Goddess of Vengeance - Jackie Collins [141]
The money she brought in helped. Eventually they might want to buy a house, or maybe get hitched and start a family. But that was way off in their future. Right now it was all about enjoying themselves, and if there was one thing Randy excelled at, it was enjoying himself.
He considered Luscious’s hurried words over the phone. Get your ass over here, we got ourselves a live one.
That could mean anything. A live one as opposed to a dead body lying in a motel room. It had happened to Luscious several months ago. Some dude with a weak heart had expired beneath her. She’d called Randy in a panic, and he’d advised her to wipe the room clean and get the fuck out. Which she’d done. No ramifications there.
An’ bring the crack pipe, your piece, an’ your big old self.
Was this for a party? Or was he supposed to make a sale?
Randy didn’t like it when she called him old. He was only twenty-eight, and yeah, some people might consider him big – two hundred and thirty pounds of pure muscle – but he was also big in all the right places, something that had always helped him on his journey through life. It was the one thing he had over Mikey – a bigger hot rod that drove into female territory like a motherfucker.
Thinking of Mikey, he considered whether he should bring him in on this. He had to admit that Mikey was the brains of the family, and he was the brawn. So if – as Luscious had said – We’re about to make us some real money – wasn’t including Mikey the right thing to do?
Besides, Mikey was the one with the decent piece. A Glock semi-automatic pistol. And – even more important – he knew how to use it.
Yeah, Mikey was the man.
Randy pulled up his pants and reached for the phone to summon his big brother.
* * *
Slumped back on the couch, Armand’s mind was veering off in all different directions. He’d never combined alcohol and cocaine before – especially different kinds of alcohol. He’d had several tequila shots followed by limoncello chasers earlier at the hotel bar with Annabelle. Then he’d killed at least two bottles of champagne – Cristal – only the best for Armand. Now he was feeling quite disoriented.
The whores weren’t dancing, although the music continued loud and raucous, the harsh beat throbbing through Armand’s brain. One of the whores had fallen into a naked drunken stupor on the couch. She was snoring, her mouth open, her huge breasts flopping around.
‘What’s wrong with her?’ he muttered to the skinny whore, who for some unknown reason was standing by the bar holding a phone, her scrawny tattooed body quite nude.
‘Got someone on the way,’ she informed him. ‘Someone who’s gonna do whatever you need done.’ A crafty pause, then, ‘For a price, of course.’
For a price, Armand digested her words. For a price.
What was this someone supposed to do for a price?
Then he remembered. They were going to blow Lucky Santangelo’s brains out.
Yes, that was it.
And he would pay whatever it took.
* * *
Randy picked his brother up in his super-charged gold Dodge.
Mikey was standing outside his house, a sinister figure clad all in black, including oblique tinted sunglasses, which he wore day and night. Nobody ever saw Mikey without his shades, including Seducta, who’d once asked him to take them off and received a whack across the face for her trouble.
Mikey and Randy shared a mother, not a father. Mikey’s dad, a hardened criminal, was doing life in prison. While Randy’s dad – a former bodybuilder – sat at home picking up a disability pension.
Mikey was not big and tall like his younger brother, he was slight of build and less than five feet eight. To compensate he wore black snakeskin cowboy boots with three-inch semi-concealed heels, and a secret compartment where he stashed a six-inch hunting knife.
Whenever Randy and Mikey hit the town with their significant others, people always assumed that Mikey was with Luscious, and Seducta with Randy.