by Lee Goldberg
"You shouldn't have parked in Barry Van Dyke's spot," somebody said.
The super agent turned and saw Charlie Willis leaning against the bungalow.
"He's very sensitive about that," Charlie said. "And believe me, you wouldn't want to get on his bad side."
"You had my car towed?" Odett asked in disbelief.
"It wasn't easy. I had to get a special truck and everything. But we have rules around here, and the spot is clearly marked," Charlie said, pointing to sign mounted on the wall of the bungalow. "Visitor parking is across the lot."
"Do you know who I am?" Odett hissed.
"Oh yeah," Charlie got up and ambled over to Odett. "You're the greedy, power-mad asshole who tried to blackmail Spike Donovan and had Javier Grillo's fingers smashed. And I'm the guy who's going to stop you."
So this was Charlie Willis. Hard to believe that this mouth-breather in off-the-rack clothes could have been such a nuisance.
"I wondered when I would meet you," Odett smiled. "How's your sore throat?"
"I feel fine, which is more than I can say for your man in Hawaii."
"Everyone has a lucky day, Charlie," Odett said, knowing full well that Charlie wouldn't be having any more of them. "You should quit while you're ahead."
"I won't quit until you're in jail."
"The only power you have in this town is to get cars towed off the lot," Odett said. "Now that you've done it, you've already shot your load, you have no surprises left."
Charlie nodded, started to turn, then whirled back around, hammering Odett with a right hook that knocked the super agent off his feet. It didn't change a thing, but it sure felt good.
"Surprise," Charlie winked and walked away.
Chapter Eleven
The first thing Chad Shaw did with his first million dollars was buy a condo in the tallest building on the Wilshire corridor.
As a struggling actor, he used to park on Mulholland at night, stare down at the glittering lights of the city, and promise himself that some day that would be his view, high above everyone else. Now his dream had come true.
He was in the enviable position of having to come up with some new dreams. He decided to head up to Mulholland that night to work on them.
When Chad Shaw emerged from the elevator into the underground parking garage, all he had on his mind was getting into his beautiful new Porsche and breaking a few speed limits.
He had no idea that Melvah Blenis was hiding behind the Allante to his left, a baseball bat in her hand.
And Melvah Blenis had no idea that Zita was crouched behind the Suburban to his right, ready to wield her ginsu knife.
Melvah swung her bat as Chad passed, striking him behind the knees. He dropped with a surprised, agonized shriek, and she clubbed him over the head. That's when Melvah looked up and found herself facing Zita across Chad's twitching body. Zita wore a black, leather outfit and a curious expression on her face. She also held a knife.
Melvah had never seen a more beautiful woman in her life. She didn't want to kill her. There was a tense silence, broken only by Chad's whimpering. She wasn't quite sure what to say.
"Does this bother you?" Melvah asked.
Zita regarded the scene in front of her and, within a moment, saw it for the incredible opportunity that it was. She leaned over Chad, lifted his head up by the hair, and slit his throat. "Not particularly."
She released his dead head, letting it thunk against the cement.
Melvah sighed with relief. It was so nice to be dealing with a reasonable woman. She rested the bat on her shoulder and relaxed against the Allante. "Was this something personal?"
Zita slipped the knife into the sheath on her belt and closed her jacket over it. "Strictly business."
The woman's accent was strange, vaguely European, not unlike the Slave Princess of Naren-3. Melvah nodded. "Me, too."
Zita admired the rings in Melvah's nose, lip, and ears, and the self-assured way she carried her bat. This was the first time since she got into this business that she'd met a woman with similar interests.
"Can I buy you a latte?" Zita asked, her bizarre accent giving way to a true, Texas twang.
"Sure," Melvah said. "I'd like that."
Zita bent down, took Chad's wallet from his back pocket, and pulled out a couple hundred bucks in stiff, fresh twenties. "Chad's treat."
* * * * * *
"I could get to like having a driver," Kim said, following Charlie into her kitchen. "Gives me an extra half-hour or so to think."
"Did you think of anyone else who might have broken in the other night?"
She gave him a look. "I have a few other things on my mind."
"I don't." Charlie walked past her and checked out the living room.
"You're not running a television network," she followed him out.
"Tell you what, I'll think about the network for a while if you think about who could be trying to intimidate you."
Charlie went up the stairs and stuck his head into each room. She stayed in the living room, watching him search the house.
"Okay, where do you think I should schedule Beyond the Beyond, keeping in mind that the entire network is riding on its success."
"What makes Beyond the Beyond so important?" he stood on the landing that stretched across the entry hall.
"It's the draw, Charlie," she said. "It's what's going to get all those 18-35 year olds to sample us. They'll switch from their favorite series on UBC because Captain Pierce, Mr. Snork and Dr. Kelvin were in their homes every day when they were growing up. They want to see them again. We will have a massive tune in that first night. During that hour, we'll hit them with a barrage of promos for our other shows and hope they stick around to watch them. Once they do, we have them hooked."
Satisfied that everything was okay, Charlie came down the spiral staircase. "And if you didn't have Beyond the Beyond?"
"It might take us months to get the same sampling, if ever."
"Then it doesn't matter what night you schedule it," Charlie said. "Flip a coin."
"Now you know why I'm the president of the Big Network and you are a—," she paused, looking at him. "What are you, Charlie?"
"The help," he replied.
Kim smiled. "How would the help like a glass of wine?"
"I'd feel a lot less disgruntled."
She went into the kitchen to get the wine. Charlie settled into one of the chrome seats. It was even more uncomfortable than it looked. This wasn't a house, it was a movie set. It was made to be looked at, not lived in.
Kim screamed, a deep, shrieking wail of terror so primal, so instinctive, there wasn't a creature on earth that could mistake it's meaning.
Charlie bolted out of his seat and ran into the kitchen. Kim staggered back from the open refrigerator and into his arms.
He held her tight and looked in the refrigerator. The shelves were crammed with dismembered arms and legs, severed ears and plucked out eyeballs.
His first reaction was revulsion, but instead of looking away, he couldn't take his eyes off of the grotesque sight.
Something wasn't right about it. Not a drop of blood, no jagged strips of flesh…
It was too clean.
He took a step closer and saw the refrigerator light reflecting off the shiny, plastic surfaces of the severed limbs.
Mannequins.
"It's okay," Charlie said. "They aren't real."
She was shaking. He stroked her hair and rocked her gently, her face nuzzled against his chest, soothing her while he thought about the mystery intruder.
First the guy pees all over the house. What does that say?
I own you and I can get you.
Then the guy fills the frig with fake body parts. Put the two incidents together, and it gets more ominous.
I own you, and I'll chop you into little pieces if you don't do what I want.
Now the question was - what was it the guy wanted? Kim knew, Charlie was certain of that, and she wasn't telling.
> What she was doing instead was moving herself against him, her hands caressing his back.
"Protect me," she murmured.
"I will," he said, trying ignore the quickening of his pulse, "but I can't if you aren't honest with me."
She let her hands drift down his back to his ass and grabbed hold, forcing him even closer. He felt himself begin to harden, and knew she could feel it, too.
"Who is doing this to you, Kim?" Charlie put his hands on her waist and tried to gently push her away, even as he ached for more.
"You are," she lifted her face to his and kissed him, her tongue slipping between his lips, her pelvis grinding against him more deliberately now, making him need her, too.
Even as his hands slid up under her shirt, kneading the smooth skin of her back, he knew he couldn't let this happen, no matter how good it felt, no matter how many months it had been since he'd made love.
He broke away from her, breathing hard. "Kim, we have to talk."
"Later," she reached for his zipper. He grabbed her wrist, stopping her.
Kim flashed a devilish grin. "Tell me you don't want me, Charlie, and I'll stop."
"I don't want you," said Charlie with as much conviction as he could muster, which wasn't much.
She wrenched her wrist free and back-handed him across the face. "You bastard."
And with that, she stormed out of the kitchen, leaving him with a hard-on and a refrigerator full of fake body parts.
* * * * * *
"My Daddy was a butcher. He ran the family slaughterhouse business in Texas. I spent my childhood knee-deep in cow guts," Zita said. "But he taught me to respect knives and a clean cut of meat."
Melvah leaned across the tiny Starbuck's table and lit Zita's cigarette with her miniature photon gun lighter, an authentic replica of the weapon the muck gerbils of Antaire Prime carried in their scrotums.
"But I knew the slaughterhouse was going to my brothers, and that I was expected to marry, do laundry, and have kids," she blew out a stream of smoke. "I wanted something more. I had two things going for me - good looks and butchery. So I decided the entertainment industry was my calling."
She went on to tell Melvah that she knew it wouldn't be easy breaking in. She started out working in a temp agency, and soon learned that all the best jobs went to women with European accents. So she changed her name (from Etta Mae Pettigrew) and adopted an indecipherable accent, an improv mix of French and Italian. Overnight, she found herself temping at The Company.
She turned a temp job at The Company into a permanent position by catching Clive Odett's attention with her accent and her skin-tight clothes. She also found the woman she was subbing for and stabbed her to death. Through this kind of hard work and initiative, she became Clive Odett's personal assistant.
Melvah thought it was an inspirational story, something all women could learn from, and told her so.
"Ultimately, what I want," Zita said, snubbing out her cigarette, "is to run The Company. What do you want?"
Melvah studied her photon lighter. "No one understands Beyond the Beyond like I do. My life has been those characters, that universe. My fanfic has kept it all alive. I'm the only one qualified to tell their story. All the fans know that."
Zita reached out and wiped a tear from Melvah's cheek.
Melvah didn't even realize she was crying. She was laying herself open for this woman. Even though they'd only known each other a few hours, they had shared so much. She took Zita's hand and held it in her own.
"I'm sorry, it's just that Beyond the Beyond means so much to me." Melvah looked Zita in the eye. "It makes me sick to see what they're doing to it. They're greedy hacks, pretenders, frauds. They've never read the fanfic, they know nothing about how the universe has grown since the series ended."
"You want to produce, don't you?"
Melvah squeezed Zita's hand and nodded. "I'd like to see Guy Goddard back in the Captain's chair, but the really important thing is to have the right person in command behind the camera. That person is me."
"I'll be honest with you, Melvah. I've never seen the show, but I respect what it means to you. And I know you could run it better than anyone else in the business, because you care."
Melvah stroked Zita's hand, lingering on her long fingers and sharp nails. "Maybe we can help each other get what we want."
Zita brought Melvah's hand to her lips and kissed it tenderly. "I'm sure we can."
Chapter Twelve
Conrad Stipe was very impressed with Clive Odett's pagoda, the little stream that ran through the office, and the lush foliage. It meant that Clive Odett made money, which meant that his clients made even more money.
Zita brought sake to Stipe and Odett, who stood in his kimono at the grill, wielding knives in both hands.
"We're so glad you're going to be part of The Company family," Odett said, knives spinning over sizzling meat, slicing and flipping succulent chunks onto their plates. "We believe strongly in you and the Beyond the Beyond franchise."
"I appreciate that, Clive. I've had my eye on you for a long time. I've watched you grow from a mere agent to an industry leader," Stipe said, pinching a chunk of meat between two chopsticks. "Like me, you've become a trendsetter. Your business acumen, paired with my vision and creativity, could reshape television for the 21st century."
Stipe popped the meat into his mouth. It tasted strange, flavorful but gamy at the same time.
"How do you like it?" Clive asked.
"Delicious. I've never tasted anything like it before," Stipe said. "What is it?"
"Chick," Clive replied, sharing a glance with Zita. She smiled thinly.
Stipe picked up another piece with his chopsticks and examined the moist morsel. He'd never seen brown chicken meat before. It was also the first time he heard it called chick. Obviously it was the cool new lingo. Fortunately, Stipe was a quick-study when it came to being hip.
"You've given it an entirely original flavor," Stipe dipped the meat in a little soy sauce and ate it. "Put this chick on a pizza and you'll ruin Wolfgang Puck."
"I'm glad you like it." Odett speared a chunk of Chick and bit it off the knife.
"You have to give me the recipe." Stipe enthused, stuffing more into his mouth.
"Certainly," Odett replied. "But first, I'd like to hear what's happening with Beyond the Beyond."
"We're right on track," Stipe spoke between chews. Once he got used to the taste, it was hard to stop stuffing himself with Chick. "The first draft of the pilot is done, and we start casting the guest roles and staffing up tomorrow."
"No need," Zita said.
"Huh?" Stipe would have said more, but his mouth was full.
Zita handed him a list of names. "These are your guest stars for the premiere."
"We like Carleton Eastlake for the alien," Odett took a sip of sake.
"I'm not a fan," Stipe wiped his greasy lips with a napkin.
"You are now." Odett said firmly.
Zita slipped another piece of paper in front of him. "This is your writing staff."
Stipe glanced at the names. "Melvah Blenis? I've never heard of her."
"She's a Company client," Zita said. "That's all you need to know."
Stipe pushed his plate aside. "I'll take notes from the network, I'll even entertain suggestions from the studio. But it will be a cold day in hell before I take orders from my agent."
Odett leaned close to Eddie and whispered: "Then you better buy a parka, Conrad."
Stipe involuntarily shivered, then a voice deep inside him spoke up. What's the matter with you? He's an agent. You're Conrad Stipe, creator of Beyond the Beyond, a major talent in this business. Crush him under your Florsheims. He looked Odett in the eye.
"You work for me, don't you ever forget that," Stipe rose slowly from his seat and tossed his napkin on the lists. "Don't insult me again, or I'll take my business to CAA."
"Don't go without the recipe," Odett handed him a card.
Stipe glanced
down it. He was holding a California Driver's license. "I don't get it."
"It's the main ingredient," Odett said.
Stipe looked at it again. The license belonged to Chick Lansing. Realization hit him in the stomach.
Chick?
No, it couldn't be.
"Carleton Eastlake is your guest star and Melvah Blenis heads the writing staff," Odett whispered. "Or tomorrow we're having you for lunch."
Odett picked up a chunk of Chick in his fingers and tossed it in his mouth.
Zita smiled to herself. Odett had no idea who Melvah Blenis was, and no idea that putting her on staff of Beyond the Beyond would close the deal that sealed Odett's fate.
Stipe's stomach started to convulse, but he wasn't sure whether it was revulsion or terror. Either way, he didn't want to puke in this cannibal's pagoda. Who knew what Odett would do?
He told himself the important thing was that this ruthless monster was on his side, ultimately Odett wanted the show to succeed as much as Stipe did. If Stipe was smart, he'd do whatever Odett asked and be happy about it.
Afterall, Stipe figured he couldn't end up any worse off that he was for the last twenty years. He gripped his stomach with one hand and reached for the list from Zita with the other.
"Melvah can start tomorrow," Stipe said, forcing a smile. "I'll get a script to Carleton as soon as it's locked."
Odett smiled. "Good to hear. Oh, think about Dustin Woods as Captain Pierce. I have a strong feeling Chad Shaw won't be coming through for you."
Stipe staggered out of the office. Odett looked after him, then offered Zita some meat.
"I'm so glad we worked that out," Odett said. "I would hate to have to eat someone that disagreed with me."
* * * * * *
Usually, the thing with the arms and legs in the frig got an immediate response. It didn't work as fast as, say, chopping up their cat or stapling their cockatoo to a wall. And although animals were often unreliable and messy, using them encouraged creativity. The time he tied up a guy's pet snake in a knot and left it on his pillow was a particular favorite.
