Dead Eyes

by Stuart Woods

  CHAPTER

  44

  J ack Berman was on the phone, and he was brimming with good news. “Chris, it was an inspiration to send it to Jason Quinn and Brent Williams; they both love it.”

  “I’m so glad,” she said. “Will they take the meeting?”

  “Three this afternoon, at your house.”

  “Great.”

  “Tell me, why did you want to send it to these two guys, after the way they dumped you from the western?”

  “Because they’re both right for it. Jason will be good as the doctor, and Brent’s best work has always been on a smaller scale.”

  “Not many people in this town can let bygones be bygones for the sake of a project. You’re a real pro, kid.”

  “Thanks, Jack. I hope you’ll be here, too. I want you to produce.”

  “I’d love to; it’s been a long time.”

  “It’s like roller-skating; you never forget how.”

  “I hope you’re right. See you at three.”

  Chris began to work on not being too excited; it wasn’t a good idea to get too excited before a meeting like this one.

  Larsen sat in the Mustang across the street from Keyhole Security and waited. He had been waiting for most of the morning, and by the time Parker finally left the building and got into his van, Larsen had nearly dozed off.

  He fell in a couple of cars behind the van as it drove west on Santa Monica Boulevard, then made a left and a right and continued on Wilshire. He followed the van into Brentwood and drove past the house where Parker stopped. He turned a corner, got out of the car, and, from behind a palm, watched Parker ring the bell and enter the house.

  Parker was there for nearly an hour, probably a sales call, Larsen reckoned. When he left, he drove to a house in Beverly Hills, and this time he took his tool kit with him. Half an hour later, he pulled into a delicatessen on Melrose and had lunch. Larsen ate in his car and waited.

  There were two more apparent service calls, one at a house, the other at a doctor’s office, then the van pulled into a parking garage under an office tower on Wilshire. Larsen gave him two minutes to park and get out of the van, then drove into the garage. He went down two levels, looking for the van, and suddenly came up against a dead end. Turning quickly around, Larsen drove back through the garage, checking every parking space. The van had disappeared.

  Chris greeted Brent Williams, the director, and Jason Quinn, the actor, in her study and introduced them to Danny. Both men already knew Jack Berman.

  She was using this meeting as a rehearsal for looking directly at people, a habit she had lost since the damage to her sight. She could see their shapes well enough, and she concentrated on gazing at the point where she knew their eyes to be. She settled her guests and Danny took orders for coffee and soft drinks, then Jack called the meeting to order.

  “Chris and I are delighted that you both like the script,” he said. “Chris has asked me to produce her film, and this afternoon I thought we’d just talk informally about casting and where we might take the project.”

  Jason Quinn spoke up immediately. “I have what I think is a terrific idea,” he said, “and I want to get the reaction of all of you.”

  “Go ahead, Jason,” Jack said.

  “Well, it’s clear to me that the two leads are both potentially Academy nomination material, with the right people in the parts. Chris, I’m flattered that you thought of me, and I’m certainly very interested. But I think that the casting of the girl is critical; we need someone who’s established, and yet who has a reputation for versatility and good dramatic work.”

  Chris warmed to this description of her abilities.

  Jason continued, “I think we ought to send the script to Annette Bening.”

  There was a shocked silence in the room, which Quinn didn’t seem to notice.

  “I know she hasn’t worked since the baby, and I think this project is just the sort of thing to bring her back. I think she’ll love it.” He looked around the room for a reaction.

  Jack Berman broke the silence. “Jason, I think there’s been some miscommunication here.”

  “What?” Quinn asked. “What do you mean?”

  “Well, Chris has developed this project from scratch; she found the material, she optioned it, and she has adapted it.”

  “I’m aware of that,” Quinn said.

  “And I thought you were aware that she plans to play the role herself.”

  Quinn looked shocked, then embarrassed. “Oh,” he said.

  “I trust you have no objection to that,” Jack said.

  Quinn looked uncomfortable. “Well, I’m afraid I see the project in a different light.” He turned toward Chris. “Chris, I hope you don’t think this is a criticism of your work as an actress, but for strategic reasons, my agent and I don’t feel I can be associated with this project unless the role of the girl is played by a major star, like Annette.”

  Chris started to speak, but he continued.

  “I think that to play a blind person calls for something special in an actress, and I think Annette has that.”

  Chris could not help herself; she began to laugh.

  Quinn bristled. “I did not intend that to be funny,” he said. “I feel very strongly about this.”

  “I’m sorry, Jason,” Chris said, “but there’s an irony at work here that you’re not aware of.”

  “I don’t know what you mean,” he replied.

  “It’s just that right now, I’m giving a performance; I’m playing the part of a woman who can see.”

  “Chris, I don’t have the slightest idea what you’re talking about.”

  “I mean that I’m acting. I can’t see. I’ve been blind since my fall some time back, and although my vision has improved and I expect to recover fully, at this moment I can’t see the expression on your face, although I can guess what it is—equal parts of surprise, irritation, and consternation, I would hazard.”

  Quinn made a sort of grunting noise.

  Chris worked hard to keep the anger out of her voice. “Jason, I own this project, and although I have asked Jack to produce, I intend to exercise a considerable degree of control over the way it is developed, particularly over casting. The part of the girl has already been cast; she is to be played by me. But I understand your strategic concern for your career, and since you feel you need a major star to play opposite, then I don’t think we need to take any more of your time.”

  Quinn grunted again, and she watched him get to his feet and start for the door.

  “Oh, and Jason, would you please leave your copy of the script?”

  She heard it hit the floor.

  When he had gone Brent Williams was the first to speak. “Chris, I want to thank you,” he said. “I’ve just spent ten weeks working with that arrogant, insensitive sonofabitch, and it delights me to hear somebody speak to him that way.”

  “Thank you, Brent.”

  Williams continued. “I want to say that I never saw anybody but you in the role, and the fact that your sight has been impaired reinforces my opinion.”

  Jack spoke up. “How do you think this project should be developed, Brent?”

  “Well, if Jason had been involved I’d have wanted to go to Centurion with it, because they love him in the western. But since he’s not, I think we should package it as a quality, low-budget film with a ready-made script and cast. In order to do that, of course, all the principals are going to have to defer compensation, but if the picture is a hit, and I think it will be, then we’ll all do a hell of a lot better with profit participation than with big salaries.”

  “I agree,” Chris said. “What do you think about the script?”

  “I think it’s basically right. I think it’s
a little too enclosed at the moment—it reads like a stage play made into a film. But I don’t see any problem with opening it up visually and making it look good. I…”

  Danny came into the room. “Excuse me, all, but you’re going to have to get the hell out of here. The house is on fire.”

  Larsen sat at the parking-lot exit and looked up and down Wilshire. Parker had at least a five-minute start, and that meant he had no chance to find him in this city. Then he slapped his forehead. Of course. He slammed the Mustang into gear and roared out of the garage toward Bel Air.

  When he arrived at Chris’s house a fire truck was parked out front, and a column of black smoke was rising from a back corner of the house. He saw Chris standing on the lawn with Danny, safe. He reversed into a driveway and tore off down Stone Canyon; he drove up every side street looking for the van, but to no avail. The bastard had outsmarted him again.

  CHAPTER

  45

  The three of them sat at Larsen’s dining table and ate takeout Chinese food.

  “…and I managed to throw some clothes out the window, and Brent got the cars out of the garage,” Danny was saying. “That’s all we saved.”

  “It was an old house,” Larsen said. “It went up like tinder. I’m sorry you lost so many things, Chris.”

  “I feel stripped bare,” Chris said. “Absolutely naked. Oh, hell, there wasn’t a lot in that house that I would have moved to the new place, but what there was was stuff I’ve had for a long time—furniture, photographs, bound copies of scripts. Some of it I can never replace. Maybe I’m overreacting, but I feel as though everything has been taken from me.”

  Larsen reached for her hand, but the phone rang; he went to answer it and talked quietly for a few minutes, then came back to the table.

  “That was the arson investigator from the fire department; he found the remains of some sort of timing device and a detonator attached to a five-gallon can of gasoline.”

  “A timer?” Danny said.

  “I don’t think he meant for it to go off immediately; something must have gone wrong.”

  Chris put down her fork. “You mean he intended it to go off later, like while we were asleep?”

  “Maybe,” Larsen said.

  “Oh, come on, Jon,” she said. “He was trying to kill us.”

  “Possibly,” Larsen said.

  Danny spoke up. “I think it’s time she knew.”

  “Knew what?” Chris demanded.

  “Jon and I thought the dog’s head was a death threat; we didn’t want to frighten you.”

  “Well, I’m frightened now,” she said, and she meant it.

  “I think we have to treat it as attempted murder,” Larsen said. “That’s what my report is going to say.”

  “Christ, I hope this doesn’t get into the papers,” Chris said. “I don’t need the industry aware of this while I’m trying to get a film financed. They’d never be able to insure the production, and you can’t get anything made without completion insurance.”

  “I asked the arson man to keep the report under lock and key,” Jon said, “and it won’t get out of my office. If it gets reported at all it’ll be as just a house fire.”

  “What about Parker?”

  “I still can’t touch him,” Larsen said.

  Danny leaned back. “Well, I can touch him.”

  “Danny, we’ve been through this already,” Larsen said. “Going after Parker is not going to help.”

  “It would help me,” Danny said.

  “It wouldn’t help either you or Chris.”

  “He’s right, Danny,” Chris said.

  “Oh, all right,” Danny said. “I won’t blow the bastard away. Not yet, anyway.”

  The doorbell rang, and everybody jumped. Larsen stood up.

  “Stay here,” he said. He walked toward the front door, yanking the pistol from its holster as he went. He held the weapon at his side, switched on the front porch light, and opened the door a crack. “Yes?”

  A uniformed man stood at the door, and another waited at the edge of the porch. “You Larsen?” he asked.

  “That’s right; who are you?”

  “My name’s Greer; a Mr,. Jack Berman arranged for some security here.”

  “Let’s see some ID,” Larsen said.

  Both men produced a plastic card.

  Larsen compared the photographs to the faces on his front porch; they matched. He opened the door and stepped outside.

  “Jon?” Chris called from the living room.

  “It’s okay,” he called back. “I’m going to be outside for a minute. There’s no problem.” He turned to the security man. “You’re not from Keyhole Security, are you?”

  “No, sir; we’re from Knight Guardian, in Beverly Hills.”

  Larsen knew the firm. “Okay, let’s do it this way: one of you on the front porch in the light, so you can be seen; the other in the backyard.”

  “All right,” Greer said. “Max, you go around back.” He glanced at his watch. “We’ll have some relief at about four A.M.”

  “You fellows want some coffee?” Larsen asked.

  “We’ve got some in the car,” Greer replied. “Don’t worry about us.”

  Larsen went back inside and left them to their own devices.

  “Who was it?” Chris asked.

  “Jack Berman has sent a couple of private cops to keep an eye on us tonight, and I must say, I think it’s a good idea.”

  “What about after tonight?” Danny asked.

  “I’m working on that,” Larsen said. “One of my upstairs tenants is out of town for a week or so. I’m going to put you two upstairs for tonight, and in the same room.”

  “I’d rather sleep with you,” Chris said.

  Danny laughed. “So would I.”

  “The last time we slept here we got a big rock through the window, remember? If he tries anything tonight, it’ll be downstairs, and he’ll have me and the two guards to contend with. Tomorrow we’ll find you some more secure quarters, until the Malibu house is finished.”

  “By the way,” Danny said, “remember who installed the security system at Malibu?”

  “I remember. The day after the party, we’ll get a new security company on the job and disconnect Keyhole. A few new wrinkles in the system might be in order, too.”

  “Will that keep him out?”

  “I hope we won’t have to worry about him, but if we do, we can change the codes in the system and install additional equipment. That will effectively shut him out, I think.”

  “Do you have a security system here, Jon?” Danny asked.

  “No. But we have the two guards, at least for tonight. Let’s all get some rest; tomorrow we’ll make some moves.”

  CHAPTER

  46

  Larsen hung up the phone and looked at the expectant faces of his houseguests. “Okay, I think we’re in business.”

  “So where am I living?” Chris asked.

  “You know the old Del Mar Beach Club on the beach in Santa Monica?”

  “No,” Chris said.

  “I know the place,” Danny said. “It was built back in the twenties, and it was a big hangout for the stars, especially the ones with beach houses—Douglas Fairbanks, Chaplin, that bunch.”

  “Right, Danny,” Larsen said. “A few years ago it was taken over by the Pritikin Institute, which is a diet-and-exercise outfit. Anyway, a friend of mine is an assistant manager there, and he’s arranged for the two of you to move into a suite on the top floor as Mr. and Mrs. Richard Hedger. It’s very comfortable, and you’ll have a view of the beach.”

  “How long do we have to stay there?” Chris asked.

  “I think you should stay there until we’ve removed Parker from the scene, and I think we can do that at the construction party next week.”

  “Do we have to stay inside all the time?” Danny asked.

  “I think you should, because Parker’s business isn’t all that far away, and he takes the road
along the beach to work and back home every day.”

  “How are we going to get Chris over there without Parker seeing us?”

  “I’ve got an idea about that,” Larsen replied. “In a few minutes, you get into your car, Danny, and I’ll take Chris to the Mustang through the kitchen entrance to the garage and tuck her down in the backseat. Then we’ll leave, and he can’t follow both cars. Chris, you give Danny a list of the things you need; Danny, you go shopping; I don’t care where. Drive all over town, if you like.”

  “What are you and Chris going to be doing?” Danny asked.

  “I’m going to drive around for a while, and when I’m certain nobody is on our tail, I’m going to take Chris to the hotel, through a service entrance at the side of the building. When you’ve finished your shopping, and you’re sure you’re not being followed, deliver your goods to the service entrance, then drive around some more and park your car in a lot just up the hill. You can see it from the hotel. Take a walk on the beach, make sure you’re alone, then beat it back. The suite number is 1200; it’s on the top floor on the beach side. We’ll talk some more then.”

  “Okay,” Danny said. “Chris, what do you want me to bring you?”

  “Oh, get some jeans and sweaters, I guess, and a suitcase to put them in. You know what kind of makeup I use, and I think we ought to have something to read. Oh, and some pajamas and underwear. Neiman’s has the stuff I like.”

  “And I was going to Frederick’s of Hollywood,” Danny said, shaking his head.

  Larsen got Chris settled in the backseat of the Mustang, then put the top up.

  “How long do I have to stay like this?” Chris asked, her voice muffled by the blanket he had put over her.

  “A long time, so stop bitching; I gave you a pillow, didn’t I?”

  “But it’s hot!”

  “It won’t be when we get rolling.”

  “Oh, all right.”

  Larsen pressed the remote control that opened the garage door, then started the car. He backed out into the street, past Danny, who was waiting with his motor running. Danny turned east, and Larsen went west. He drove down the beach, through Venice, then headed for Marina Del Rey, making a conscious effort not to look in the rearview mirror.