Chapter 6

Darleen pulled a beige leather glove onto her left hand. It was two thirty, Wednesday afternoon, five days after her husband had seduced Janet Richards. Her mind had been involved in nothing for the last few days, except to originate plans for the younger couple who were under Martin's power. She had only to wait for word from him as to when Greg Richards returned home from his trip and she could initiate her first step. She picked up the car keys and turned towards the door but the brash ringing of the telephone stopped her.

"Hello, Baby" she heard Martin's ringing voice at the other end. He rarely called her at home unless it was extremely important. Maybe for once it wouldn't be she almost hoped. Maybe he would just ask her to meet him for a drink after work.

"I'm on my way to do some shopping," she said. "Is anything wrong."

"To the contrary. I thought you might be interested to know that Greg is at the office today. He came home last night."

"Wonderful," she said. "Did he give you any indication that he might know what happened?"

"None that I could see. I don't think that Janet was foolish enough to tell him. We'll have to find a way to do that ourselves. I'm going to ask them to come to the beach with us for the weekend and with the proper preparations there'll be nothing to worry about. Both of them will find that they can enjoy our company much more than they had ever imagined."

"Good," she said, "When do we leave, darling?"

"Sometime Friday. I think I can talk Greg into leaving the office early."

"There's something I want to ask you, Martin," she said, hoping that he would agree to her proposition. "You said the other night that we could take them to Peter's Club for a party, and watch Monroe giving it to Janet. You practically promised."

Martin laughed into the telephone. "Sometimes I think you must be some kind of pervert," he stopped for a moment, still not able to control his laughter. "You go right ahead and do whatever you wish. See Peter this afternoon and make some arrangement for next week. We can't take them there until we've broken them in good ourselves. You understand that they must be perfectly primed. I want Greg in my palm as much as I have Janet or he might blow the works."

"Oh, thank you, Darling," she cooed over the line. "You're so sweet to me. Sometimes I think you're a little too lenient."

"Well," he said, "Don't worry about that now. I'm leaving the office to see Janet. I want to impress upon her the importance of the weekend trip and then I'll see you about six thirty."

Darleen hardly heard the click in her ear as Martin hung up. She was preoccupied with the new events at hand. Now she would be sure to get her revenge on Janet for attracting her husband, and at the same time, be able to take Greg for a ride. There was no thought of shopping in her mind as she left the house. She was going to see Peter Grant immediately and assure herself that everything would be arranged when they brought the Richards to meet Peter and his wife, Deborah.

Grant's Tomb was almost obscured from any passers by. The single black door was decorated with a small gold plaque, the club's name engraved in black Old English type on its face. No other sign adorned the entrance. It could have been a private apartment, set between the thriving businesses on Sunset Strip.

However, the unadorned entrance was no indication of the club's reputation. Peter Grant had owned a number of night spots in the Los Angeles area. Each time he closed out and moved to a new location he brought his old customers with him, as well as building a larger clientele from newer contacts.

The Tomb's reputation was Peter's. The army of followers that had come with him through the last ten years were impressed not only by his taste for elegance, but by his taste for the bizarre. Most who came for an evening's entertainment got more than they expected and were pleased. Few complained about the high prices. A select minority of the customers, however, found more than simple nightclub entertainment.

They, too, enjoyed the fine dinners and floor-shows. A few of these even stayed to dance for a while. But if one were to look about him in the later hours of the evening, they would see that a few guests were escorted personally by the owner, or his hulking bodyguard, Monroe, through a thick black curtained door and no one ever came out from behind the curtain before two o'clock, the regular closing hour.

An especially observant person might have thought that Peter was running a gaming club through the large, locked door behind it. But it would take a long stretch of the imagination to figure out exactly what kind of gaming was taking place. But there was enough partying going on in the main clubroom to deter anyone from furthering his curiosity by trying to enter through the door. The psychedelic lights and topless dancers kept most of the guests quite happy.

Darleen was among the selected clique who were allowed entrance to the door. She also had her own key to the club. She and her husband had been friends of the Grants for almost three years and in that time they had come to discover many mutual interests. Enough mutual interests, cultivated during weekends at the Kelly's beach house, to make them the closest of friends.

Darleen inserted her gold key into the lock and opened the door. She closed it and stood for a moment, adjusting her eyes to the semi-darkness. The bright afternoon sun had left her temporarily blinded by the darkened interior. After she locked the door she started toward Peter's office and after a moment she could make out the forms who were working on the club's main floor more clearly.

A pair of janitors swept, while two cleaning ladies were scrubbing the rugs. All four were being supervised by an extremely large ape-like man wearing a light blue turtleneck sweater. The six foot five inch man was pointing toward a corner that he wanted the janitors to be sure and not miss before they finished sweeping. As he turned, he saw Darleen.

"Hello, Mrs. Kelly," he said in a deep, gruff voice. "What brings you here at this time of day?"

"Nothing really important, Monroe," she said. The first time Martin introduced her to the Grants, she had seen Monroe in the background. Not once since then, had she not been impressed by the giant that stood before her. At two hundred and fifty pounds he looked every inch the powerful man that he was. But she was afraid to try anything with him. Though physically perfect, he was obviously a brute and looked as though he might almost kill a woman if he became sexually aroused enough.

"Is Peter here? I thought I would stop to chat," she said, looking at the heavy dark brow that protruded much too far over his eyes. A perfect Neanderthal, she thought. His flat nose spread to a dark thick mustache that topped his wide mouth and framed his dark chin. His eyes were hard, but blank.

"Yeah, he's in his office. I don't think there's anyone else there," he said, more intent on flexing his muscles under the long sleeved wool turtleneck than waiting for a reply from Mrs. Kelly. The former semi-pro football player turned his attention back to the two janitors as Darleen walked to the office behind the stage.

Peter Grant heard the light knock at his open door and saw her standing there. "Darleen! What a surprise. It's been weeks since you've come here during the day," the little man said. "Business or pleasure?"