“They are going to make all sorts of extradition noises, I’m sure. As an officer of the court, I cannot assist her in any crimes, such as continuing to be a fugitive. So don’t tell me where she is. If I don’t know, there’s no way I can be assisting her. It would be wise for you to avoid places where you can be picked up for questioning unless you are planning to perjure yourself. I need to get clear in my mind whether we want to fight extradition here or go back and argue the case on its merit.”
“What can I do to help you decide?”
“Ask our client about Stephanie Mitchell. Understanding her role in this is essential.”
CHAPTER 22
With Bellicosi back in L.A., I decided to take the chance and swing by my house to pack a bag. I tossed some clothes and toiletries in, then scooped up Sherman’s memoirs, some tapes, and my latest obsession, tavern puzzles for late night.
I was working on one called the Devil Dog’s Bite. Two weeks at it and it was still a mess. The effort was what I needed. Solving the puzzle meant I had to buy a new one.
I put the bag into the backseat and saw Jack’s box. I hefted it and turned it over, expecting that to resolve my ambivalence. Curiosity prevailed and I put it into my bag.
I called Darla Jean on the way over and told her I wanted her to stay put so we could talk. She wanted to know what I’d found out, so I gave her the news. When I got to Stephanie Mitchell she said, “What!” in amazement.
“Who is she?” I asked.
“That bitch. After everything I did for her. I can’t believe it.”
“Neither can I, but who is she?”
“She was a one-shot wonder. Came from someplace back east, Georgia, I think. Real pretty. Made a couple of videos, I think, and disappeared.”
“You said, ‘what you did for her’?”
“Yeah. Her old man was a real dickhead. He couldn’t deal with what she was doing and was hassling her about it. She came over one night to get away from him. Brought her baby with her. I put her up for a couple of days, took care of the kid while she was trying to straighten things out with him. I can’t believe that she’d turn on me like this.”
“Do you have any idea why? Any reason for her to be pissed off at you? I mean, what’s in it for her?”
“I have no idea. We weren’t friends, but we didn’t feud. She wasn’t around long enough.”
“Did you put a move on her?”
“No. She was absolutely straight. She’d do girl-girl scenes, but you could tell she’d rather be in Philadelphia than there. Hell, it was like that with the guys. I mean, she was a sweet-looking thing, but she gave off a serious do-not-touch message.”
“Competition over roles?”
“No. She had all the equipment but no sex drive. She couldn’t bring wood in a prison yard. She was a box-cover babe. Long blond hair, great tits, cute face. The kind that gets you cretins all hot and horny but in the sack, excuse me, we’re talking comatose here. She’s the only woman I know could do her nails while she was giving head. That’s how much she put into it. No, we weren’t competitors. I have no idea what she has against me.”
“Well, keep thinking about it. I’m on my way over. I want to ask Jack Meehof about her and compare notes with you.”
“You know Jack?” she cooed.
“Yeah, we go way back.”
“He’s a real sweetheart. We always had a good time when he showed up on the set.”
“You can say hello when I call him.”
I pulled in twenty minutes later, registered, and took a room three doors down from Darla. Once in, I tossed my bag on the bed, locked up, and walked down to her room.
Two longs and a short got me a look-see from behind the curtains.
Darla pulled the door open. I passed by then turned to face her when she closed the door.
Darla was wearing a black two-piece bathing suit, called a T-back. Her nipples were safe from prying eyes, as was the exclamation point of her sex.
“Have you been wearing that outside?”
“Yeah. The pool was nice. It’s heated. I was swimming and playing with a couple of guys. They were ready to pop by the time their wives came back from shopping.” Darla looked pleased with herself.
“Let me have your attention, please. Brief notice from your cultural attaché. You are now in Virginia, named after the queen who didn’t do it. The state’s motto is ‘No Fuckiendo.’ That bathing suit will get you arrested here. You are not in La-La land, Toto. This is a pleasure-free zone.”
“Jesus Christ. I’m covered. What’s to see? My cheeks and part of my tits?” She stepped back and looked at herself. I followed with my eyes until I was dizzy from her undulant slopes. I trekked up steep inclines to breathtaking peaks, careened around curves you had to hold onto for dear life, then plunged into a valley that left you both terrified and exhilarated when you finally arrived. I was looking at God’s own roller coaster.
“Get it under wraps. The last thing on earth we need is for you to get busted on a public obscenity charge. Didn’t Ellen say anything to you about this?”
“No. She had her own private pool. I used to sunbathe nude.”
“We’ll go out and get you a state-approved suit to wear.”
“Whatever.”
“I’m going to call Jack and see what he can tell us.”
I dialed, endured Jack’s message, and left one to call at any time and that it was an emergency.
“I’m going to turn in. I’ve got a room three doors down. When Jack calls, I’ll come and get you. In the morning I’ll take you to breakfast.”
Back in my room, I called Domino’s for a pizza, unpacked, and contemplated life as a hormonal thrall.
Sixty laps in the pool did nothing for me.
I undressed and sat on the bed. Sleep was still hours away. I rummaged in my bag for Sherman’s memoirs. Jack’s gift found my hand. I hefted the package. Should I open it? Why not? I knew what she did for a living. Watching her at it wouldn’t change anything. Or would it? No. I didn’t have any feelings about her. She didn’t seem to have any qualms about my seeing it. Hell, she just about dared me to.
I tore off the paper and studied the box cover. The tape was called Marlena Learns to Share. Darla shared the cover with a leggy brunette stunner. Apparently this girl, Marlena, had only performed with her boyfriend. Now due to popular demand she was going to have sex with eight, count them, eight different men. Six noted directors were going to compose their own scenes to celebrate the event. Darla was the only other woman in the tape, described as an experienced guide to the world of men without number, men without names.
I turned on the TV and the VCR and slid the tape into its slot. On the bed, I propped myself up with pillows and watched Darla lead Marlena to the joys of sex with strangers.
I fell asleep to the sight of Marlena and Darla on conveyor belts moving from one chrome-covered, piston-driven man to the next, smiles on both their faces.
CHAPTER 23
At eight-thirty A.M. the phone rang and I jettisoned sleep like Darla did her clothes.
“Hello?” I croaked, and scoured the debris off the inside of my mouth.
“Leo. Jack Meehof. What’s the emergency?”
“Does the name Stephanie Mitchell mean anything to you?”
After a minute, Jack said “Do you have another number I can call you on?”
“Yeah.” I gave him Darla’s number.
“I’ll call you right back.” The line went dead.
I rolled out of bed, hopped into some shorts, and hustled over to Darla’s room. Some serious door pounding and she opened up. The phone went off as I hurtled past her.
Second ring and I had it. “Yes.”
“Yeah, it’s me, Jack. What’s the deal?”
“Leo? What are you, the Bermuda Triangle? First Fantasia, now Stephanie Mitchell a.k.a. Desiree Wildfire. Before we go any further, do you have Nancy Suiter there?”
“No, but I have a friend who wants to say hi. Hol
d on.” I handed Darla the phone. She was wearing an L.A. Raiders jersey.
“Jack? Yeah, it’s me, Fantasia. Hey, what can I say? I’m not sure I can tell you that.” She looked at me for an answer. I shook my head no. “I’m not sure I understand it all. No. I don’t know, Jack. Maybe I’ll be back, maybe not. I can see that. Hey, what can I say, you know me, Jack. You take care now.”
She handed me the phone and motioned to the coffee maker. I nodded yes.
Jack said, “You are definitely in the outlying suburbs of the realm of the strange. Rod Serling can’t bring you back. I wanted another line for you and me last minute so we can’t be overheard. I’m calling from the box on the street. Stephanie Mitchell showed up and did a couple of nothing videos and then disappeared. She was a primo cupcake, great to look at but you could fuck her all day long and still not get a dial tone.
“A couple of months after she’s gone, the distributor, PWV, that’s Pudwhacker Video, gets a call from Joel Steinmetz, yeah, the Joel Steinmetz, the big-shot Hollywood director. He wants to have a meeting with the guy who owns PWV, a name you don’t need to know. Very hush-hush. The two of them, their attorneys, bodyguards, that’s it. Seems that Stephanie is now Joel’s honey, complete with a new name. Now she’s Sasha Alexander. He’s trying to buy her a new biography. He wants to buy up all the screening cassettes for her two tapes.”
“What’s a screening cassette?”
“Usually there’s a time lag between production of a master and the duping of the tapes for sale. Pudwhackers had masters stored for months. Pre-release screening cassettes are sent to the buyers for the major chains and the magazine reviewers. That’s how they determine the number of copies to make. Pudwhackers smelled blood in the water. With Steinmetz’s visibility, Sasha would be a very public figure. Nobody knew if he was gonna marry her or try to turn her into an actress. Had to be the former. As an actress she couldn’t sell shit to flies. Either way those tapes were a gold mine. Can you imagine if there were tapes like this of, say, Julia Roberts? They’d be priceless. They told Steinmetz they wanted two million for the masters and the screening copies. In this case they only made ten or twelve for the major buyers. They didn’t even bother with the reviewers. Cash. He didn’t have it. Or he wouldn’t do it. No deal.
“Anyway, it’s a moot point. The same night, Pudwhackers’ main offices, including the vault where all the masters are stored, went up in a fireball. The Vietnamese night watchman got a Buddhist sunburn, if you know what I mean. Very professionally done. Nobody was ever charged with the arson. The only record of Desiree’s work is the few screening cassettes that were already out. I know that some of them were sold to somebody fronting for Steinmetz for quite a bit less. He made his point. If there’s any still out there, I haven’t heard about them. Without them, the only link to tie her to the business would be the word of the cast and crew that shot them. Who do you think the real world’s gonna believe? No, he sanitized her. Now he can take her out in public without any fear.”
“When did all this happen?”
“Middle of June last year.” Right before the drug bust went down.
“Thanks, Jack. If I find out anything about this I’ll let you know.”
“Good luck, Leo, and be careful. Straights are very protective of their purity. They’ll kill to stay clean.”
“You know me, Jack. I only ask for one laugh per case. The last one.”
CHAPTER 24
Showered and dressed, I trotted back down to Darla’s room and rapped on the door.
“Who is it?” she whispered hoarsely.
“Haggerty.”
She unlocked the door and, stepping back, pulled it open. She was still in her Raiders nightshirt.
“Why don’t you get dressed and we’ll talk over breakfast.”
“Okay, just give me a minute.”
She reached into the dresser and tossed some things on the top. Then she reached back, hooked her thumbs in the neck of the shirt, and shed it as smoothly as a snake does an old skin.
She grabbed the clothes in one fist and sashayed off to the bathroom. I studied her back. Broad shoulders tapering to a narrow waist. The swell of her ass flowing into muscular legs. A dancer’s legs. She turned and I caught a glimpse of a breast as she disappeared into the bathroom. Never even looked to see if I was watching. As casual as if she’d been alone.
I flopped into her chair, stacked my feet on her bed, and listened to the water run. She came out in a hot pink shirred miniskirt and a matching halter top. Thermographic analysis said that was it. She sat down on the bed and slipped into a pair of sandals. Her hair, now the color of a past life, was swept straight back and gave her the sleek look of a baby bird.
She picked up her room key and pointed to me.
“You mind?” I said no and she flipped me the key to pocket. “I hate purses and I like to have my hands free.”
We walked over to the motel restaurant for breakfast. Over coffee I repeated what Jack had told me.
“What do you make of it?” she asked.
“I don’t see how it helps explain her setting you up. Were you in any of those videos with her?”
“No. I did one for the same distributor and I saw her at the cast party afterward, that’s about it.”
“I’m sure they’re connected. I just don’t know how. Jack thinks Steinmetz was willing to burn down a building to destroy the masters. Right after that Desiree Punchboard ‘just says no’ and becomes a crime buster setting you up for a bust.”
I sipped my coffee and sorted through my options. “I think it’s time to jam a stick in the fan.”
“And what does that mean?” she asked, eyeing me over the rim of her cup.
“Just what it sounds like. You jam a stick in a fan and shit comes flying out everywhere. You can never tell where it’ll go or what it’ll be. Also, the fan doesn’t run so good after that, if it runs at all.”
“I’m still not with you.”
“Look, I try to be a reasonably orderly and planful person when I’m sticking my nose into other people’s business. That’s the best way to keep your nose. Now, I’ve been as orderly and logical as I can and I’m still one link short of a chain. I don’t know how to massage what I’ve got to get that last link. I need a motive for her to set you up. The time frame tells me that one of her major motives back then—and it might not even have been her, maybe it’s all something Steinmetz concocted—would be to disassociate herself from the business. How does burning you help her to do that?
“Jamming a stick in a fan is risky business. You can never tell what’ll happen, or who will get hurt. I can’t think of anything else to do. If it works, you’ll have an even better chance of beating the charges and you won’t have to hide any more. If it doesn’t work, well, you’ve done everything you could.”
“What do you want from me?”
“You’re the client, remember. I don’t do things that’ll expose you to an unnecessary risk. Not without running it by you first. You say no, that’s fine. You’re on the other side now. You say go and I won’t cut these people any more slack than I did you.”
Our food arrived and we both ate in silence. I diced the eggs, toast, and sausage, stacked them on my fork, and downed the food gracelessly.
Darla put down her knife and fork, drank some of her juice, and said, “We need a real sharp stick, don’t we?”
I smiled. “I’ve got just what we need. Finish eating and let’s enjoy the rest of the morning. Nine A.M. out there and it’s going to be ‘Fan-Jam ’93’.”
After breakfast, Darla restrained herself and sunned in a halter and short shorts while I read Sherman’s account of his march to the sea. He jammed a thirty-thousand-man stick into the eye of the South.
At noon we went to my room. She sat on the bed while I dialed information and got the phone number of Steinmetz’s company.
“Steinmetz and Associates.”
“Joel Steinmetz, please.”
“I’m s
orry, he’s in a meeting. Can I take a message?”
“No. Is his secretary available?”
“Hold please. I’ll ring her desk.”
“Joel Steinmetz’s office, this is Shannon. How may I help you?”
“Joel Steinmetz, please.”
“I’m sorry, he’s in a meeting. Can I take a message?”
“Yes. The message is this: Desiree Wildfire. Now, I want you to get up, walk around your desk, go find Mr. Steinmetz, and give it to him. I’ll wait.”
“I’m sorry, sir, but Mr. Steinmetz can’t be disturbed. I’m sure he’ll get right back to you as soon as he can.”
“No. He’ll get right back to me now. You see, if you don’t give him the message and you hang up on me, my next call is to the National Enquirer, then maybe Entertainment Tonight, then let’s see, the Los Angeles Times, and by tomorrow your new job will be licking the baboons’ asses at the zoo. Now go get Joely-poo.”
She said nothing but didn’t break the connection.
Darla cringed and shook her head.
“Who is this?” a man barked.
“Mr. Steinmetz?”
“Yes. Who are you? What do you want?”
“A concerned citizen, Mr. Steinmetz. I’ve come across some proof that your girlfriend, Sasha Alexander, was once Desiree Wildfire, porno star. I think this information needs to be shared with the public, Mr. Steinmetz. They need to know the kind of filth you consort with.”
I waited for his opening bid.
“Go ahead, you rat fuck. Tell anyone you want. Tell everyone. I don’t give a shit. I love Sasha and I won’t knuckle under to blackmail. I know what she did and I don’t care.”
This was not what I expected. I picked up another stick. “Your little scam with the drug bust won’t work either. I know you set her up—”
“I have no idea what you’re talking about. I do know that if I ever hear from you again, I will do everything in my power to have you prosecuted to the fullest extent of the law. You’re a vicious little piece of vermin. I hope you die a slow and painful death starting today.”
Mexico Is Forever Page 12
