Гарольд Роббинс - The Raiders

"No. Only about half of them," she said.

"Have you ever seen another one that would rival it?"

"You're proud of it, aren't you?" Glenda asked.

He seized his penis and pulled it out even more. It was thick, as well as long, with prominent blue veins showing under the skin. He lifted it in the palm of his hand. "Girls ask me to show it to them, even if they don't want it."

"Do you show it to them?"

"Once in a while."

Glenda began to undress. "That's grotesque," she said.

He undressed with her. "The one thing it can't stand is unemployment."

"And your girlfriend's shut up in a psychiatric clinic."

"She asked for what you might call a conjugal visit. They said no, only if we were married. She's angry and frustrated, but she signed herself in and can't get out. Bat took care of Jo-Ann. He doesn't seem to be taking care of you."

"When he came out here to make the arrangements for her, he called me, but he couldn't spare an hour to see me."

She was naked now. So was he. He stood facing her. She reached up and touched his mammoth penis, then tipped her head to beckon him to sit down beside her. He sat down and began to fondle her breasts.

"We're gonna have a good time," Glenda said softly. "We don't need the Cords. We're gonna have a good time!"

"Damn right we are," he said. "A good time. Both of us have been screwed by the Cords — more ways than one."

"Anybody's been screwed by you's been screwed ," she said, squeezing him gently to be sure he was rigid and ready. "So, c'mon. Make me the envy of every girl in California."

He kissed her on the neck and ran his hands over her body one more time. He nodded. " 'Kay," he grunted.

Glenda scooted across the bed, lay down on her back, and spread her legs. He mounted her and slowly shoved his oversized organ into her until she groaned in protest. He pulled back a little but then began strokes, each one invading her a little more deeply. She moaned and whimpered — but only softly — and he continued until his belly touched hers and all of him was inside her. He was gentle. He had to be. And he didn't take long. By the time she decided he was hurting her too much, he was finished.

"My god, Ben!" She pressed both her hands to her crotch. She gleamed with sweat. "Like I said, a girl who's been screwed by you has been screwed ."

"You're bein' screwed more ways than one," said Ben. His thoughts had remained on what he had been saying before she called on him to perform. "You know somethin', kid. You are Cord Productions. You're the only successful show they've got. When the time comes for contract renewal, you ought to hold them up for a bundle."

"The thought has occurred to me," she said.

"The show was an experiment, a gamble," said Ben. "But you're a hot property right now. But showbiz is fickle, as I don't have to tell you, and you should make every dime you can while you can."

THE AIRPORT JUST ACROSS THE ARIZONA LINE SOUTH OF Las Vegas where Jonas had landed in 1951 when he was ducking subpoenas was still there and was still used the same way. A sleek, fast private plane landed about noon.

The first man off the plane was Carlo Vulcano, capo of the Vulcano Family that controlled Cleveland's East Side. Wizened and white-haired, he was of medium height, but he looked short because he walked with his shoulders hunched and his head thrust forward. His suspenders held his trousers up almost to his armpits, and he carried a white handkerchief in his left hand, which he pressed to his mouth from time to time because he drooled.

Next was John Stefano, underboss of Detroit's Cosenza Family. He was a swarthy, dark-haired man with shifting brown eyes, about fifty years old. He paused just outside the airplane to light a big cigar.

Morris Chandler was waiting on the tarmac. He strode forward to greet Vulcano and Stefano. Jimmy Hoffa, cocky, happy, and wearing a big grin, passed him and reached Vulcano first.

The four men walked to the private club in the house at the end of the ramp. They sat down in solid maple chairs at one of the tables covered with a red-and-white-checkered tablecloth. Stefano reinforced the fire in his cigar by holding it in the flame of the candle stuck in a Chianti bottle.

"Not a bad place," said Vulcano, glancing around the dining room. "Are those girls hookers?"

"For sure," said Chandler.

"Ah, good."

"A private place," Stefano remarked half sarcastically. "You're hopin' Cord won't find out you're meeting with us, right?"

"Right," Chandler admitted.

"What's he do, hire private dicks?" Stefano asked.

"He doesn't have to," said Chandler. "He's got his own guys. Nothing much happens that he doesn't know."

"Well ... we are sorry about Dave Beck," said Vulcano to Hoffa. "Unfortunately, he was not a man to listen to advice."

"Nobody's advice," said Hoffa. "The lawyers have no confidence the appeals are gonna work. He'll die in the slammer, I imagine." He shook his head. "Nobody's advice."

"So. You will assume the presidency of the Teamsters Union now," said Vulcano. "Is there any problem?"

Hoffa shrugged. "What problem?"

"Do you need any help?"

"There was never a man who couldn't use and appreciate a little help," said Hoffa. "But I've got it in line pretty good."

"Okay," said Stefano. "We came out here to talk about something else."

"The Cords," said Hoffa. "I'm gonna kill that son of a bitch, so help me!"

Carlo Vulcano, hunched over the table, leaned toward Hoffa. " Business , my friend," he muttered, his lips fluttering so a trickle ran from the corner of his mouth. "Killing a man is very bad for business. If you want to work with us, you will have to subdue your temper and your resentments and put out of mind all thought of killing."

Hoffa smiled his toothy smile. "It was a figure of speech, Don Carlo."

Vulcano nodded, accepting the assurance. "We don't speak for everyone," he said to Chandler, "but there is agreement among many of the men of honor that further intrusion into Vegas by the Cords will be detrimental to our interests."

"To put the thing in the simplest words," said Stefano, "the revenues from the hotels are secondary to us. We need the casinos for money laundering and other purposes."

"You may not be able to count on Cuba much longer," said Chandler. "Meyer Lansky couldn't persuade the Cords to invest in the Riviera, and I'd have thought that was as sweet a deal as anybody could make, what with Lansky's connections and expertise. I can only figure the Cords know something even Lansky doesn't know."

"Which would be what?" asked Vulcano.

"Bat's mother is Batista's niece. Maybe they got inside information," said Chandler.

"Naah," said Stefano.

"It is essential," said Vulcano, "that we have a way and a way. I make it a point always to have a means to an end and a means in reserve." He was a man who was accustomed to pontificating and to being solemnly heard when he did. "These people the Cords threaten our interests. What is the best way to cope with them?"

"It's a shame we can't do it the old way," said Chandler.

"Put that from your mind," said Vulcano. "The question is How can we apply pressure to these people?"

"Jonas Cord has a daughter in a drying-out clinic in California," said Chandler. "She has given herself to a Hollywood hustler named Benjamin Parrish. The illegitimate son, Jonas Third, called Bat, sleeps with Glenda Grayson. Jonas Second himself keeps Angela Wyatt as a private and confidential secretary — and sleep-in lover. She has a federal criminal record." Chandler shrugged. "We may be able to find some advantage in one or more of those things."

"We can call down strikes on their heads," said Hoffa. "They can't build their Intercontinental Vegas without— "