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.”