Lucky

by Jackie Collins

  Chapter One-Hundred-Twenty-Eight

  The big man swooped down and picked Roberto up before Brigette could do anything. ‘Mr Bonnatti wants to see ya,’ he growled.

  Roberto tried vainly to wriggle free. Nobody on Hollywood Boulevard took any notice of the blonde teenager and the hulk of a man carrying a small yelling boy. Brigette figured she could make a run for it – but how could she possibly leave Bobby?

  ‘Who’s Mr Bonnatti?’ she asked, trying to sound brave.

  ‘Don’t worry about that,’ said the man. ‘Just tell the kid to shut up, an’ let’s go.’

  Dragging her feet she followed him back to Tim’s apartment.

  By the time they got there Tim was sitting on the couch. He looked white, but at least he wasn’t lying on the floor with someone’s foot at his throat.

  ‘Uh . . . Brigette,’ he said in a strained voice indicating Santino. ‘This man’s a friend of mine. We . . . er . . . we were involved in some hassle about money I owed. Everything’s okay now.’

  The hood put Roberto down, and the little boy promptly kicked him on the shin.

  Santino beamed. ‘I’m sorry if we upset ya. Just clearin’ up a few matters.’

  Brigette stared at Tim. Something wasn’t right and she knew it. ‘I want to take Bobby home,’ she said shakily.

  He wouldn’t look her in the eye. ‘You can’t,’ he said. ‘Not yet. You know we have it all planned.’

  ‘I’m gonna be a partner in ya little sting operation,’ Santino joined in smoothly.

  She hated him. He smelled of sickly sweet aftershave and made her skin crawl.

  ‘I don’t think I want to do it any more,’ she said uneasily.

  Santino leered. ‘No choice, chicken.’

  ‘Wanta go home. Wanta go home,’ Roberto chanted, jumping up and down.

  Santino walked over to Brigette and took her chin in the palm of his hand. ‘Sweet stuff. Young stuff,’ he crooned. ‘Howdja like to make me happy?’

  Panic flooded her body. ‘Don’t touch me,’ she warned, backing away.

  ‘Whacha gonna do about it?’ he asked, and with one fast move he pinned her arms and brought his fleshy lips down on hers, thrusting into her mouth with his thick tongue.

  She gagged and began to scream as she struggled free.

  Santino whacked her across the side of the face with all his strength. ‘Just shut up, ya stupid little cunt!’ he shouted.

  She fell to the floor and started to sob. Roberto ran over and bent to comfort her.

  Tim took a deep breath. Life wasn’t easy. He didn’t want this to happen, but there was nothing he could do to stop it.

  * * *

  Zeko was on her case with a vengeance.

  ‘I’m going shopping,’ Eden announced aloofly.

  ‘Mister Bonnatti said y’ain’t t’leave the house.’

  ‘Mr Bonnatti can go fuck himself.’

  Zeko shrugged. ‘He gives the orders. I just listens to ’em.’

  Eden tried another tactic. Maybe she could get the big goon to feel sorry for her. ‘Look at my face, Zeko,’ she said mournfully. ‘I’m all beaten up. I need special creams and lotions to put it right. Please take me out. I won’t tell him.’

  Zeko considered her request and nixed it. He knew better than to cross his boss when it came to a definite order.

  ‘You jerkoff asslicker!’ Eden screeched, realizing she was not winning him over. ‘No wonder you’re nothing but a dumb watchdog.’

  She slammed into her bedroom and tried to think of a way to escape. Santino had her locked up, a prisoner. Who knew what he was planning to do with her next? She had heard stories of mobster’s girlfriends being shipped over the border when they were finished with. Sent away to do time in some foreign brothel. Santino had told her of one girl who ended up hanging herself in a Mexican whorehouse.

  She shuddered. The house was rigged with alarms. She couldn’t even walk out the front door without bells signalling her departure. And even if she did, Blue Jay Way was high in the Hollywood Hills, and Zeko kept the car keys on a string around his neck.

  She picked up a lamp and hurled it across the room, sick with frustration.

  Then an idea came to her. A brilliant idea.

  There was somebody who could save her. One person.

  Chapter One-Hundred-Twenty-Nine

  ‘Paige Wheeler is in San Francisco. Nobody seems to know where she’s staying,’ said Costa wearily. ‘I, personally, have checked six of the best hotels. She’s not registered. Neither is Gino.’

  Lucky glanced up. She had just started reading Brigette’s diary. ‘Maybe she never went to San Francisco. Could be she and Gino are shacked up somewhere here. Have Alice and CeeCee start checking. Begin with the Beverly Hills Hotel, and then the Beverly Wilshire.’

  Costa nodded. ‘Have you found out anything?’

  ‘I’ll let you know.’

  Brigette’s writing was almost illegible, and her entries erratic. Lucky started with the most recent. It must have been written on the day before her disappearance.

  Dinner with you know who!!! Trader Vics. Got bombed, then went back to his place in Hollywood. Did everything!! Everything!!!!! Gave him coke for present, he was pleased, took rude pictures for fun! Wish I had pix of him. Next time I’ll ask him. He’s so amazing! I can’t believe it! Dread leaving. Stayed all night. Told Alice I was with a girlfriend. She’s so easy. I love Tim. I think he loves me!!!!

  So, his name was Tim. It was a start. Quickly Lucky flicked back over the pages. It was mostly all the same stuff, Bored! Boring! Alice is so dumb! And an occasional You know who hasn’t called yet.

  And then she hit pay dirt. The opening night of the Santangelo.

  Fantastic awesome evening!!! Met Tim Wealth! The only Tim Wealth! And he’s even better in the flesh, and I mean flesh! Finally did it, with him!!!! Can’t believe I did it. But he’s so fully cool and brilliant. Totally. I love him of course. Told him I was 18!!!

  Lucky dropped the diary and jumped up. Who the hell was Tim Wealth?

  She picked up the phone and reached Matt in Atlantic City. ‘Get hold of the guest list for opening night, and tell me who Tim Wealth is.’

  One thing about Matt, he was completely organized.

  Within minutes he had the list in front of him. ‘No Tim Wealth listed.’

  ‘Damn! Do you know who he is?’

  ‘No idea. Why? What’s up?’

  ‘Nothing I can go into now.’

  ‘Maybe Jess knows, hang on, I’ll get her.’

  Lucky glanced at her watch. It was coming up to one-thirty. Soon she would have to leave for the airport to meet Boogie and the money.

  Jess came on the line. ‘Tim Wealth starred in one movie about four years ago. He’s a good actor, I don’t know why he hasn’t done anything since. He just sort of faded into obscurity.’

  ‘He was at our opening. Right?’

  ‘I didn’t see him.’

  ‘Jess. Please tell Matt to find out his current address immediately, and to call me at once at Lennie’s house. It’s urgent.’

  ‘I don’t believe this! I was with Lennie in L.A. last night. He didn’t tell me you two were—’

  ‘Is Lennie in L.A.?’ Lucky asked, surprised.

  ‘Aren’t you with him?’

  ‘No. I’m at his house because – look – I can’t go into it now. Where can I reach him?’

  Jess was perplexed. She couldn’t figure out what was going on. ‘He’s staying at his old apartment.’ She gave Lucky the number.

  Costa entered the room. ‘Gino was registered at the Beverly Wilshire. He checked out an hour ago.’

  ‘Shit!’ exclaimed Lucky angrily.

  ‘What?’ questioned Jess.

  ‘Nothing. Get me that address.’

  She hung up. Costa looked worn out. ‘Why don’t you go to the hospital and visit Ria and the baby,’ she suggested. ‘There’s nothing else you can do around here.’

  ‘I’m coming t
o the airport with you,’ he said.

  ‘No you’re not.’

  ‘Yes I am.’

  ‘Go visit your baby, Costa. It’s just a question of timing now. I think I know who has the kids.’

  ‘Calmly you tell me! Who? What?’

  ‘I’ll have an address in a minute.’

  She closed her eyes. Her head was pounding. This was the nightmare of her life. She thought of Lennie, and wanted to call him. But what could he do except interfere? She had to do this her way. No outside help. Not even Lennie.

  The phone rang. She grabbed it.

  ‘I don’t know how I do it, but I always do,’ Matt said smugly, and he gave her an address for Tim Wealth.

  Chapter One-Hundred-Thirty

  A stretch. A yawn. Lennie had worked enough for one day. His scribble filled thirty pages. Not bad. He was on a roll, the script was coming nicely.

  Maybe he should call Alice, couldn’t put off giving her the good news forever. Lazily he reached for the phone, and it rang as his hand hovered over it. It could only be Jess, reporting on her trip. She had taken a ride into New York on a Lear jet owned by a dissolute record producer who swapped boyfriends the way some people swap Christmas presents.

  ‘Hiya. Good flight? How many attendants did little Mary Sunshine have?’ he asked cheerily.

  ‘How’d you know it was me?’

  ‘Because,’ he explained patiently, ‘you are the only person who knows where I am.’

  ‘Not any more.’

  He groaned. ‘Who have you told?’

  There was a smile in her voice. ‘Lucky.’

  He tried to sound disinterested. ‘Oh yeah?’

  ‘I thought you wouldn’t mind.’

  He didn’t know whether he minded or not. He wanted to see her – desperately. On the other hand he wasn’t so sure if it was too soon. They both needed time to adjust.

  ‘Why’d you do that?’

  ‘Actually,’ Jess said, ‘she’s over at your house now.’

  ‘Olympia’s house,’ he corrected.

  ‘I don’t care who the house belongs to, she’s there.’

  ‘Doing what?’

  ‘Sounding fraught.’

  ‘Can you be more explicit?’

  ‘Call her.’

  ‘You’re a big help.’

  ‘Do it.’

  ‘Piss off.’

  He hung up and made a decision. He wouldn’t call, he would go there. He needed to see her more than anything else in the world.

  * * *

  Brigette knew something was terribly wrong. Roberto and she were caught in an evil trap, and it was all her fault. Fright racked her body as they huddled together in the back of a car with rough thugs on either side. Santino sat in the front, next to a stony-faced driver. He leaned over the seats and chatted pleasantly.

  ‘I got plans for y’two kids,’ he said. ‘We’re gonna do things together ya thought only the big boys an’ girls could do.’ He leered at Brigette. ‘Ya think that crap actor was somethin’, wait ’til we get it on, chicken.’

  She shuddered, and held tightly on to Roberto. For the first time in her life she was truly afraid, and not just for herself. For Bobby, who was only a baby. And for Tim. What had they done with him? She’d been hustled from the apartment and made to wait in the car for fifteen minutes. When Santino appeared, Tim was not with him.

  ‘Stop snivellin’,’ Santino growled at Roberto.

  ‘Where’s Tim?’ she asked fearfully.

  ‘How was he in the sack?’ Santino leered. ‘Hot stuff, honey? I’ll show ya hot stuff. I’ll show both of ya.’

  Chapter One-Hundred-Thirty-One

  There was just time to stop by the address Matt had given her for Tim Wealth before heading full speed to the airport. It turned out to be a house on Laurel Canyon.

  The two men ‘lent’ her by Gino’s old business associate were low key and youngish. Both seemed sharp-witted and competent. They called themselves Caveman and The Guardian. A third man drove the car, a 1980 Lincoln with a telephone.

  She filled them in on the action, and they nodded as if they had been involved in this sort of scam all their lives.

  The house on Laurel Canyon had gates and an electric entry system. The servant who answered was willing to buzz them through after three simple words. ‘Sparkletts water delivery.’

  They drove to the back entrance and waited for the door to open. Then Caveman and The Guardian stepped by the startled houseman, flashing phoney FBI cards and guns.

  Lucky followed. She liked their style.

  They checked the house quickly and methodically. The ground floor was deserted. Upstairs, the owner of the house sat in the centre of a purple circular water bed watching a soap opera and blowing his nose. ‘God save me!’ he twittered, as they invaded his bedroom.

  Lucky took command. ‘Drug squad.’ She stepped forward. ‘We have a warrant for Tim Wealth.’

  The man fluttered well-manicured fingernails. ‘A scene from one of my own movies! Don’t hurt me, I’ll do anything you ask.’

  ‘Tim Wealth,’ she said menacingly.

  ‘I haven’t seen him in weeks. He moved out with two of my favourite Guccis, eight hundred dollars, three cameras, and a clutch of cashmere. Actors! Never again!’

  ‘Do you have an address for him?’ she asked authoritively.

  ‘I don’t have one and I don’t want one.’ He fidgeted uncomfortably. ‘Are you sure you’re from the drug squad? You look awfully familiar.’ He squinted. ‘I think I must see your search warrant.’

  ‘Look – we have to find him,’ she said sharply. ‘And if you don’t tell me where we can locate him, then you’ll be booked as an accessory. Am I making myself clear?’

  ‘Try his agent, Zack Schaeffer.’ He peered at her, searching his memory, and then it came to him. ‘Is this some sort of ridiculous joke?’ he asked peevishly. ‘You’re that woman from the Santangelo Hotel in Atlantic City. I was at the opening . . .’ He struggled clumsily from the bed, resplendent in purple pyjamas. ‘My God! This is one of those TV shows isn’t it? Where are the cameras? Oh God! I’ll be a laughing stock. I refuse permission, you’ll never be able to use it. I’ll sue. I’ll . . .’

  His words floated after them as they hurried from the house.

  * * *

  On his way to Bel Air, Lennie rehearsed his lines. Nothing intense, yet not too casual. Hey, I left Olympia. No. Too impersonal. How about – Yeah. I finally made the move. Or even better – Lucky, what are you doing here? Did you know Olympia and I separated?

  Christ! He felt sixteen. Why couldn’t he just tell her his feelings?

  He entered the house and sensed something was wrong immediately. Alice lay on a couch in the living room, pale and wan. She clutched a glass of amber liquid, while a middle-aged man of Lilliputian size sat beside her, eyes glued to a flickering television.

  ‘What’s going on?’ Lennie looked around and didn’t like the whole scene. He had clearly told his mother not to bring any of her friends to the house.

  ‘Lennie! My son,’ Alice fluttered, sitting up and gesturing dramatically. ‘They’ve kidnapped Bobby and Brigette. They’ve taken the babies.’

  Chapter One-Hundred-Thirty-Two

  There were three cars parked in the driveway of the Bonnatti residence. Steven pulled up behind a sickly yellow Toyota in the Hertz Ford he had rented at the airport. A call to the hospital in New York on arrival had given him the news that Mary-Lou was hanging in there. Carrie had elected to stay with Mary-Lou’s family at the hospital when he informed her that he had to go immediately to Los Angeles. ‘Why?’ she had asked, with concern.

  ‘Because sometimes,’ he had replied calmly, ‘the law does not cover getting through the day.’

  ‘I don’t understand . . .’

  It didn’t matter whether she understood or not. He knew what he had to do.

  He got out of his rented car and rang the doorbell.

  Donatella Bonnatti herself ans
wered the door. For years Santino had tried to train her to use servants, but Donatella had no use for people waiting on her, she preferred to be a martyr and do everything herself. ‘You thinka they clean? No! They cleana like shit!’ she would complain hotly. ‘You thinka they cook? Pasta shit they cook!’ So while Santino surrounded himself with bodyguards, Donatella preferred the company of two elderly Italian aunts who did things the old way and came by the house three times a week.

  Today she was on her own. And even though it was Saturday, she had decided to scrub down the vast kitchen floor while Santino and the children were out.

  She came to the front door, hair awry, plain features shining with the sweat of hard work, a flowered cotton housedress covering her considerable bulk.

  ‘Whata ya want?’ she asked, looking Steven up and down.

  Naturally he assumed she was the maid. In one hand she held an old-fashioned broom which she leaned on as she surveyed him with sharp Sicilian eyes.

  He spoke slowly, measuredly. ‘I need to speak to Santino Bonnatti. It’s a matter of urgency.’

  She sucked on a hard candy. ‘You gotta the appointment?’

  ‘I flew in from New York. I came straight from the airport. Is Mr Bonnatti home?’

  Donatella was not aware Santino was doing business with blacks. He told her nothing. She only knew his secretiveness sometimes drove her mad. As her husband, he should share things with her, but he confided nothing.

  ‘Whatsa this about?’ she asked.

  ‘Who are you?’ Steven replied.

  She laughed hoarsely. ‘You think I’ma the maid, huh? I know, I know.’ She smoothed down her housedress. ‘Nobody worka their ass in Beverly Hills. I’ma Mrs Bonnatti.’

  * * *

  Gino and Paige stopped for a leisurely lunch somewhere along the Pacific Coast Highway. They enjoyed fresh lobster and a bottle of wine. They enjoyed each other’s company.