Vendetta: Lucky's Revenge

by Jackie Collins

  The look in her deadly black eyes convinced him to do exactly as she said.

  Lucky didn’t linger; she was on her way back to L.A. as soon as she’d obtained the photos and negatives from Michel Guy. She’d also made him sign a letter relinquishing all rights as Brigette’s agent.

  “Believe me, Michel,” Lucky had told him. “You’re getting off easy.”

  He believed her. Fucking with Lucky would be a big mistake, and Michel was too smart to make that kind of mistake.

  Boogie met her at LAX. They drove in silence to her house. Brigette was asleep when she got there. Lucky slipped the envelope containing the incriminating photos and negatives under her door, then she went to bed herself.

  In the morning she awoke early and switched on the TV, watching while she dressed.

  Morton Sharkey and Sara Durbon were on the morning news.

  At eleven P.M. the previous evening, he’d blown both their brains out.

  59

  THE NEWS OF MORTON SHARKEY’S DEMISE WAS A big shock to Lucky, she hadn’t realized he was in such an unbalanced state. According to the police report, Morton had walked in on Sara when she was preparing to split for Vegas. They’d had a big fight, overheard by the woman in the next apartment. The fight had culminated in two gunshots. The neighbor had called the police. Before they could get there, Sara’s girlfriend had arrived to fetch her, and discovered the bodies. She’d run screaming from the building.

  Lucky felt sad, because whatever Morton had done, he didn’t deserve to die for it. It was especially tragic that he’d taken Sara with him—poor little Sara, who’d only wanted to eat hamburgers and make money.

  Lucky immediately tried to contact Morton’s wife. Candice was too distraught to come to the phone. Instead, Lucky spoke to his daughter, who accepted her condolences.

  There was only one person to blame for his death—Donna Landsman.

  Lucky realized she must get hold of Donna’s set of photographs of Brigette, and also the incriminating tape of Morton with Sara. At least let the man rest with dignity. He’d had the decency to transfer his shares back to her, and her lawyer assured her that everything would be cleared with Inga by the end of the day. Tomorrow, Panther would be hers again.

  Through Kyoko’s studio connection she found out Mickey Stolli’s movements for the next day. He was lunching with Freddie Leon at the Palm.

  “As soon as he leaves the studio,” Lucky instructed Boogie, “arrange to have his furniture cleared out, and mine put back in. When he returns from lunch, I’ll be waiting to greet him. Make sure Donna Landsman is there, too.”

  Boogie nodded. “There shouldn’t be a problem.”

  Brigette was ecstatic when she’d found the photographs under her door. “I promise I’ll never do anything to make you ashamed of me again,” she said fervently. “I’m going to do nothing but work, work, work; you’ll be really proud of me.”

  “It wasn’t your fault,” Lucky said. “Don’t ever think it was.”

  “Did you, uh…look at the photos?” Brigette asked, embarrassed.

  “No,” Lucky lied. She’d had to check them out to make sure they were the right ones; she didn’t mention that there was another set. Boogie was already arranging for a professional safecracker to stage a raid on Donna’s house.

  “What did Michel say?” Brigette asked.

  “Forget about that lowlife,” Lucky replied. “The good news is that your contract with him is null and void, he collects no commissions on the jeans deal, and I’m setting you up with another top agency.”

  “Thanks, Lucky,” Brigette said, relieved and happy. “Nobody could have done it but you.”

  Later in the day Lucky called Johnny Romano. “Have you got ten minutes if I drop by?”

  “For you—baby—anything.”

  She drove over to his house, a neoclassic mansion in Bel Air with more marble than a mausoleum. A stunning black girl, dressed in a tight white suit and extremely high stiletto heels, led her into the games room where Johnny was playing pool with a couple of gofers. He greeted her with a hug and a kiss.

  “I need a favor,” she said. “It’s kind of a weird one…”

  “Nothing’s too weird for me,” Johnny said, leading her over to a futuristic pinball machine.

  “Well…” she said, watching Johnny play with his new toy. “There’s this very expensive French call girl…”

  “Tell me more,” he said, intrigued.

  “She’s flying to L.A. from Paris because she’s under the impression she’s been bought as a birthday gift for you.”

  He laughed. “For me?”

  “That’s right.”

  “Baby—it ain’t even my birthday!”

  “I know that.”

  His sleepy eyes lit up. “Is this some kind of kinky sex thing you’re into? ’Cause if it is, y’know I’m into it, too.”

  “It’s more complicated than that—it’s to do with Lennie,” she said, proceeding to tell him of her suspicions. “While you’re with her, I’ll be in the other room with a listening device.”

  “Detective work,” he said, nodding to himself. “I like it! When we do this?”

  “She’s arriving tonight, I’ve booked her into a bungalow at the Beverly Hills Hotel. Boogie will pick her up at the airport and take her straight there. Will you do it for me?”

  “Baby, you can count on Johnny Romano—he’s your man!”

  The immigration officer eyed the delectable blond in the Chanel suit reeking of some incredible, exotic scent, and decided she was worth his full attention.

  “How long do you plan on staying in America?” he asked, eyes dropping to her rounded breasts with the prominent nipples straining the material of her blouse.

  “Maybe a few days,” Daniella Dion said vaguely.

  “Is your trip business or pleasure?” he inquired, craning over his desk to get a better look at her sensational legs, showcased in an extremely short skirt.

  “A little bit of both.”

  “And what business are you in?”

  “Lingerie,” she said.

  “Lingerie,” he repeated, his throat suddenly dry.

  “That’s right,” she said with a small, provocative smile.

  He stamped her passport and reluctantly watched her step away from his desk. He couldn’t wait to get home and make love to his overweight wife, this blond definitely had him revved.

  Daniella sauntered through customs and located the driver standing outside with her name printed on a large white card.

  “Please follow me, Miss Dion,” Boogie said politely, taking her carry-on bag. “Is this your only luggage?”

  She nodded.

  “Then we can go straight to the car,” he said, leading her down the escalator and through the doors to where the limousine was parked.

  Holding open the back door, he watched her slide onto the shiny leather seat. She was spectacular. Even Boogie was impressed.

  He got behind the wheel of the limo and took off. “We’ll go straight to the Beverly Hills Hotel,” he said, keeping an eye on her in the rearview mirror. “Unless you wish to stop somewhere first?”

  “No,” she said. “You may take me to the hotel directly.”

  “There’s Evian, Scotch, or vodka in the back. Please help yourself.”

  “Nothing, thank you.”

  “Your first trip to L.A.?” he asked conversationally.

  “I’m tired,” she said, a touch petulantly. “I don’t wish to talk. Please close the partition.”

  He shut the dark-glass partition and called Lucky at the hotel. “We’re on our way,” he said.

  “Hey, baby—I want you to know I broke a date to accommodate you tonight,” Johnny said, prowling around the luxurious bungalow at the Beverly Hills Hotel.

  “So, I owe you one,” Lucky said. “After I get the studio back, you can come to me with any script you want to make, and we’re in business. That’s a promise.”

  “You don’t owe me a
nythin’, Lucky. You’re the one who turned my career around.”

  “You’d have worked it out eventually.”

  “Yeah, but you made me change.”

  “No. All I did was make you realize the smart way. Why do you think Clint Eastwood has lasted all these years? And Robert Redford? They won’t play guys who beat up on women. They’re the hero everybody loves; I knew you could be that guy, too. And now you are.”

  “You bet your fine ass,” he said, grinning.

  His sexism didn’t bother her, she was used to Johnny, he reminded her of a boisterous puppy.

  “Can we go over the questions again?” she asked.

  “Go ahead, baby,” Johnny said.

  “Okay. When you’ve got her in bed, you say, ‘I know about you and Lennie in Corsica.’ Then she’ll probably say, ‘What are you talking about?’ Then you say, ‘You were paid to set him up.’”

  “And after that?”

  “Well, you’ll have her naked in bed—vulnerable—in a strange country. I guess, depending on what she says, I’ll come into the room and ask her myself.”

  “Hey, Lucky,” he said, grinning slyly. “You’re payin’ all this money—you want I should do the deed?”

  “Whatever turns you on.”

  He shook his head and laughed. “I never paid for pussy, an’ baby—I ain’t startin’ now.”

  “Let me remind you, I’m paying, and she’s very expensive. Maybe you should get our money’s worth.”

  “There’s not a condom big enough for me to stick Romano—the magic eye—into a hooker.”

  Romano—the magic eye! Was he kidding! “Very delicately put,” she said, trying to keep from laughing.

  “Just tellin’ you the way it is.”

  “Okay,” Lucky said, hoping Johnny could handle it. “Just remember—she’s your birthday present; when I’ve got my answers, you can do whatever you like.”

  Daniella sat in the back of the limo, blankly gazing out of the window. She wasn’t fond of traveling and the plane journey had been long and tiring, although she should be used to long hours on a plane because her business often took her out of Paris. One of her regular clients was a Saudi prince who paid an enormous amount of money for her to visit him at his palace in Saudi Arabia once a month; another client was an Indian maharaja who sent for her to come to Bombay several times a year; then there was the Australian media king who summoned her to Sydney twice a year to entertain him and his wife on their birthdays.

  She’d made up her mind that the day her bank balance reached a certain level, she would quit altogether and vanish. She’d take her small daughter and buy a quaint old farmhouse in Tuscany where they could live in peace.

  Daniella didn’t care if she never saw another man again. They were animals, all of them. They paid for sex and then imagined they owned her. Stupid fools. They never owned her, they merely borrowed her body for the time it took.

  She opened her purse, removed an elaborate solid-gold compact—a gift from the prince—and inspected her face. I am beautiful, she thought, but is that all they see?

  Yes, she told herself, that’s all they see.

  She took a Valium from her purse, and popped it in her mouth, washing it down with a bottle of Evian. Then she reached beneath her blouse, touching her breasts with the tips of her fingers, twisting her nipples until they began to harden.

  As soon as she’d aroused herself, she reached under her skirt, parted her legs, and methodically began rubbing her pussy.

  She was so practiced in the art of self-gratification that it took only seconds before she reached a satisfying orgasm.

  Gasping aloud, she fell back on the seat, closing her eyes, allowing the sweet sensation to wash over her.

  Early on in her career she’d decided that no man would ever be allowed the privilege of making her come. She wanted the power over them, not the other way around. Since then she’d always taken care of herself before an appointment. That way she made sure that whatever they did to her, she was always in control of her feelings.

  Adjusting her skirt, she sat up straight, preparing herself for the evening ahead with Johnny Romano. He might be a movie star, but that was not an unusual client for Daniella. She’d had many other movie stars before him. She’d had kings and princes. She’d had politicians. She’d once had a president.

  Tonight was going to be no different from any other night. Business as usual.

  60

  DANIELLA DRANK PERNOD AND WATER.

  Johnny drank Cristal champagne.

  Daniella smoked a strong French cigarette.

  Johnny smoked a joint.

  And he stared at her…and couldn’t stop staring, because she was the classiest blond he’d ever seen. Like a young Catherine Deneuve, she sat opposite him, cool and collected, legs crossed, expression attentive, everything about her perfect.

  They’d exchanged a few pleasantries—things like “How was your trip,” “This is a lovely hotel,” etc. Now she waited patiently for him to make the first move. And even though he knew Lucky was impatiently prowling around in the second bedroom with a radio device, picking up everything they said, he wasn’t inclined to rush this little scene.

  Daniella realized she’d better initiate the action. “What do you like, Johnny?” she asked in her low, throaty voice. “What really turns you on?”

  I like the look of you, he wanted to say. I like your accent…. I like your smooth, creamy skin…your legs…your face…. I like the whole classy package.

  He couldn’t believe she was a hooker, there had to be some mistake. “You seen any of my movies, baby?” he asked, snapping his fingers—a nervous habit he’d acquired after Warner had dumped him. “Am I big in Paris?”

  “Oh, yes, Johnny,” she replied, not sure if he was or wasn’t. “Very big.”

  The truth was that she’d barely heard of him, and she’d certainly never seen any of his movies. Although she did remember a cover story in Paris Match, where he was photographed at the Playboy mansion draped in blonds. Typical.

  “I guess they dub me in French over there, huh?” he asked, desperately trying to impress.

  “I’m sure,” she murmured.

  “I hope they hire the right actor,” he said anxiously. “What do you think of the voice they use?”

  “Excellent,” she said, although she had no idea what he was talking about.

  Sitting in the other bedroom, Lucky couldn’t believe it. What was Johnny after—a review?

  Maybe she should have met with Daniella by herself and asked the questions. Too late now.

  While she was at the hotel, Boogie was organizing a raid on Donna’s safe. He’d paid off one of the Landsmans’ servants to get a map of her house and knew exactly where the safe was located. The Landsmans were out to dinner, and the man they’d hired to do the job was an expert who could get into the safe, remove the items Lucky wanted, close it, and Donna would never know anything was missing until she went looking.

  Lucky took a deep breath. Tomorrow she’d get Panther back. She couldn’t wait to see Donna’s face. Mickey’s, too. Those two deserved each other.

  Johnny was still droning on about his movie career in France. What was the matter with him? She’d picked Johnny because he was supposedly the stud of the century. Apparently he was a slow starter—either that, or this woman didn’t turn him on.

  Daniella stood up, sensually slipping off the jacket of her pink Chanel suit. Underneath, she wore a white sleeveless blouse. “I’m hot,” she murmured, fanning herself with her hands.

  “Yeah, it is hot in here,” Johnny agreed. “Should I put on the air-conditioning?”

  American idiot, Daniella thought. He might be a movie star, but he is an idiot. Why doesn’t he make a move?

  Ah, well…it was obvious the seduction was up to her. She hoped he wasn’t going to be like her last American movie star…Lennie Golden. Lennie had been completely resistant to her charms.

  Daniella had never had that ha
ppen to her before. At the time, she’d been quite shocked, then impressed, because there was nothing more attractive than an incorruptible man.

  She slowly unbuttoned her blouse, shrugging it off, revealing a white-lace nippleless bra. Her breasts were enclosed, the nipples bursting free. Johnny gave a low groan of appreciation. Next, she unzipped her skirt and stepped out of it. Underneath, she wore an old-fashioned white garter belt, sheer stockings, and a white lace thong.

  She leisurely sashayed over to Johnny, standing in front of him, legs apart so that her crotch was eye level. “Your move,” she purred provocatively.

  He was immediately aroused. This woman was his all-time fantasy. A lady in the living room; a whore in the bedroom. He wondered if she cooked, too.

  “Have you ever thought about being in movies?” he asked, squeezing the insides of her creamy thighs.

  “No,” she replied, “I never have.”

  “You could be. You’re gorgeous, baby.”

  “Thank you,” she said, hitching his fingers into the edge of her thong, slowly helping him pull it down until her blond, fluffy pubic hair was only inches from his face.

  He stared at her bush, then gazed up at her nipples—so rosy and erect. Jesus! Enough was enough. He could only take so much. He stood up. “Put your arms around my neck,” he commanded. She did as he asked. “Now wrap your legs around my waist.”

  She did that also.

  He carried her into the bedroom, placing her on the edge of the bed.

  She lay back, gazing up at him expectantly. He gripped her ankles, spreading her legs.

  “Shall I undress you?” she asked, noting his bulging erection.

  “Later,” he said. “Right now I’m gonna eat your pussy.”

  “No!” she said quickly, knowing it was foolish to object to anything a client required, but too tired to care.