(1982) The Almighty Read Online Free PDF

had always wanted. One had been the newspaper. The other had been Kim. Now he had possessed Kim. She belonged to him. That left the newspaper. It was his for the moment. Tomorrow morning he would go into the publisher’s office, remove the pictures from the wall, sweep the massive oak desk clear of its artifacts. It would be his alone. And now, for the first time, revitalized by his conquest of Kim, he felt confident that anything was possible and it could be his for all time. He had told Scharf that he would kill to keep the paper. And now he knew he could.
    Satisfied, he got out of bed and walked to his clothes which were heaped on a chair. He sought and found his watch. It was early evening. If he stayed away a little longer, he would miss the wake, and the mourners, and Hannah. He would phone Harry Dietz and Bruce Harmston and have them bring in some food, bring it up to the publisher’s office of the Record. They could dine together, celebrating, and plan his new stewardship and his ultimate victory over the king who was dead.
    Dressing, he looked over at the bed. Kim was breathing shallowly, sound asleep.
    Going to the bed to cover her, one thought came to him as he stared at that wonderful naked body.
    He and Kim, they had fucked each other. But one of them had also fucked his father.

CHAPTER TWO
    Immediately after landing at National Airport in Washington, D.C., from Chicago, on this sunny late morning, Victoria Weston took a taxi to her father’s two-story townhouse located on Prospect Street in Georgetown. Her father, Hugh, had come home for his lunch break and was waiting for her.
    After the black housekeeper, Selma, had greeted her with a kiss, picked up her overnighter and garment bag and shouted for her father, Hugh Weston appeared almost immediately. Victoria flung herself into her father’s arms. She loved him and had not seen him in months.
    At last he held her off and scrutinized her. ‘Far as I can tell, you look great, fit and trim,’ he said. ‘Maybe you could stand a few more pounds -‘
    ‘I’m 118, and I’m staying that way until I find me a man.’
    ‘What’s with this man stuff? Ever since I can remember you’ve had dozens of men at your heels.’
    ‘I mean the right man.’
    ‘How old are you? Twenty-four.’
    ‘Twenty-five, going on twenty-six, almost thirty.’
    ‘Twenty-five. Correct. Forgive me. At sixty, one tends to get hazy about birthdays, other people’s as well as one’s own.’ He looked her over again. She was a tall, willowy girl with loose blond hair, luminous eyes, a pert nose and wide grin; she was vivacious and cheerful, and particularly attractive in her pale apricot sweater, slim rust-colored skirt, hand-woven leather sandals. ‘Sorry, Victoria,’ he said, ‘I’m not worried about you. There’ll be many right men.’ He took her hand and led her into the living room. T can’t tell you how tickled I was with your winning the Chicago Hildy Johnson Award, a great coup in journalism. Congratulations again.’
    ‘Thanks, Dad.’
    ‘I read those clippings at least three times. That was a helluva series, that expose. Imagine all those so-called
    respectable married women working part-time for that madam on Lakeview Avenue. What got them to do it? Surely they didn’t need money.’
    ‘They needed excitement. They were bored.’
    ‘Well, you deserved the Hildy Award. Was your mother pleased?’
    ‘I think she was embarrassed that her darling daughter could write publicly about such things.’
    Hugh Weston was not surprised. ‘Yes, that figures.’ He eyed his offspring. ‘How is your mother?’
    Hugh Weston’s wife of thirty years had been unhappy as a newspaper widow. Their only child, Victoria, had been the product of many efforts to hold together their marriage. In the end, it had not worked. Six years ago they had enjoyed an unacrimonious divorce, and less than two years later his wife had married a wealthy businessman and now dwelt luxuriously in