eight. She got the door open and he stumbled in, falling and dragging her down to the floor with him.
“Jeezus, I’m loaded,” he said, shaking his head.
“Let’s get on the bed,” she said. “This is gonna be a great party.” She led him to the double bed. He turned and flopped down on it, lying back. He closed his eyes dreamily and she thought for a moment she was home free. But then he opened them again and focused on her. He wasn’t going to give up yet. She hoped she wouldn’t have to fuck him. Then he stood and stumbled into the bathroom and poured cold water onto a wash cloth and mopped his face with it. Water ran down his neck and ruined the two-thousand-dollar Chinese silk shirt. He dropped the cloth in the sink, turned, and leered at her. “Let’s go, baby, get fuckin’ naked. Gotta see the wet spot.”
Dakota silently cursed her luck, but dropped the straps of her silk gown and let it fall down her perfectly tapered body. She was now standing naked in front of him, still wearing her high heels. Tommy gulped several times, like a trout in the bottom of a boat, then moved awkwardly toward her. He grabbed between her legs and groped her roughly.
“Easy, baby, take it easy … we’ve got all night,” she cooed, pulling away so he wouldn’t claw her down there. She decided it was better to just get the job done and be over with it. He’d fall asleep right after he scored. They all did. It was her one universal observation about men. She unbuttoned his ruined green silk shirt and took it off him. He was surprisingly strong. Ridges of power were stacked in useful slabs of hard muscle on his shoulders and short arms. He stumbled out of his pants, sitting awkwardly on the bed. He ripped off his underwear and stood up to face her. He was huge and, for a moment, it startled her. Then she took him into her arms and pressed her body against his. Tommy moaned with pleasure. She led him to the bed and lowered him down. He grabbed for her and she let him pull her down on top of him. Then, with no preamble, she mounted him. Tommy thrust his hips at her savagely. It was a carnal, desperate act of possession. Within minutes he was finished. She rolled off of him and looked down at the despicable little slime who had killed her cousin Carol.
“You’re a wonderful lover,” she said softly. “You have such stamina, such magnificent equipment.”
“Ahhh,” Tommy said as he closed his eyes. “Fuckin’ room is spinning. Fuckin’, goddamn room is fuckin’ spinning all over the fuckin’ …” And then he rolled over and vomited almost a quart of blended Scotch onto the plush carpet next to the bed. He lay facedown on the bedspread, gasping for air, spit draining out of his open mouth. He is truly a ghastly creature, she thought. It would be so easy to go over to the desk, get the scissors, and end his life right there, but Beano had told her it was his brother, Joe Rina, who had ordered the hit on Carol. … Tommy was just the instrument of the act. They needed Tommy to get to Joe. Besides, she mused as he began to snore facedown before her, she wasn’t a killer. She was a Bates. A high-stakes player and the best mack on the planet. She always won in the bedroom. The bedroom was her field of combat. She looked down in victory on the snoring killer, then moved to the phone and dialed Beano’s room.
“Yeah,” Beano said, getting it on the second ring.
“He’s out of the play. You’re up.”
Beano looked at his watch; it was almost three A.M. “Tommy’s on ice. You ready?” he said to Duffy, who had the loaded dice all finished and lined up on the table. Duffy picked up the last one and checked to see if the white paint was dry. “Ready,” Duffy said.
“Okay,” Beano said to Victoria, who was sitting on the bed, “the plane should be at the private air strip at dawn. We gotta be there when it arrives.”
They turned the wheelchair upside down and snapped the dice by pairs into the cartridge under the wheelchair arms, so that Duffy could pull out the loaded number he wanted. Then they put the wheelchair right side up, and Duffy got in the