As the rear door of the helicopter's dangling pod dropped open above him, Milos spun and looked around for shelter. He noticed the blond actress crouching under a patio table. Good idea. He ducked and crowded in beside her.
"Get out of here!" she cried, pushing at him. "Get your own table!"
"This is my table!" Milos roared. "They're all my tables!"
Venting only a fraction of the fury boiling within him, he grabbed her by the shoulders and shoved, sending her rolling away. She ended up sprawled on her back on the decking.
She bared her teeth and screamed. "You bas—" she began, but then she stopped and her eyes widened.
Milos was just turning his head to see what had caught her attention when the tabletop came crashing down on his head and back, flattening him to the deck.
Through his pain-blurred vision he saw a whale of a man in an oil-soaked tuxedo groan and roll off the tabletop onto the slippery deck. And through the roaring in his ears he heard the actress's derisive laughter.
He lay prone, unable to move. It wasn't the table pinning him to the deck; humiliation and the feeling of utter impotence weighed him down. Instead of a scream of rage, the sound that rose in his throat was more like a sob.
7
Sal was grinning like an idiot as he stumbled away from the beach. Hard to believe, but tonight topped Friday night. And seeing Dragovic cowering under that table like an old lady, then getting flattened—Madrone! That alone was worth the price of admission. That walking piece of shit must be ready to die of embarrassment.
But that was nothing compared to how he was gonna feel when the local stations got hold of this videotape. Dragovic's Greatest Hits!
Had to hand it to Jack. Soon as he seen those barrels of old crankcase oil he knew exactly what he wanted to do, especially since Sal had a huge supply of the crud. Had to drain the crankcase of every heap that came into the yard and then pay some disposal outfit to cart it off. This was a much better way to get rid of it.
As for the hoity-toities at the party—served 'em right. The jerks deserved everything they got. More. Should've got busted bones and heads instead of walking away with nothing worse than messed-up clothes and a bunch of bruises and scratches.
Sal glanced back at where the lights from Dragovic's place filtered over the dune.
Hey, assholes, still think it's cool hanging with a murderer?
And you, Dragovic, Sal thought, patting the video-cam. I got you right here, you murderin' sonovabitch. Everyone's gonna see what a pussy you are. You're gonna wish you was dead.
And yet… somehow it still wasn't enough.
8
The call came an hour later. Milos had cleaned up by then and was seated in the basement security area, waiting for it. So was Mihailo, manning his tracking computer.
"Mr. Dragovic?" said the too-cultured voice on the other end. "East Hampton Environmental Protection Committee here. My, my, I must say you do know how to show people a good time."
Milos had expected taunts and was prepared for them. He also had a plan of how to deal with these people.
"You surprised me," Milos said, his voice even. "I didn't think you would attack your own kind."
"My own kind? Ha! You are trying to insult me, aren't you, Mr. Dragovic. Those parvenus are closer to your kind than mine."
What is a "parvenu"? Milos wondered.
"A parvenu, by the way," the voice said, "is a Johnny-come-lately, with lots of cash, few social skills, and no breeding. But they are several cuts above you, Mr. Dragovic. And tonight they learned an important lesson: when one clusters around a cesspool, one risks getting splashed with slime."
Milos bit back a stream of profanity and launched into baiting his plan.
"You will not drive me out," he said. "I am looking for you. I will dedicate myself to turning over every rock on Long Island in search of you. And when you are found, do not think you will be handed over to police. No, you will be brought to me, and then we will see who is parvenu. Until then I will hold as many parties as I please, whenever it pleases me."
The caller laughed. "Excellent! I'm so glad to hear you say that. This has been too much fun to end after a mere pair of encounters. When's the next parvenu barbecue, as it were?"
"Tomorrow night," Milos said through his teeth.
"Excellent!" A pause, then, "You wouldn't be thinking of calling in the authorities on this, would you, Dra-govic?"
"No! I am authority here!"
"Good. Because this is between you and us. And are we not men?"
What was this fool talking about?
"I do not know about you, but I am man, and I will have parties, many parties. Tomorrow night, and the next night, and the next night, and every night after until Labor Day. Do your damnedest!"
Milos slammed down the receiver and glanced at Mihailo on the far side of the room.
"He's calling from another pay phone," Mihailo said with a shrug. "Some place in Roslyn Heights."
"Where is that?"
"Almost back to Queens. I'll bet he pulled off the LIE and called from a gas station."
Milos hadn't in his most violent fantasies expected to be able to trap the man so quickly, but still he was disappointed.
"Very well," he told his men. "You all know what to do during the next twenty-four hours."
"What about us, Mr. Dragovic?"
Ivo had spoken. Milos turned and saw him and Vuk standing side by side. He was disappointed in these two. Both had been reliable men until now. But over the last two days their cars had been disabled twice—while they were sitting in them. They'd tried to cover up the second occurrence but he'd found out.
Two accidents in two days. Too much coincidence. Trouble was, the Sutton Square house appeared to be empty.
"You two will stay. I don't want you wasting your time—and another one of my cars." This drew laughs from the other men. Ivo and Vuk nodded and smiled uneasily. "We have too much to do here. The ones we are after will be coming to us tomorrow night. And I want us well prepared."
Milos rubbed his hands together. He had a hot reception planned for the East Hampton Environmental Protection Committee.
9
After finishing his call to Dragovic—which had gone just as he'd hoped—Jack left the gas station and headed up the highway to Monroe.
Parvenu… Abe had given him the word. A beauty.
In Monroe Jack parked at the edge of the marsh on a rutted road that ended a few hundred yards farther out at a tiny shack sitting alone near the Long Island Sound. He wondered who lived there.
A mist had formed, hugging the ground. The shack looked ominous and lonely floating in the fog out there with its single lighted window. Reminded Jack of an old gothic paperback cover.
Jack stuck his head out the window. Only a sliver of moon above, but plenty of stars. Enough light to get him where he wanted to go without a flashlight. He could make out the grassy area the Oddity Emporium used for parking. Only one or two cars there. As he watched, their headlights came alive and moved off in the direction of town.
Business was slow, it seemed. Good. The show would be early bedding down.
After the lights went out and things had been quiet for a while, Jack slipped out of the car and took a two-gallon can from the trunk. Gasoline sloshed within as he strode across the uneven ground toward the hulking silhouette of the main show tent. The performers' and hands' trailers stood off to the north side by a big 18-wheel truck.