Cain smiled. This was interesting to him. “He might even be willing to pay us. She's going to be to him, a delightful change from the fat, old rich creeps he usually lays.”“But, there's a slight glitch. Would he be willing to tattoo his right hand as Pascal's?”Cain snorted with contempt.“A little oil in his engine and that bum would lay his mother. You have nothing to worry about.”“Then, that settles it. He would meet with her in Pascal's apartment, which would then be mine, dressed in Pascal's clothes. In the middle of their action, the cameras hidden somewhere in the bedroom would take shots. At the end of the movie, the best angle shot would be selected. The ones which capture their clothes discarded on the floor or lying in a heap on the bed, Rico's wife, Henry's tattooed right hand, and just a part of his face.”“Henry would want to know why he has to play the part of Pascal.”&l

“Did you, for a moment, think that Rico has suddenly become generous? Offering you a five percent cut off his business profit, that’s a lot of generosity for a cold-blooded animal like Rico. Director of operations?” Gorevoy snorted. “What do you possibly know about the Casino business?”“I should have known better. He almost had me there.” He walked heavy-footed to the armchair and sank himself into it. “Rico thinks I'm responsible for Pascal.”“He isn't sure, that's what he wants to find out,” Gorevoy returned. “You've got to call Lopez before he does. Tell him about me.”Cain quickly took out his phone and began dialing Lopez's number.… Rico walked briskly to the elevator. He thumbed the button number, thirty-one, and was whisked to the next floor, above. He got out of the elevator, walked to the door at the far end of the corridor, and thumbed in the bed push.The

Natasha felt her body go limp, her head was doing circles, and she collapsed on the bed, with her hands covering her face.“Do you mean what you're saying, Rico?”Rico stood up, crossed over to the wet bar. He opened another bottle of whiskey, poured a liberal shot into the glass on the countertop, and brought it over to Natasha.“Take this.” She appreciated the drink, gulped it down, dropped the glass on the bed, and flopped back down on the bed.“If you're going to jail, then what is it, about you getting out?”Rico lit two cigarettes, gave one to Natasha, walked over to the dressing table, leaned on it, took a drag on his cigarette, and let the smoke drift down his nostrils. “I hope you realize all that I'm telling you must remain a secret?”“I'm not dumb.”Rico nodded.“I know you’re not. The thought had never crossed my mind... that's why I married you.&rd

Once Rico departed, Rossi turned toward Donovan. He looked inquiringly at him.“What do you think of it?”“Offering a hundred and fifty is a lot of dough.”The corners of Rossi's mouth tilted further downwards in a cunning smile.“Don't worry about the money. He would not get it if he was responsible for Pascal. The syndicate does not tolerate private killings. I want you to dig deep into the matter and find out who killed Pascal. You've got three days to find out.”With his cigar hanging between his teeth, Rossi left the room through the door he had used to come in.… Dr. James Smith, a broad-shouldered man, going bald, probably between forty and fifty years old, with piercing blue eyes, which had a friendly light in them, was in his office.He leaned forward, resting his elbows on the desk, with his hands clasped together.“Mrs. Rico, you don't look all that excited that you're six weeks

Gorevoy paused as he drank from his glass.“But, Rico and I, had high ambitions. A rural farm just couldn't contain it. In the day, we worked on the farm. In the evening, we went with the trucks going into the city, where we picked pockets. We had plans of migrating to America. Rico's father had been an American who had migrated to Russia, got married, and started a farm, so Rico was obsessed with the thought of going back to his fatherland. We saved what we got from our pick-pocketing. After two years, we had enough money to move to America. But, before we migrated, I had my first sex with your mother. She was sixteen then. She was against me leaving her and going to America. Your mother saw the thirst for money in me, and she knew such thirst would only lead me to something bad. I guess that was why she regarded me as bad in her letter and never told me about you. But, funnily enough, she kept in contact with me all the time I was in America until I went to prison. She