Free Chances by Jackie Collins Page A

Am I glad I reached you!”
    Dario. Costa frowned. The only time he ever heard from him was when he needed something.
    As if on cue, Dario continued, “Costa. You’ve got to help me. I’m in trouble. I want somebody… gotten rid of.”
    “Don’t talk on the phone,” Costa snapped.
    “Not iced,” Dario explained, “just out of my apartment, that’s all.”
    “Will you shut up?” Costa hissed, thinking of how this conversation would sound if there was a tap on his phone. Every week he had his office checked over by an expert… but it was not inconceivable.
    Dario’s voice started to shake. “Costa. I need help now. There’s a maniac in my apartment who is trying to kill me. Right now he’s locked in the bedroom but—”
    “Get out of there immediately,” Costa commanded. “Check into a hotel and contact me tomorrow, I’ll see the situation is… dealt with.”
    “You don’t understand.” Dario’s voice was rising hysterically, “I
can’t
get out of here. He has my keys. I’m locked in.”
    Costa thought quickly, his mind raking for an instant solution. “The cops—” he began.
    “Forget it,” Dario interrupted. “My father wouldn’t like the publicity.”
    The picture became clear. One of Dario’s pickups had turned on him. “I know someone,” Costa said slowly. “You just stay put.”
    “Oh God!” Dario’s voice filled with panic. “Oh God! I think he’s getting… out. Costa! You’ve got to help me—he… he is… Oh Christ!”
    The line went dead in Costa’s hand.
    Wide-eyed with fear, blood dripping from her torn earlobes, Carrie backed into a corner as all around her the noise and commotion grew. Her long black hair fell around her face, and the sour taste of bile filled her mouth.
I’m going to throw up. Oh, Christ, I’m going to throw up.
    The sound of glass shattering filled her ears, and two excited women ran past her, yelling, “Let’s go git us a free Tee Vee.”
    She staggered out of the supermarket after them, surrounded by men, women, children, all loaded up with as much food as they could carry. One thought filled her head. Get to the car. Get out of these mean streets.
    “Hi there, sister, y’all take these.” A giggling fat woman thrust a package of paper towels at her. “I cain’t carry ’em, an’ I sure ’nuff ain’t leavin’ ’em.”
    Carrie held the package dumbly.
Where was her car? Where had she left it?
She shook her head.
Goddammit, woman. Pull yourself together. You’ve got to get out of this place.
    Of course. Her car was in the parking lot. But if she got in her car and left, what then? She had come up to Harlem for a reason. Protecting Steven was more important than getting out of this place.
    But then she remembered that her gun was in her purse, and her purse had been grabbed.
    She hurried to the parking lot, just in time to see her car speed past her. Her beautiful dark green Cadillac Seville, all the windows open, the stereo radio blasting out, and her two young assailants sitting comfortably in the front seats.
Of course. The keys to her car had been in her purse.
    She wanted to cry, to scream, anything. Instead, she just stood stock-still, allowing the hate to course through her body. Deciding for sure that whoever had lured her back here was going to die—one way or another.
    “Mr. Santangelo.” The pretty stewardess bent and whispered in his ear. “There’s been a total power failure in New York so the pilot is taking us to Philadelphia, where we can land. I do hope it won’t inconvenience you too much.”
    Before he could reply, the captain’s voice came booming through the cabin speakers with the same message.
    “Can I get you anything, Mr. Santangelo?” the stewardess asked solicitously.
    “No.” He shook his head. “I’m fine.”
    But he wasn’t fine. He was pissed off at not being able to set foot in New York. Seven years away and now this.
    The woman who had chosen to sit beside him came staggering back from