Naked Came the Stranger - By Penelope Ashe Page 0,36

against his feet. Her breasts were suspended seductively as she bent toward his toes.

"That's good champagne," he said. "It's made for drinking."

"Is it?"

Her pink tongue darted over his feet. One by one she caught his toes in her mouth and gently sucked on them.

"Champagne lollypops," she said.

She splashed the champagne on his legs and followed it with her tongue. As she moved up, her breasts rubbed against his feet and then his legs, and finally his thighs. He groaned, let her continue and, when he could stand it no more, reached for her. This time it was slow, measured and sure and they climaxed together, ending with their arms entwined and their lips pressed together. And again sleep came. Mario slept for fifteen minutes. When he awoke, Gilly was dressed and standing by the bed.

"Goodbye, Mario," she said.

"What are you talking?" he said.

"Just goodbye, that's all," she said. "And you might think of me every time you screw that cow."

Before he could get to his feet, she was gone. On her face, that smile again. Bitch! Mario rubbed the sleep from his eyes, stepped into his trousers, cursed her again. Why? He had been better than any three men, better than that whore had ever seen. He walked out to his car. Tomorrow he would have her again. Tomorrow, he knew, he had to have her again. Tomorrow the phone would ring and she would come crawling, begging for the chance to lick the champagne from his toes. They were all alike finally. Cows or whores, whores or cows. And whatever he thought at that moment, he knew Gilly was no cow.

Sliding the key into the starter, he glanced up at the rear-view mirror. He found himself staring directly into Louie's eyes. He swung around swiftly and looked into the back seat. Louie and Danny were both there. Both were wearing overcoats with the collars turned up around the neck. Danny's hand was wrapped around the Beretta, its silencer gleaming wickedly in the courtesy light.

"What the hell you guys doing here?" Mario said.

"You're supposed to be in Chicago."

"Septimo canceled the trip," Louie said. "He's waiting for us at the top of the cliff."

Mario tumbled the odds. Septimo hadn't come out here to scold him. Mario's two best contract men would never hold a gun on him, not unless the old man had given direct orders. And having done this, they could not hope to live unless Mario himself were dead. Mario couldn't believe it. But there it was. Septimo wanted to kill him, his own son-in-law. As he reached for the emergency brake, he remembered the built-in panel. Three upward taps on the brake and the panel would slide and a loaded.38 would drop into his hand.

"It ain't there," Louie said. "Remember, I'm the one had it put in for you."

The road widened on the cliff side into a small parking area at the top. A frail wooden fence bordered the two-hundred-foot drop. It was quite a spot, Charlie had told him, great for cheap lovers. He nosed the car against the fence and stopped. Septimo stood beside a rented car.

"I've been waiting for you, Mario," he said. "You're scum, like your father. Only you done worse. You dishonor my daughter. You dishonor the name Caggiano."

Septimo pressed his lips to his hand and then pressed the hand to Mario's face. "Bacce del morte," he said and turned away. Louie stood outside the car, covering him with the gun. Danny reached over, turned on the radio full blast and got out. Danny returned and dumped three bulging plastic bags in the front seat. Mario could smell the gasoline.

The two killers pushed the car slowly toward the fence, and Mario was frozen with fear. Septimo applied his butane cigarette lighter to a sheet of newspaper and, as the car rolled by, he tossed the flaming paper through the window. The explosion came as the car went over the edge and tumbled twice. Then it struck the rocks below.

EXCERPT FROM "THE BILLY & GILLY SHOW," DECEMBER 16TH

Gilly: Well, it's time to deck the halls and do the Christmas shopping, dear.

Billy: Deck the halls with boughs of holly, fa-la-la-la-la, la-la, la-la.

Gilly: You've got a lovely voice, dear, but let's keep this a conversation show.

Billy: Okay, so I'm no Johnny Alonga, but I think I carry a tune rather well.

Gilly: Speaking of Johnny Alonga, I'm just heartsick over what happened to his manager, that nice Mario Vella. Billy: 1 know. And the police said it