Goddess of Vengeance - Jackie Collins [160]
‘Wanna give it a go?’
‘No, thank you.’
‘Can’t blame a dude for tryin’.’
‘However,’ Ellie said with a wicked smile, ‘if you were to suddenly change into Billy Melina—’
‘Fuck you!’ Kev said. Why was everything always about Billy?
‘No chance,’ Ellie said, laughing. ‘Not unless you cut off your dick and call yourself Daisy!’
* * *
Danny met Lennie at the top of the pathway that led to the villas. ‘Villa number four,’ he said, all business. ‘Apparently there’s been complaints about the noise coming from there.’
‘Noise?’
‘Music. My friend at the desk says there must be a party going on. One more complaint and they’re sending security.’
‘Why haven’t they done so already?’
‘They don’t like messing with the high rollers,’ Danny explained. ‘Bad for business.’
‘So you think Lucky walked in on a party?’ Lennie said.
Danny shrugged. ‘I don’t know. Armand Jordan didn’t strike me as a party animal unless it involves hookers.’
‘Why does Lucky do this?’ Lennie questioned.
‘Do what?’
‘Walk herself into situations she can’t control.’
‘She’s your wife.’
‘Thanks, Danny,’ Lennie said dryly. ‘I think I know that.’
‘I’m sure she’s fine,’ Danny said.
* * *
Fouad hurried down the pathway toward the villas. He had a bad feeling in his gut – something wasn’t right, he knew it. Leaving Armand alone to do whatever he felt like doing was not wise. Armand was too volatile a personality, he had to have some restraints. Fouad had always been the voice of reason, a calming influence. The truth was that Armand needed him.
It was cold out and quite dark, but Fouad could hear loud music ahead of him, and he was sure it must be coming from Armand’s villa.
As he got nearer, he suddenly encountered two people, a man wearing sunglasses at night, and a skinny raggedy-looking woman. Fouad might have passed them with a polite nod of acknowledgement, except for one thing. Between the two of them they were lugging one of Armand’s distinctive Louis Vuitton suitcases – his initials on the handle.
Immediately Fouad knew. It had to be the suitcase packed with money which Armand always insisted on bringing to Vegas. Over seven hundred and fifty thousand dollars in cash.
‘Excuse me,’ Fouad said.
Mikey stopped for a moment. ‘What?’ he snarled.
‘I think you have something that doesn’t belong to you.’
Chapter Sixty-Six
On the stroke of midnight, Mr O arrived in Las Vegas by private plane. A rented town car waited for him at a prearranged spot, the keys under the floor mat as he’d requested.
Mr O could have been a GQ model or a famous actor. He was black and beautiful, a cross between Denzel Washington and Blair Underwood. However, Mr O had chosen a different profession – a profession that would last as long as he wanted. A profession that paid him top dollar, because he was the best at what he did.
Mr O was a mechanic. A hit man. A solver of anyone’s problem – as long as the price was right.
Mr O was the best at what he did. And only the best hired him.
This was not the first job he was about to do for Martin Constantine, and it would not be the last.
Mr O always took care of business.
Chapter Sixty-Seven
Mikey was not about to accept shit from anyone. He’d had a trying evening, and now he was all set to take off with the prize – a suitcase stuffed full of Benjamins. The last thing Mikey needed was some random ass-wipe stopping him and telling him that the suitcase was not his.
Luscious hovered next to him, a shivery presence in her tiny skirt and top. She wouldn’t be any help in an argument, she was already a hindrance.
Mikey had decided that when they reached Randy’s car, he’d send her back ostensibly to get the others, then he’d drive off into the night, leaving them all behind. They were a worthless crew – including his big lox of a brother. The truth was he had no use for any of them.
Mikey took a long steady look at the man confronting him. He did not seem like a threat; he seemed nervous, which was good, because Mikey enjoyed making people nervous.
‘You wanna get outta my way, sport,’ he said, standing