Stiletto by Harold Robbins Page A

advertisements held was right there. Some guys had all the luck.
    ***
    Cesare waited until the blonde sat up straight on her stool. Petulantly she turned to her escort, a fat little man. He gave her some bills from a big roll and she turned back to the table. Cesare started down from the lounge, holding a drink in his left hand.
    He walked down the aisle behind the blonde and hesitated for a moment. The croupier turned the wheel and dropped the ball. Cesare’s hand moved quickly behind the blonde’s back and he started to walk around the table toward his own.
    He could feel the throbbing begin in his temples and the pain. It was always like this. The pain would start there, and then, step by step, move down into his body. He knew the pain now and had a long time ago ceased to fear it. It was the pain of excitement, of danger, of looking into the abyss of time, the hell of oblivion.
    He was behind the Twister who was resting his chin in his hands, supported by his elbows on the table edge. The bodyguard was just starting to turn toward him when the scream came.
    The bodyguard whirled, his hand streaking toward his shoulder holster. Cesare moved quickly. Across the table, the blonde fought to hold her dress over her bosom. It was a losing battle. There was too much of her.
    Cesare let go of the stiletto and felt the knife spring back into his sleeve. The Twister still sat quietly on his stool, not moving. The bodyguard turned back. Cesare could see him smiling as Barbara took her drink.
    The blonde was passing their table now, the fat little man hurrying after her. Her high-pitched voice floated back to them. “They didn’t break I tell you, they didn’t! They were cut! Somebody—”
    “Ssh! Please, baby! Everybody’s looking!” the little man pleaded.
    “I don’t give a damn!” the blonde retorted as they hurried up the steps toward the lounge.
    Cesare and Barbara laughed and she turned back to the table to make another bet.
    Jordan turned around and looked down at the Twister. He was sitting there not moving, his chin in his hands. The wheel stopped. It was on the black. The croupier pushed a pile of chips to join the others on the table. The Twister didn’t move.
    The wheel started to spin again. Jordan looked at one of the other bodyguards. The man shrugged his shoulders.
    “Get your bets down, ladies and gentlemen,” the croupier called in his soft monotone. A few more bets came down and the croupier threw the ball into the wheel. The pile in front of the Twister grew. It was black again. He didn’t move.
    ***
    The pain bound Cesare’s chest now, making it difficult for him to breathe. He looked down at Barbara. “This is no way to spend our last night in Las Vegas,” he said. “In this crowded place with all these stupid people.”
    She looked up at him. A faint smile lurked in the corners of her mouth. “Just what do you have in mind?” she asked.
    Cesare forced himself to smile. “Just the two of us. Alone.”
    Excitement began to grow in her eyes. She could feel the current flowing out of him but couldn’t resist a tease. “It was the blonde that did it. There was too much for any man.”
    “That’s not true,” he answered quickly. He reached for her hand.
    His palm was warm and moist as if he had a fever. She looked up at him quickly. “Are you all right?”
    “I’m fine,” he answered. “I’m just bored with this, bored with all these people who think of nothing but money. I want to be with you. I want to feel the life inside you.”
    Her lips were suddenly dry. She could feel a heat suddenly surging inside her. Inside her mind there was a flashing image of his muscular thrusting body. She held his hand tightly and looked up into his face.
    There was an intensity that had not been there a moment before. “We’ll have cold champagne for before,” he said. “And warm brandy for after.”
    She moved off the seat as if in a haze. Her legs felt curiously weak. She tried to smile up at