51
Inside the wine cellar, Lana had finished practicing the boop-boop-a-doop routine she’d perform tonight. She was good. She was sure she’d be one of the ten finalists. Then she’d changed back into her pink sweater and white pants and taken a little nap.
Now she was rested and relaxed and ready to go back upstairs and face her chaperone, who would be mad as hell, but so what?
Lana stood and stretched like a kitty, grabbed her dress, and reached for the door.
But it was locked.
She tried turning the knob to the right, to the left. Nothing.
That was because the dead bolt had to be unlocked from the inside, and Lana didn’t have the key.
She’d smacked Darleen Carroll in the mouth with it and then slammed the door.
*
“Okay, open it up,” said Michelangelo. Willie was looking over his shoulder, though there was no one else in Va Bene’s parking lot. The Lincoln was pulled up right beside the red Mustang.
Wayne licked his lips. Oh, this was going to be so good. Michelangelo was going to be so pleased. He could just tell by the look in the man’s eyes. He wanted to make this last as long as possible.
“Now,” said Michelangelo.
Okay, okay. For an Italian, the man sure didn’t have much of a sense of drama. Wayne unlocked the trunk and paused with the lid still down. “She says she doesn’t know anything.”
“Open it!” Michelangelo growled.
And his manners weren’t nearly as good as Mr. You Know Who’s. But Wayne could adjust. Wayne could get used to his style. It was just a matter of time.
Wayne flipped up the lid. There was the tall redheaded woman, bound and gagged. But she wasn’t moving at all.
*
“This is great stuff!” Harry exclaimed at the video. “You guys are really good!”
Junior and Rashad beamed with pride in the darkened hotel room. The show was on hold.
“So that’s what they really did?” asked Sam. “They docked right there beside the pier where the Miss America festivities were supposed to be held? While people were looking for Bette Cooper everywhere else? It’s like ‘The Purloined Letter.’”
“Exactly,” Rashad grinned. “Now, do you want to see the rest?” He punched the remote button again. “This is the second intercut of the subplot. You saw the red Mustang earlier driving into the Pines. Now here’s the action.”
*
“Get me out of here!” Lana screamed. She had great lungs from her singing lessons. “Help! Help!”
But no one heard her. The walls of the wine cellar were two feet thick with heavy insulation.
Lana plopped down on a case of orange pop and buried her face in her hands. This couldn’t be happening to her. She was Lana DeLucca of the Sea Girt DeLuccas. Her daddy was an underboss. She’d won swimsuit. She was going to make 10. She had an excellent shot at taking the crown. Shit like this didn’t happen to Miss America finalists.
*
“I’m going to smell like a pizza,” Darleen said, “if you don’t get me out of here.”
“You’re awfully cool for a lady who’s being held for ransom.” Angelo pulled up a chair beside her and handed her a little glass of Chianti.
“If you think Billy’s got any money, you might as well shoot me now.”
“I know Billy ain’t got no money. He owes me money.”
“So you’re the loan shark. That’s what this is all about?”
“Sort of.”
“Look. How much is he into you for? I run my own business. I have some funds.”
Angelo reached over and patted her hand. “Nice thought, but it don’t work that way. Listen, you hungry? You can have some pizza. Or we’ll make you some noodles. See, the way this happens, Billy’s gonna do me a little favor, we’re gonna let you go.”
Darleen sighed. “I wouldn’t count on it.”
*
“She’s dead,” said Michelangelo, staring into the trunk.
“Oh, well, listen. These things happen. This was just a little added extra attraction. But, what do you think? I’ll go get Miss New Jersey, make the tape, plant it in the judges’ rooms. Though—” Wayne pushed his Monopoly Special Services hat further back on his head. His aviator glasses were fogged. And suddenly he realized that he’d lost it somewhere in a little blip, just like when he’d had the shock treatments. His plan didn’t make sense. There was no time for subliminals to kick in. “—maybe we ought to do something else, too. You got any ideas?”
“Yes, as a matter of fact I do,” said Michelangelo, turning and giving Willie a small nod. “I tell you what. Willie here is going to drive you in my car over to the Ventnor office. I’ll stay here for a few minutes and make arrangements to have this,” he gestured at the Mustang’s trunk, “taken care of, and then I’ll join you over there. Your car will be fine.” He placed a heavy hand on Wayne’s shoulder. “Don’t worry about it.”
“Great! Great!” Wayne was really excited. Things were going even better than he’d hoped.
*
“Oh, my God!” said Sam.
Rashad flipped Junior a look. This was going really swell. Both Harry and Sam loved the video. Especially this scary part they’d spliced in with the guys out in the Pines. Like the old Miss America footage they’d used—no need to reinvent the wheel when the stuff was at hand. Especially when you were under the gun of a deadline.
“Do you know who that is?” Sam asked.
“Yeah,” said Rashad. “That’s the dude who pushed Junior in the swimming pool, the one who’s playing dead. He’s a photographer—not a bad actor, either, huh? The other one is this spaced-out nerd who works in the Monopoly. Junior’s mom knows him, right, Junior?”
“Yeah,” Junior nodded. But he was getting a little nervous. Sam and Harry were acting weird. He bet they knew something about the equipment being lifted. He was beginning to wonder if Harry wasn’t lying about the cop business.
“It’s Wayne Ward, isn’t it, Harry?” said Sam.
Harry nodded, mesmerized by the sight of Wayne rolling Kurt Roberts’s body over and over through pine needles, then down a bank and into a river of dark water. “That’s Wayne, all right.” Then he turned to the two young men. “Hey, guys, where’d you get this footage?”
Damn, thought Junior.