by Stuart Woods
Fifty yards to the toilets. “Yeah, go on.”
“Then Callabrese and Ippolito part company, and somebody, a third party, probably, takes Ippolito out to the desert and whacks him, so he can never finger Callabrese. But Callabrese has made a stupid mistake; he has left some fingerprints in the car.”
“So how do you find him?” Michael asked. Twenty yards to the toilets. Nobody near.
Rivera stopped and turned toward Michael. “I think I know where to put my hands on him.”
Michael took him by the arm and propelled him gently forward again. “I’ve got to take a leak,” he said.
Rivera began walking and continued talking. “All I’ve got to do, see, is pick this guy up, fingerprint him, and put him in a lineup. I’ll have firm fingerprint evidence, which puts Callabrese in the car, and two eyewitnesses who’ll put him at the scene. Bingo! A first-degree murder conviction. Remember, we’ve still got the death penalty in California.”
Ten yards to the toilets. “I’ve got to stop in here for a minute,” he said. He walked into the toilet and stood at a urinal. Rivera followed him and did the same. Good. This was reckless, Michael knew, but there was no other way. He finished at the urinal, zipped up his fly, and took a step backward. His right hand went to the small of his back.
There was a scraping noise from the door, and a man and a small boy entered. Where the hell did they come from? Michael pretended to be stuffing in his shirttail. Rivera stepped to the sink, rinsed his hands, and walked out of the restroom. Michael followed. What was he going to do now? He started back toward the parking lot. It would have to be in the car; maybe that was best anyway.
The two men trudged silently through the sand for a moment, then Rivera continued.
“So, I’ve got my man,” he said. “You think there’s a movie in this?”
“Maybe,” Michael said.
“I’ve always been interested in the movie business,” Rivera said.
“Yeah? What in particular interests you?” Maybe there was another way.
“Oh, production, development, that sort of thing.”
“You might be very good at it, ah…what’s your first name?”
“Ricardo; my friends call me Rick.”
“Well, Rick, there’s always room in the movie business for fresh talent.”
“I thought there might be, Michael,” Rivera replied. “In fact, I noticed there are a couple of empty offices in your building.”
“That’s right; I’m still staffing up. I’m going to need a production assistant and maybe an associate producer. You interested?”
“I might be,” Rivera said.
“What do you think you could bring to the job?” Michael asked.
“Well, I’ve worked on lots of interesting cases that might make movie material,” Rivera replied. “And I could serve as a technical consultant on cop films.”
“That’s very interesting,” Michael said, “and you’re obviously a bright guy. You might do very well in the movie business.”
They were nearly to Rivera’s car now. “Is that an offer?” he asked.
“I’d have to be sure of what I’m getting,” Michael replied.
“Shall I be absolutely frank?” Rivera asked.
“Of course. I appreciate frankness.”
“You’d still be in the movie business, for one thing,” Rivera said.
“How would I know I was secure in my position?” Michael asked.
“You’d have my personal guarantee,” Rivera said.
“But how can you guarantee such a thing?”
“Well, you see, I would ordinarily have my partner involved in a case like this—you met him the first time we came to your office—but he’s on his two-week vacation, so I’ve developed this evidence on my own.”
“I see; and where is this evidence?”
“Right this minute it’s in a safe in my lawyer’s office. That’s so if I should die from anything other than natural causes, my lawyer could take the appropriate action.”
They were approaching Rivera’s car. He was probably lying, Michael thought, but he couldn’t take the chance. “Rick, I think you might be very useful to me. Let’s make a deal.” How much did a detective make, fifty, sixty grand? “Why don’t you come to work for me as an associate producer. I’ll give you an office in my building, and you can develop cop stories for me.”
“Sounds good,” Rivera said. “And I could provide, ah, security for your productions, too.”
“Good idea. How about a hundred grand a year?”
“How about a hundred and fifty?”
Michael laughed. “You drive a hard bargain.” He had to make a decision; he was either going to have to blow the cop’s brains out right now or bring him on board. What was it Lyndon Johnson used to say? It was better to have an enemy inside the tent pissing out than outside the tent pissing in.
“I think I’m a pretty good bargain,” Rivera said. “After all, if I take this job, I won’t be in a position to make that evidence available to the department, not without compromising myself. I think having me aboard would be very good insurance, and a hundred and fifty grand isn’t big money in the movie business. I’d want more, of course, when I’m worth it.”
“Of course,” Michael said. “The sky’s the limit in the movie business.” He made his decision. “You’ve got a deal, Rick; when can you come to work?”
“Almost immediately,” Rivera said. “I’ll put in my retirement papers as soon as we’ve signed a contract.”
“I’ll get something drawn up today,” Michael said.
“Oh, I would like a little something up front, just to seal our deal,” Rivera said. “How about twenty-five thousand in cash, under the table? Let’s call it a signing bonus. I wouldn’t like to have to pay taxes on it.”
“I think we can arrange that,” Michael said, shaking his hand. “Why don’t you come around tomorrow about five, and I’ll have a contract for you. You can start as soon as you can get out of the police department.”
“That sounds good,” Rivera said, sticking out his hand. “As Bogart said to Claude Rains, I think this could be the beginning of a beautiful friendship.”
Michael took the hand. “I certainly hope so,” he said. Right up until the moment I see you dead, he thought.
CHAPTER
35
Michael shifted the Porsche down into second gear and turned off Sunset onto Stone Canyon. He glanced at Vanessa, who sat silently in the passenger seat.
“Look, this is supposed to be a celebration tonight; do you think you could try and cheer up a little?”
“Some celebration,” Vanessa said sullenly.
“Downtown Nights got a nomination for best picture, for Christ’s sake! Can’t you be happy about that?”
“Yeah, and so did Carol Geraldi! In my role! I could have had that nomination!”
“Are you blaming me for that? It was Chuck who dumped you from the part.”
“That’s not the way I hear it,” she said through clenched teeth. “In fact, I hear it quite differently.”
“I don’t know what the hell you’re talking about.” They passed the Bel-Air Hotel; they were nearly at the Goldmans’ house.
“I just happened to run into Chuck at the Bistro Garden,” she said. “You didn’t even tell me he was out here.”
“Chuck. Great. The idiot has blown three quarters of a million dollars since we made the picture, and he’s turned himself into a junkie. I’m surprised he can afford the Bistro Garden.”
“He’s looking very well, as it happens; he’s just out of rehab and seems very together.”
“Swell; I’m glad to hear it.”
“You didn’t tell me you’d bought his screenplay.”
“I haven’t told anybody; I’m still working on it.”
“He seems to think you’ve cheated him somehow.”
Michael slammed on the brakes and brought the car screeching to a halt. “Cheated him? Let me tell you the t
ruth about that. Chuck came to me in dire need of money; he had blown all the money he’d made on Downtown Nights, and he was into the loan sharks and pushers. I gave him two hundred thousand dollars for his screenplay, sight unseen, because I respect his talent and wanted to help him. Do you think there’s anybody else on the face of the earth who would have done that?”
“He also told me about how you brought Carol Geraldi into the movie, and how I got dumped.”
“All right, I’ll tell you exactly what happened. Chuck came to me at lunchtime one day during rehearsals and said that he didn’t think you could hack the part, that you weren’t right for it. I said I thought that you weren’t superficially right, but that you were a good enough actress to carry it off. He insisted that we find somebody else for the part; he was the director, and I couldn’t really argue with him, so I went out and found Carol Geraldi, who was down and out, and I convinced Chuck to use her.
“I hardly knew you; you were nothing to me at the time, and the director wanted another actress. If Chuck has told you anything else, he’s lying.”
Vanessa said nothing.
He reached over, took her by the shoulders, and turned her toward him. “Listen to me,” he said. “I’ve taken you out of a modeling career and given you the role of a lifetime in Pacific Afternoons, playing opposite one of the biggest stars in the world. I’ve installed you in a beautiful apartment, directed your career, and I’m paying you five thousand dollars a week, which, I might add, you’re blowing on clothes and an expensive car. I’ve done all this on nothing more than instinct that you’ll make a fine actress and because I love you, and what I’m getting back is that you’re angry with me because a director dropped you from a part you weren’t really suited for and gave it to another actress who could turn it into an Academy Award nomination.” He reached around her and opened the passenger door. “It’s time for you to decide where your true interests lie, Vanessa; it’s time to decide whether you want to be with me or with Chuck Parish; it’s time to decide whether you really want the part in Pacific Afternoons. There’s the door; either get out and go your own way or close it and apologize to me.”
Vanessa hung her beautiful head for a moment, then reached over and pulled the car door closed. She turned back to him, snaked an arm around his neck, and kissed him. “I’m sorry, Michael,” she said.
“How sorry?” This was an old game with them.
Her hand went to his crotch and began massaging. “I’m an ungrateful bitch. You’ve been wonderful to me, and I want you to know how much I love you for it.” She unzipped his trousers and pulled him free. Her head went down into his lap, and her lips closed over him.
Michael leaned back against the headrest and ran his fingers through her hair. “Sweet girl,” he said.
Vanessa concentrated on her work, moving her head up and down, making little noises.
It had been a long time since she had done this, and Michael had almost forgotten how good she was at it, how much she knew about pleasing a man, how much she could do with lips and tongue. He came violently, but she held onto him, sucking, kissing, stroking, until his spasms ceased.
She tucked him back into his trousers and zipped him up. “Am I forgiven?” she asked, kissing him lightly on the ear.
“You’re forgiven,” Michael replied. He put the car in gear and drove up Stone Canyon toward the Goldman house and the adulation that awaited him.
CHAPTER
36
Michael eased the Porsche into the turnaround of the Goldmans’ driveway and handed the keys to the valet parker. Cars were lined up in the driveway waiting their turn.
They were greeted at the door by an English butler. “Everyone’s out around the pool, sir,” the man said.
They followed the music outdoors and joined a crowd, the core of which was the Monday night mob at Morton’s, where Michael was now a regular. Amanda Goldman broke away from a group, hugged Vanessa, and planted a firm kiss on the corner of Michael’s lips. For an instant her tongue found its way surreptitiously into his mouth. She seemed to get just a little hotter each time he saw her. “You both look wonderful,” she gushed, “and congratulations on your nomination, Michael.” She turned to Vanessa. “I know that this time next year we’ll be giving a party for you. I can’t wait to see Pacific Afternoons.”
Michael thanked her. “Where’s Leo?” he asked.
“At the other end of the pool, I think,” Amanda replied. Vanessa saw one of her girlfriends and wandered off.
Amanda took Michael’s arm and tugged him toward the house. “Before everybody gets hold of you, come inside. I’ve never shown you the wine cellar, have I?”
“The wine cellar?”
She towed him quickly down a hallway, then down a narrow flight of steps; at the bottom, she flipped a switch, and a room about fifteen feet square opened before them. The walls were stacked from floor to ceiling with rows of bottles, and the contents of each rack were clearly labeled.
“Amanda, this is very impressive, but what the hell are we doing down here?”
“I just wanted a moment alone with you,” she said, stepping close to him and putting her arms around his waist.
“That’s a very nice thought,” he said, smiling. “And just why did you want to be alone with me?”
“I’ve wanted to be alone with you since the first moment I set eyes on you, at Barbara Mannering’s in New York.”
“That’s the nicest thing anybody has said to me all day.”
“Every time you’re around, all I can think about is getting you into bed.”
“Now, Amanda,” he said, “don’t you think that would be a little dangerous in the circumstances? After all, I work for your husband.”
“Let’s get something straight,” she said. “I have no interest in leaving Leo for you, so you’re not under any pressure. All I want is to be fucked crazy now and then. If we can keep it on that level I think we can enjoy ourselves quite a lot.”
“I like the idea, I must admit. And I like the terms.”
“Don’t call me, I’ll call you,” she said. “And I mean it, I will call you.”
“Not at home, and when you call the office, use this number.” He took a pen and wrote it on the palm of her hand. “Margot doesn’t answer that line; it goes straight to my desk.”
“Ah, the lovely Margot,” she said cattily. “Have you fucked her yet?”
“Certainly not,” Michael replied with mock sternness. “Margot’s a little too close for comfort.”
“That never stopped her before,” Amanda said.
“It’s strictly business with Margot and me,” he said.
She turned to the rack behind her and extracted a bottle. “Here’s a little reminder of our bargain,” she said, handing him the bottle.
“Château Mouton Rothschild, 1961,” Michael read from the label. “One of Bob Hart’s favorites, Leo tells me.”
“Poor Bob,” Amanda said, pouting. “Can’t drink anymore. Leo bought that wine from him, you know.” She took his hand. “Now let’s go socialize before they search the house for us.”
She took him from group to group, introducing him, while he accepted congratulations. Finally she put him with a writer from the Los Angeles Times. “Michael, this is Jack Farrell. Be nice to him, or he’ll say something awful about your pictures.” With a squeeze of Michael’s hand, she left them alone.
“I thought Downtown Nights was wonderful,” Farrell said.
“Thank you; we worked hard on it.”
“What’s happened to the director—what’s his name?”
“Chuck Parish,” Michael said. “Are we off the record here?”
“Of course; this is a social occasion.”
“Chuck’s had a bad time, I’m afraid; the money he made on the movie is all gone—fast women and white powder. He turned up at Centurion a while back, desperate for money, and wanted to sell me his new screenplay.”
“You didn’t buy it?”
“I
did buy it, and sight unseen.”
“That’s incredible; what did you pay him for it?”
“Two hundred thousand.”
“Christ, did Leo know you hadn’t read it?”
“That’s between you and me,” Michael said.
“So where’s Parish now?”
“I got him into a rehab program, and to his credit, he finished it. I hope he can keep it together this time, but…” Michael shook his head regretfully. “I’ve had to tell him that I can’t buy treatments from him, only finished work. That way, you know, he produces. The worst possible thing you could do to a guy like that would be to give him money up front. It would go to some pusher, and he’d never finish anything.”
“I see your point,” Farrell said, looking sympathetic. “I think it’s a fine thing that you would help him when he’s in that kind of shape. In this town, people just dump junkies, write them off.”
Michael spotted Leo at the other end of the pool. “Excuse me, will you? I want to catch up with Leo.”
“Sure. Listen, can I call you sometime and get the latest on your projects?”
“Of course, any time.”
“I’ll call you.”
Michael waved, then walked over to the bench where Leo was sitting, blowing smoke rings from his cigar toward the high hedge. “How goes it, boss?”
Leo slapped him on the knee. “Just the man I’m looking for. First of all, a formal congratulations on your nomination.”
Michael held up the bottle of wine. “I’ve already been rewarded by your lovely wife.”
“She showed you the cellar, huh?”
“I was very impressed. I’ll save this bottle for a special occasion.”
