Bombshell

by Stuart Woods

  “After you came all the way from New York? Perish the thought. I certainly intend to be there, I’m just not sure Billy Barnett should.”

  “I see.”

  “On the other hand, if you chose to honor the Oscar nominees, I’ll bet Mark Weldon could put in an appearance.”

  Stone grinned. “Works for me.”

  * * *

  Stone raised his glass. “To Desperation at Dawn. May it sweep the Oscars.”

  The toast was met by howls of protests.

  “Dad!” Peter said. “You can’t say that.”

  Stone shrugged. “So I’m a little biased.”

  Hattie patted Peter on the arm. “He’s a lawyer, honey. He doesn’t get show business.”

  Everyone laughed.

  “Well, I like that,” Stone said. “I don’t get show business.”

  “It’s tradition, Dad. You don’t jinx the show by wishing it well. You say ‘break a leg.’”

  Dino said, “In an effort not to bring us bad luck, I have a gang of thugs going around breaking the legs of all the other nominees.”

  “I’m not sure you understand the concept, Dad,” Ben said.

  Teddy grinned. It was fun to be among friends as Oscar-nominated actor Mark Weldon. It was as if he had no obligations and was just there to be honored.

  * * *

  On the other side of the restaurant Gino Patelli scowled over his cognac. “You promise me Billy Barnett, and you give me a second-rate actor.”

  “I didn’t promise you Billy Barnett,” Sylvester said. “Dylan did. And the actor’s up for an Oscar.”

  “So’s the producer. If they’re having an Oscar dinner, the producer should be there.”

  “The guy was in jail and then spent the whole day hiding out on set. He’s probably trying to avoid the press—it’s not surprising he’d skip a dinner.”

  “With the lawyer who got him out, for Christ’s sake? You’d think he’d be grateful.”

  “The producer’s not a relation. The others are.”

  “The actor isn’t.”

  “He’s an Oscar nominee.”

  “Well, bully for him. You think I give a shit? I came here because the producer was supposed to be here.” Gino scowled. “Now that I’m stuck in the goddamned restaurant, I tell you, the food better be good.”

  “Musso and Frank? It’s famous. The food’s excellent.”

  “We haven’t got it yet.”

  “We just ordered,” Sylvester said. He wanted to bite back the words. It was hard to know how far he could go with Gino Patelli. If he agreed with him all the time, Gino would call him on it as a yes-man. So he disagreed every now and then. Figuring out how often was a tough balancing act. “You want to cancel dinner? We can say something came up and walk out.”

  “We gotta eat somewhere. Maybe the guy will show up.”

  The food came and Gino cut into his steak. He grudgingly had to admit it was good.

  * * *

  At the other table, Teddy noticed Gino and Sylvester getting served. He wondered if they were dining there in search of Billy Barnett. He had a feeling they were, which opened up interesting possibilities. Had he been tailed to the restaurant? No, they might have followed Billy Barnett, but not Mark Weldon. Had they found out where Stone’s party would be dining and assumed he would be part of it? Much more likely.

  There was one other possibility, even more disturbing.

  They had come to the restaurant not caring whether Billy Barnett showed up or not. Not able to get a line on Billy Barnett himself, Gino was checking out Billy Barnett’s friends.

  58

  Teddy got up early the next morning and called Mike Freeman, the head of Strategic Services. Mike answered at his office in New York.

  “Hey, Mike, how’s it going?”

  “I think I know that voice.”

  “I think you do, too.”

  “I understand congratulations are in order.”

  “Yes, indeed. The Oscars. Peter has every reason to be proud.”

  “I understand his producer and supporting actor are also being honored.”

  “I’m sure they’re thrilled. That’s not why I’m calling.”

  “I didn’t figure it was.”

  “What sort of protection do you have on Peter’s and Ben’s families?”

  “I can’t give out that information.”

  “I know you can’t. Except to the person hiring you. That happens to be me.”

  “Not according to my records.”

  “Then your records aren’t up-to-date. Let’s correct that while I have you on the phone. I’m hiring Strategic Services to provide protection to Peter’s and Ben’s families in addition to whatever protection Stone Barrington may have requested that you can’t tell me about.”

  “You mind telling me why?”

  “Circumstances have arisen which make such precautions seem prudent.”

  “Would this have anything to do with any recent felony arrests in the Los Angeles area?”

  “That’s what I don’t know, and it bothers me. Clearly someone has it in for Billy Barnett. In addition to the legal entanglements, there have been personal encounters.”

  “Nothing you couldn’t handle, I trust?”

  “No, but the resultant frustration might cause the opposition to try an alternative tack. I’m afraid I might be inadvertently putting friends of mine at risk.”

  “This is a secure line, swept every day. Would you care to be specific?”

  “I wouldn’t mind, but I don’t know. The evidence seems to indicate Gino Patelli’s attempting to avenge his uncle’s death. The fact that I didn’t kill him makes it somewhat ironic.”

  “Any chance of bringing Patelli around to that point of view?”

  “I don’t think he’d be inclined to listen. And I was at least indirectly responsible. Anyway, I actually met the gentleman at a party, and his men tried to spoil my exit. The result no doubt added to Patelli’s list of grievances.”

  “And that’s why you’re nervous.”

  “This was an Oscar party. Hattie’s nominated for the musical score. Tessa’s nominated for Best Actress. The award show is next Sunday. A vindictive creep might want to see they missed the ceremony.”

  “Any indication that’s the case?”

  “Stone took the kids out to dinner last night. Gino Patelli was in the same restaurant.”

  “Checking on Billy Barnett?”

  “Maybe, but Billy Barnett wasn’t there.”

  “Uh-oh.”

  “So, I’d like to make sure the kids are safe and well and get to the Oscars.”

  “If you want my men in the audience, that will take a little doing.”

  “That shouldn’t be necessary. Just see that everyone gets there. They’re fine once they’re inside.”

  “You got it.”

  “I realize there may be some overlap. Don’t worry about billing Stone Barrington and me for the same men. No one does what you do better than you do it. I just need to know until the Oscars there’s no one I have to look out for but me.”

  “I take it you don’t want personal protection?”

  “Don’t waste your men. I’d only have to ditch ’em.”

  Teddy hung up the phone feeling a lot better knowing Mike was on the case. He made himself up as Mark Weldon and headed for the set.

  59

  Viveca was touching up her makeup when she heard a knock on the trailer door. It was most likely Dylan summoning her to the set. She’d thought she had more time and was a little annoyed at the intrusion.

  “Come in,” she snapped.

  It was Tessa. She came in hesitantly, understandable after that rude greeting. “I’m sorry to disturb you. I can come back.”

  Viveca flashed her hundred-wa
tt smile and put up her hands.

  “No, no, not at all. I thought they wanted me on the set, and I’m not ready to go. By all means, come on in.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “Absolutely. Sit down while I finish my makeup. Otherwise they’ll call me and I won’t be ready.”

  Tessa sat at the kitchen table. “Isn’t that the worst? I hate it when that happens.”

  “There’s coffee in that urn. Grab a cup.”

  “Thanks.” Tessa poured a cup, added sugar, and stirred it around. “What a week. Billy Barnett getting arrested, and all.”

  “I can’t believe he did it.”

  “Of course he didn’t do it. It’s absurd.” Tessa shook her head. “Anyway, I wanted to say I’m sorry. About the gossip columnist. Manny Rosen, wasn’t it?”

  Viveca frowned. “What do you mean?”

  “I heard he was a friend of yours.”

  Viveca tensed. Did Tessa know she was behind those stories about her? Was she implying a connection?

  “Not really a friend,” Viveca said. “I knew him. In this business it’s advisable to keep on the good side of gossip columnists if you can.”

  “Tell me about it. I haven’t been around long enough to build up much of a network in the industry, but that’s good advice. Anyway, I just wanted to say I’m sorry, and I’m here to help if there’s anything I can do.”

  Viveca had been in the business long enough to know that actresses could fake sincerity, but Tessa’s open, honest face seemed easy to read. She really just wanted to be friends.

  Though she had many acquaintances and hangers-on, Viveca had made few true friends in the business. Her longest relationship of any kind was with Bruce, whom she’d known since high school and who didn’t really understand the ins and outs of Hollywood. But it seemed she might have a chance, here, to form a real bond.

  “I’d actually love some company for lunch tomorrow. Should we have a commissary date?”

  Tessa smiled. “I’d like that.”

  * * *

  Across town, Bruce watched the news report with satisfaction. It couldn’t have worked out better. The gossip columnist was dead, the producer had been blamed, and no one had the faintest idea he was involved.

  Bruce was very proud of himself. He wished he could tell Viveca, but she wouldn’t approve. Viveca was a civilian. She didn’t understand combat, and this was combat whether you called it that or not. When people were out to get you, they had to be stopped. It was as simple as that. If war had taught him one thing, it was survival of the fittest. Life depended on it. The only way to survive was to beat your opponent. To outthink, outsmart, outlast him by any means possible.

  The gossip columnist had posed a threat to Viveca and had to be removed, whether that was what she wanted or not. She wasn’t a warrior, she was an actress. He had to make choices for her, to protect her. He had taken action, and he’d done it well.

  So what if no one was going to praise him for it?

  It was better if nobody knew.

  60

  Gino Patelli was in a mood. He’d spent two and a half futile hours sitting in a restaurant waiting for Billy Barnett, and the fact that the food was excellent had done nothing for his disposition.

  It didn’t help when Dylan called from the set to report that Billy Barnett had not shown up again.

  “I don’t get it,” Gino said. “Isn’t the guy supposed to stay in the area?”

  Sylvester smiled. “Damned if he isn’t.” He whipped out his cell phone and called his police informant.

  * * *

  Officer Murphy stuck his head into ADA Felson’s office.

  “What is it, Officer?”

  “You’re in charge of the Billy Barnett prosecution, right? For the murder of the gossip columnist?”

  At the moment Billy Barnett was only charged with a B&E, but Felson saw no reason to correct the officer. “That’s right. Why?”

  “He’s not supposed to leave the jurisdiction of the court, is he? Because he hasn’t been home, and he hasn’t been at the movie studio where he works.”

  “Aren’t they shooting a picture? I was told his presence on set was necessary.”

  “Yes. I was just down by the set and he isn’t there, either. That’s why I thought I should tell you. I can’t imagine a guy like that would jump bail, unless the case against him was very bad. Anyway, I thought you’d want to know.”

  “Thanks, Officer. Good job.”

  Officer Murphy nodded and went out.

  ADA Felson frowned and picked up the phone.

  * * *

  Teddy fished the cell phone out of his pocket and checked caller ID. It was his secretary. He pressed the button and took the call. “Yes, Margaret?”

  “I just got a call from ADA Felson looking for you. He mentioned something about not leaving the jurisdiction of the court. I assured him you hadn’t, but he didn’t seem convinced.”

  “That’s a nuisance.”

  “Isn’t it?”

  “What does he want me to do?”

  “He asked you to return his call. I have his number.”

  Teddy took down the number from Margaret, hung up, and called the ADA. “I hear you’re looking for me.”

  “I wasn’t, actually, but it’s been brought to my attention that you’re nowhere to be found. You wouldn’t have left town, would you?”

  “I have not. We have a deal.”

  “I’m afraid I require some assurance you’re in compliance with the bail arrangement.”

  “I assure you I am.”

  “While your personal assurance is nice, what I need is a personal appearance. No one’s seen you since you were granted bail. You haven’t been home, you haven’t been at work. You haven’t been around the movie set, where I was told your contribution was vital.”

  “Do you take such a personal interest in all your defendants?”

  “That’s why I have such a good track record. Any reason you haven’t been home?”

  “I don’t recall all the terms of the bail agreement, but I don’t believe providing explanations for my actions was part of it. But you seem like a nice guy, so let me give you a hint. I’m a movie producer. I have a picture up for an Academy Award. I was unlucky enough to get a felony arrest. The fact that it involves a gossip columnist is like catnip for other gossip columnists. If I were living at home I’d be driving in and out through a forest of cameras and microphones, generating just the opposite type of publicity the studio is hoping to generate. Does that make sense to you?”

  “Extremely reasonable,” ADA Felson said. “But I’m afraid I still require proof you’re not calling me from a South Seas island. When can I see you?”

  “I happen to be on location now,” Teddy said. “Care to drop by the set?”

  “You’re on location right now?”

  “That’s right.”

  “How come no one’s seen you?”

  “They have more important things to deal with. They’re shooting a picture. If you don’t believe me, come on down.”

  “I’d prefer you came here,” ADA Felson said. “After all, you’re the one getting the concessions.”

  “‘Concessions’? Oh, you mean being charged with the lesser crime I didn’t commit. I suppose you could call that a concession. Okay, I’ll be there this afternoon.”

  Teddy hung up and checked the schedule. Mark Weldon wasn’t due on the set for a good hour.

  Teddy went to the closet and took out his makeup kit.

  61

  Teddy was on guard as he drove to the courthouse. The summons from ADA Felson didn’t quite ring true. An ADA might want to make sure a defendant on bail hadn’t left the jurisdiction of the court, but why would Felson think he had? It didn’t add up, unless someone had put the idea in his head.

 
Someone with an ulterior motive.

  Teddy spotted them from half a block away. Two goons in two black sedans were staking out the entrance to the courthouse. It was a good thing he’d driven a nondescript production car instead of something flashy and easy to spot.

  The goons hadn’t seen him yet. Teddy pulled his car into a parking spot on the side of the street and surveilled his options. He was made up as Billy Barnett and didn’t feel like altering his appearance just to get in the door of the courthouse.

  An SCE truck was parked in the middle of the street, and a ladder had been lowered into an open manhole. As Teddy watched, the two men from the truck climbed down into the hole.

  Teddy got out of his car, skirted the manhole, and hopped into the back of the truck. He was out moments later, wearing an SCE slicker and hard hat, and carrying a stack of traffic cones in front of his face. He walked around the truck and headed for the courthouse, placing a cone in the street every twenty yards or so as if cordoning off a traffic lane.

  The goons in the cars never gave him a second look. Teddy worked his way across the street, slung the cones over his shoulder, and went up the steps and into the courthouse.

  Once inside, he shrugged off the rain slicker, draped it over the remaining cones, and topped it off with the hard hat.

  Teddy strode down the corridor, located the ADA’s office, and went in the door.

  ADA Felson glanced up from his desk. “Billy Barnett. So you are in town.”

  “Of course I am. I’m a law-abiding citizen. The judge said stick around, so I stuck around. I’m insulted you thought I might do anything else.”

  “Despite the fact that no one’s seen you since the arraignment.”

  “Is that a fact?”

  “Yes, it is.”

  “According to whom?”

  ADA Felson frowned. “I beg your pardon?”

  “Is it standard procedure for prosecutors to keep track of defendants on bail?”