Hollywood Deception

by Gemma Halliday

  If I could get a look at Ritchie's phone, I could know for certain if Sal had called him the night Bobby had died. I thought about asking Shane to hack into Ritchie's cell records, but after the danger I'd put him in at the recycling plant, I was reluctant to involve him again.

  Instead, I drained the last of my coffee, grabbed my purse, and dialed the number for the Oceanside Gym as I walked to the elevator. Three rings in I got a bored sounding woman.

  "Oceanside Gym, how may I help you?"

  "Is Ritchie Mullins in today?" I asked, hitting the elevator's down button.

  "Uh, lemme check," she said then covered the receiver with her hand as she repeated the question to someone else. A few seconds later, she came back on the line. "Yeah, he's scheduled to come in at noon. You want to leave a message for him?"

  "No, that's fine. Thanks," I told her, stepping into the elevator as I hung up.

  Cal's black SUV was still parked right next to my Bug. He gave me a silent wave, which I returned before stepping into my car. I could have taken another cab, but I was running out of cash. And honestly, I didn't totally hate the idea of having backup to go visit a potential murderer.

  By twelve twenty I was parked at the curb across the street from the gym, wondering just how I was going to separate one possibly homicidal personal trainer from his cell phone. If he was like most people, he probably kept it on his person. No way was I stealth enough pick a guy's pocket without him knowing. Amateur lock picking was the extent of my extracurricular abilities.

  I stepped into the coffee shop across the street and ordered a vanilla latte, hoping the caffeine would help me come up with a brilliant plan. I was waiting on my order when my phone rang. Shane's number showed up on the readout. I raised an eyebrow at the coincidence, hoping the kid didn't have some sort of psychic abilities. More likely just an unrelenting crush.

  "What's up, Shane?" I answered.

  "Ohmigod, I'm so glad you're okay!" he practically shouted into the phone.

  "Why wouldn't I be?" I asked as I took my latte from the barista.

  "Because of your harrowing ordeal last night."

  I rolled my eyes. "I'm not sure it was exactly 'harrowing.'"

  "Being viciously attacked right in your own parking lot? I'd call that harrowing."

  I shrugged even though I knew he couldn't see me. "I guess it wasn't exactly fun." I paused. "Wait—how did you even find out about this?"

  "It's breaking news."

  I narrowed my eyes at my phone. "Breaking where?" In a city with a crime rate like L.A.'s, I had a hard time believing that a random attack with minor injuries was a leading story on the news.

  "Duh. The L.A. Informer website."

  My mind immediately flashed to that morning and Tina's interest in my "ordeal." I thought a dirty word. Whether her concern had been genuine or not, it seems she couldn't help creating a print-worthy story out of it. While I didn't particularly like being tabloid fodder, I couldn't blame her too much. I'd probably have done the same thing.

  "I'm fine," I reassured him. "The tabloids always exaggerate." Especially Tina.

  "You sure?" Shane asked. "The article said it was really bad. Harrowing even, babe."

  I skimmed over the babe thing, since the kid sounded actually worried. "Totally sure," I reassured him as I left the coffee shop.

  "You need someone to watch over you today? I could come, you know, guard your body."

  Why did that sound dirty coming from the teenager?

  I glanced at the black SUV parked behind my car as I crossed the street. "I'm covered," I told him. "Thanks."

  "Well, what are you looking into today? What leads are you chasing down? Any clues to uncover?"

  I rolled my eyes at how Scooby-Doo it all sounded coming from his mouth. "Nothing I can't handle. Alone."

  "You know, you've got a real independent streak."

  "Thank you."

  "That wasn't a compliment."

  "Don't you have school or something?" I asked as I pushed through the glass front doors of the Oceanside Gym.

  "Nope. I had a friend call me in sick when I heard the news about your attack. I figured you needed me more than I needed trig."

  Why did I get the feeling Shane took just about any excuse to miss school?

  "Well, I'm fine. Thanks."

  "Where are you?" he asked. "It sounds noisy."

  "A gym," I answered without thinking.

  "The one where Ritchie Mullins works?" he asked, his voice perking up.

  "Uh…maybe," I mumbled.

  "What are you doing there? Are you going to confront him? Interrogate him?"

  "I've got to go," I told him, mentally rolling my eyes again. "Bye, Shane." I disconnected before he could protest.

  The same brunette was on duty at the front desk as the last time I'd been in the gym. She turned a toothy smile on me as soon as I hung up. "May I help you?"

  "Yeah, I'm uh…" I looked past her and spied Ritchie with a client, spotting him on a weight bench. He was wearing the gym's logo shirt, a pair of really tight spandex shorts that made his legs look like tree trunks, and a fanny pack straight out of 1998. "I'm thinking of joining."

  "Really? You want to join?" she asked, her eyes going from my heels to the black eye.

  I nodded. "I had a little run-in with a bad guy last night." I motioned to my face. "I signed up for a self-defense class this morning, and they suggested I join a gym," I lied. While I still wasn't 100 percent sure how I was going to get a peek at Ritchie's phone, I figured a tour would buy me some time. If I was lucky, Ritchie's phone would be conveniently tucked in the retro fanny pack. How to get it out was still a challenge, but I was up for it.

  "Sure," the brunette said. "Let me just see if Justin is available."

  "Uh, any chance Ritchie could show me around?" I asked.

  She paused. "Ritchie's with a client right now." She spun around, gesturing to the duo at the weight bench.

  "No problem. I can wait."

  She cocked her head at me.

  "My self-defense teacher said Ritchie's the best trainer," I explained.

  Brunette shrugged. "Sure. Have a seat." She gestured to the lobby's padded bench. "I'll let him know you're here."

  I thanked her then settled in with my latte to wait.

  I sipped, tried not to breathe too deeply of the air that was scented with sweat, strong disinfectant, and rubber, and listened to the sounds of weights clanging, ellipticals whooshing, and the occasional grunt from the resistance training machines. I wasn't sure how long I sat, but I was just tossing my empty coffee cup into the trash when the doors opened and a familiar figure stepped in.

  I blinked up at the red-haired teenager. "Shane!" I hissed.

  His face broke into a wide grin. "Hey, babe."

  I narrowed my eyes at him. "What are you doing here?" I glanced guiltily in Ritchie's direction, as if Shane's presence would somehow signal him to a nefarious scheme in the works.

  "I'm here to help with the interrogation."

  "Shh," I told him, tugging him by the sleeve down onto the bench beside me. I glanced to the brunette, but she'd barely registered Shane's presence. "We are not interrogating anyone," I whispered to Shane.

  "Then what are we doing here?" he whispered back.

  I sighed. "I am hoping to get a look at Ritchie's phone. I don't know what you're doing here," I mumbled.

  Shane nodded, ignoring that last comment. "Cool. How are we going to do that?"

  I ignored his choice of pronoun. So much for not involving him. In my defense though, he'd totally involved himself. I gave him a palms-up. "Not sure. I'm waiting for him to give me a tour of the gym."

  "And what are we looking for on his phone?" he asked.

  With a quick glance in Bored Brunette's direction, I filled Shane in on my suspicions about Ritchie being Sal's hired muscle and what I hoped to find on Ritchie's phone.

  When I was done, Shane nodded again. "Leave it to me," he said. "You distract t
he big guy, and I'll sneak a peek at the phone."

  "I don't know—" I started.

  But I was cut off by a large figure approaching us. "Jill said you wanted a tour?" Ritchie Mullins said, suddenly looking over at us.

  I felt my cheeks heat, as if he could somehow know what we'd just been talking about. "Yes!" I said, maybe a bit too enthusiastically.

  His eyes narrowed at me in recognition. "Aren't you that reporter?"

  I nodded. "I, uh, had a harrowing ordeal last night," I said, borrowing a dramatic phrase from my friend Tina. "I thought maybe I should join a gym. You know, learn a little self-defense? I hear you're the best personal trainer here," I added, hoping to win him over with flattery.

  It seemed to work as his eyes softened, and he shrugged. "Sure. I can show you around. Follow me."

  I did, quickly scampering after Ritchie as Shane sent me an exaggerated wink.

  Ritchie gave me a quick tour of the cardio area, the locker rooms, the pool in the back, and finally the free weights area. Shane wandered along a few paces behind us the entire time. If Ritchie noticed, he didn't let on.

  "You say you were attacked last night?" Ritchie asked once we reached the back of the gym, an area full of balance balls, padded mats, and people stretching and doing crunches.

  I nodded, watching his reaction. While I knew my attacker hadn't been Ritchie himself, I wondered how much he knew about it. For all I knew, he, Snake Tattoo, and Sal Bukowski were all in it together.

  But if he had any intimate knowledge of it, he didn't let on. "There are a couple of moves that we usually show female clients to protect themselves. Just simple things, but they can be effective."

  "Could you show me one now?" I asked, seeing an opening.

  He shrugged. "Sure, I guess." Then to my delight, he removed his black fanny pack and tossed it in a corner on a spare bench. I followed suit with my purse.

  I caught sight of Shane skirting the wall toward the pack. Hopefully, Ritchie's phone was in there, and this wasn't a huge waste of time.

  Ritchie's back was to the bench as he stood in front of me with a wide-legged stance. "Okay, imagine I'm an attacker. Where's the most vulnerable part of me?"

  My eyes went down to his too-tight pants. "Uh, your…" I trailed off, not really wanting to linger in that area.

  Ritchie grinned suggestively. Ick. "Right. Doesn't matter how big the guy is, he's gonna be vulnerable there. So, come at me."

  "You want me to, uh, kick you there?" I asked. I was only paying half attention. The other half was on Shane. Out of the corner of my eye, I spied him grab the pack and disappear into the men's room.

  "Go for it," Ritchie said, his muscles tense.

  Well, if he asked for it…

  I moved to kick my right foot up toward his groin. But it only got halfway off the ground before Ritchie caught it in his big, meaty hands, toppling me over onto my butt on the padded floors.

  "Lesson one," he said, towering over me, still holding onto my ankle. "Never do what your attacker is expecting." He grinned, clearly pleased with himself.

  I mentally rolled my eyes. "Okay. Great. Thanks," I said, trying my best to avoid sarcasm as I took my foot back and slowly stood, thankful I wasn't wearing a skirt.

  "Okay, let's try that again," Ritchie said, taking his wide stance in front of me.

  "You know, I think I'm good," I told him.

  He shook his head. "Lesson's not over. Come on…what was your mistake last time?"

  "Doing what you expected?" I guessed.

  He nodded. "Also, you left me way too much room to grab you first. I saw your foot coming a mile away. But if you come in closer…" He demonstrated by taking a giant step forward and invading my personal space. "…it's harder for your attacker to grab you."

  I swallowed, not comfortable being in such close proximity. "Got it," I mumbled. I looked past him and spotted Shane coming back out of the men's room. "Uh, let me try it," I said.

  Ritchie took a step back, taking on his attacker stance again. I watched Shane put the pack back on the bench where Ritchie had left it.

  "Okay, ready?" I asked.

  Ritchie nodded, his eyes twinkling. If I didn't know better, I'd say he liked playing the attacker.

  I took a quick step, coming right up against Ritchie's body. He moved to grab my foot, but I lifted my knee into his groin instead.

  I heard a whoosh of air in response. Oops. Looked like someone forgot to wear a cup to work today.

  I took a step back, assessing the damage. Ritchie's face looked pinched, but he was still standing.

  "Did I get it?" I asked, innocently batting my eyelashes at him.

  He nodded slowly. "Yeah. That was it," he grunted out.

  Out of the corner of my eye I saw Shane hurry toward the gym's exit.

  That was my cue to get the heck out of there.

  I grabbed my purse from the bench. "Thanks so much." I gave Ritchie a big smile. "You've convinced me. I'm just going to go sign up now."

  Ritchie nodded, still not speaking much. I almost felt bad. That was, if I wasn't 99 percent convinced he was involved in Bobby's murder.

  "I'll see you later." I waved and hurried to the front of the gym. I chanced a peek behind me to see if Ritchie was watching me, but he had his back to me, leaning on the bench now in an awkward position. I quickly bypassed the reception desk and hurried outside to my car.

  Shane was waiting for me when I reached my Bug and got inside.

  "Did you get it?" I asked a bit breathlessly.

  Shane nodded. "I was totally stealth, right?"

  I couldn't help but grin. "And? Were there any texts or calls from Sal Bukowski?"

  Shane shook his head in the negative. "Sorry, babe. If there were, Ritchie deleted them."

  I felt my hopes deflate faster than a leaky balloon. Right. Of course he wouldn't keep incriminating information on his phone. Even Ritchie was smarter than that. "Great." I smacked my palm on my steering wheel, feeling like a total doof for thinking this might be my smoking gun. "All that for nothing."

  "Well, I wouldn't say totally nothing."

  I glanced over at Shane. He was doing a Cheshire cat grin.

  "What?" I asked. "What did you do?"

  "Well…I kinda installed an app on his phone."

  "What kind of app?" I asked, allowing that hope to peek its head up just a bit.

  "It's like a spyware thing. It tracks all of your calls, texts, any activity on your phone. My parents tried to put it on my phone last year. Thought it might keep me out of trouble." He chuckled at the absurdity of that. I had a moment of sympathy for his parents.

  "So, we can track any activity on Ritchie's phone right now?"

  Shane nodded. "Pretty much. All we have to do is install the parent app on your phone, and anytime you log in, it should funnel all the data right to us."

  "So if Sal tries to contact him again…"

  "We'll know about it as soon as Ritchie does."

  While it wasn't exactly the sure thing I'd been hoping for, it was better than nothing. I handed my phone over to Shane to install the parent app.

  "But won't Ritchie see the app?"

  Shane shook his head as his fingers flew over my screen. "Nah. It's designed to be pretty much invisible."

  "Then how did you find it when your parents installed it?"

  He shot me a get real look. "Seriously?"

  Right, I was talking to super hacker. Of course he found it. All I could hope was that Ritchie was no tech wizard. And from what I knew of him, that was a fairly safe bet.

  * * *

  After Shane finished setting up my phone, I sent him home and headed back to the office, with Cal still shadowing me. The first thing I did was pull up the Informer's website and read Tina's article on me. I groaned out loud. It was just as sensational as I'd feared, using lots of ghastly adjectives like "frightening" and "terrorizing." Had she been in her cubicle, I'd have given her about $2.25 worth of swear pig words to let her kno
w just how I felt about her journalism skills. As it was, I decided a kick-butt story on Baxter was the best revenge.

  While I was still lacking proof, I started typing up my article on Bobby Baxter's death and Sal Bukowski being the mastermind behind it all. While there were lots of blanks I was hoping to fill in later, Friday was fast approaching, and I all I could do was hope.

  My phone dinged with an unusual tone, and I quickly swiped the screen on. Shane's app had registered activity on Ritchie's phone. I opened the app and saw a text had come in for him from a 323 number.

  Need to reschedule training session. Sick. Will call on Monday.

  I felt my stomach sink. Not a confirmation of dirty deeds. Just a personal training client. I tucked my phone back in my purse and went back to my article.

  I grabbed a tuna salad from the deli across the street and ate lunch at my desk. The rest of the afternoon was spent working on the article—adding as much backstory about Ritchie and Sal as I could without incurring the wrath of the legal department. I paused in my furious typing only long enough to check the half-dozen texts Ritchie got throughout the afternoon via my spyware app. A buddy wanting to grab a beer after work. Three more clients scheduling sessions. A girl named Britt who had some suggestive things to say about their "adventure" the night before. Nothing even remotely illegal. At least, I didn't think so. Britt didn't go into "adventure" details.

  I was just powering down my computer for the day and about to give up on ever beating Tina to the evidence punch, when my phone dinged once again. I glanced at the app's readout.

  And recognized the number immediately. It was a Sunshine Sanitation prefix.

  My hands shook as I swiped the screen to read the incoming text.

  Port of L.A. Berth 210. 8pm

  It had to be from Sal Bukowski! A cryptic message to meet at the docks late at night. This was the stuff of reporter dreams. I almost felt like pinching myself. A payoff for killing Bobby? Maybe an illegal dump site for Sunshine's toxic waste? Or maybe Sal was done using Ritchie and was planning to dump him in the Pacific? Either way, I planned to be there to witness it.