Naked In LA (Naked Series Book 2)

by Colin Falconer

  He smiled. “That’s where you’re wrong.”

  The limousine pulled into my driveway and Angel’s goon got out from behind the wheel and opened the door for me. After I watched them drive away again I slumped to my haunches and the big, glamorous movie star started to sob in utter despair on her own doorstep.

  Chapter 35

  I had my own dressing room now with a gold star on the door where I could rest between takes. The shooting was not going well. I couldn’t get into my character, kept forgetting lines, the crew were getting frustrated, and Frank, never renowned for his patience, was shouting at everyone from the director to the coffee girl.

  It was my big chance and I could feel it slipping away.

  All I could think about was Angel: “Well now I’m asking you to love me back a little.”

  A couple of nights after our conversation in the back of his limousine I got a call from Peter Lawford, asking me to take a trip back out to the East Coast to meet Jack. At first I couldn’t believe that Angel had managed to orchestrate the invitation, but when I thought about it, everything slipped into place; a quiet word from Mo to Sinatra, he makes a call to Lawford, and suddenly I was on the White House A list again. They wouldn’t have any part in the plot, they would just do whatever they were asked to do.

  I had told Lawford that I was too busy filming, but he said he had already spoken to Frank and cleared it with him. He was going to send me the air tickets and send a limousine to pick me up.

  Again, I told him “no,” but he clearly didn’t believe me. I didn’t know what I was going to do. And somehow I was supposed to step on the set with Frank and be funny and seductive.

  I sent my wardrobe girl and my dresser scurrying out of my room and lay on the sofa with my eyes closed and tried to shut everything out of my head except the script. I couldn’t screw this up. You’ve got one shot at this, Magdalena, this is what you’ve worked so hard for.

  There was a knock on the door.

  “Who is it?”

  I thought I’d made it clear enough that I didn’t want to be disturbed. Was it Frank again? Berating me wasn’t going to do any good. I wanted to get this picture finished same as everyone else.

  More rapping on the door.

  “It’s open!”

  They knocked again, harder this time.

  Dios mio!

  I got up and threw open the door. There was a man standing there in overalls and a flat cap. He could have been one of the stage carpenters except he had no face; or rather there was a stocking where his face should have been. He dashed a glass of water in my face, then turned and ran off.

  I was too surprised and too startled to react straight away. Finally I screamed and made to run after him. I tripped on the steps and fell headlong, knocking myself senseless. Security finally came running.

  I pointed to the door leading out to the lot. “A man just attacked me!” One of the guards ran off in that direction, then Willy and some of the crew appeared, they’d all heard me scream.

  “What happened?”

  “A man just threw a glass of water in my face.”

  Willy looked incredulous. “Why?” he said in his thick German accent, it sounded like “Vy?”

  “I don’t know!”

  “What did he look like?”

  “He had a stocking on his face!” I went back inside my trailer, got a towel, dried my face, it took off half my pancake. Great, now we’d have to do it over.

  The assistant director found a glass lying on the ground by the steps. He picked it up and brought it over. “Look at this,” he said.

  There was a piece of paper taped to the glass. On it someone had written two words in red capital letters: HYDROCHLORIC ACID.

  I thought Willy was going to faint, he could see his picture vanishing in front of his eyes. Finally he remembered to worry about me. “Oh my Gott. Are you all right? Iz your eyes burning?”

  “I’m all right,” I said. I understood what had just happened, this was just a warning.

  “Vot the fock is going on?”

  Security ran back, out of shape and panting hard. He shook his head. He’d found no one.

  “How did he get in here?” I said.

  “I don’t know, ma’am.”

  “This is supposed to be a secure lot. How could he just disappear?”

  Everyone was staring at the glass, imagining what would have happened if the glass had been really been full of acid and not water. My knees started to shake and I sat down hard on the floor. Willy called for first aid. I had never fainted before but I started to see black spots in front of my eyes. I remembered thinking: I can’t faint. I won’t give Angel the satisfaction.

  It was the last thing I remembered.

  When I woke up, there were half a dozen of the crew in my trailer and the first aid guy had me lying on my back with my feet propped up on cushions. I felt like an idiot.

  It took a moment for me to remember what had happened. I turned to the side and saw the glass still sitting there on my dressing table. The letters were facing towards me.

  HYDROCHLORIC ACID.

  Angel would never do this to me, I told myself, no matter how many years have passed, or what we think of each other now, I could not believe he would do this. But he would, another voice said. There’s the evidence right there.

  “Who would do something like this?” the assistant director said aloud.

  The continuity girl saw me open my eyes. She squatted down beside me. “Are you all right, Miss Montes?”

  I sat up, pushing away the nurse who came to fuss around me. “We have to get back to work,” I said.

  “Willy’s already called the rest of the day off,” the assistant director said. “Everyone’s gone home.”

  I looked around at all the frightened faces in my dressing room. “Did you find him?” I said, but I could tell by the looks on their faces that they hadn’t. “How the hell did he get onto the lot?”

  No one knew. Angel had proved his point, he could melt through walls if he had to, there was no place I was safe. He was giving me time to think over his suggestion, but he was letting me know there was only one answer he was ready to accept.

  The telephone rang that night in my apartment. I snatched up the receiver. “Hello?” There was silence, but I sensed there was someone on the other end of the line.

  I hung up. It rang again.

  I ignored it. Whoever it was, they kept ringing, over and over.

  I wouldn’t answer.

  I did think about ringing Angel. But what would I say? If I accused him of anything he would deny it, and anyway, what difference would it make? He had made his point. I had to do what they wanted or my career and perhaps my life was over.

  The telephone rang out. I waited. Then it started up again.

  What was I going to do? Ring the police and ask them to arrest one of the highest ranking mafia figures on the east coast because of nuisance calls? They had already been called to the lot earlier that afternoon, and it was plain by the looks on their faces what they thought of us all: some bimbo actress was attacked with a glass of water.

  You gotta be kidding me.

  Should I take my story to the newspapers? They’d write me off as just another movie star high on poppers. Who could I go to for help and for protection? I didn’t trust anyone anymore. It sounded as if half of the government wanted their highest officials dead.

  There was only one way to get out from under this: my salvation lay with the man who most hated my guts right now. I picked up the phone and dialled his number three times but it rang through.

  “Please, Reyes,” I prayed, “please pick it up.”

  A lot of phone calls going unanswered in Los Angeles tonight.

  Chapter 36

  I went to the window. There was a car parked down the hill with its lights off, as I guessed there might be. Angel intended to keep the pressure on.

  I had a vodka to settle my nerves. I was angry at myself for being so
weak this afternoon, for letting him scare me. Well, I wasn’t going to just sit here and let him intimidate me.

  I thought of him sitting on the windowsill in Havana, he’d just screwed me and he picked that moment to tell me he was marrying some other girl. The prick thought he could do just what he wanted and I would fall into line. Well not this time.

  Baby.

  I went into the garage and got into the Spider, reversed out fast, squealing the tyres, then accelerated hard along Mulholland. They followed me, they had their orders, but I knew I’d shaken them up. They hadn’t expected that.

  I remembered what Reyes had taught me; I slowed down to turn right at a stoplight, and just as the lights changed I turned the wheel hard and gunned the motor, headed straight through. I watched Angel’s stooges in the driving mirror, they pulled out after me and tried to follow. I heard a shriek of brakes as they collided side-on with a Cadillac that had anticipated the green light.

  That would hold them up for a while. I didn’t suppose they would get out and exchange insurance details, but they still had to navigate the stalled traffic and a couple of irate drivers.

  I thought I’d lost them, but when I turned onto Sunset I saw a Plymouth sitting right behind me, almost tailgating. How did they do that? Whoever was driving, he knew what he was doing and somehow they had a trace on me as well. I remembered what Reyes had said about smashing a taillight.

  I saw a gas station and pulled in at the pump.

  I pulled a silk scarf out of the glove box and put it on so no one would recognize me. After the McQueen movie I was getting more and more stares downtown, and I didn’t want to attract a crowd right now. A Galaxie with massive fins pulled in at the pump behind me. There were three guys out cruising. The driver jumped out to fill the tank. I called out to him, asked him if he could check my taillights. I pumped the brake. “No,” he said, “They’re working fine.”

  I said thanks for your help and he gave me a wolfish grin. I let him see a little leg, then I walked around to the boot and bent over to check the bumper. There were two red luminous stickers taped to the chrome. I guessed that was how they were able to keep up with me through the traffic.

  “Nice ride,” the guy in the Galaxie said.

  “Thanks.”

  “I bet you look real good in that with the top down.”

  I looked him over; the answer to every girl’s prayer in a situation like this, a wannabe stud with tight jeans and greased back hair. He clearly fancied himself as the poor girl’s James Dean.

  I looked across the road. The Plymouth was parked illegally on the crosswalk. I could make out the silhouettes of two men in the front, watching me.

  “I’m being followed,” I said in my best little girl voice.

  “Yeah?”

  “Those two men over there,” I said and pointed them out. “They’ve been following me the last seven blocks. I’m really scared.”

  “You need help?”

  “They look really mean,” I said.

  He thought about this while I played with a curl that had come loose out of my scarf. He went back to the Galaxie and talked the situation through with his two friends. “Leave it to us,” he said to me, and his buddies got out and they all sauntered over the road to talk to Angel’s goons. I would have liked to have been there for that conversation but I didn’t have time.

  I left my car at the pump, ran across the street and tried to flag down a cab. The first one went right past. I looked over my shoulder, my new friends had reached the Plymouth and were leaning on the bonnet while James Dean had a conversation with the goon behind the wheel.

  Angel’s guy got out of the car and one of them reached for the gun in his jacket.

  I saw another cab headed in my direction. I ran into the street, both hands raised, but he already had a fare and he swerved around me, yelled something out his window as he went past.

  Meanwhile my rebel without a cause was running for his life, his friends not far behind. I didn’t blame them. I saw another cab, almost threw myself under the wheels. He slipped into the kerb and I jumped in the back. “Airport,” I said.

  The goons came after me, and they were halfway across the street when they realized they wouldn’t make it. One of them kept after us though. The cabbie saw him in his mirror. “Just drive!” I shouted at him but he didn’t need encouragement. He was as scared as I was.

  “You know that guy?”

  “My boyfriend.”

  “He looks pissed.”

  “We just broke up.”

  The goon had given up chasing us and looked around for another cab. When he didn’t see one, he actually drew his gun a second time. The other guy made him put it away. It was quite a pantomime.

  “Planning on getting out of town for a while, I guess,” the cabbie said.

  “I was thinking the East Coast,” I said.

  “Good idea, lady.”

  After he left me at Los Angeles airport, I wondered how long it would take Angel’s people to trace the cab and then shake down the driver. They must have got the cabbie’s tags. Once they found him he would tell them he took me to the airport and that I told him I was planning to fly to New York. They would check all the flight desks, then call their people in New York and have them get out to La Guardia and Idlewild to check all the incoming flights. They would waste a lot of time looking in all the wrong places.

  As soon as the cab was out of sight I came back out of the terminal, walked over to the car park and checked under the wheel arches and behind the tags of all the cars. It took me longer than Reyes--almost ten minutes--until I found a Fairlane with a key taped under the bumper. I drove away from the airport and back up to the Hills. I headed for Reyes” place, praying that he would be there.

  Sure, I was terrified, but there was another part of me that was angry as hell. At least Angel wasn’t in control anymore.

  When I reached Reyes” redwood hideaway on Mulholland I pulled into the drive and pressed the buzzer on the security gate. I held my breath.

  “Yes?”

  “Reyes, it’s me! I need your help.”

  A long silence. I hoped he hadn’t walked away from the intercom in disgust and gone back to bed. Finally: “There’s nothing left to say, princess.”

  “I’m in danger, Reyes. I mean it, there’s people who want to kill me.”

  “Yeah, I don’t blame them. Can I join the queue?”

  “I’m not joking, I’m in real trouble.”

  Another long silence. I imagined him standing there, a cheroot in his hand, thinking it over. How many times do I have to save this broad’s skin?

  Finally the doors swung open. I drove through.

  Chapter 37

  Reyes sat with his feet in the pool, a bottle of Havana Club beside him. He listened while I told him what had happened. He didn’t look surprised.

  When I’d finished, he said: “So what are you doing here?”

  “I need your help.”

  “Well that’s a good one.”

  “No one else in the world can help me now.”

  He drank straight from the bottle. It seemed he’d been drinking alone for a while before I got there. I’d imagined that he had been out having a good time ever since we broke up, that he’d forgotten all about me, as he said he would.

  Perhaps that wasn’t quite true.

  “Where did you get the car?”

  “I stole it.”

  He grinned. “Yeah?”

  “From the airport, after I gave those guys the slip. I remembered what you said about where people hide their spare keys.”

  He laughed. “You are a piece of work. You’re also a very good student.”

  “You’re a good teacher.”

  He handed me the bottle. I kicked off my shoes, sat down next to him and put my feet in the pool. I took a swallow of rum. I hadn’t realised how much I needed alcohol. Somehow Reyes always managed to calm me down, no matter what kind of fix I was in.

  “I can’t
believe Angel would do this,” I said.

  “Really? When a guy decides to take orders from someone else, no matter what, he’ll do anything.”

  “Salvatore?”

  “No, it goes higher than that. These people don’t play games--if you don’t do what they say, they’ll kill you. Angel is just their blunt instrument these days.”

  “But couldn’t you...”

  “Couldn’t I what?”

  “Your friends. In the government, if you told them, couldn’t they stop this?”

  “Some of them would try, and some of them are probably right behind it. But see, I don’t know which ones.”

  “Is Angel serious, about the pills?”

  “If that’s what he said, I’d believe him. I know the Agency had some kind of poison they were going to use on Castro, they handed it over to Trafficante's guys a couple of years ago. This guy I know, Ruby, he works for Junior, he was the go-between for some of that. It was supposed to happen before the Bay of Pigs but it went bust. The invasion wasn’t supposed to happen until Castro was dead. That’s why Kennedy pulled out at the last minute and cancelled the air strikes.”

  “The Kennedys were working with the mafia?”

  “Well, old Joe always did, back in his bootlegging days. Jack and Bobby use them when it suits their purposes. What They’re doing now is called biting the hand that feeds you. Looks like They’re going to get bit right back.”

  “The CIA are in on this as well?”

  “They’ve been doing deals with the mafia ever since Luciano helped them with the Sicily landings in “44. It was mafia that killed Trujillo for the CIA. Fidel’s just another dictator, it would have seemed like the logical thing to someone to get them involved. Bobby told them he wanted Castro dead, for a Boston Irish he sure understands what a vendetta is. Someone’s going to die soon, princess, and my bet it’s not going to be Fidel.”

  “But I thought you all wanted Castro dead.”

  “I don’t give a damn either way, don’t include me in this.”