The Target
Page 50
- Background:
- Text Font:
- Text Size:
- Line Height:
- Line Break Height:
- Frame:
"Alenon! Get in here!"
A skinny young guy with acne and stringy blond hair stuck his head around the corner. "Yes, boss?" Even the kid's voice was stringy, with little substance.
"Get me one of the girls, one who just might know how to unknot my neck and shoulders."
Alenon was back in under five minutes towing a small black-haired girl who couldn't have been more than sixteen. She looked like a baby. Was she one of the groupies who trailed after him like a pack of puppies? He didn't recognize her.
"This is Karolina, sir. She says her mother's a masseuse. She says she knows what to do."
Louey looked into the girl's eyes. She might be sixteen in years, but not in experience. He nodded. "Hello, Karolina. Can you help me?"
She said in excellent English, "It is my pleasure to help you, Mr. Santera. Is your daughter all right? I read in the newspaper that she was kidnapped."
What the hell was this? "What newspaper?"
"The Berliner Zeitung. There was an article about you. At the bottom, there was a sentence about your daughter being kidnapped. The reporter wrote it happened somewhere out in America's Wild West. I'm very sorry."
How had the reporter known? Hell, when she wasn't listening to him speak or writing down what he said or wrapping her legs around him, there hadn't been any time for her to find out anything. He'd just muttered something about Emma, not even a complete sentence. She must have called Denver. He turned to Karolina. "You speak English better than that reporter did."
"My mother is American."
"Oh," Louey said, rubbing his neck. He watched as Karolina efficiently covered the massage table with its soft flannel sheet. She stood back. Louey smiled. Slowly, he undressed for her. She didn't say a word. When he started to pull down his jockey shorts, she stepped forward, holding a towel out wide in front of him.
When she was rubbing his feet, she said, "I'm in Al-Anon. It's for children whose parents are alcoholics. Why do you use it as a name for Rudy?"
Rudy. That was the kid's name? He shrugged, a small movement because he was lying flat on his stomach. "Because it amuses me."
"I see," Karolina said as she moved up the table. He felt her hands dig into his shoulders. He closed his eyes.
It was the best massage of his life. When he woke up two hours later, Karolina was gone.
Alenon was standing there, watching him. For how long? Had he snored? Drooled? "What do you want?"
"I have a message from Mr. Lord for you."
"Oh no," Louey said and sat up, pulling the sheet to his waist. "When did the old man call? What did he want?"
"It was actually a man who said he was calling for Mr. Lord. He said he didn't need to speak to you. He said that your daughter is safe again, with Mr. Lord, at his house. That was all."
Rudy Brinker watched one of the most talented men in the world lower his head in his hands. He looked sad, broken. But his voice, when he spoke, was vicious. Rudy listened to him curse for a good thirty seconds. Then he quietly let himself out of Mr. Santera's room. He went down the hall to Mr. Murdock's room and knocked twice.
The ugliest man Rudy had ever seen answered the knock.
14
MASON LORD SWIRLED the rich golden brandy in the Waterford snifter, watching it lightly veil the sides of the glass. It was magnificent brandy, coating his tongue and his throat as well when he swallowed. He allowed himself one snifter at night, an hour after dinner.
Eve was sitting on the sofa, watching television. He thought it was an idiotic show like Wheel of Fortune, only worse. Although he'd felt contempt for her taste even before he'd married her, he hadn't felt anything but lust for her body, and in his way of thinking, contempt couldn't begin to catch up with lust.
She looked up. It must be a commercial. "What are you going to do with them, Mason?"
He took the last drink of his brandy, carefully set the snifter down on a marble-topped side table, then said slowly, "I wanted them to come here. You heard me tell Molly when she called that she was to come here."
"Yes, so she listened to you."
"But she didn't want to. It was the man. It was Ramsey Hunt." He looked at the gold Rolex on his wrist. "He said
he would come down to speak to me. Miles told him he wasn't to bring Molly."
"When did he say that?"
"Miles told him what he had to do if he wanted my protection. He'll do as I ask. He knows he needs me." He streaked his long fingers through his hair. Eve stared at him. She'd never seen him do that. "What's wrong?"
A skinny young guy with acne and stringy blond hair stuck his head around the corner. "Yes, boss?" Even the kid's voice was stringy, with little substance.
"Get me one of the girls, one who just might know how to unknot my neck and shoulders."
Alenon was back in under five minutes towing a small black-haired girl who couldn't have been more than sixteen. She looked like a baby. Was she one of the groupies who trailed after him like a pack of puppies? He didn't recognize her.
"This is Karolina, sir. She says her mother's a masseuse. She says she knows what to do."
Louey looked into the girl's eyes. She might be sixteen in years, but not in experience. He nodded. "Hello, Karolina. Can you help me?"
She said in excellent English, "It is my pleasure to help you, Mr. Santera. Is your daughter all right? I read in the newspaper that she was kidnapped."
What the hell was this? "What newspaper?"
"The Berliner Zeitung. There was an article about you. At the bottom, there was a sentence about your daughter being kidnapped. The reporter wrote it happened somewhere out in America's Wild West. I'm very sorry."
How had the reporter known? Hell, when she wasn't listening to him speak or writing down what he said or wrapping her legs around him, there hadn't been any time for her to find out anything. He'd just muttered something about Emma, not even a complete sentence. She must have called Denver. He turned to Karolina. "You speak English better than that reporter did."
"My mother is American."
"Oh," Louey said, rubbing his neck. He watched as Karolina efficiently covered the massage table with its soft flannel sheet. She stood back. Louey smiled. Slowly, he undressed for her. She didn't say a word. When he started to pull down his jockey shorts, she stepped forward, holding a towel out wide in front of him.
When she was rubbing his feet, she said, "I'm in Al-Anon. It's for children whose parents are alcoholics. Why do you use it as a name for Rudy?"
Rudy. That was the kid's name? He shrugged, a small movement because he was lying flat on his stomach. "Because it amuses me."
"I see," Karolina said as she moved up the table. He felt her hands dig into his shoulders. He closed his eyes.
It was the best massage of his life. When he woke up two hours later, Karolina was gone.
Alenon was standing there, watching him. For how long? Had he snored? Drooled? "What do you want?"
"I have a message from Mr. Lord for you."
"Oh no," Louey said and sat up, pulling the sheet to his waist. "When did the old man call? What did he want?"
"It was actually a man who said he was calling for Mr. Lord. He said he didn't need to speak to you. He said that your daughter is safe again, with Mr. Lord, at his house. That was all."
Rudy Brinker watched one of the most talented men in the world lower his head in his hands. He looked sad, broken. But his voice, when he spoke, was vicious. Rudy listened to him curse for a good thirty seconds. Then he quietly let himself out of Mr. Santera's room. He went down the hall to Mr. Murdock's room and knocked twice.
The ugliest man Rudy had ever seen answered the knock.
14
MASON LORD SWIRLED the rich golden brandy in the Waterford snifter, watching it lightly veil the sides of the glass. It was magnificent brandy, coating his tongue and his throat as well when he swallowed. He allowed himself one snifter at night, an hour after dinner.
Eve was sitting on the sofa, watching television. He thought it was an idiotic show like Wheel of Fortune, only worse. Although he'd felt contempt for her taste even before he'd married her, he hadn't felt anything but lust for her body, and in his way of thinking, contempt couldn't begin to catch up with lust.
She looked up. It must be a commercial. "What are you going to do with them, Mason?"
He took the last drink of his brandy, carefully set the snifter down on a marble-topped side table, then said slowly, "I wanted them to come here. You heard me tell Molly when she called that she was to come here."
"Yes, so she listened to you."
"But she didn't want to. It was the man. It was Ramsey Hunt." He looked at the gold Rolex on his wrist. "He said
he would come down to speak to me. Miles told him he wasn't to bring Molly."
"When did he say that?"
"Miles told him what he had to do if he wanted my protection. He'll do as I ask. He knows he needs me." He streaked his long fingers through his hair. Eve stared at him. She'd never seen him do that. "What's wrong?"
