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becoming narrow slits. ‘Did you say unfortunately?’
    ‘Indeed I did,’ Fouad said, small beads of sweat decorating his forehead. ‘Because, unfortunately , I have learned that The Keys is not for sale.’
    There was a long moment of deadly silence before Armand began to yell.
    ‘What do you mean it’s not for sale?’ he shouted, banging his fist on his desk. ‘Everything is for sale. Every person, every building, every damn thing in the world.’
    Fouad remained silent. There was nothing else he could say.
    ‘Who told you it’s not for sale?’ Armand continued. ‘What fool uttered those asinine words?’
    ‘The owner’s lawyer, Jeffrey Lonsdale.’
    ‘What owner? ’ Armand said with a sneer. ‘The Keys would not have an owner . The Keys would belong to a company. And that company should be prepared to sell. To me. I will pay whatever it takes, Fouad. Do you hear me? Whatever it takes.’
    Typical Armand behaviour, Fouad thought. Show him something he can’t have, and he will move heaven and earth to get it. Fouad recalled the case of the exquisite baby-faced call girl Armand had used on occasion. One night he required her services, and it turned out she had left the business and married a rock star. Armand was incensed. He wanted her and he would have her, so he’d devised a complicated plan which involved setting the rock star up with a paid-for call girl, making sure Baby-Face walked in on her cheating husband, and then flying her to New York for a reunion fuck. It had cost him plenty, but to him it was well worth it.
    ‘The Keys is owned by a private company. And the company belongs to a woman, Lucky Santangelo,’ Fouad said. ‘I spoke with her lawyer, who informed me there is no way she is prepared to sell, whatever the price.’
    ‘A woman,’ Armand said disdainfully. ‘A mere woman.’ He shook his head in disgust. ‘I can see I will have to deal with this matter myself. Tomorrow I go to Akramshar for my father’s birthday, and upon my return we will travel to Vegas or wherever this Lucky Santangelo woman is, and you will watch me convince her to sell me The Keys. Set up a meeting. And find out everything there is to know. Sometimes, Fouad, I wonder at your ineptitude. It seems there are times that if I don’t do it myself, nothing gets done. Perhaps marrying an American woman has blunted your business acumen. Your wife addles your brain – such as it is.’
    Once again Armand was making disparaging remarks about Fouad’s marriage. It infuriated Fouad, and one day in the not so distant future, he knew he would have to leave Armand’s employ. But, until that day came, he would simply be forced to suffer the insults aimed at his wife and marriage in silence.
    ‘It is done, Armand,’ he said, always calm, always polite. ‘I will make sure all arrangements are put in place for us to fly to Las Vegas.’
    ‘The Presidential Suite at The Keys,’ Armand stated. ‘And you will see – soon it will be all mine.’

Chapter Eight
    I t was noon when Frankie Romano hauled himself out of his oversized bed with its clichéd black satin sheets, and regarded himself in the mirror above his bathroom sink. He considered himself a good-looking sonofabitch. Not in the classically handsome sense, but he had an edgy style and plenty of attitude, plus he knew how to present himself. And he certainly knew how to score with the ladies. Oh yes ! Frankie Romano was a first-class cocksman, and nobody could argue that.
    Last night he’d mega-scored with Cookie, Gerald M.’s sexy little offspring. A teenager with real tits and real enthusiasm. Not some tired old twenty-something Hollywood blonde who’d had more hot cocks than hot dinners. Oh no, Cookie was something else – a real prize.
    Frankie made his way into the living room of his apartment – all chrome and leather furniture, the full-length windows overlooking the Sunset Strip. He laid out a couple of lines of coke on his mirrored coffee table and