The Big Fix

by Linda Grimes

  “Jackson, may I introduce Nils—I believe he’d rather not divulge his last name—of the Swedish security police?”

  Comprehension was slowly building in Jack’s face as he looked from Nils to Billy, and finally to me. “You.”

  He could have meant either Billy or me. Maybe both. In any case, he didn’t look pleased to see us.

  “Ron Howard? The other actors?” he asked numbly. Apparently he couldn’t focus on the worst part of his problem yet.

  “All adaptors, I’m afraid,” Billy said, sounding jolly.

  “How many of you fuckers are there?”

  “Enough,” I said.

  “So there’s no movie?” he said, stuck on that.

  “Oh, there’s a movie, all right,” Billy said. “Let’s watch it, shall we?” He touched a key on the laptop we’d set up on the coffee table.

  Jackson sat up and stared in horror at what played out on the screen in front of him. He reddened at the sight of the young Frannie bouncing up and down on his … lap … and paled when he saw his confession to “Angelica.”

  “Fine,” Gunn said after it was over. “You got me. What do you want? Money? How much for the video?”

  “Oh, we don’t want money, Jack,” I said. “All we want is your confession.”

  “You know I can’t do that.” He stood. Wobbled, and sat down again. “Not without giving away your part in all this.”

  “Come on, Jack. You know what you have to do.”

  It took a minute, but it finally dawned on him. “I can’t confess I hired a hit man when I didn’t!” he said.

  “Too honorable to lie, Jack?” I said. “Pardon me if I find that difficult to swallow.”

  “Look, if this is about Lily-Ann, I can help there—I never meant for her to get caught up in it. I’ll testify that Angelica was unstable, that she hated Lily-Ann. I’ll swear in court that it had to be self-defense on Lily’s part—I’ll make sure she’s acquitted.”

  “Ah. So it’s not the lying you have a problem with,” Billy said. “Not good enough, Jackson my man. Her name would still be ruined.”

  “I’ll pay off my house staff—they’ll say there was an intruder, that they didn’t come forward before out of fear he’d come back and kill them, too.” The desperation was growing on his face.

  “It’s already been established that none them were home that night. They were all seen elsewhere. You can’t pay off everyone, Jack,” Billy said.

  Gunn’s shoulders slumped. His face went slack, his eyes dull. “I’ll be ruined. Either way, my career is over and I’m in jail for life.” Then a spark ignited something in his eyes. He stood, steadier this time, and said, “But, God damn it, if I go down I can at least take you and your kind with me. Go ahead, show your fucking video to the world!”

  Panic exploded through me. I hadn’t for a second considered that he wouldn’t do anything and everything to keep that video from going public.

  Billy, remaining a hell of a lot calmer than I felt, said, “You’re not thinking straight, Jack. You have access to the best lawyers in this country. You don’t believe one of them—or hell, a whole team of them—could keep you from a life sentence? Maybe even get you acquitted? Hell, even if you got a few years, it would only be another line item for your résumé. It would add to your tough-guy street cred. Hollywood will forgive killing your wife—in whatever fit of passion you care to dream up—but once J. J. Brookfield sees you with his daughter, it’s over. Was she even of age in that video, Jack?”

  Gunn paled even more.

  “No? I thought not. Yeah, I’d say that was a definite career-ender.”

  “That was all her, damn it! She threw herself at me. If Brookfield hadn’t made me take her on as an intern—don’t you understand? It was her fault!”

  Billy shook his head sadly, keeping a pleasant expression on his face, but I could see the disgust in his eyes. “It always is, hey, Jack? And Lily-Ann? Was it her fault, too? How about Elizabeth? Surely one of them is your fault.”

  Gunn glared at Billy. You could see he wanted to argue. That he was scrambling for a way to salvage something, anything. And you could see when he realized his tantrum wasn’t going to get him what he wanted.

  “Overholt’s the best,” he said, considering the solution we’d offered him. “But there’s no way he would take me on, not after defending Lily. It would make him look like a—”

  “A what? A brilliant defense lawyer?” I said.

  My phone buzzed. Speak of the devil.

  “Why don’t we ask him?” I said, and swiped my finger across the screen. If he wouldn’t take Gunn’s case himself, maybe he could recommend another lawyer. All we had to do was convince Gunn his confession was worth the risk of a little jail time.

  “Hey, Nigel. What’s up?”

  “The police are on the way,” he said.

  From the look on Jackson’s face, Nigel’s voice had carried. Panic at its purest. He looked around, wild-eyed. Stood, and with a mighty grunt, yanked his arms apart, breaking the zip tie, leaving oozing bloody lines on both wrists. In a matter of seconds, he picked up the laptop, bashed Nils over the head with it, kicked the coffee table onto Billy’s legs, and took off running.

  Guess we should have zip-tied his ankles, too. Though judging by what I had just seen, it probably wouldn’t have stopped him.

  Billy pushed the table out of his way and ran after him, but Gunn had the advantage of longer legs and the fear-induced surge of adrenaline. He was out the door before Billy could change to an aura fast enough to catch him. Nils pushed himself up, rubbing his head, and tried to join the chase. Thought better of it, and sat on the couch, signaling me that he was okay.

  I lifted the phone back to my ear. “I’m on my way. Tell them Lily has the runs, if you have to. That she’s barfing. Anything gross enough to make them wait.”

  I hung up and went to check Nils for myself.

  “You’re going to have a lump,” I said after running my hands lightly over his whole head. I know. My diagnostic skills are amazing. “But no indentations. And your pupils are even. I’m pretty sure that’s a good sign.”

  Nils smiled and groaned at the same time. “Not the first time my head has taken a beating.”

  Billy came back, out of breath, minutes later, and dropped the long-legged distance runner he’d briefly become. “You okay?” he said to Nils.

  “Fine, fine. Just a little dizzy.”

  Billy nodded, still breathing hard. “I probably could have caught him, but I wouldn’t have been able to hold him. Couldn’t risk changing to a stronger aura out in public.”

  “I have to go,” I said. “The police are heading to Nigel’s house. You guys figure out how to track down Gunn.”

  “But—” Billy said.

  “They’re probably only doing a check. I’ll go make an appearance, and be back to help as soon as I can. Go! Catch Gunn.”

  * * *

  Conrad hadn’t waited until the end of the business day to talk to the DA. Or else his definition of “end” was different from ours. What I really suspected was that dear old Dad believed turning the screw when the pressure was already on was more likely to achieve his aim.

  Billy was calling his Hollywood contacts, using every resource he had to hunt down Jackson. When your face was as well-known as Gunn’s, there couldn’t be that many places you could hide for long. I hoped.

  I parked out of sight when I got to Nigel’s, and snuck around to his back door, which he’d left unlocked for me. Isis was in Lily’s room. Guess I was a little agitated, because she dove under the bed when she saw me. I changed as quickly as I could, remembering to make Lily’s face paler than usual. Nigel was in his living room, holding the officers at bay by telling them I had a stomach bug, but they wouldn’t wait forever.

  “Here, kitty. Here, kitty, kitty … nice Isis,” I said softly, forcing myself to stop freaking out.

  I finally managed to calm down enough to convince the Siamese I wasn’t there
to attack her. She belly-crept toward me, mewing loudly. (Siamese are vocal cats.) When she was close enough, I whispered, “Sorry, cat, I don’t have time for cajolery,” grabbed her with both hands, and dragged her the rest of the way out.

  Geez, you’d have thought I was pulling her claws out with pliers from the sound she made.

  There was a heavy knocking on the bedroom door. “Lily-Ann? Are you all right?” Nigel said.

  I pulled the tracking anklet off the cat, stifling my own vocalization as she sunk her teeth into my wrist. As I slipped it over my foot, I called out, “I’ll be fine. Just give me a second.”

  I ran to the en suite bathroom, flushed the toilet, washed my wound, and pulled my sleeve down over it. I didn’t have to try to make myself look shaky when I went to open the door. At the last second, I remembered to puff up my “bad” ankle.

  The police were in front of Nigel. To protect him, I supposed, in case the “crazed killer” took it into her head to do away with her attorney. “I’m afraid you’ll have to come with us, Ms. Conrad,” the older one said. “The judge has revoked your bail.”

  Nigel looked totally pissed. “There was no reason for the judge to do that.”

  “Sorry,” said the other officer. “Just following orders.” She pulled my arms behind me and cuffed me.

  Shit. “Nigel, tell my bro—tell Thomas what happened, okay? Not on the phone.”

  * * *

  After I was processed, I was put in a holding cell.

  It’s not as if you haven’t been there and done that before, I told myself, trying to squelch my ever-growing anxiety by remembering how benignly my last foray in a jail cell had played out.

  Myself answered, Yeah, but never as a girl. (Myself is such a pessimist sometimes.) I’m as much of a feminist as anyone, but I couldn’t deny it—I felt much more vulnerable as an incarcerated female. I’d have given anything to be able to project some brawn. The other three women in the cell with me looked as if they could bend me in half backward without breaking a sweat, and wouldn’t mind doing it. Lily-Ann’s frame wouldn’t offer much resistance.

  I was standing in the corner—had been for hours—because when the last one came in she basically, with one malevolent look, evicted me from the bench where I’d been sitting. The bitch didn’t care that, for all she knew, my ankle was sprained. Sliding down to sit on the floor was getting more tempting by the minute. My legs were killing me.

  I glanced down at the floor. Gross. Nope, not an option.

  There are some times you’re happier to see a cop than others. This is one of those times, I thought as a burly woman in the short-sleeved black uniform (with what looked like a Batman utility belt around her waist) came to get me.

  Thank God. Maybe Billy had found Gunn, and made him confess. I wanted to ask the officer, but she didn’t strike me as the informative sort. She led me to a room with a table and two chairs. One of the chairs had been moved aside to make room for the wheelchair.

  “Hi, Nigel. Did you come to spring me?” I said.

  “Not exactly.”

  He didn’t say anything else until after I was seated and cuffed to the table, and the officer had left us. Supposedly, we had privacy.

  “What’s up?” I asked. “Did Billy find Jackson? Is Nils okay? Did you talk to Thomas?”

  Nigel sighed. His face morphed briefly into my brother’s.

  “Thom—” I started, and covered it with a cough. Who knew how much privacy we really had? “Um, can we talk openly here or what?”

  “I’m reasonably certain that’s possible, yes. Within limits.” He scanned the room. “I see no evidence of cameras, at any rate. There aren’t supposed to be recording devices of any kind in use when a lawyer and client are talking. But there is that window in the door.”

  “Gotcha. So, back to my questions…”

  “Nils is fine—he’s on his way to Sweden. Duty calls. We’re still working on finding Gunn. Billy is doing everything he can. I called Mark to see—”

  Crap. “Why’d you do that? He’s not even in the country.”

  “Because,” he said so quietly I could barely hear him, “he has access to resources that we don’t, not even Laura. He’s on his way.”

  “I don’t think it was necessary to disturb him,” I whispered back.

  “You’re in jail. I happen to think that requires immediate attention. And”—he looked over his shoulder at the window in the door—“since my original plan doesn’t appear to be feasible, I’m very glad Mark is coming.”

  I knew exactly what plan he was referring to, since I’d pulled it myself before. He’d intended to switch places with me—to become Lily so I could leave as Nigel. (My big brother didn’t like the idea of me in jail. He seemed to think it was a scary place.) We didn’t dare try it, though. With the window right there, the risk of discovery was too great.

  “Does Billy know Mark’s coming?” I asked.

  “He’s the one who suggested I call him. Billy is frantic to find Gunn. He wanted to come here instead of me, but I told him he’s more valuable on the street—he knows Hollywood better than I do.”

  I stared down at the table, mainly to keep from meeting Thomas’s eyes. Billy must have been really worried to ask for Mark’s help. My mind started to race. What if they couldn’t find Gunn? He had a hell of a lot of money—he could even leave the country. Disappear for good. What the hell would I do then? Rot in jail as Lily-Ann and pray Nigel and Thomas, between the two of them, could get me acquitted? Would we have to work with Lily-Ann’s despicable parents?

  “I don’t understand Jackson’s running like that. He has to know we’ll expose him. Why would he risk that?” I said.

  “Billy said he took the laptop with him. Maybe he thinks he got away with the evidence.”

  “But Laura made copies.”

  “Yeah, but does he know? He might think there wasn’t enough time for that.”

  I couldn’t pace, so I drummed on the table with my fingers instead. Think, Ciel. Where would Jackson go?

  “Tell Billy to check, um, my parents’ house,” I said. He’d know I meant the Conrads.

  “You think Jackson would go after them, too? Would he hurt them?”

  “No, I think he might ask for their help.” I continued speaking softly.

  “Why?”

  “Because what he said he’d do to help, you know, me was too similar to what they said they’d do—claim Angelica was unstable and invited her own death. Seems odd that they’d come up with the same thing, doesn’t it? I mean, unless she really was unstable. It might be a coincidence, but since we don’t have much else to go on…”

  He nodded. “It’s worth investigating.” He studied my face, as if he were trying to see beneath Lily’s aura. “Are you okay in here? Be honest. There might be something I can do.”

  I thought about the other women in the holding cell. “Will they be moving me to a cell with a bunk, do you know?”

  “Yes. They have to if you’ll be here overnight. Are you … worried about that?”

  I blew a puff of air out through loosely closed lips. “Me? Nah. I’ll be fine.”

  “I’ll do everything in my power to get you a private cell tonight. It may take a few hours. After that, if we haven’t found Gunn by then, I’ll try to get you moved to a pay-to-stay celebrity facility. You’d be in one already if it weren’t for the judge—he’s an asshole who happens to be unimpressed with the Conrad name.”

  I did my best to smile. Not sure how well it came out. “Who can blame him? ‘My’ parents are jerks. Anyway, don’t worry about me. I can do a few more hours standing on my head.”

  Chapter 26

  There was another woman in the holding cell when I was returned to it. She was circling the cell, scratching her arms. Smelled like she hadn’t seen the inside of a shower in weeks. Even the hard-ass women who were there first kept casting her wary looks.

  I tried to go back to my corner, but she blocked me. Raising my hands in an I-
don’t-want-any-trouble gesture, I walked to another corner, not bothering to limp. It wasn’t like it was going to earn me any sympathy with this crowd. “Itchy” beat me to it. I nodded, and went to stand by the door.

  Same thing. Apparently, this was a fun game. Anyplace I wanted to stand, she wanted to stand.

  I looked to the other women, each in turn. They were watching with mild interest. One of them—an older woman with flat black hair, gray roots, and a tattoo on her neck—wore a half smile that might have been sympathetic, but she shook her head wearily, as if she’d played this game before and didn’t want to get involved now.

  “Look, just tell me where you want me to stand and I’ll do it,” I said to Itchy.

  She pointed to the hall beyond the bars. “Out there.”

  I sighed. “Well, see, that’s going to be a problem, because I don’t have the fucking key.”

  She smiled evilly, and not the fun kind of “evilly” like when I’m teasing Billy or one of my brothers. “I guess you do have a problem then, little Miss Rich Bitch.”

  Shit.

  The first punch landed in my belly, doubling me over. Before I was able to suck in a breath, the second one caught me in the left eye, pushing me upright. The third one broke my nose. At least, I was pretty sure it did. It hurt like hell and bled like a son of a bitch.

  Damn. I wondered if the real Lily-Ann had gone through anything like this when she was here. Her face had looked okay, but not all bruises show. I also wondered where the hell a guard was when you needed one.

  Thinking about Lily, trying to protect her aura, I got my arms up and began blocking the blows. The other women started hollering out directions, telling me to hit back, and where I should aim my punches. I listened, taking their advice as well as I could. Eventually, I managed to kick my leg out sideways and trip Itchy. She hit the ground hard, and lay there, dazed.

  One of the other women—the young one who looked like a grown-up version of your worst nightmare from the locker room in high school—jumped up from her bench and lifted my arm like a boxing referee. “And the winner is … hey, what’s your name, honey?” she asked, smiling at me for the first time. I kind of wished she hadn’t.