirt the whole truth.
He refused to examine the fact that Andrea’s opinion mattered that much as he presented a half truth.
“If you must know, I paid off his debt at the Roman Spa, which was why Cothane had been able to blackmail him into seeking you out to cuckold me, and then I sent him out of town with a warning never to return.”
“What does cuckold mean, Ivan?”
“Loosely speaking, it’s a wife being unfaithful to her husband.”
Andrea shook her head. “But I didn't cuckold you. And truly, did you just send Roger Dalton away?” Andrea asked, awestruck. “That was all you did, Ivan? You really didn’t kill him?”
“Of course not. Regardless of what you
think of me, Andrea, I’m not a murderer. For your information, Dalton came on to you because Carl Cothane, the owner of the Roman Spa, gave him no choice in the matter.
“Cothane and I have been at odds with each other ever since I arrived in Vegas and he thought it would be a colossal joke if he embarrassed me publicly by enticing my new wife to make a fool of herself, which you so obligingly did.”
“I didn’t mean to embarrass you, Ivan,” Andrea tearfully protested. “I merely went to hear Roger sing. Yes, he did sing to me personally and that was uncomfortable and a little awkward, but it wasn’t my fault. If I had stormed out, it would have created more of a scene, wouldn’t it?”
“It was your fault for being there.”
Andrea slumped. “I suppose so. I can’t argue with that. I just hadn’t been anywhere in so long and I wanted to have some fun. Not with Roger,” she added quickly, as she saw the storm gathering in Ivan’s gray eyes.
“What I meant was that I just wanted to be around people for a change. I wanted to hear some music and laugh and just relax, that’s all. I’m sorry. How many times do you want me to say I’m sorry, Ivan?” she asked piteously. “What else can I say or do?”
“Nothing. What’s done is done. All that’s left is damage control. But I want you to know it will be a cold day in hell before I trust your judgment again.”
He studied her pensive face, hating to see she had lost weight, hating the circles beneath her eyes. It bothered him more than he wanted it to that she looked miserable and crushed. But even as wilted as she seemed, she still made the blood throb through his veins; still made him harden with desire.
“So, your period’s over?”
“Yes. Don’t you remember I told you that it usually only lasts three days at the most?”
“Stand up.”
She stood, lifting weary eyes to meet his.
“If you had a choice, Andrea, to leave me or stay, which would it be?”
Andrea sighed, hurt that he could even ask her that.
Again, the silence betrayed them both, leading Ivan to think she wanted to leave; leading Andrea to think nothing she could say would penetrate his wall of hatred and mistrust for her now, that it was just a matter of time before he discarded her.
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