Read Online The Stallion (1996) by Harold Robbins - Free Book Online Page A

that?”
    Angelo glanced at Amanda. “I’m going down there to see what he wants. I won’t make any commitment until you and I talk again.”

VII
1975
1
    Sitting on the lanai, they faced a hissing rain that obscured the view even of the beach, much less of the sea. It was one of those tropical rains that sometimes fall in Florida: straight down out of a dark overcast sky, driven by no wind, and not intruding inside the screens. It was cold, though, and Number One sat wrapped in a knit shawl hung around his shoulders by his nurse.
    “Which king was it?” he asked, “who was wrapped in blankets with virgins to give him heat in his old age?”
    “David,” said Angelo. He smiled. “If you don’t require virgins, we might be able to find somebody.”
    Number One managed a faint smile of his own. “When you reach that point in life,” he said, “when it would make no difference whether the girl wrapped up with you was a virgin or not, the time has come … Oh, hell. I swore I’d make a hundred, and I’m afraid I’m going to. Don’t make promises to yourself. You may have to keep them.”
    Angelo had not come straight from the airport. Anticipating a confrontation, he had checked into a motel, affording himself a retreat if he needed one. He wore a madras jacket over a white polo shirt and a pair of Sandhurst-tan slacks.
    Loren was there, so conspicuously filled with tension thatAngelo wondered if he hadn’t been taking something. No matter what he wore, Loren the Third was always tense and self-conscious, like a kid who had worn his Boy Scout uniform to school only to discover that Boy Scout Week was next week. The golfing clothes he was wearing now looked out of place in the presence of Number One.
    The interesting one was Roberta. Angelo had heard of her but had never met her. Her string of names was Roberta Ford (not of those Fords, she was quick to tell you) Ross Hardeman, and she was a striking woman, no doubt of that, though he wished he could think of a better word for her. He had rarely seen a woman with as much brash self-assurance. Number One would not have allowed Loren’s other wives to sit in on what promised to be a confrontational business meeting, but he was allowing this woman to do it. She was not the kind of woman Angelo would have expected to see attached to Loren.
    Apart from her unalloyed self-assurance, she was a physically imposing woman. He was interested in how she’d styled her hair: clipped bristly short to the tops of her ears, then feathered into longer hair above. She was not beautiful, but she did the best she could with what she had, and she was definitely attractive. She was wearing formfitting cream white pants stretched tight by stirrups and a raspberry polo shirt filled with a formidable bust.
    “I suppose you still believe in that funny-car you want us to build,” said Number One.
    Angelo lifted his chin a little. “There’d be a good name for it,” he said. “The F-Car.”
    “Fucker,” muttered Number One. “You come here to make jokes or to talk about a car?”
    “I came here to pay you a social call,” said Angelo. “I didn’t come to talk business.”
    “Loren,” said Number One. “See to it that Angelo gets a check for twenty-five thousand dollars within the week. A consulting fee. So we can talk business.”
    “I didn’t offer to talk business, not for any price,” said Angelo.
    “Don’t be stubborn,” said Number One. He turned to Roberta and said, “You see what we have to contend withwhenever he’s around? Let’s not play games, Angelo. We want your input.”
    “What’s this? You want my input? When did this come about?”
    Number One turned and stared at the pouring rain for half a minute, while the others wondered if he had lost track of the conversation. “Do you remember the time I asked you to be my legs?” he asked Angelo.
    “Then fired me when I did the job too well.”
    The old man’s hand fluttered impatiently. “Never mind