L.A. Times

by Stuart Woods

The gun roared again. The bullet entered Leo’s head just under the temple and exited above his right eye, knocking Leo back into his chair and spattering Michael with gore.

  Geldorf looked up from attending to Johnson. “Michael, are you shot?” he yelled.

  Leo’s secretary burst into the office, and, seeing Johnson lying facedown on the floor and her boss in his chair with part of his head missing, fainted.

  Michael hesitated only a moment, then picked up Leo’s phone, got an outside line, and dialed 911. “An ambulance,” he said to the operator, giving her the address. “There’s been a shooting.” He hung up and dialed the Legal Department. “This is Michael Vincent,” he said. “Leo Goldman has just shot another man and himself. Get the best lawyer you can find up to Leo’s office at once.”

  Michael and Geldorf sat on facing sofas before the fireplace in Leo’s office. The swarm of ambulance men, policemen and crime technicians was thinning out; only two detectives, Michael and Geldorf, and the Centurion lawyer remained.

  “All right, let’s go through it once more,” a detective said.

  “No,” Michael replied. “You’ve heard it again and again. Do you have any doubt what happened?”

  “We’ve told you the truth,” Geldorf said. “Surely you don’t think that Mr. Vincent and I murdered two men in this office.”

  The other detective put down the phone. “There hasn’t been a murder,” he said. “They’re both still alive.”

  Michael looked at the man. “That’s wonderful,” he managed to say. “How are they?”

  “Johnson wasn’t hurt bad. The bullet missed the lung and exited the shoulder; broke his collarbone. He’ll be out of the hospital in a couple of days.”

  “What about Mr. Goldman?” Geldorf asked.

  “He’s alive; that’s about it. You can talk to his doctor when we’re through here.”

  “We’re through here,” Michael said, rising. “I’m going to the hospital.” He stopped. “Jesus Christ, has anybody called Amanda?”

  “Mrs. Goldman?” the detective asked. “His secretary called her; she’s at the hospital.”

  “Are you coming, Norman?” Michael asked.

  “Yes, of course. Amanda will need us.”

  The group started to shuffle out of the office, but one detective pulled Michael back.

  “Do you remember me, Mr. Vincent?”

  “I’m sorry, I don’t.”

  “My name is Hall; I was Rick Rivera’s partner. We met when Rick and I came to see you about the Moriarty murder.”

  “Oh, yes, I remember.”

  “People around you keep dying or getting hurt,” Hall said.

  “I beg your pardon?”

  “Moriarty dies right after you see him; Rick dies after he comes to work for you—and Rick was never a junkie. And now these two.”

  “What are you getting at, Detective?”

  “The shame of it is I’m not getting anywhere,” Hall said. “But I want you to know that I’m not through rooting around in your life. Rick was my friend, and…”

  “That’s about enough out of you,” Michael interrupted. “You’re implying that I had something to do with all these things, and you’re wrong. You just do your job, and you’ll find out that I’m nothing more than an innocent bystander. Go too far, and you’ll find that this studio has more than a little influence with the government of this city.” Michael turned and stalked out of the room.

  Michael and Amanda sat in a corner of the large, sunny hospital room occupied by Leo Goldman. Geldorf waited outside. Leo lay on his back, his head swathed in bandages, his left eye open and staring.

  “I can’t believe any of this,” Amanda was saying. She was composed now, and coming to terms with what had happened. “What happened in that office?”

  “Leo was arguing with Johnson. He pulled a gun out of his desk and pointed it at his head. Johnson seemed to have seen the gun before; he told Leo to put it down and stop acting like a child. Leo shot Johnson and then put the gun to his own head. I tried to stop him, grabbed at his arm, but it went off.”

  “Had Johnson and Geldorf told Leo that he was finished at the studio?”

  “Yes.”

  “Did you know this was coming?”

  “I was called to a meeting with them yesterday. I defended Leo as best I could. I scheduled a meeting with him as soon as he returned to warn him of what was happening, then Johnson and Geldorf showed up.”

  “The worst part of it is, he’s going to live and be a vegetable,” Amanda said. “He’d rather be dead, believe me.”

  “Amanda, you aren’t obliged to keep him alive artificially under these circumstances.”

  “Don’t worry, I won’t.” She began to cry.

  “There, there,” he said. “Don’t cry; Leo isn’t in pain.”

  “That’s not why I’m crying,” Amanda sobbed. “I’m crying because right now, all I can think about is wanting you.”

  CHAPTER

  55

  Michael looked around the hospital room. The entire Centurion board of directors was gathered around Harry Johnson’s bed, and Harry, his arm and shoulder in a cast, was speaking.

  “All right,” he said, grimacing with pain. “You’ve all heard from Norman, Michael, and me what happened in Leo’s office yesterday. Now we’ve got some business to conduct, and I want to get on with it so that I can have a painkiller. Norman, do you have a motion?”

  Geldorf nodded. “I move that the board appoint Michael Vincent as president and chief executive officer of Centurion Pictures, with full operating authority, at a salary and with benefits to be negotiated between representatives of the board and Mr. Vincent.”

  “Do I hear a second?”

  “Second,” another board member said.

  “All in favor?”

  “Aye,” rumbled from the group.

  “Opposed?”

  Silence.

  “Congratulations, Michael,” Johnson said. “Now, if there is no further business to conduct at this time, this board is adjourned. Nurse!”

  A uniformed nurse entered the room with a hypodermic needle on a tray, and the board members filed out.

  Outside in the hall, Michael accepted the congratulations of his fellow board members, then, when they had drifted out, he walked down the hall toward Leo Goldman’s room.

  Michael entered and approached the bed. Leo seemed unchanged from the day before, but his exposed left eye was closed. He opened it.

  “Hi, Leo,” Michael said softly.

  Leo blinked rapidly.

  “There was a board meeting. They chose me to succeed you.”

  Leo blinked rapidly again.

  Michael leaned over and looked into Leo’s good eye. There was intelligence there. “Leo,” he said, “if you can understand me, blink once.”

  Leo blinked once. Leo was alive in there.

  “I want to ask you some questions. Blink once for yes, twice for no.”

  Leo blinked once.

  “Are you in pain?”

  Leo blinked once.

  “Do you want me to call the nurse?”

  Leo blinked twice.

  “Can you move?”

  Leo blinked twice.

  “Can you speak?”

  Leo blinked twice.

  “Do you want to see Amanda?”

  Leo blinked twice.

  “Do you want me to leave you alone?”

  Leo blinked twice.

  “I wish I could just ask you what you want,” Michael said. “Don’t worry, you’ll get better in time.”

  Leo blinked twice.

  Michael stared at the eye. “Don’t you think you’ll get better?”

  Leo blinked twice.

  “Leo, do you want to go on living like this?”

  Leo blinked twice.

  “Do you want me to do something about it?”

  Leo blinked once.

  Michael walked to the door and looked up and down the hallway. No one was in sight. He went
back to Leo’s bedside and looked around. Leo had an oxygen tube up his nose and an IV was running. If he tampered with those, somebody would notice. Gently, he lifted Leo’s head and removed the pillow. He leaned over Leo.

  “Is this what you want, Leo?”

  Leo blinked once.

  “Leo, I want to thank you for everything you’ve done for me.”

  Leo blinked once.

  “I want you to know I’ll see that Amanda is all right.”

  Leo blinked once.

  “Good-bye, old friend.”

  Leo blinked once, and the eye filled. A tear trickled toward his ear.

  Michael placed the pillow over Leo’s face and pressed gently. He waited for three minutes by his watch, then he removed the pillow. He felt at Leo’s neck, but couldn’t find a pulse. He lifted Leo’s head and placed the pillow under it, then he left the room. No one saw him leave.

  For the first time since he was a little boy, Michael was fighting back tears.

  CHAPTER

  56

  Michael stood at the podium and addressed the memorial service audience. The auditorium was packed.

  “I had not known Leo Goldman as long as many of you, but I counted him as my closest friend. I have been asked to address you about Leo’s professional side—Leo as filmmaker.

  “Leo Goldman personified what was best in the title ‘producer.’ He had taste, judgment, style, an appreciation of talent of all sorts, and a keen business sense. The films Leo made as a producer were always among Centurion’s best.

  “But Leo was more than a producer: he was a studio head, and he operated in a manner not often seen today. He was the kind of studio head that L. B. Mayer and Jack Warner were. He was responsible. Leo personally analyzed and approved every project that came out of Centurion, and every movie that Centurion made reflected his taste and judgment. I think that it is possible to view every film that Centurion ever made under Leo, as I have done, and conclude that Leo Goldman never made a bad movie. Not one. And that is something that neither L. B. Mayer nor Jack Warner could have justifiably said.

  “What Leo Goldman did make was hundreds of good movies, and I know that Leo would be happy to be judged by nothing other than that output. He was responsible.

  “I have been chosen to replace Leo, but we all know that such a thing is not possible. When I was offered his place at Centurion, my first emotion was awe, followed closely by humility, when I realized what I was being asked to do. Perhaps it would be better to follow a bad studio head, because it would be easier to look better; following Leo would be very hard, because he was so good at what he did.

  “But on reflection, I see that my job will be made easier because Leo did his job so well; because he made decisions, knocked heads, and, no doubt over opposition, established a standard of filmmaking that is the envy of the industry. He was responsible.

  “My gratitude to Leo is complete. He made it possible, first, for me to do what I do, and then for me to do what he did. If I don’t do it as well, it won’t be Leo’s fault.

  “I tell you now that I would rather work for Leo than run the studio. I would rather stand in his shadow than face the glare of solitary scrutiny, as he did.

  “And if, in my examination of my own life and work, I find that I had the slightest part in driving Leo to what he finally did, I will ask God to punish me.

  “I loved Leo Goldman, and I miss him. In the coming days, if I find myself in a quandary, at loggerheads with my peers, in trouble with my studio, I will ask myself, ‘What would Leo Goldman have done?’ And I will know what to do.”

  Amanda Goldman received her husband’s friends and admirers at her home on Stone Canyon. Some four hundred people ate, drank, and talked of Leo Goldman and The Business.

  Michael found himself besieged by new admirers congratulating him on his eulogy.

  Margot Gladstone was nearby. “These people are eating out of your hand,” she whispered to him when she had the opportunity. “Let’s try and keep it that way.”

  When the crowd began to drift away, Michael cornered Norman Geldorf and Harry Johnson, whose arm was still in its cast.

  “I wanted to say this as soon as possible,” he said. “I don’t think we should sell to the Japanese. Not yet, anyway.”

  “I’m inclined to agree,” Geldorf said. “With Leo gone, they’ll try to knock down the price.”

  “Give me a chance to get established, to get some movies into production,” Michael said. “Then, if selling is the right thing to do, you’ll get a lot more money for the studio.”

  Both men nodded.

  “That was a wonderful eulogy, Michael,” Johnson said. “Just the right touch.”

  Michael was the last to leave.

  “Don’t go,” Amanda said, clinging to him. “Stay the night.”

  “It’s better that I go,” he said. “We’ll talk in a few days. See your friends, ignore me; that’s the best way for a while.”

  “In a week I’ll be on fire,” she said.

  “In a week you can set me afire,” he replied.

  Michael cloistered himself in the Malibu house for the weekend with Margot. He strode back and forth beside the pool, dictating notes for running Centurion, and Margot took them down. She cooked; they made love. There was little love in it, they both knew. They used each other to the fullest.

  But in their developing relationship, Michael had found what he had never had—a confidant.

  CHAPTER

  57

  Near the end of his first week as head of Centurion Pictures, Michael was working at his desk in what had once been Leo Goldman’s office, preparing for a board meeting, when Margot Gladstone entered through the door between their adjoining offices.

  “Have you heard the news this morning, or seen the papers?” she asked.

  “No, neither. I haven’t had time for anything but this board meeting.”

  She placed the New York Times on his desk. In the lower right-hand corner of the front page, Michael found the story:

  MAFIA CHIEFTAIN DEAD AT 72

  Benito Carlucci, for many years head of New York’s largest Mafia family, died yesterday at the age of seventy-two, at Columbia Presbyterian Hospital, of complications of liver disease….

  Carlucci was convicted of a crime only once, as a young man, when he served two years in Sing Sing prison for heading a car theft ring. From the time of his release, he rose rapidly in the ranks of his criminal organization, always protected from arrest by layers of command, and at the age of only forty, he succeeded to the leadership of his Mafia family. Under his management the family took the first tentative steps toward legitimate investment, and, at the time of his death, FBI sources said that more than half the family’s income derived from legitimate business, although these businesses were often operated in a fashion that flirted with illegality….

  Often the death of the head of a Mafia family results in a struggle for succession that is bloody, but it appears to knowledgeable observers that Carlucci, anticipating his death, mediated the succession, and arranged that the family would be run by a council, the members of which are capos of units of the family. None of the four members seems, at this time, to have the upper hand.

  Services will be held tomorrow at St. Patrick’s Cathedral, with the Archbishop of New York officiating.

  Michael put down the paper and picked up the phone, dialing the number of a cellular phone.

  “Yes?” Tommy’s voice was tense.

  “It’s Vinnie; I just heard.”

  “Hold.”

  Michael listened as muffled orders were barked, then Tommy came back on the line.

  “Sorry, Vinnie. It’s been hectic around here, as you can imagine.”

  “I’m very sorry, Tommy; I know you loved the old man.”

  “I did, but he’s gone, and now we’ve got stuff to do.”

  “Is everything all right?”

  “Don’t believe everything you read in the papers.”

  �
��When can we get together?”

  “I’ll try and come out there next month.”

  “Good. Convey my sympathy to his family.”

  “Of course.”

  Michael hung up.

  “Well?” Margot asked. “What’s going on?”

  “He couldn’t really talk,” Michael said. “He’ll come out here when he can, and then we’ll know.”

  Michael called the board meeting to order. “Good afternoon, gentlemen; this will be a brief meeting. I want to bring you up to date on business, then there are two matters before the board for approval.

  “Since taking charge of the studio, I have canceled the science fiction and Vietnam War projects and have written off the expenses.”

  There was a murmur of approval around the table.

  “I have also put three pictures into production, the largest budget of which is fourteen million dollars. I expect all of them to be highly profitable.

  “Naturally, there will be some personnel changes at the studio. Some of the department heads under Leo will, of course, be unhappy with working for me, and there may be some that I will be unhappy with.”

  Harry Johnson spoke up. “You will, of course, seek board approval of any major changes.”

  Michael looked at Johnson. “That concludes my update. Now I wish to bring to a vote the employment contracts for myself and Margot Gladstone. To answer your question, Harry, my proposed contract gives me full authority to hire and fire as I see fit. Do I hear a motion?”

  “Move that the contracts be approved,” a board member said.

  “Second,” said another.

  “Any discussion?” Michael asked. “Harry?”

  Johnson stood up. “Michael, first I want to say how pleased I am—and I’m sure I speak for all the board—at the way you’ve taken charge of the studio. Your actions on the production side are both prudent and creative, and we are all grateful.” He cleared his throat. “However, there are potential problems on the business side of the studio. Some of the department heads have been in their jobs for many years and have proven their worth under Leo. All of these people have had vastly more experience than you in this business, and I, for one, am reluctant to give you the power to terminate and replace them at will.”