He’d peeped the party off and on. Looked like the Slippery Serb was tossing a bash for his boys and his big customers. The crowd was all guys, some in suits, some in sweaters or golf shirts. Sal knew the type from their haircuts and their swagger—Eurotrash and local tough guys, probably the kind Dragovic’s lawyers would refer to in court as “business associates.”

Sal had watched them chow down on the best damn buffet he’d ever seen—whole lobsters, soft-shelled crabs, a sushi chef, carvers serving everything from prime-rib to filet, a raw bar, a caviar bar with bottles of flavored vodkas jutting from a mound of shaved ice—until he got so hungry he had to turn off the camera.

As he focused the scene now, he noticed something new going on at the party. A bunch of bikinis were splashing around in the pool. Where’d they come from? The guys were all hanging around the water, sipping after-dinner drinks, smoking fat cigars, and watching.

Sal felt his shoulder muscles, knot… He’d bet his life that somewhere in that crowd were the guys who splattered Artie all over Church Avenue. He could be looking at them right now.

What am I doing videotaping a party? What for? And where do Jack and my old tires come in?

Then he heard the helicopter.

9

“My, what interesting people,” Cino said.

Her sarcastic tone irritated Milos. They stood in the corner where the main house joined its eastern wing. Drinks in hand—Ketel One for Milos, the ever-present Dampierre for Cino—they leaned on the railing of the highest tier of one of the multilevel decks and surveyed Milos’s guests below.

Cino wore a high-collared embroidered kimonolike dress of red silk that clung to every curve of her slim body on its way to her ankles. With her dark bangs and jet eyes, she looked Oriental tonight.

“I’m sure you’ll be more impressed with Sunday’s guest list,” he said. “The beautiful people are more your type. But these folk”—he gestured with a sweep of his arm—”are the ones who make this place and this party possible. My buyers, sellers, suppliers, and distributors.”

“Distributors of what?” Cino asked with a mischievous grin as she leaned against him like a cat. She’d been hitting the champagne since midafternoon and her glittering eyes said she was feeling little pain.

Milos returned her smile. “Of the many items I import and export.”

“What kind of items?”

“Whatever is in demand,” he said.

“And the bathing beauties,” she said, jutting her chin at the pool. “Are they part of your distribution network too?”

“Hardly. They’re items in demand, which I imported from the city especially for the occasion.”

He’d hired the best-looking girls from a number of strip clubs and vanned them out for the night. Their job was an easy one: party, have a good time, wear very little, and be very friendly.

“Ah,” Cino said. “Window dressing.”

“More like party favors.”

Cino seemed to think this was very funny, and Milos enjoyed the ringing sound of her laughter as he watched the girls. Nature and silicone had provided them with fabulous bodies. They were on display now, but their real work would begin after they dried off. They had been instructed as to the pecking order of the guests and, keeping that in mind, were to pair off with anyone who was interested.