Ray Hoy - Jack Frost 01 - The Vegas Factor (6 page)

She felt sick. She gritted her teeth and prayed for the first time in a very long time.
I swear it, God! If I get out of here alive, this will be my last trick. Please!

For the next hour or so, Benny sat in front of the television, patting himself on the stomach. The room reeked of him. The young prostitute closed her eyes.
How much longer?
She heard him move, and her eyes flew open. He stood and turned toward her again. A smile played across his face.

“Wanna do it again, Billy?” He looked hurt. “And can’t you show me a little affection, this time? You’re really a cold bitch, you know that?” He reached for her bruised breasts, but the sound of his cell phone ringing stopped him.
 

He straightened, a frown on his face. He lumbered over to his clothes, piled in a heap on the floor, and pulled his phone from a pants pocket. He looked at the caller I.D., then reluctantly answered. “Hi, boss, it’s me, Benny.” His face fell at the reply at the other end of the receiver.

The conversation went on for some time, while Billy drifted in and out of consciousness. She did not want him to know she was awake.
Please leave when you hang up, Benny. Please.
 

Benny sat with the phone pressed to his ear, screwing up his face like a little boy being reprimanded by his father. Finally he mumbled, “Okay. Bye.” He turned the cell phone off as rage darkened his face.
 

Billy felt a sinking feeling as he advanced on her. “The boss shouldn’t talk to me like that,” he muttered. “I ain’t no dummy.”

He looked down at her. “I got another hour or so, Billy. You’re gonna have to show me some affection.”

Chapter 8

I stood in the doorway, looking down at Felicia with as much sternness as I could muster. I was trying, I suppose, to intimidate her with my size—it wasn’t working. “Felicia, it’s dangerous for you to leave this place, do you understand?”

“Yes, Jack.”

“C’mon, Felicia, drop the ‘Yes, Jack,’ because this is serious!”

“Yes, Jack.”

I realized that she was not being coy, she was simply telling me what I wanted to hear in order to get me off her back.

“Felicia, listen to me, please … if you
do
have to leave—and I don’t want you to—
do not
, under any circumstances, I repeat,
do not
leave without Ripper.”

“Yes, Jack.”

I put my hands on my hips, stared up at the ceiling, and gritted my teeth. “Yes, Jack,” I muttered. I turned away and pulled my sheepskin-lined jacket over the heavy turtleneck sweater I was wearing. I opened the door and was greeted by a cold wind blowing off the glittering Alpine lake.

I walked out on the deck, then stopped and turned to look at her one more time. She was wearing one of my old Vikings sweatshirts, sleeves pushed up to her elbows. The bottom hit her about where a good miniskirt would. I had an overwhelming urge to pick her up and hug her. She was a waif with big eyes and a woeful look. And, she was wearing silly looking pink fuzzy slippers, which for some reason added to her appeal.

“Keep this door locked, and stay with Ripper.”
 

“Hurry back, Jack,” she said.

I opened my mouth to say something else, but she shut the door in my face. I stood there for a moment, then turned and walked to my car.

The day was magnificent, despite the cold wind. I donned my sunglasses, then gave the surrounding woods a thorough examination. Everything looked normal, but I felt unsettled.

I got into the Jag, fired up the engine and slowly pulled away from the cabin. The beautiful day was doing its best to tamp down the anxiety I was feeling, but it wasn’t quite succeeding.

* * *

Felicia stood at the closed door, listening. Jack was a big man, but he never seemed to make any noise when he walked. In fact, she realized, he never seemed to make any noise at all. She opened the door slightly and peered out. Seeing nothing, she closed it quickly and hurried to the window. She caught a glimpse of the dark green Jaguar as it disappeared around the corner at the end of the lane.

Sighing with relief, she hurried to the bedroom. She kicked the slippers off, stepped into a pair of shoes, and grabbed a long coat. She pulled it on as she walked to the front door, picking up her purse as she went.

Ripper followed on her heels. At the front door, she got down on her knees, put her arms around him and whispered into his ear. “No, Ripper. Stay. I’ll be right back.” He whined and tried to force his face into the doorway as she opened the door, but she blocked his path. Sternly she said, “Stay, Ripper!” Then she left, pulling the door shut behind her. She could hear his scratching high up on the door, as he stood on his hind legs. “Poor Ripper,” she whispered, as she hurried toward the Land Rover.

* * *

An hour later, Felicia cruised slowly down Reno’s nearly deserted South Virginia Street, eyes searching desperately for the man she had found the last time she slipped away.

She tried to suppress the rising panic.
Please be there
. She finally spotted him standing in front of a liquor store. Relieved, she quickly parked the car, and hurried toward him.
 

A wry smile appeared on his face as she approached. He opened a grubby hand and showed her a small pile of pills, every color of the rainbow it seemed. He poked them apart with a broken, dirty fingernail and ran through the names and “selling points” of each one.

Felicia held out a handful of cash in her open palm. His face twisted into an amazed smile. Then he took all the cash and pressed the pills into her open hand. His ugly smile made her feel dirty and guilty. She turned and walked away to escape his watery stare.

She hurried toward Jack’s Land Rover, head down against the cold wind, hands buried in her coat pockets. Suddenly she was aware of the big man walking beside her. She looked up, wide-eyed, not wanting to see the anger on Jack’s face. An explanation was already forming in her mind when she saw the granite-like forehead protruding from beneath the hat, the hooded, dry gray eyes staring at her with amusement. “Benny,” she said, her voice barely audible. “Benny—”

“Mr. Varchetta wants you back, Felicia.” He grabbed her by the elbow and applied enough pressure to make her knees go weak. “We gotta get goin’ now, understand?”

She stumbled along next to him as he led her to a light blue sedan. She was aware of her breasts, moving free and easy under the sweatshirt. He pushed her roughly into the front seat and closed the door. She hurriedly buttoned her long coat as he walked around the car and got in behind the wheel.

“You’ll be back in Vegas tonight, where you belong,” he said, as he started the car. “Don’t give me no trouble, hear? I don’t wanna have to hurt you. The boss wouldn’t like that.”

The thought of Harry Varchetta brought a picture of the man bursting into her brain. She recoiled and felt the sickness in her stomach again. She remembered the long days and nights, the bad breath, the repulsive personal habits, the depraved sexual fantasies he forced her to act out. She squeezed her eyes shut and thought about Ripper, just a few miles away, and the warm, safe cabin. Jack would be home in a few minutes. In her mind she heard her own voice:
Yes, Jack
.

She pulled the collar up around her neck and leaned against the window, feeling the glass form a small cold spot on her forehead.

Chapter 9

“I was gone half an hour at the most.” My statement hung in the air, a hollow excuse. I stood there, my cell phone glued to my ear, feeling guilty as hell.
 

“Don’t beat yourself up, Jack. The mood she was in, she was impossible to protect,” Jilly said. “When are you leaving for Vegas?”

“As soon as I get things together. But it’s a seven or eight-hour drive down 95. I’d sooner go by air. When’s your next freighter heading that way?” One of Jilly’s interests included JL Enterprises, a small fleet of freight jets.
 

“The next one leaves at nine o’clock, with a stop in Vegas,” Jilly said. “Have your car there an hour early, at least. You and Ripper want to ride along, or do you want to go on a commercial flight?”

“We’ll go on the freighter.”

“Get her back, Jack,” he said.

“I will, Jilly. I’ll be in touch.”

I quickly got busy. As I packed, I tried to avoid looking at Felicia’s purple bathrobe hanging behind the bathroom door, tried to shut my thoughts off as I moved her cosmetics case and hairbrush to get at my shaving gear, tried to pretend it was just a day like any other day as I lathered and shaved the worried face in the mirror.
 

But it wasn’t a normal day, because she wasn’t there. She was on her way back to Varchetta, in the company of who knows what kind of creep.
 

I was in a vile mood by the time I closed the cabin door behind me and hurried down the steps, a sullen Ripper by my side. The look on his face was accusing. He’s casual about obeying ordinary orders, even when he’s having a good day, but there’s never a moment’s hesitation when I give him a serious command. This was one of his bad days so he damn well did what he wanted, ignoring me completely.

* * *

Shortly before nine o’clock, Ripper and I were in a JL Enterprises jet freighter that was rolling slowly along between two rows of blue lights dotting the edges of the taxiway. The big ship trundled down the tarmac in that curious, bobbing gait common to earthbound jetliners.

I listened to the shrill whine of the engines as we made a one-eighty, and lined up with the main runway. I sat in the observer’s seat, behind the captain, peering over his shoulder through the windshield. Ahead lay the inky blackness of the runway, outlined in white runway lights in the clear night air.
 

The captain spoke to the tower and received permission to take off. The crew was all business as the freighter shuddered and began rolling forward, accelerating with astonishing quickness after only a few seconds.
 

I glanced back at the dark interior of the long fuselage full of containerized freight that was strapped down behind me. A rugged safety net was strung between the cargo and crew. A luxury airliner it was not, but it was efficiently laid out to take advantage of the maximum amount of cargo.

I looked forward again at the runway. The captain sat with one hand on the throttles, one hand on the steering wheel. When the ship was doing twenty or thirty knots, he took his hand off the steering wheel and placed it on the control wheel. The copilot said, “V-1,” and the captain placed both hands on the control wheel. After a few more seconds, the copilot spoke again: “V-R.” The captain pulled back on the control wheel, and the ship’s nose came up. The plane vaulted into the star-filled Nevada sky. The vibrations and creaking that had filled the interior of the plane while it was rolling along the runway immediately ceased. The power song of the jet engines as they propelled the heavy aircraft upward at a steep angle was deafening.

Ripper lay at my feet, eyes bright, every nerve tuned to the movement and sound of the plane. He whined. The noise obviously bothered his sensitive ears. He looked at me, more than a little skeptical about these modern conveyances.

I heard the sound of the landing gear come up and lock into place. The plane immediately felt solid and “clean” as the wind resistance lessened. We soon reached our cruising altitude, and the roar of the engines backed off to a more reasonable level.
 

My mind was filled with thoughts of Las Vegas, and how I would get one very small, very frightened woman out of that damn town.

* * *

I drove out of the airport, Ripper at my side, and turned onto Paradise Road. The bright lights of Las Vegas presented the city’s never-changing Chamber of Commerce image in all its tacky splendor. The old girl never slept, never got tired, never ceased gathering in her prey and spitting out the walking wounded. She was, quite simply, the biggest and most efficient vacuum cleaner in the world.

I’ve been going to Las Vegas long enough that I remember when you could lose your money and have fun doing it. I recall polite treatment, low-cost rooms and meals, and a population figure that, minus tourists, would place it in the “small town” category. Now freeways divide the city, the census count has gone off scale, and reasonable room rates are a thing of the past.
 

I checked into the first motel I found, not mentioning my giant black and tan companion. Once we were in the room I grabbed a quick shower and flopped on the bed, whipped. I set my mental alarm clock for 5:00 a.m. and tried my best to find sleep.

Chapter 10

Harry Varchetta dropped the telephone on the cradle, then sat back in his chair. He tapped his long, hooked nose with the eraser end of a pencil, his feet on the desk, his small eyes on the doorway.
 

There had been a triumphant note in Benny’s voice. The hulk was pleased with himself and would be looking for praise. Even more than praise, he would be looking for his reward.

Varchetta grinned. He ran his tongue over small, yellow teeth and shifted the toothpick in his mouth. Benny had always had a hunger for Felicia. Sweat beads would form on the dummy’s forehead whenever he was around her. His dry, gray eyes would dart from her breasts to her legs and belly, and back to her breasts. Whenever she was in the room, his eyes never left her. Benny’s sexual appetite was legendary. And if no woman were handy, a man would do.