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Dinner out in clear latex.

" There was a pool and a game room, with several pool tables, and a giant-screen TV, and a bar that never ended, and small cell-like bedrooms aplenty. At the front of the house, pretty much deserted and in the shadows, was a long room with sofas and deep-cushion chairs, and big ottomans. And in short order Cookie and his assistants had a rolling barbeque going out by the pool.

I tried to stay as close to Jenks as possible. The fuck I'd given him apparently had satiated him for the present, as he was content to sit at the bar or by the pool and hold court. The "guests three," which was how I was beginning to think of Ted, Jim, and Cliff, were in thrall with hearing the adventure stories from one of their favorite thriller and real-life-detective story authors. From time to time one of the three would see a piece of ass floating by that they fancied and would go off for a brief encounter. But they'd also come back for more mixing time with the novelist. He had a mesmerizing effect on them. Giacomo Arcardi and his two goons sat, for the most part, on the other side of the pool and stared Jenks down-which Jenks didn't even seem to notice. This seemed natural enough, because Jenks gave the impression that no matter how many people were in the room, he was the only one there of interest.

From time to time Arcardi and the goons also went inside, where I assumed they were playing pool or watching TV.

I floated a bit, but spent most of my time at the pool or near the bar, out of Jenks's aura but near enough to reach him quickly if there was trouble. He wound down when the sun hit its zenith and begged off to take a nap, but he was back out by the pool in not much more than two hours.

Late in the afternoon, though, I sensed trouble brewing. I saw Giacomo at the door into the lounge/bar area, staring out at the pool, and soon thereafter, one of his goons-the one who had approached me in the Chicago airport-came out to the pool and strode toward the area where Jenks was holding court.

I was between him and Jenks, though, and stood as the goon got near. To my surprise, he turned to me and said, "Mr. Arcardi wants you inside."

"And where will you and his other guard be?" I asked. It was a gamble. I couldn't tell him no. Those were the rules. And I was lucky Arcardi hadn't called for me earlier. But I really didn't want to be off fucking him with the goons on the loose doing who knew what to Jenks.

"Oh, we'll be there too," the goon said, giving me a cheeky leer.

"OK, I'll be in in a minute," I said.

To my relief that seemed to satisfy him, and he turned and reentered the house.

I called over the two old hands, who were standing around on the periphery prepared to do whatever was needed short of servicing the guests themselves-and truth be known they were such dried out and gnarled specimens that a guest request to them was highly unlikely. I asked them to keep an eye on Jenks-that Slade wanted to make sure he was safe, so they should do what they could if anyone tried to harm him. They were asked to do a whole lot of different and strange things, so the request didn't seem to faze them a bit.

I expected to go back to the bedroom area with Arcardi, but I was caught off guard as soon as I entered the house. I was backhanded hard across the face, which made me reel toward a wall, except I never got there. A man's long tie was slipped around my neck and my motion was arrested in a choking sound from me. That didn't prevent me from doubling up, though, when a fist went into my solar plexus. Winded, I found myself being manhandled not toward the bedrooms, but toward the lounge area at the front of the house in an area set off from the bar, which was being manned by Roy-who just went on whistling and minding his liquor bottles-just as he was trained to do.

I was carried over to an ottoman and pulled down on top of one of Arcardi's goons, who was naked and whose

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