Sidney Sheldon - A Stranger in the Mirror

“Wait a minute,” Toby protested. “I can’t—”

Caruso put a powerful hand on Toby’s shoulder. “You’re a lucky man,” Caruso said. “I mean, if Millie hadn’t convinced me that you two really love each other, if I thought you were just laying her like she was some two-dollar hoor, this whole thing coulda had a different ending. You get my meaning?”

Toby found himself involuntarily looking up at the two men in black, and they both nodded.

“You finish up here Saturday night,” Al Caruso said. “We’ll make the wedding Sunday.”

Toby’s throat had gone dry again. “I—the thing is, Al, I’m afraid I have some bookings. I—”

“They’ll wait,” the cherubic face beamed. “I’m gonna pick out Millie’s wedding dress myself. Night, Toby.”

Toby stood there, staring in the direction of the three figures long after they had disappeared.

He did not have the faintest notion who Millie was.

By the next morning, Toby’s fears had evaporated. The unexpectedness of what had happened had thrown him off guard. But this was not the era of Al Capone. No one could force him to marry anyone he did not want to marry. Al Caruso was not some cheap, strong-arm hoodlum; he was a respectable hotel owner. The more Toby thought about the situation, the funnier it became. He kept embellishing it in his mind, building up the laughs. He had not really let Caruso scare him, of course, but he would tell it as though he had been terrified. I go up to this table, and there’s Caruso sitting with these six gorillas, see? They’ve all got big bulges where they’re carrying guns . Oh, yes, it would make a great story. He might even get a hilarious routine out of it.

For the rest of the week Toby stayed away from the swimming pool and the casino and avoided all the girls. He was not afraid of Al Caruso, but why take unnecessary chances? Toby had planned to leave Las Vegas by plane Sunday noon. Instead, he arranged for a rental car to be delivered to the back of the hotel parking lot Saturday night. The car would be waiting for him there. He packed his bags before he went downstairs to do his last show, so that he would be ready to leave for Los Angeles the moment he finished. He would stay away from Las Vegas for a while. If Al Caruso was really serious, Clifton Lawrence could straighten things out.

Toby’s closing performance was sensational. He got a standing ovation, the first one he had ever received. He stood on the stage, feeling the waves of love coming from the audience, bathing him in a warm, soft glow. He did one encore, begged off and hurried upstairs. This had been the greatest three weeks of his life. In that short period of time, he had gone from a nobody who slept with waitresses and cripples to a Star who had laid Al Caruso’s mistress. Beautiful girls were begging him to take them to bed, audiences admired him and the big hotels wanted him. He had it made, and he knew that this was only the beginning. He took out the key to his door. As he opened it, a familiar voice called out, “Come on in, kid.”

Slowly, Toby entered the room. Al Caruso and his two friends were inside. A quick shiver of apprehension went down Toby’s back. But it was all right. Caruso was beaming and saying, “You were great tonight, Toby, really great.”

Toby began to relax. “It was a good audience.”

Caruso’s brown eyes twinkled and he said, “You made them a good audience, Toby. I told you—you got talent.”

“Thanks, Al.” He wished they would all leave, so he could be on his way.

“You work hard,” Al Caruso said. He turned to his two lieutenants. “Did I say I never seen nobody work so hard?”

The two men nodded.

Caruso turned back to Toby. “Hey—Millie was kinda upset you didn’t call her. I told her it was because you was workin’ so hard.”

“That’s right,” Toby said quickly. “I’m glad you understand, Al.”

Al smiled benignly. “Sure. But you know what I don’t understand? You didn’t call to find out what time the wedding is.”

“I was going to call in the morning.”

Al Caruso laughed and said chidingly, “From L.A.?”

Toby felt a small pang of anxiety. “What are you talking about, Al?”

Caruso regarded him reproachfully. “You got your suitcases all packed in there.” He pinched Toby’s cheek playfully. “I told you I’d kill anyone who hurt Millie.”

“Wait a minute! Honest to God, I wasn’t—”

“You’re a good kid, but you’re stupid, Toby. I guess that’s part of bein’ a genius, huh?”

Toby stared at the chubby, beaming countenance, not knowing what to say.

“You gotta believe me,” Al Caruso said warmly, “I’m your friend. I wanna make sure nothin’ bad happens to you. For Millie’s sake. But if you won’t listen to me, what can I do? You know how you get a mule to pay attention?”

Toby shook his head dumbly.

“First, you hit it over the head with a two-by-four.”

Toby felt fear rising in his throat.

“Which is your good arm?” Caruso asked.

“My—my right one,” Toby mumbled.

Caruso nodded genially and turned to the two men. “Break it,” he said.

From out of nowhere, a tire iron appeared in the hands of one of the men. The two of them began closing in on Toby. The river of fear became a sudden flood that made his whole body shake.

“For Christ’s sake,” Toby heard himself say, inanely. “You can’t do this.”

One of the men hit him hard in the stomach. In the next second, Toby felt excruciating pain as the tire iron slammed against his right arm, shattering bones. He fell to the floor, writhing in an unbearable agony. He tried to scream, but he could not catch his breath. Through tear-filled eyes, he looked up and saw Al Caruso standing over him, smiling.

“Have I got your attention?” Caruso asked softly.

Toby nodded, in torment.

“Good,” Caruso said. He turned to one of the men. “Open up his pants.”

The man leaned down and unzipped Toby’s fly. He took the tire iron and flicked out Toby’s penis.

Caruso stood there a moment, looking down at it. “You’re a lucky man, Toby. You’re really hung.”

Toby was filled with a dread such as he had never known. “Oh, God…please…don’t…don’t do it to me,” he croaked.

“I wouldn’t hurt you,” Caruso told him. “As long as you’re good to Millie, you’re my friend. If she ever tells me you did anything to hurt her—anything—you understand me?” He nudged Toby’s broken arm with the toe of his shoe and Toby screamed aloud. “I’m glad we understand each other,” Caruso beamed. “The wedding is at one o’clock.”

Caruso’s voice was fading in and out as Toby felt himself slipping into unconsciousness. But he knew he had to hang on. “I c-can’t,” he whimpered. “My arm…”

“Don’t worry about that,” Al Caruso said. “There’s a doc on his way up to take care of you. He’s gonna set your arm and give you some stuff so you won’t feel no pain. The boys will be here tomorrow to pick you up. You be ready, huh?”

Toby lay there in a nightmare of agony, staring up at Santa Claus’s smiling face, unable to believe that any of this was really happening. He saw Caruso’s foot moving toward his arm again.

“S—sure,” Toby moaned. “I’ll be ready…”

And he lost consciousness.

11

The wedding, a gala event, was held in the ballroom of the Morocco Hotel. It seemed that half of Las Vegas was there. There were entertainers and owners from all the other hotels and showgirls and, in the center of it all, Al Caruso and a couple dozen of his friends, quiet, conservatively dressed men, most of whom did not drink. There were lavish arrangements of flowers everywhere, strolling musicians, a gargantuan buffet and two fountains that flowed champagne. Al Caruso had taken care of everything.