He slipped the orange windcheater off and slung it over his shoulder. The black T-shirt and faded blue jeans were still too warm, but even in LA you could only take so many clothes off before you got arrested. He cut across the parking lot, arriving outside the plain concrete building in the far corner at quarter past twelve.
ZED PRODUCTIONS
The discreet sign was underlined white letters on a black background. The only indication of what they produced was a silhouetted nude in white that reminded Grant of the Triple Zero matchbook condoms in Boston. Hardly surprising. The nude silhouette was a staple design in the sex industry. James Bond had even borrowed it for the teaser promotion of one of Pierce Brosnan’s 007 movies.
The door was plain black-painted hardboard. There were no windows. What used to be the 7-Eleven shop windows had been bricked up and concreted over. They still showed through the yellow rendering that made the building stand out despite the covert nature of its business. A helicopter thudded across the sky over the yacht club marina farther south.
The door opened, and a midget came out. Grant stepped aside, trying to keep the surprise off his face.
The midget didn’t look happy. He threw a disgusted look at the giant standing over him and stalked off through the parking lot. The door swung closed on its spring, and Grant caught the handle before it shut. He pushed it open and stepped out of the sunshine into darkness.
An old gray-haired guy with a Van Dyke beard and an Elvis quiff sat behind a desk in the windowless office. The walls were painted dark red with black trim. Fairy lights blinked from the ceiling. Two wall-mounted spots illuminated the desk. The rest of the room was only lit by reflected light from the workstation. Half a dozen chairs lined one wall like in a doctors’ waiting room. A filing cabinet, painted black to blend with the décor, stood in the corner behind the desk. The chairs were empty.
Van Dyke looked up from the papers on his desk. “At least you’re the right size. Bilbo Baggins there must have got me mixed up with Vivid Inc. They do sex with primates movies.”
Grant let the door close behind him and walked over to the desk. “Well, you know what they say about little fellas.”
Van Dyke obviously didn’t. He looked nonplussed, so Grant enlightened him. “Big guy, big cock. Little guy, all cock.”
Van Dyke smiled but didn’t laugh. “Muscles and a sense of humor.”
Grant smiled back. “Of course it was probably a little guy said it.”
The lighthearted banter did two things. It introduced Grant in a non-threatening manner, keeping the tone light and friendly, and it gave him time to check the room for threats and exits—the first thing he did whenever he entered a strange environment. The office was small and square. There were three black-and-white framed headshots of women on the wall above the chairs. There was a laptop computer open on the desk. Apart from the door Grant came in through there was only one other entrance, a door in the back wall beside the desk. There was a small surveillance camera high up in the corner above the filing cabinet. The wide-angle lens would cover most of the room from the desk outwards.
Any information Grant was looking for was likely in the desk drawers, the filing cabinet, or the laptop. He made a mental note of that for later. For now, he decided to keep things loose and see where they led him.
The rear door opened. The two guys who came in weren’t midgets. They were as tall as Grant but built like Schwarzenegger. Skimpy cut-off vests exposed muscles that had taken years in the gym to produce. The bulging biceps were oiled and shiny. These guys had worked hard and liked to show the results. Judging by the way they glanced at each other, they were as bent as nine-bob notes. Grant wasn’t sure how to translate that for the American market. He settled for gay. The look they threw at Grant told him they didn’t like him.
Van Dyke jerked his head toward the first guy. “Mark Spitz.”
Grant looked at Spitz. “Like the Olympic swimmer?”
Spitz smiled, but the smile didn’t reach his eyes. “Only bigger.”
Grant whistled. Van Dyke nodded toward the other guy. “Danny Swallows. They’ll lead you through it.”
Grant stifled a laugh. Barely. “Spitz or Swallows. Now there’s a choice for the ladies.”
Van Dyke nodded approvingly. “Humor. We could use that. The spits or swallows thing, though—we’ve heard it all before. You got your industry card?”
Industry card? Grant kept his face blank while he figured out what that was. If this had been the UK, he’d reckon Van Dyke meant the Equity Card that all actors needed to prove they were licensed to perform. There would no doubt be something similar in Hollywood, the Screen Actors Guild or the like. He was surprised they bothered with all that in the porn industry.
His best guess was that they didn’t. “Not on me, no.”
Van Dyke waved the minor irritation aside. “Doesn’t matter. Nobody’s working under their real name anyway.”
“Not even Spitz and Swallows?”
“Them two. Yeah. Couldn’t miss out on using that, could I?”
The two musclebound studs glared at Grant. They looked like they’d like to rip his head off and shit down his neck. They had the muscles to do it, too, just not the aptitude. Spitz and Swallows had pretty boy muscles, all bulk but no intensity. In a fight they’d be more worried about their hair and makeup than causing real damage. Grant slitted his eyes and glared back. He managed to hold back from growling.
Van Dyke noticed the atmosphere turning sour. “Okay, boys and girls. Let’s not turn this into handbags at dawn.”
Spitz and Swallows relaxed. Grant wasn’t sure what they were going to lead him through but assumed Zed Productions was recruiting. A touch of luck. Maybe heavy laboring or security. Good. He could do either.
Van Dyke shut down the laptop and stood up. He glanced at the row of empty chairs and let out a sigh. Didn’t look like there were many applicants for the job. That was good too. Standing up, the producer wasn’t much taller than the midget who’d stormed off earlier. Short and round and as jolly as Danny DeVito. The Van Dyke beard and the quiff didn’t suit him. They made him look like Pac-Man.
“Right, then. Let’s show you around. I’m Stuart Ziff. That’s the zee in Zed Productions, in case you wondered.”
“I figured.”
“Good. Muscles, brains, and humor.” Ziff shrugged his shoulders and gave an apologetic wave. “We don’t have any fluffers for the auditions. You’ll have to work from cold. That a problem?”
Fluffers? Grant had heard of them. Non-performing females whose only job was to keep male porn stars erect between shots. Hand jobs and fellatio were the tools of their trade. He suddenly realized Ziff wasn’t looking for heavy lifting or security.
“No problem.”
The back door opened again, and a woman stood in the entrance. Long dark hair and a figure-hugging dress. Tall and slim, with firm thighs and enormous breasts. He recognized her straight away. She was the woman with Senator Richards’ daughter in The Hunt for Pink October.
THIRTEEN
The studio was bright and clean beneath the lights. Around the edges of the set, everything was shadows and darkness. The set was a replica living room with a beige carpet and a cream leather settee. It reminded Grant of the location in the movie Richards had shown him, only without the scenic background and the patio windows. Maybe they used this for pickup shots. More likely it was just for auditions or short films for the Internet.
Geneva Espinoza was absolutely stunning in a plastic and makeup sort of way. Her features were immaculate: dark eyes with long lashes; plucked and shaped eyebrows; small, straight nose; Angelina Jolie lips. If her skin and forehead didn’t seem quite real, it could be the perfectly applied makeup or some other form of enhancement.
That took care of her face. The rest of her was equally impressive and almost certainly as false. The slim waist and str
ong thighs could be the result of rigorous exercise, as could the firm, round buttocks, but the breasts were twice the size of normal and as round as soccer balls. He’d have to reserve judgment on her nipples because she was still dressed, but the way her breasts didn’t move as she walked onto the set, it would be a miracle if her nipples were in the same place they’d been naturally.
Ziff sauntered onto the set. “It gets hot under the lights, so we always keep plenty of bottled water handy. Sweat patches won’t be a problem. Clothes are only for establishing shots. Danny here’ll be running the camera.”
Grant noticed the potbellied cameraman adjusting a large shoulder-mounted camcorder. There was no film cartridge. Everything was digital nowadays. Even so, the camera was bigger than anything Grant had seen on vacation. This wasn’t for catching fun moments with the family.
Ziff waved Spitz forward. “Give him a rundown of the positions, then we’ll get going.”
Spitz came over to Espinoza, and they stood in the middle of the fake living room. They embraced without passion. She moved around him and slid her hands over his body, all the time aware of where the camera was and which angle gave the best view. Spitz followed suit. He feigned oral sex, masturbation, and doggy style before switching to several other positions, ending with Espinoza on top swinging her breasts over his face. They didn’t swing much.
Grant recognized every position from porn films he’d watched over the years. He was no prude, and it all looked very interesting, but he never thought he’d be going through his paces on camera with a beautiful porn star. It was like every guy’s dream come true. He wasn’t sure how he was going to get information from her with everybody watching though. He might have to play this string out until he got her on her own.
How hard could that be?
To begin with, not very hard at all. He stepped under the lights and stood in front of the cream leather settee. Espinoza came into his arms like a long-lost lover. The figure-hugging dress contained her curves, but even in high heels she was much shorter than Grant. Her breasts crushed against his stomach but didn’t flatten. Her hands snaked up his back and she tilted her face to be kissed. He obliged. It was the most pleasurable falsehood he’d ever committed.
Ziff nodded his approval, then went to the door. “I’ll go watch on the link out front.”
Ziff left, and Spitz went with him. That just left the cameraman and Espinoza. Still too many for a private talk. After a few minutes Espinoza stepped back and tugged the T-shirt out of Grant’s jeans. Her fingers teased his stomach before yanking the black cotton up over his head in one expert movement. Playing his part, Grant reached behind her back and unzipped the dress. It peeled off like a second skin, revealing a skimpy bra and a thin cotton triangle that covered her sex.
Espinoza’s stomach was flat and toned. She must work out almost as much as the Spitz and Swallows twins. Her fingers undid Grant’s belt before slowly unzipping him. She slid one hand into the waistband and moved it around to his left hip, then slid her other hand around to the right. Delicate fingers began to ease the jeans off his hips.
The door burst open, and Ziff came charging onto the set. “Get that fucker out of here. What are you playing at? He’s a cop.”
Being caught with his pants down was bad enough. The atmosphere changed from lust to aggression in a split second. Grant swiveled sideways and moved Espinoza out of the way. He turned and was ready for action before the office door slammed shut.
Ziff stood between Spitz and Swallows, but Grant wasn’t worried about them. It was the other three bruisers they’d brought with them. Five against one. All big guys. All fully dressed. That swung the odds in their favor.
FOURTEEN
Grant took his time getting dressed. The fact that he didn’t seem intimidated gave the three heavies pause. They bunched together in the doorway as if they didn’t want to be parted. Amateurs. If they’d been serious about getting Grant, they would have separated on entry and taken him from three sides at once before Grant could get his bearings. They hadn’t. They simply stood like three bumps on a log and waited for Ziff to set the agenda.
Ziff stepped to the edge of the set. “You think anything you learn here isn’t going to be tainted in court?”
It was a rhetorical question. Ziff was transmitting, not receiving. “Fruit of the poisoned tree’s got nothing on what’s poisoned here.”
He barely paused for breath before continuing. The porn movie producer had kicked into defensive mode, and, like most small men, when he felt threatened, he talked. A lot.
“Here I am trying to run a legitimate business. Undercover vice come in trying to bust me up. Harassment, that’s what it is. Picking on the little guy.”
Grant was careful pulling the T-shirt over his head, but they didn’t take advantage of his momentary blindness. The three heavies watched Grant with hooded eyes. Spitz and Swallows just watched, knowing smirks playing across their lips. Grant wondered if it was true what they said about bodybuilders, that their dicks shrank in direct proportion to their muscles expanding. If so, it was no wonder Ziff was recruiting fresh talent.
Ziff was still talking.
“Next time they want an undercover, tell ’em not to use somebody whose been plastered all over the fuckin’ news. Didn’t recognize you without the orange jacket.”
Grant picked the windcheater up from the settee. “I’ve got the orange jacket.”
“You weren’t wearing it. That’s what threw me. Sly fuck.”
“Like you said. Clothes are just for establishing shots.”
“Very fuckin’ funny. If they hadn’t just replayed the location shoot scuffle, I’d never have recognized you without the jacket.”
Ziff mimicked Grant swishing his jacket while stepping aside. “What do you think you are? A bullfighter?”
“No. I’m a pit bull. Once I get my teeth into something, I never let go.”
“What you want your teeth in me for?”
Grant considered telling him, but this wasn’t the time. Even if five against one was only really three against one, they still weren’t the best odds for intimidating Ziff out of using Angelina Richards. That needed to be one on one. Spitz and Swallows were out of the equation. The other three were getting restless. Grant reckoned Ziff was about to lose control of them. He put the jacket on to keep his hands free.
Ziff was still talking. “Resurrection Man.” He snorted a laugh. “Erection Man is what they’ll be calling you if this footage hits the streets.”
Espinoza nodded a smile. “We could still use him. That could be his stage name.”
Grant smiled back at her. “I wondered about that—what stage name to use. Thought I’d go with Big Dick Swelling.”
Espinoza laughed. Ziff let out an exasperated sigh. “You’re not taking this seriously. We got you on film.”
“Thought you didn’t use film anymore.”
“We’ve caught you on camera. You didn’t read any rights or nothing.”
“I haven’t arrested anybody either. The recording’s yours. Go for it. I’ve got nothing to hide.”
The three heavies were getting impatient. Grant saw them bunching their fists. The tallest took a step forward. “Come on, Zed. We kicking ass or what?”
Ziff looked worried, like maybe he’d unleashed a beast he couldn’t control. “I just want him out of here.”
That was all that the leader needed to hear. He took a step toward Grant, flexing his shoulders. Grant kept his voice friendly. “Zed? Last time I heard that was in Pulp Fiction.”
The tall guy tilted his head, a quizzical look spreading across his face.
Grant smiled. “Bruce Willis and that squeaky-voiced girl. He’s just come back for her on a great big Harley Davidson. She says, ‘Whose motorcycle is this?’ He says, ‘It’s a chopper, baby.’ She says, ‘Whose chopper is this?’ And he says, ‘It’s Z
ed’s.’”
Everyone was listening now. Grant relaxed his arms. Kept his knees loose.
“She says, ‘Who’s Zed?’ And Willis says, ‘Zed’s dead, baby.’”
Grant looked the leader in the eye.
“‘Zed’s dead.’”
He took one pace forward and jerked his knee up fast, right between the big guy’s legs. The single most painful assault a man can sustain. He doubled over, his face dropping straight onto Grant’s elbow as it swung upwards. Bone crunched as the nose spread across his face. Grant kept moving, using the big guy’s downward momentum to shove him into the next thug. He was too slow to move out of the way and got his legs all tangled up.
The third guy tried to step around his fallen colleague, but the sideways movement took his weight in the wrong direction. Grant went with him, forward momentum doubling his fighting weight. He clapped both hands together, one on either side of the guy’s head, bursting his eardrums. As Grant leaned forward, he kicked backwards with one leg. His foot connected with the last heavy’s right knee. Not hard enough to break it, but with enough weight for it to hyperextend. He went down on top of the first guy, clutching his knee. That only left one man standing, and he was bleeding from the ears and howling in pain.
Spitz and Swallows stood behind Ziff, who stared in disbelief at how fast things had changed. Espinoza stared, wide-eyed and panting. She looked ready to go at it on the settee again. Grant threw a glance at Danny the cameraman.
“You get all that? Be sure to leave that bit in about kicking my ass.”
Danny lowered the camera. Grant turned to Ziff.
“There’s a Medical Mall Pharmacy round the back on Elm if anybody needs aspirin. I’m sure you’ve got employee coverage.”
Espinoza put an arm around Ziff’s shoulders.
“Are you sure we can’t use him? We’re short of a man.”
Montecito Heights Page 7
