Wild Captive

by Tripp Ellis

  "Ham and cheese omelette, bacon, toast, hash browns, and a blueberry muffin."

  "Would you like some coffee?"

  "Cream. A little sugar."

  "Coming right up!"

  We taxied to the runway, and the pilot crackled over the intercom. "Mr. Wild, we’ve been cleared for takeoff. I'm estimating our flight time at 4:20 minutes. That will put you into Los Angeles at 7:30 AM local time. Sit back, relax, and enjoy the flight. And please don't hesitate to ask if you need anything. Mya, and Vera, are more than willing to take care of your every need."

  I wasn't exactly sure what was included with the flight, but there was an aft cabin with a queen berth, and I don't think joining the mile high club was completely out of the question.

  31

  We landed at the private terminal at the Burbank/Bob Hope Airport. It was conveniently located just a few miles north of the Hollywood Hills. It offered easy access to many of the major studios. There was less traffic and congestion. The private terminal was outfitted with a bar, hospitality suite, quiet room, and other amenities. It beat the hell out of flying into LAX and spending another 45 minutes in traffic to get to Hollywood.

  A limo driver held a sign that read: Mr. Wild.

  I got a kick out of it.

  I felt important for a moment.

  The driver was dressed in a suit and tie and had salt-and-pepper hair and a mustache. He introduced himself as Zaven.

  He showed me to the car and held the door for me as I slid into the comfy leather seats. There was a fully stocked bar, a TV, and a thumping sound system. Zaven close the door, and I buckled my seatbelt and relaxed. He climbed into the driver's seat and called back into the passenger area. "The studio has reserved a suite for you at the Château. I am at your disposal for the day. We can check into the hotel, then I can take you to your meeting at the studio, and wherever else you would like to go."

  I looked at my watch. "Isn't it a little early for check-in?”

  “The studio is afforded special privileges."

  "Take me to the Château," I said with a smile on my face.

  We cruised through Burbank, driving past Warner Bros. Movie posters, four stories, high adorned walls of the buildings that faced the street. There was no mistaking that you were in Hollywood. Buses were wrapped with graphics advertising the latest movies. Billboards and benches were covered with movie advertisements. We drove down Barham Avenue crossed over the 101 freeway and headed south down Highland. The driver turned right on Sunset Avenue, and I soaked in the experience. I had to admit, it was kind of cool being chauffeured around Hollywood on the studio's dime. I didn't know if anything would come of these meetings, but it was a free trip to Los Angeles—and a chance to speak with Violet's acquaintance, Mary.

  We passed all the famous landmarks on our way to the illustrious hotel.

  The Château was the stuff of legends.

  A safe haven for rock stars and movie gods. The walls of the hotel held countless secrets of the rich and famous. It was a place that celebrities went to get away. The inconspicuous entrance to the Château afforded celebrities the ability to get in and out unnoticed. There were several cabanas and guest suites. Writers had escaped to the Château to bang out scripts. Members of the Hollywood elite had illicit trysts. Rock stars threw outrageous parties. The staff was attentive, but they didn't fawn all over anyone—not even the most famous. That was part of the charm.

  I checked in, was given a key, and shown to my guest suite. The accommodations were modest—a bedroom, living area, a kitchenette with a stove, microwave, and refrigerator.

  The prices were exorbitant.

  The history was priceless.

  I stashed my gear in my new digs. It looked mostly as it did back in the ‘60s when Jim Morrison roamed the halls. Personalized stationery on the desk read: In residence, Tyson Wild, with the logo of the Château above.

  I pulled out my cell phone and took a picture of it as a memento. I didn't know if I'd ever visit the Château again.

  Hell, I wasn’t even planning on staying overnight.

  32

  Hollywood isn't a place so much as it is an idea. Sure, there's the actual town of Hollywood, but that's just a small part of Los Angeles, which is made up of several incorporated cities. The familiar white sign sits in the Hollywood Hills. Over the hills is the San Fernando Valley. Warner Bros. is in Burbank. Universal Studios is to the east in Sherman Oaks. It's typically a good 10° hotter in the Valley than it is at the beach in Santa Monica. There are production offices scattered across the city. Sony is down south in Culver City. 20th Century Fox is several blocks south of Sunset on West Pico. Though everything is in a relatively small geographic area, you can spend all day in the car traveling back and forth between meetings. There are 13 million people in the LA basin. The urban sprawl runs from the Verdugo Mountains all the way down to Orange county. The 405 freeway will take you all the way to San Diego. It's a concrete monstrosity. A metal river of taillights that never seems to move faster than a crawl. Every hour is rush-hour in LA.

  Despite all the downsides, there is a palpable energy in the city. It is a hub of creativity, and Sunset Boulevard is steeped in history. Every street corner has a story to tell. And so does every inhabitant. Every waitress, grocery store checker, mechanic, barber—they all have screenplays in a drawer somewhere collecting dust. Tell someone you’re a producer, and someone will pitch you a script, hoping for a $1 million sale.

  People spend their whole careers trying to get five minutes with a major studio executive. The meeting I was about to step into was a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity. And I couldn't care less.

  I was amused by the whole circus that was Hollywood.

  Joel called to make sure I was on schedule and said he'd meet me on the lot.

  "Do you always meet your clients for pitch meetings?"

  "No," Joel said. "But, since you’re new at this, I figured I'd hold your hand."

  I told him we were a few minutes away.

  Zaven chauffeured me down Sunset Boulevard, back to Highland, and over the hill. The whole thing seemed surreal.

  I asked Zaven if he had anything to do with the business besides chauffeuring people around the studio.

  "No. Are you crazy? This is as close to the business as I want to get."

  "You don't have a screenplay?"

  "The limo company I work for specifically avoids hiring actors and writers. With the access we have to talent, they don't want drivers pitching projects."

  "Understandable."

  We pulled onto the studio lot and stopped at the gate. The security guard checked the guest list, then granted us access and handed Zaven a studio pass which he put on the dash.

  We drove past the massive soundstages that resembled airplane hangars. People scurried about the grounds, rushing to sets. Countless classic movies had been filmed in the stages. Rows of trailers housed the stars in between takes. Crew personnel moved light stands and gear. Production assistants with walkie-talkies frantically scampered about. It looked like controlled chaos.

  Zaven dropped me off at the executive offices. He parked the car at the curb, then hopped out and got my door. He wished me good luck. I thanked him, and Joel greeted me out front with a smile. "You ready, champ?"

  "Sure. What exactly am I supposed to do?"

  "Just be yourself, they'll love you. You've met Susan before. There will be several other executives in the room. Use your charm and pitch your story in a clear and concise way that keeps them on the edge of their seat. The goal is to make your story sound so compelling that they want to spend a lot of money." Joel smiled.

  Susan's assistant greeted us with a smile when we reached her office. "Would you like something to drink? Coffee? Bottled water?"

  "Bottled water," Joel said, indicating for both of us. He leaned in and muttered in my ear. "Always have something to drink in a pitch meeting in case you get nervous and your voice dries out."

  "Joel, I dodge bullets for
a living. I don't get nervous in meetings where people aren’t shooting at me."

  "Right, how silly of me. I'm used to babysitting writers and actors. A pretty neurotic bunch."

  "I'm not a writer."

  "Shhh, don't tell anyone that," he said with a devious glint in his eyes.

  "Susan is ready for you," her assistant said.

  She led us into Susan's office. She greeted us with a smile, and we shook hands and exchanged pleasantries, and she introduced me to the other suits in the room. The large office overlooked the studio lot. By the window was a large desk with a computer and large flatscreen. There was a large conference area with two couches that faced each other, and a coffee table in the middle. Plush chairs offered additional seating. There was a minibar fully stocked for special occasions. A 65 inch TV offered the ability to screen trailers, screen tests, and movies. As the head of the studio, Susan had on-demand access to every title the studio owned and could pull any clip up at a moment’s notice.

  "Thank you for coming," Susan said as we took a seat on the couch.

  "Thanks for inviting me. I appreciate your hospitality."

  "I hope you had a good trip, and that everything is to your satisfaction?"

  "Yes, indeed."

  "Well, I know you're a busy man, shall we get down to business?"

  I nodded.

  "Not to sound callous, because I know this has personal significance for you, but according to our data, the subject of Bree Taylor's death is of high interest. The volume of online searches and Internet chatter confirm this. We think you are in a unique position to tell the story of her last day, and the struggle to bring her killer to justice."

  "Let's just get one thing straight up front. If I agree to do this, I don't want it to be exploitive in any way."

  "Absolutely not," Susan agreed. "That's why we want you on board to make sure it's an accurate depiction of the events as they happened. Of course, let's not forget, this is entertainment, so a little dramatic license here and there…"

  "As long as we’re on the same page. And, I want casting approval and final cut."

  All the execs looked stunned that I would ask for such control. Who was I? A nobody. A nobody with a story that seemed to be hot, at the moment. It certainly wasn't something to ask for at the start of the meeting.

  Susan answered cautiously, "That's something to consider."

  It was neither a yes or no.

  "Where do you want me to start?" I asked.

  "Begin at the beginning," Susan said. "As long as the beginning is interesting."

  "How about the moment I met Bree? When the terrorists hijacked the aircraft?"

  "Perfect!"

  33

  "Unbelievable," Joel said, staring at his watch in disbelief as we stepped out of Susan's office.

  We thanked her assistant, then strolled down the hallway.

  "That meeting lasted over two hours," Joel exclaimed in a whisper.

  "Is that good or bad?"

  "Most of these meetings last 5 or 10 minutes, tops. You pitch an idea, they say thank you, you leave and never hear anything again."

  A sparkle glimmered in his eyes, and a sly smile curled his lips. By the time we stepped out of the building, into the sunshine, Joel's cell phone was ringing. He swiped the screen and took the call.

  "Hi Susan," Joel looked at me and smiled as he listened. I could barely hear Susan's voice crackling through the speaker on his phone as he held it to his ear. Joel made a disappointed face. "750 against 1.5? No can do.” He countered, "1 against 2."

  My face twisted with confusion. I didn't know what the hell he was talking about.

  Then a wide smile tugged his lips. "Deal!"

  He hung up the phone, then shook my hand. "Congratulations. You just did your first deal. A million up front, and 2 million if it goes into production."

  My eyes widened. Then I said, mildly enthused, "Really?"

  "Really." Joel couldn't stop smiling. "They're sending over the paperwork now. You got everything you asked for. I’ll have legal look it over. We can get this thing executed, and you can get back on a plane to that island of yours. Unless you want to stay tonight and celebrate? There are a few hot parties. Who knows? You could hook up with another movie star, and we might have another story to sell."

  I rolled my eyes.

  "Gotta run," Joel said. "We'll talk shortly."

  “Oh, hey, one more thing. JD’s daughter is interested in the business. I promised I’d ask. Would you be willing—”

  Joel cut me off. I didn’t need to finish. He knew exactly where I was going. “Is she cute?”

  I pulled up a picture of Scarlett on my phone and showed Joel.

  He lifted an impressed eyebrow. “Can she act? I mean, I’m assuming she wants to become an actress?”

  “Yeah, she wants to be an actress. And believe me, she has no problem playing a part. She’s got everybody wrapped around her little finger.”

  Joel thought about it for a moment. “I usually don’t take on inexperienced talent, but I’ll make an exception for you. She’ll need headshots and acting classes. When can she get out here?”

  I shrugged. I didn’t want to mention the fact that she was on probation. “I’ll check with her to see.”

  “I need to get a sense of where she’s at, talent wise, before I can send her out on anything.”

  “I understand.”

  “Once she’s ready, we’ll throw something against the wall and see what sticks. But if she doesn’t book, she doesn’t book.” Joel shrugged.

  Joel wasn’t in the business of carrying around dead weight. All of his clients needed to perform, or they were out the door.

  I thanked him, and we shook hands again.

  Zaven grabbed my door, and I slid into the back of the limousine, still processing what had happened.

  I couldn't help but feel a twinge of excitement. $1 million was a lot of money. Especially since I was still trying to get my bank accounts back. But I knew better than to count my chickens before they hatched. In this town, a deal could fall apart in the blink of an eye. There was no sense counting on that money until it was in the bank.

  Zaven slid into the driver’s seat and pulled his door shut. "I hope everything went well?"

  "It did, thank you."

  "Excellent," he said with a smile. "Where to?"

  "I need to see someone in North Hollywood," I replied. I gave him the address to Mary's apartment. It was just a few minutes away.

  Her apartment was an old two-story complex built in the ‘50s that encircled a pool. It was a common design in the LA area. The stucco walls could be easily repaired when damaged by earthquakes. I managed to slip in through the security gate as a resident exited. I climbed the steps and found apartment #14. My knuckles rapped the door loudly.

  A few minutes later, a woman's voice seeped through the door. "Who is it?"

  "Deputy Sheriff!"

  "Come back with a warrant," the voice said.

  The peephole flickered as she peered through.

  "You're not in any trouble."

  "What do you want?"

  "I'm looking for Violet Scarpetti."

  There was a long pause.

  "You don't look like a cop."

  I held my shiny gold badge up to the peephole. "Are you Mary?"

  There was another long moment of silence, then the deadbolt unlatched and she pulled the door open a sliver. A pretty face with blue eyes and curly brown hair stared back at me, curiously.

  "Are you the guy that's been messaging me?"

  I nodded.

  "Why are you asking me about Violet?"

  "She went missing. I know you two were acquaintances back in Coconut Key. I thought maybe she came out to Los Angeles to pursue an acting career?"

  "I haven't seen her," Mary said.

  "She's not crashing on your couch?"

  Mary's face twisted. "No. I haven't talked to her in months. Besides, I don't think I'd let her stay here.
She's got a habit, you know. And things tend to go missing around her." A worried look washed over her face. "Is she okay?"

  I shrugged. "Do me a favor. If you hear from her, get in touch.”

  "I will."

  I thanked her for her time, then made my way back to the street and climbed into the limousine.

  JD called. "How did it go? Are you rich and famous yet?"

  "I'm about to have the rich part."

  "Really? Congratulations! Maybe you can start paying rent now."

  I laughed.

  I told him that Mary was a dead end. Or she was lying.

  "I hired Bert, the PI I was telling you about, to follow around Dmitry. So far, nothing. The punk sleeps all day, goes to the club at night, comes home with a new girl, or two. I think he’s clean. Well, maybe not clean, but I don't think he kidnapped Violet."

  A frustrated exhale escaped my lips. "We’ve got nothing."

  "We’ve got a little bit of good news," JD said. "Violet’s hair sample did not match the bloodstain on the second letter from the Sandcastle Killer."

  "Did you tell Tony?"

  "Yeah, and boy was he relieved."

  "I'll bet." I took a breath. "Keep me posted."

  "When are you coming back?"

  "I don't know. Depends on when we hammer out the paperwork."

  "Alright, I'll holler at you later."

  Zaven drove me back to the Château.

  I had mixed feelings about the deal. I wasn't sure I would go through with it. Profiting off of Bree's death made me feel uneasy. Dirty. And not in the way that I liked to be dirty.

  34

  $1 million was a lot of money. I signed the deal. What the hell else was I going to do? They would have made their version of the movie one way or another. Why not put a little change in my pocket?

  Joel tried to convince me to hit a few of the Hollywood parties that night. It would be good for business to schmooze. But I had no desire to surround myself with plastic, self-obsessed people who talked out of both sides of their mouths.