"You use it, you lose it. Got that? One more scream and off it comes.
And that would be a damn shame because I got ideas about what you're going to do with that sweet mouth of yours."
He slid the blade beneath the shoulder strap of the bra and cut it.
With the tension released, the cup fell forward, revealing her breast. She whimpered and her lower lip quivered uncontrollably, but she didn't scream again. He cut the second strap in the same brutal manner.
"Look at what we have here," he cooed. This time he pressed the tip of the blade against her nipple. He tapped it lightly and it tightened.
"Shame, shame," he taunted."A nice Catholic schoolgirl like you.
What would Sister What's-her-name say?"
Behind Bardo the door crashed open."Drop the knife and get away from her!"
Burke Basile was in a crouched stance, both hands wrapped around a Beretta. The next millisecond passed in a blur. His ears rang with the girl's scream. He fired at Bardo, but the lucky bastard ducked the shot.
The bullet missed his head and decimated a patch of ugly floral wallpaper behind him. Burke didn't fire again out of fear of hitting the girl. He shouted, "You're under arrest, Bardo."
"And you're real funny, Basile," Bardo yelled back as he threw his knife.
"Hr-dee-liar-liar, asshole," said the sharpshooter who materialized behind Basile.
Bardo had an instant to look stupefied before a bullet cut a neat trench between his eyes. He dropped without a whimper. The handle of his switchblade was still vibrating in the doorjamb, having missed Basile by a hair.
Tactical officers eddied around Basile as they rushed into the room.
Basile rushed over to the girl, who was staring in horror at the bloody mush that had been Bardo's head only a few seconds before. Basile removed his coat and placed it around her shoulders."Are you all right?" She regarded him with the same stupefaction as she did the corpse. He had to repeat the question before she nodded with uncertainty.
One of the men detached himself from the others."We'll handle it from here, Basile."
Basile shook hands with him."Thanks. Your men did good, from the surveillance to that," he said, indicating Bardo's body.
The officer saluted him.
Basile grabbed the girl's hand and pulled her through the doorway and along the breezeway. When they reached the parking lot, which was filling up with official vehicles, Basile pushed her into the passenger seat of an unmarked car, then jogged around the hood and got behind the wheel. Tires squealed as he sped past an arriving ambulance.
They'd only covered half a block when the girl swore."Jesus H! What took you so fucking long? That son of a bitch was creepy as hell.
And how dare he tell me I had the potential of being a terrific whore!
" Vexed, Ruby Bouchereaux's most talented girl, Isobel, reached up and pulled off the curly black wig.
looking younger than her years, Isobel was also smart, and she 2 possessed a spirit of adventure. Her specialty at Ruby's house was acting out fantasies for the clients who could afford it. The combination of those qualities had made her a perfect choice to portray Flarra Lambeth in Burke Basile's setup.
Of course, she'd also been paid very well for her time and trouble.
After presenting her with a sizable check, Basile and the prostitute parted company at the door of Ruby's office. He was in a hurry, but it would have been rude to decline the madam's offer of a drink after she had been instrumental in trapping Bardo.
"So, everything went according to plan?" Ruby asked, extending Burke a glass of whiskey.
"Perfect." He slammed back the drink."I listened from Sister Beatrice's outer office. Even I was convinced that Isobel was an innocent schoolgirl."
"And so she was, way back when," Ruby said, laughing softly."But I'm pleased that the ruse worked. You know your enemies well, Mr. Basile."
He watched the whiskey tumbling from decanter to waiting glass as Ruby poured him a refill."Remy was positive that Pinkie would try and get to her through her sister, and she was right, although we weren't relying entirely on her gut instinct. Bardo had been under surveillance.
His conversation with Duvall was intercepted this morning, so we knew he was picking up Flarra and for what purpose."
"The man needed to die."
"I couldn't agree with you more," Burke said grimly."Isobel and I arrived at Blessed Heart no more than half an hour ahead of him When she and Bardo left the academy, the van followed them to the motel.
It went off without a hitch, although Isobel blistered my ears for letting it go so long before stopping it."
"Where is Flarra now?"
"Under police protection. Incorruptible police protection."
"And Bardo is dead?"
"Definitely," Burke said quietly, then downed his second drink.
"Too bad you didn't bring me his ear, or some other appendage. I would have liked a souvenir." The madam raised her glass to Basile, then drank her shot.
"Thank you for lending us Isobel," he told her."Once again, I'm indebted to you."
"Nonsense. Bardo's death evened our score. Besides, I owe you for another favor. You sent me Dixie, who I think will be a profitable addition to the house."
He smiled."I figured the two of you would hit it off, but I hate that she waited until Bardo beat her up before coming here."
"She's making a nice recovery." She offered him another round but he shook his head."You've earned my gratitude, Mr. Basile, as well as the hospitality of the house whenever you wish to use it."
"Thank you, but I doubt I'll ever cash in that marker."
The madam practically purred."You and Mrs. Duvall?"
"Remy," he corrected.
The hardest thing he'd ever had to do was leave her that morning.
They had talked long into the night, holding each other, making love, and assessing what had seemed a hopeless situation.
With morning came the ugly realization that, for a time, she must be returned to Duvall. She was easier with the plan than Burke, who had vowed that she would never darken the doorway of Duvall's house again.
"I won't let you go back. Not for an afternoon. Not for an hour." But even as he said that, he knew it was their only viable option.
"I don't look forward to it, but I'll handle it," she had told him.
"Maybe I couldn't have or wouldn't have a week ago. But now I can and will. Just see to Flarra, and please, please, take care of yourself."
They had continued to cling to one another until Dredd intervened, warning them that timing was critical to Basile's plan, and that they were liable to blow it if they didn't get a move on. So Burke had placed her in Dredd's safekeeping until Pat arrived.
Burke had figured District Attorney Littrell for a basically honest man who was up against overwhelming odds to keep the N.O.P.D from living up to its national reputation as one of the most corrupt law enforcement agencies in the country.
Littrell held a lower opinion of Lieutenant Burke Basile because it had been colored by negative publicity, hearsay, and malicious gossip.
So when Burke barged unannounced into his office, the D.A. was at first taken aback and threatened to have Burke evicted from the building.
But Burke's fast talking soon got Littrell's attention. He listened with mounting dismay to everything Burke told him. With a politician's characteristic caution, however, he made no promises other than to look into the matter and get back to Burke in due course.
At which point Burke had picked up the telephone on the D.A."s desk and brandished it like an evangelist with the Holy Bible."Either you call the A.G or I'm going to call him myself. Either way, doesn't matter to me. This is merely a courtesy call on you, Mr. Littrell. I'm giving you a chance to prove which side of this corruption you're on."
Littrell had placed a call to the state attorney general. With his sanction, things had come together with head-spinning haste. As a result of quick action, coordination, and luck, Bardo was dead.
Burke stood and shook hands with Ruby Bouchereaux."Thank you for the drink, and forgive me for rushing off, but I'm hoping to be in on Duvall's arrest."
"Tonight? Oh, I seriously doubt he'll be arrested tonight, Mr. Basile."
"Why?"
'"It's Mardi Gras."
"So?"
"So, the only news coming from Duvall headquarters is about the costume party he's hosting. In fact, a few of the gentlemen who've joined our party here came straight from Pinkie's house, where the party is already in full swing. From what they've said, it's quite a blowout."
Burke stared at her as the frightening implications of this development began to sink in. He checked his pager. It was on, no indication of a low battery. Remy hadn't called it, which was to be his signal that something had gone terribly wrong.
He asked permission to use Ruby's phone."This is Basile," he said as soon as his call was answered."Do we have Duvall yet?"
He was patched through to three different desks until one brave soul finally broke the shattering news to him."Arresting a celebrity citizen like Duvall is a tricky undertaking, especially if you're trying to maintain secrecy. There are miles of red tape involved. We want to do it by the book so it doesn't result in a mistrial. It might take days "
"Days!" Burke shouted."Are you fucking crazy?"
"We're doing the best we can, Mr. Basile. And shouting obscenities at me
"Lives are in danger, you idiot."
"We might be able to pull it off tonight, but "
"Stay on it, you hear me. You get that warrant issued and served tonight, or I'll have Littrell and the A.G. on your ass, and then I'll personally come down there and stamp the shit out of you."
He slammed the receiver down."I gotta get over there." Days. Remy couldn't stay with Duvall for days while the bureaucrats sorted through the paperwork. As soon as he heard about Bardo, Duvall would go on red alert. He thought Bardo was locked away in a motel, deflowering his sister-in-law. When he learned differently, he would start piecing it together and eventually come around to Remy.
"Mr. Basile," the madam said, catching his sleeve as he rushed past her on his way out, "you'll be very conspicuous gate-crashing Pinkie Duvall's party dressed like that. Would you care to borrow a costume?"
Burke didn't have a moment to waste, but he saw the advisability of taking the time for her to locate him a costume. He paced her office, cursing the system that had once again let him down, and at the same time thanking it.
The delay uptown gave him an opportunity to do one better than arrest Duvall.
It gave him a chance to kill the bastard.
The pain in Remy's back had receded to a dull ache. A bruise was beginning to appear on her cheekbone, but the swelling was minimal.
These aches and pains she could tolerate. What she couldn't abide was the thought of her sister being abused by Bardo.
Burke had sworn to see to Flarra's safety first, even before arresting Pinkie. He would keep that promise if he could. But what if, in spite of his valiant attempts, he'd failed? She had. Pinkie had readily seen through her pretense. Maybe Burke had had no better success than she.
Maybe he'd been unable to persuade the district attorney and the attorney general to act swiftly.
because she didn't know otherwise, she had to assume that he'd failed, which meant that saving Flarra still rested with her. A telephone.
That's all she needed. She had met the first challenge of figuring a way out of the master bedroom she now had a key. The next step was finding an available telephone.
As soon as she felt it was safe to try the key, she did so. The lock slid open with hardly a click. She paused, waiting, her heart pounding in her ears, but when nothing happened, she pulled open the door.
The hallway was clear. She immediately checked the foyer table at the top of the stairs where there was usually a telephone, but, of course, her husband hadn't overlooked that detail.
She crept along the corridor until she reached the top of the stairs.
Before stepping onto the landing, she paused to consider what she would do if she were confronted by one of the house staff. Their loyalty lay with Pinkie, not her, because all of them were former clients whom Pinkie had saved from years of incarceration, if not death row.
None would grant a request from her without clearing it with him first. Errol? What if she met her bodyguard? Could she persuade or trick him into assisting her? He wasn't terribly bright. Maybe she could manipulate him into sneaking her out. She hadn't forgotten what happened to Lute Duskie, the bodyguard who'd allowed her to escape to Galveston.
The thought of duping Errol wasn't very appetizing, but she would do what she had to and try to protect him later.
Bolstering all her courage, she stepped onto the landing.
But that's as far as she got. There was a man posted at the foot of the staircase, but it wasn't Errol.
She ducked back out of sight before he noticed her. Where was Errol?
Why had he been replaced? And then, of course, she realized why. He had been derelict in his duties at the Crossroads. Had he paid for that mistake with his life?
Whether he had or not was irrelevant to her present problem. Could the new man be cajoled into helping her, or was he steadfastly loyal to Pinkie? She favored the latter. He was new. He would be eager to impress his boss.
The only advantage she had was in their not knowing that she now could leave the bedroom. And how much longer would she have that luxury?
When would Pinkie discover the key missing from his coat pocket?
Before he did, she must come up with another plan. Trying not to let this setback defeat her, she tiptoed back to the master suite and locked herself in.
How long had Burke needed to set into motion the juggernaut he claimed would crumble Pinkie's empire? How long before he was arrested? And what was going on with Flarra in the meantime?
If only she knew that Flarra was safe ... but she didn't. So she continued to fret until she heard approaching footsteps. She quickly lay down on the bed, drawing her knees to her chest. She stared vacantly into near space, as though she had lost all hope.
Pinkie rushed into the room, and drew up short when he saw her lying there lethargically. Had he missed the key? Had he expected to find her gone? Apparently so, because when he saw her, the wrinkles of worry on his forehead smoothed out and he smiled.
He moved to the bedside and gazed down at her."Guess who I heard from this afternoon?" Remy didn't respond or even react as though she'd heard him."Sister Beatrice," he continued in that same pleasant voice."She called from the academy where Bardo picked up Flarra, ostensibly to escort her to our party. By this time, he has introduced your beloved baby sister to the pleasures of the flesh.
By morning, who knows? Sometimes Bardo's passion gets out of hand."
She drew her knees up closer to her body and buried her face in the pillow. Laughing softly, Pinkie went into his dressing room and locked the door behind himself. Twenty minutes later he came out dressed as Henry VIII.
"You don't seem to be in a very festive mood, Remy. I'll make your excuses to our guests."
He paused on the threshold."Oh, by the way, it's only a matter of time before we track down your lover, but I've given strict instructions that he's not to be killed until it can be done in your presence, and only then after he's watched you being fucked by all the personnel of the N.O.P.D on my payroll, which, I assure you, is no small number of men and women. That should be quite an evening."
He was obviously deranged. He had lost all touch with reality, believing himself unstoppable and untouchable, the common downfall of egomaniacs, men who gorge on their own power until it, paradoxically, consumes them.
But Remy didn't point this out to him, or argue against his insane delusions, or warn him of the impending collapse of his world.
Instead she remained seemingly unaffected by his chilling plans for her and Basile.
But as soon as she heard the door lock behind him, she scrambled off the bed. Inadvertently, Pinkie had given her another idea.
Bozo the Clown wended his way through the merrymakers.
He declined the glass of champagne offered to him by a masked waiter dressed in cowboy hat, boots, and chaps. On one cheek of the wrangler's bare butt was tattooed a red heart.
No one could touch Pinkie Duvall when it came to hosting a party.
There was enough food and liquor to stock an oceangoing vessel for a long cruise. The decorated rooms of his home teemed with merriment and resounded with music and laughter. Masked men and women cavorted with bacchanalian abandon as the clock ticked toward midnight and the end of Fat Tuesday.
King Henry VIII was flirting with a mermaid with gold glitter on her nipples when Bozo spotted him. He moved in their direction and reached the king's side in time to hear him say, "Wiggle your tail for me."
The mermaid playfully swatted his groping hand with her jeweled scepter, then undulated away.
Bozo said, "Great party, Your Royal Highness."
"Thank you," Duvall replied absently, still watching the mermaid.
"I understand you're looking for Burke Basile." Suddenly the king's eyes connected with the clown's. He peered past the makeup.
"Jesus," he hissed."What "
"Not here. Unless you want a scene in front of all your friends."
Duvall, turning red beneath his feathered velvet cap, nodded and signaled the clown to follow. They went into Duvall's home study.
Bozo closed the door.
"Okay, where is he?" Duvall demanded as he moved toward his desk.
Bozo fired a pistol, striking Duvall in the back just above the kidney.
The attorney staggered. A second shot caught him right between his shoulder blades. He fell forward across his desk.
Moving quickly, Doug Pat pulled on a plastic glove over the white cotton one that went with his costume. In his oversized red clown shoes, he moved to where Pinkie was sprawled across the desk, arms and hands extended in front of him. He had landed on his cheekbone, one side of his face turned up, his open eye registering the surprise he must have felt at dying so unexpectedly and so ignominiously, shot in the back like a fool.
Pat opened the lap drawer of the desk. In a plastic tray, along with paper clips, a couple of ballpoint pens, and a book of postage stamps, lay a loaded snub-nosed.38, a Saturday night special."A no-class weapon for a no-class guy," Pat said, whispering into Duvall's ear.
He took the revolver from the drawer and placed it in Duvall's right hand, positioning the dead man's fingers around the weapon as though he'd been about to fire it.
Pat stepped back and checked the scene. What was he overlooking?
What could trip him up? Duvall had legions of enemies, any number of whom could have come to the party disguised, enticed Duvall into his study, and then when an argument ensued, Duvall had been reaching for his weapon, when said enemy got to him first. No more than fifteen seconds had passed since they entered the office.
Even with the silencer, the shots had made sounds, but they would never be heard above the party noise. Pat was confident no one would remember the last costumed guest Duvall had been seen with, and even if they did, the man behind the Bozo the Clown makeup could never be identified.
Finally satisfied that he hadn't overlooked an incriminating detail, he removed the plastic glove and stuffed it into his pocket, then moved toward the door.
And then he stopped, realizing that he had overlooked something.
Duvall hadn't bled a drop.
Bozo the Clown spun around in a swirl of polka-dot taffeta just as Duvall fired the.38.
The hollow-tip bullet mushroomed inside Pat's abdomen.
Clutching his belly, he fell to the floor.
"I highly recommend Kevlar," Duvall said, steering his black velvet slippers clear of the lake of blood forming around Pat as he approached."You never know when some gutless traitor is going to shoot you in the back." He aimed the barrel of the pistol at Pat's head.
"Mr. Duvall!" Someone knocked hard on the door, then flung it open.
"She's gone, Mr. Duvall!"
" What?"
"I just checked the room, like you asked me to. The door was still locked, but she's not in there."
"Did you look out on the balcony?"
"Not there, sir. The windows were still locked."
"That's impossible."
"I'm sorry, sir, but it "
"Get out of my way." Duvall pushed the man aside."Finish up here."
With his cape flaring out behind him, Henry VIII ran out to search for his wife.
Doug Pat looked up into the face of a man he'd never seen before, but whom he knew was the last face he would ever see.
grayw Burke, dressed like the pirate lean Lafitte, kept to the shadows at the side of the house until he reached the backyard. He glanced at the gazebo where he'd first seen Remy. A couple were necking beneath the vine-covered dome and didn't notice when he vaulted the fence. On his way inside, he picked up a half-empty glass an invited guest had left behind and strolled in as though he'd been out for a breath of fresh air. The rooms were thronged with people, all costumed and masked for the occasion. He waylaid a waiter a steroid-popping body builder by the looks of him who was dressed as a sumo wrestler.
Burke had to shout above the party racket to make himself heard."Mr. Duvall is looking for his wife. Have you seen her?"
"I don't think she's come down yet."
Behind his small black mask, Basile rolled his eyes."The boss is going to be pissed if she doesn't get her ass down here before this damn thing's over. Thanks."
He patted the body builder's meaty shoulder and began elbowing his way through the crowd. Remembering the layout of the house from his previous visit and keeping on the lookout for Duvall or bodyguards, he headed toward the main staircase, which was also a high-traffic area.
He had expected the second floor to be deserted, but there were people waiting in the hallway for their turn in the powder room.
Pretending to be waiting for the facility himself, Burke moved along the corridor, nonchalantly studying the paintings on the wall, admiring the furnishings, until he reached the door of the master bedroom. It seemed like another lifetime when he'd passed himself off as a priest and hidden the wireless bug. That was before he really knew Remy. Before he regarded her with anything except contempt.
Before he loved her.