Deadly Embrace Jackie Collins (the reader ebook .TXT) 📖

long greasy hair and the sharp pointed nose, craned his neck to see how she was taking that piece of information.

She rewarded him with a stony glare.

‘Tell you one thing,’ the gunman in the back chortled, ‘the bitch got herself a set of balls.’

‘Well,’ she said evenly, ‘that’s more than I can say for you.’

Gus lived in a big, modern house in the Hollywood Hills. It resembled the house that Mel Gibson had managed to destroy in one of the Lethal Weapon movies. Very stark, very white, with large abstract paintings on the walls. The L.A. life obviously suited Gus.

Michael sat on a high bar stool in the all chrome and black kitchen and clicked on the TV. The pretty blonde newscaster on Channel Two was still talking about the hostage situation. ‘Three of the hostages abducted from Mario’s were recently found outside an abandoned building in the industrial area downtown. Well-known radio and TV personality Natalie De Barge was one of them. The hostages were able to give police an accurate description of the three wanted gunmen.’

Christ! Michael thought. Natalie was one of the hostages too.

He picked up the phone and tried her number. She wasn’t there, probably still with the cops. He left his cellphone number on her voicemail.

The newscaster continued her report. ‘Journalist Madison Castelli is still missing. Lila Hartford, the young woman thrown from the van on the freeway, was rushed to the hospital and is currently undergoing surgery. To sum up, two dead, one seriously injured and one missing. The rest of the hostages are apparently safe.’

When Gus returned to the kitchen with the same story, Michael said sharply, ‘This changes things. I’m not finished with Bone until I know where Madison is.’

‘You sure he’s responsible?’ Gus asked.

‘I’m sure,’ Michael said grimly.

‘Okay, so what d’you wanna do?’

‘Go ahead with the plan.’

‘You got it,’ Gus said. ‘The guys are ready. How soon you wanna roll?’

‘Now,’ Michael said. ‘Let’s get this done.’

Chapter Fifty-seven

Wednesday, 11 July 2001, 1.30 a.m.

Mamie and Bone had created a monument to bad taste. They called it home. Home was an overbuilt, overdecorated, neo-classical disaster in the hills of Bel Air. A porno empire translated into mega-bucks. Mamie had finally come into her own. The once impoverished hairdresser from Queens now considered herself the lady of the manor and, as such, had surrounded herself with rooms full of ornate, gilded furniture, elaborate chandeliers, baroque mirrors on every wall, nude paintings of men and women, and a lifesize nude bronze sculpture of herself in the grand foyer. She considered her home to be her palace. Two security guards working eight-hour shifts guarded it along with two ferocious Dobermans.

In spite of all her riches, Mamie still wanted more. Which is why she’d been so peeved when Michael had refused to acknowledge the money Vito had promised her upon his demise. Not that she cared much about the money–she was richer than she’d ever dreamed–but how dare Michael think he could get away with keeping it?

Mamie did not appreciate being crossed, especially by a piece of shit like little Mikey Castellino. Oh, yes, he might strut round calling himself Michael Castelli, big businessman with his investments and estate and shopping centres. But she knew the real truth about his humble beginnings. And she knew how to punish him too.

Years ago he’d narrowly escaped getting convicted for that Cuban slut’s murder. Let’s see him squirm his way out of this mess. It was common knowledge that his wife had left him for a younger man. So who would doubt that a man with such a murky past was not responsible for the murder of his wife and her young lover? No question at all when it became known they had both been shot with his gun.

And this time there was no Vito with his powerful connections to help out.

Mamie cackled at the thought.

Then, just to torture him further, she’d arranged to have his daughter snatched. He’d hear his precious Madison was gone while sitting in his jail cell, and there was absolutely nothing he could do about it. Mamie had plans for Madison. As soon as Serge, her guard, alerted her that Madison was on the premises, the girl would be drugged, and tomorrow she’d be shipped off to a brothel in Pakistan. They paid top dollar for white girls.

Finally she’d got Michael back for shooting her beloved cousin Roy. And for being the son of that Italian tramp Vinny had chosen over her. Beth’s murder had not punished him enough. Vengeance, all these years later, was very sweet.

To celebrate, Mamie had ordered up two exquisite call girls for the night, paying them three thousand bucks each for the pleasure of their company.

It was one of the advantages of living in L.A.: every year a new batch of ambitious young would-be actresses came to the city–hence a better-looking class of hookers.

Mamie was into girls.

Bone was into watching.

Theirs was the perfect marriage.

The two call-girls, Heather and Tawny, went about their business with taut, toned bodies, matching capped teeth and practised smirks. Their sexual activities seemed almost choreographed.

Bone, sitting on a chair in a red silk robe with his fake orange suntan and dyed black hair, watched every move like a snake about to pounce.

Mamie hovered round the two girls with their silicone-enhanced breasts and smooth, tanned bodies, waiting for an opportunity to join in. Liposuction, daily massages, collagen, Botox, and once-a-month high colonics kept her from falling totally apart, although she was still a pretty scary sight with her crêpey skin, predatory eyes, and bottle-blonde hair.

Both Mamie and Bone popped Viagra, claiming it kept them young and vital, instead of just plain horny and disgusting.

Effortlessly Heather raised her long, suntanned legs above her shoulders. Her tiny strip of pubic hair matched the blonde hair on her head.

This was Mamie’s cue to dive in. And dive in she did, sucking out the juices of a