by Tony Bulmer
Again the warbling squeals, as Weinman danced ever nearer to the edge of the stool.
Closer now, I reached up, tore the tape away from his mouth and the ball gag flew out, like it had been fired from a tennis ball machine. Weinman gasped, and panted, before sobbing brokenly, ‘She tricked me, she tricked me!’
‘Boy, that’s too bad buddy, really is…’
‘That bitch is crazy!’
I scrunched my face with sympathy, ‘Crazy huh? sounds like you had my ex-wife Kimberly over for breakfast? I am surprised Weinman, I really am.’
Weinman panted and gurgled before blurting, ‘Get me the hell down from here Costello,’
‘Oh, I would love to, but I am kind of busy this morning, so busy you wouldn’t believe. It’s just one thing after another. How the hell did you get in this mess anyway?’
‘She tricked me Costello, tricked me.’ Weinman’s voice coming in a hoarse whisper now. ‘Get me down, please, I beseech you.’
‘Sure, no problem buddy—that’s what friends do for each other right?’
Weinman gasped and tottered, his purple face beading with sweat, ‘I cannot last much longer,’ he choked.
‘Auto-erotic asphyxiation is a nasty business. They say the last thing you do, right at the end, before you choke out, is piss your pants. Can you imagine how gross that would be?’
‘I beg you Costello, anything you want…’
‘The simple truth will do.’
‘It was the Barrington girl, I swear it, everything was her idea. She said we could get the money…but she lied to me.’
I strolled over to the bedpost and eased open the knot that was holding Weinman aloft, slowly ever so slowly, I eased the rope out an inch. ‘What money are we talking about here Weinman?’
‘Her damn father’s money Costello, once the stock market deal goes through, He will be the richest man in the entertainment business, music, films, publishing—Slycorp will control everything.’
Stock market money is bullshit money—we both know that Weinman, what makes you think your little relationship with the Poison Princess is going to get you dime one?’
I jerked the rope out a couple of inches more, Weinman listed heavily, drawing the noose tighter around his neck, ‘Untie my hands!’ he choked.
I gave him a sympathetic look, ‘You want to be careful dancing around like that, you could so easily fall off and break your neck.’
‘That is bullshit Costello. It is unethical—you would be an accessory to murder. You couldn’t do it, you haven’t got the guts.’
‘How about I ring that nice little assistant of yours, tell him I walked in your house found you hanging dead like a side of beef—who would know?’
‘I know you Costello, you haven’t got it in you.’
I smiled, ‘I know you too Weinman, bet you have been clocking up the billable hours On the Barrington deal haven’t you? Let me guess, you got some smart little clause in that IPO contract, that gives you and young Roxy the power of attorney over the estate should anything happen to her old man?’
‘Damn you Costello, I won’t tell you anything, you kill me—you will go down too, just see if you don’t!’
I looked at Weinman carefully. ‘The girl gets everything doesn’t she?’
‘You think you are smart Costello, but you haven’t got it have you?’
‘I got one thing Weinman, when Sly Barrington finds out you have been double dealing in his financial affairs, your miserable hide will be toast.’ I pulled hard on the noose line and Weinman toppled sideways, writhing and jerking, as he swung free of the stool. I gave him time to enjoy the sense of panic, then finally loosed of the rope off all the way. Weinman hit the floor hard, like a bag of sand. He lay moaning, for several long minutes before croaking, ‘Untie me, Costello please untie me…’
I looked down at him, said, ‘You are going to have to work that one out for yourself dude, I got to find me a princess. You got any idea where she is at?’
‘You know Myron Chimola?’
I gave Weinman a grim look, ‘Yeah, I know him. His pops too, what of it?’
‘She said they were through, but I know they aren’t.’
‘Is there any one in this town that girl hasn’t got her hooks in to?’
‘She’s not into him Costello, not at all, she’s using him against her father, using everyone, that’s what she is like Costello… dangerous,’ rasped Weinman.
‘You think that little girl is dangerous, you don’t know her pops too well do you, or Myron Chimola either.’
‘Gangsters Mr. Costello—all gangsters have their day.’
‘Not soon enough for you Weinman. Soon as Roxy finds out she botched her attempt to kill you, she is going to try again—or one of her gangster friends will. Way I see it, you got no where left to run, so you better think smart and tell me where she has gone, it might be the only chance you’ve got.
Dead Famous 54
Weinman knew I was right. He knew he had been good and cooked, in the juice of his own treachery, and there wasn’t a damn thing he could do about it. I figured that by the time he was through explaining to the police about the corpse in his pool, he might, or might not be ready, to implicate himself and Roxy Barrington in a multi-count Federal conspiracy rap. My guessing was that dollars to donuts, Shark Tank Al would talk his way out of trouble somehow. But that was no longer my concern. Walking out of Weinman’s place, all I could think about was Roxy Barrington, and where I was going to find her.
As the high burning sun hit, outside Weinman’s door, I noticed the vehicles, parked in the street, right away. Now Beverly Crest isn’t a street parking kind of hood. It is a five car garage and Ferrari in the drive local, where private security goons and Association enforcers rule supreme. Under these circumstances the pristine telephone trucks and fleet of domestic brand SUV’s boded deeply incongruous. An anomaly I noticed straight away. What I didn’t notice was the guy who stepped out of the bushes behind me.
Two hot-stepping dudes melted out of the shrubbery and headed up the path towards me. They looked like Jehovah’s witnesses, or members of the Mormon tabernacle choir touting for business—both of them with side-parting haircuts—both of them wearing sunglasses. I was about to tell them I wasn’t interested in pamphlets of any kind, when the dude behind said, ‘FBI, Federal Agent, hold it right there, Mr. Costello.’
I gave a sigh. Here they were at last. The big budget Federal taskforce Charles Jardine had warned me about, closing in for the kill. The dudes on the driveway ambled up smartly, both of them wearing FBI ID badges on lanyards. The dude on the right gave me a creepy smile, and held out his hand, ‘Special Agent Buchanan, FBI. This here, is agent Washington. We would like to have a word Mr. Costello.’
‘I would love to Special Agent, but my schedule is running kind of tight right now.’
Buchanan eased back the corner of his jacket showed me his gun. He threw me his toothy smile, and said, ‘Step back in the house for a moment if you would, Mr. Costello, Sir.’ He made a corkscrew gesture with his raised finger, to get me to turn around. As I did so, the dude who had stepped out of the bushes raised his gun at my chest and said ‘Easy now.’
I flipped him a wink, ‘You might want to stay out of my personal space with that thing buddy.’ The Fed gave me a dead look, like I was a side of ham.
‘Are you arresting me?’ I asked Buchanan.
‘I could, if you want me to, or we could have an informal chat under your own steam. Up to you Mr. Costello. What we are most emphatically not going to do is stand here on this doorstep shooting the breeze all day. Now get, inside.’
I raised an eyebrow, ‘Persuasive.’
Buchanan stared mirthlessly, his jaw bobbing, as he masticated gum. ‘Where’s Weinman?’ He asked.
‘Indisposed at the moment, though I am sure he will pull through.’
Buchanan frowned, ‘Indisposed? You have got to be fucking kidding me. Sit over there on the couch, while we establish
just what the hell is going on here.’
So there I sat, looking up at a day-glo gallery of fine art daubs—chilling it, while a long procession of Federal Agents trooped into the house and began searching through Weinman’s possessions with split second efficiency. I had no idea what they were looking for, but the way they were going at it, they were sure to find it. Special Agent Buchanan bounced into the big chair opposite me, and made with the chitty-chat; as he spoke, he stared into me, with his watery albino eyes. I looked back at him coolly. He had white lashes and the kind of cheese eating grin that left his top teeth permanently exposed to the elements.
‘You been watching the place long?’ I asked.
Buchanan nibbled his gum noisily, like a nervous beaver, ‘Aw, we got plenty people to see, plenty places to see them in Mr. Costello, Sir.’
‘I’ll just bet you have. Did you see the girl?’
Buchannan blinked, nodded his head in time to the recitation of a wordless timeline, then replied, ‘Not something you need be concerning yourself with Mr. Costello.’ Buchanan sniffed, looked over his shoulder, as if someone might be listening in, then asked, ‘You got to tell me something though, what is your involvement with Sylvester Barrington?’ He leaned in confidentially, waiting for an answer, as FBI agents in monogrammed Fed jackets poked and prodded around every part of the room.
I leaned in too, said, ‘You mean you haven’t worked that out yet?’
Buchanan looked at me two beats, then three, his brows straining upwards in the middle. He shook his head slowly, said, ‘No Sir, Mr. Costello I do confess, I have no idea what your connection with Mr. Barrington might be, which makes this doubly confusing, I have to say.’ The beaver teeth glistened wetly, as Buchanan sucked his gum. Then, he said, ‘You’ got to excuse me for being puzzled and all Mr. Costello Sir, but it was my understanding that you and Mr. Barrington were no longer working together.’ Buchanan screwed up his face, as though he had spoken out of turn, then said carefully ‘If you don’t mind me using the expression, working together?’
I gave a sigh.
Buchanan nodded sympathetically, said ‘Yeah, I am sorry about using that expression Mr. Costello. Must still be very hurtful, him having sacked you like that?’
‘Bad news travels fast in this town huh?’ I deadpanned.
Buchanan stared at me a couple of beats, chewing gum, then broke a smile, wagged his finger at me, like I had just told him the funniest gag he had ever heard and said, ‘We are the fucking Federal government Jackass, we are everywhere.’
‘Owch!’ I said.
Buchanan sat back in his chair, ran his forearm across his brow and paused, staring at me for a long moment. He called over his shoulder, ‘You got the Lawyer?’
A longer pause then a voice called back, ‘Affirmative, we got him, but this is the weirdest shit you saw, the suspect looks like has been tortured or something.’
Buchanan, raised his eyes to the heavens, ‘Tortured? You and the lawyer been playing it kinky Mr. Costello?’
I squeezed out a smile. ‘Is there anything specific I can help you with Agent Buchanan?’
Buchanan gave me a cold, hard stare, said, ‘You and Mr. RICO conspiracy up there, you been friends for long?’
‘Friends? Whatever gave you that idea?’
Buchanan nodded his head, looking grimmer by the second, ‘You don’t listen too good, do you Jackass? I heard tell that you been warned off this thing by Commissioner Charles Jardine, himself. That right Mr. Costello? Or was Commissioner Jardine just fucking with me, when he told me he had asked you to cease your interference in this multi-million dollar Federal investigation?’
I pursed my lips thoughtfully then said, ‘Straight into the big money questions huh, Buchanan, do I get to call out and ask a friend?’
‘“Call out and ask a friend”, I like that Costello, real funny, and ironic too, because if you obstruct Federal justice, you will be ‘calling out’ from a prison telephone to speak to your lame-brain friends, assuming you still got friends to call, after a couple of decades in jail that is.’
A frantic knocking at the patio windows drew our attention. Outside—an Agent looking in through the glass.
Buchanan weighed the air with his hands, ‘What is wrong with you people? Would someone open the doors already?’
As the doors slid open, the agent called through the opening, ‘We got a body in the pool,’
Buchanan turned to me, ‘A fucking body? What do you know about this Costello?’
‘It ain’t my swimming pool. Maybe you should ask Weinman—’
‘I am asking you smart guy.’
‘As I am sure your secret-squirrel battalion in the telephone truck will tell you, I got here just in time to rescue your star witness, and there’s where the story ends.’
‘You better hope that bullshit pans out Mr. Costello, because corpses mean paper work, and paperwork makes me cranky, real cranky.’
‘I winced, ‘You got an ugly job Buchanan, there is no denying it.’
‘Never mind about my job jackass. What did the lawyer tell you?’
‘Well, he pleaded for my assistance, naturally, seems like he got himself in a real tangle and as I had called by to be neighborly, it seemed churlish not to lend him a hand.’
Buchanan nodded. ‘You think I don’t know exactly what is going on here?’
‘You did ask Buchanan, and as I am sure Charles Jardine will tell you, co-operation is my middle name.’
Buchanan’s white lashes fluttered rapidly at this news, his pink little eyelids closing down across the watery blue eyes, as he sucked in a deep-breath of patience. ‘Here’s the way it is going to work Mr. Costello, you are going to walk out of here, back to your little office in Marina Del Rey. When you get there, you are going to tell your employees to forget everything they ever heard about the Barrington Family, and the Slycorp flotation on the Stock-Market, you are also going to stay away from Mr. Weinman and his business. You understand me Mr. Costello?
‘I hear you Buchanan but I am not sure if I believe you.’
‘You are in out of your league Mr. Costello. This game is Federal business now. My advice to you, is walk away from this while you still can.’
‘What about the Barrington girl?’
‘We got that Mr. Costello; As of this minute, your chips are cashed. I want you to stay the hell away from Roxy Barrington.’ Buchanan looked past me, like he was catching someone’s eye, sniffed, then said, ‘I got someone I would like you to meet Costello.
A figure drifted into my peripheral view. ‘This him?’ asked a nasal voice.
Buchanan beamed, ‘Mr. Costello.’ This is George Graham from the Securities and Exchange Commission.’
‘Southern California regional office,’ added Graham. He paused, then said, ‘Do you now, or have you at anytime in the past, held stocks or shares of any description?’
‘I got myself a 401k, if that counts for anything,’ I offered brightly.
Graham sniffed, ‘Are you buying into the Slycorp flotation Mr. Costello’
‘I wasn’t planning to, are you going to tell me I should? Because I don’t subscribe to unsolicited financial advice.’
‘The SEC does not offer financial advice Mr. Costello. We are a regulatory body. Our function is to enforce Federal Securities laws, and root out financial malfeasance where ever we find it.’ Graham looked down at me through thick glasses. He sniffed. ‘We take financial malfeasance very seriously at the SEC. The penalties for securities based crime are very severe.’
I sucked a breath, ‘Severe, huh?’
‘Indeed, Mr. Costello. I understand Mr. Barrington offered you a substantial amount of money, is this correct?’
‘My company provided Barrington with personal protection until very recently, if that is what you mean.’
Graham exchanged a glance with Buchanan, said, ‘Where is the Lawyer?’
Buchanan twisted his face with distaste, and jerked his thumb in the general direc
tion. George Graham sniffed, said, ‘This gentleman is peripheral to the enquiry Agent Buchanan,’
Buchanan grinned, ‘You hear that Costello, you are peripheral to the enquiry.’
‘Good to know,’ I said, now, if you will excuse me…’
‘Hey, not so fast Costello,’ said Buchanan, ‘Did I say we were done?’
‘I think you did.’
‘Hell, no, Costello I want you to stick around until our friends in LAPD get here. That way you can tell them everything you know about the corpse in the swimming pool.’
‘You got the limit of my knowledge on that particular subject already Buchanan.’
Again Buchanan smiled, ‘Yeah, I know Mr. Co-operation, you were real helpful. But like I already told you, paperwork makes me cranky, and I ain’t about ready to spend my afternoon filling out reports, when we got a perfectly good police department to do that for me.’
‘You are a real team player Buchanan.’
‘Local liaison Mr. Costello, it is an essential part of modern law enforcement, now stay right where you are, until Jardine’s people get here, because I know they will be thrilled to touch base with you again.’
Dead Famous 55
Roxy Barrington rolled into the parking structure at Burbank airport. She took the ramps all the way to level four, driving slow past the parked cars, checking to see if she could see anyone around, but there was no one in sight. It was as she had anticipated. Rounding a sparsely populated row of vehicles, she saw the beige Mini-van for the first time, parked in close behind a concrete column. She couldn’t see the license plate, but it didn’t matter. Everything was as she had arranged.
Easing the Mercedes into a bay facing the exit slip, Roxy Barrington parked up, leaving the keys in the ignition. Then, after making sure the car door was slightly ajar, she made her way towards beige mini-van, carrying only her handbag and the attaché case of money.
The mini-van had dark tinted windows, and it was almost impossible to tell, in the gloom of the parking structure, if there was any one inside the vehicle. But Roxy knew the meeting would be as she had arranged. There was no question of that. She opened the passenger side door, and there he was, playing on his Nintendo hand held. The burbling jangle of computer game noise reached out to greet her. She paused, then got in to the passenger seat, and sat there wordlessly, with the attaché case perched on her lap.
