“But I was just making a really important–”
“Yes, but you know the rules. Boundaries. Remember?”
Black gave him a dark look.
“Right. I have to respect your time, but you can intimate that I’m some kind of–”
“I think this was a productive session. Same time, two weeks from now?” Kelso asked, thumbing his Blackberry.
Black waved him away. “Sure. Great. Let me ask you something. Why do I always feel worse when I leave here than when I came in?”
“That’s a great question. Let’s revisit it next time, shall we? You can pay Martha on the way out,” Kelso said, tapping his watch. “I’m sorry, but I have another patient scheduled.”
Black stood. “I haven’t even told you about how the cat I saved hates me, and how angry I am about it. I do everything for that damned cat.”
“Mmm. Okay then. Next time. Sounds like we’ll have a lot to explore.”
Chapter 12
Mugsy glared out from his position by Roxie’s leg as Black walked through the office door. Roxie was seated at her desk applying a layer of what looked like tar to her short fingernails.
“Well, good morning. Hard at work, I see,” Black said.
She glanced at him with silent insolence, a moue of indifference her only greeting.
“How did the show go?”
“Great. I’m turning in my notice. I got signed by Capital Records and go into the studio next week.”
“So, not a great turnout?”
She shrugged. “Monday night.”
Black didn’t ask about Eric, and Roxie didn’t volunteer anything.
“Is Mugsy getting even fatter?” he asked as he passed her desk. He hesitated a few feet away and debated petting the hostile tabby, but thought better of it when Mugsy stood and arched his back, looking ready to defend his honor with claws. “I swear I don’t understand why the tubby bastard dislikes me so much.”
“He loves you. He just has a hard time showing it.”
“Yeah. Kind of like how a bear loves a salmon. Listen, I’m only going to be in for a few minutes. I have a list of phone numbers we need to get call records for. Three cells and a landline. And I want you to run Hunter and see what comes up on his finances or liens and judgments – you know the drill. Oh, and I also have a contract with some names on it I need you to try to locate – low-end movie grifters, by the sound of it.”
She turned, her chair squeaking as it pivoted. He handed her Jared’s contract and one of his business cards with Hunter’s phone numbers printed on the back in pencil. She took them with her free hand, the other drying, and returned to her original position to complete her cosmetology mission, frowning disapproval at having been thoughtlessly interrupted.
Black decided to stifle his complaint and play nice. “We got a job. I’m going to pick up a check this morning.”
“Great. Is it enough to cover my salary?”
“And then some. Even with the lavish wages I struggle to pay you.”
“Awesome,” she said in the perennially bored tone that signaled she’d already drifted on to more important matters.
Black took another step toward his office and paused for an instant, then arrived at a silent decision and continued inside. He flipped the wall switch and the fluorescent lights illuminated with a flicker. He sat heavily in his chair, tapped his mouse, and waited for his computer to come to life.
Roxie would have the phone records by the end of the day, he knew. She was magic at things like pretexting, which, while illegal, was the most expedient way of obtaining them. He wanted to understand what he was getting into with Hunter, and the first step would be to figure out whether the former security chief or any of the Hunter clan had been sneaking calls to Freddie. Job number one in figuring out who was behind his woes would be isolating the leak and containing it.
He’d already contacted his friend Mitch, one of the best private security providers in town, and arranged for him to contact Hunter that morning, so he mentally checked that off his list. His email inbox popped up on the screen, and he performed a cursory scan of the messages promising to give him longer-lasting erections or an application for his phone that would enable him to see women’s underwear. Tuesdays weren’t a big correspondence day. Rather like the other days in the Black Solutions week.
His appointment with Kelso lingered in his psyche like toxic fumes, and he sneaked a glance at Roxie in the other room, just visible at that angle as she finished her nails. The good doctor had it all wrong. There was no way he felt any kind of meaningful attraction for her. The therapist had sex on the brain.
He again questioned why he even bothered going to him, then dismissed the thought in favor of focusing on his day’s itinerary.
It would take him a while to get to Paramount to pick up the check, and then he’d have to deposit it and get to Stubbs for the meeting. It would be tight, but he could make it, the Eldorado and the god of traffic willing. He had an uneasy feeling in his stomach at the whole Hunter scenario, but dismissed it, attributing it to the second and third shots of Jack and too many late night cigarettes.
He was walking down to the street to his car when his phone rang, and he depressed the button on his earpiece.
“Black speaking.”
Silence on the line for a few seconds, and then a voice that was as famous as Elvis came on the line.
“Hey, babe. Long time no talk.”
That was Nina’s way. His ex-wife would call out of the blue after not communicating for a year, as though finishing a discussion they’d started five minutes before.
“Do you call everyone ‘babe’ now? That’s very show biz.”
“Only you, babe.”
“Nina, your ears must have been burning. I was just talking about you.”
“Do I need a restraining order?”
“Very funny. What’s up? Where are you?”
“At home.” Nina had an estate in Red Rock Country Club in the Las Vegas foothills that was worth more than Versailles, where she spent most of her time holed up, having become increasingly reclusive as she’d aged. Her career was still vital and she toured eight months of alternating years, but she’d grown to despise it, and only agreed to continue because of her entourage’s assurance that it was key to staying in the public eye. Like many performers, her biggest fear was becoming irrelevant and being forgotten by fans who had moved on to bigger, newer things.
“Are you okay?” By which he meant, was she stoned out of her mind on prescription painkillers again – as she had been the last time he’d been treated to a call – or had the latest round of rehab finally taken?
“Right as rain. Been clean and sober for six months. Boring as hell, I might add.”
“That’s great news, Nina. One day at a time, right?”
“I…I’m not looking forward to going back out on the road. That’s always where the trouble starts.”
“You can do it. Hell, you can do anything. You’ve always been strong.”
“Says you.”
A soft rattle sounded on the line, like silverware, and Nina hesitated before continuing. Black stepped into the breach.
“What’s going on? Why the call? Do you need to borrow money?” he asked, unable to resist the dig.
“I actually was thinking about you yesterday, and I realized it had been forever since we talked. That’s all.”
“Well, we’re talking.”
“How are things with you?”
“So-so. Surviving. You know how it is. Nothing comes easy,” he said as he opened his car door and heaved himself behind the wheel. “Was there anything specific you wanted to talk about, Nina? Not that it isn’t always a delight, but I’m kind of busy…”
“Your mom called and told me she was in town.”
Ah. So that was it. Spring and Nina had fallen in love with each other the first time they’d met, and even through the divorce and subsequent bad times they’d stayed in touch. Another betrayal b
y his mother, he thought morosely as he started the engine.
“Yeah. They’ve got some kind of thing today. Cheaped out and slept at my place last night. Typical.”
“She was trying to get me to fly out, but I told her it probably wasn’t such a hot idea.”
“That’s mom. Always up to something.”
“She loves you a lot, Black.” Nina had always called him Black, even in bed. Which he still remembered like it was yesterday. He looked over his left shoulder and swung into traffic, gunning the gas to avoid being sideswiped by a Lexus.
“Love is always in the air in Tinsel Town. Was there anything else?” he asked, irritated. Nina was just bored, and had decided to intrude in his mundane life in a bid for attention. Typically selfish and self-involved.
“No…we were just talking about how much things had changed since you and I were kids, just starting out. About what a weird trip it’s been. She sounds like she misses you. Do you ever get up to Berkeley to see them?”
“I haven’t had a lot of time lately,” he said, wondering why Nina was playing conscience today.
“She said you weren’t seeing anyone.”
“I’m guessing hookers don’t count.”
“Funny. You never had any problems with the ladies, as I remember.”
“What do you want, Nina?” Black said through clenched teeth, annoyance beginning to show in his tone.
“Nothing. I guess talking to Spring just had me nostalgic. That’s all.”
“We can’t go back. Road only runs in one direction.” Black fumbled on the seat next to him for his sunglasses and slipped them on. “What about you? How’s what’s-his-name?” She’d been dating a famous British actor off and on for a year, and all Black knew about it was what he read in the tabloids.
“That was over last month.” Her voice lost its chipper tone.
“Sorry to hear about that. I hear Bobby’s available for pinch hitting – not much going on with his law firm these days,” Black sniped.
“Good to know you haven’t let any of that go after, what, twenty years?”
“Everyone needs a hobby. Listen, Nina, I gotta go, okay? I hope everything goes well on tour.”
“Yeah, me too. I guess calling wasn’t such a great idea. Take care of yourself, Black.”
The call disconnected, and he was left with a metallic taste in his mouth that only Nina could summon in him. Damn his mother. She’d probably heard that Nina was single again and had contrived some deluded fantasy where she acted as matchmaker. That was Spring for you. The only question was why Nina had gone along with it.
He rolled to a stop at a red light and shook his head. Was it possible she missed him?
After everything that had happened, everything that she’d done to him?
“Impossible,” he muttered to himself, and then caught a glance from an Indian woman in the car next to him. He pointed to his ear piece and grinned. She turned her head and faced forward, eyes locked on the street in front of them.
The sun peeked out from behind the scattered clouds that had crept in overnight and warmed him as he waited for the green. He absently turned on the stereo and smiled as Angus’ guitar led with the opening riff of “Thunderstruck.” The new stuff wasn’t as good as the classics, but few could still deliver like the Boys from Down Under. His fingers kept time on the steering wheel as the light changed, and he dismissed the thoughts of his sex-obsessed therapist, Nina, his mother, Roxie, and Meagan Hunter in favor of a kicking backbeat and mindless lyrics – as good an exchange as he was likely to make that day, he reasoned.
Hunter’s bookkeeper had the actor’s itinerary along with the check waiting when he arrived at the production office, and after signing for it, Black strode back to his car. Costumed extras and young production assistants hurried along the side of the building, their reality absolutely nothing like his, he was sure. He looked at his watch and did a quick calculation, figuring he could make it to the restaurant with twenty minutes to spare if all went well. The security guard at the main gate took his visitor’s pass from him with a disapproving eye on the Cadillac, and then he was on the road again, wheeling his way west, over the hill to the San Fernando Valley for his first official task in Hunter’s employ.
Chapter 13
Rows of Harleys hulked along the parking lot perimeter of Stubbs, an iconic gathering place for two-wheel enthusiasts ranging from dentists out for a weekend fantasy ride to hardcore bikers – although the latter had diminished significantly due to the criminal justice system and the rigors of time. The restaurant/bar was only half full on a weekday, and Black easily found a spot near the entrance for the big Cadillac.
He checked the time and saw that he was a couple of minutes early, so he settled in to wait after putting the fabric top up – his concession to discretion. It was cool enough out so that he didn’t need to run the engine to power the vintage AC unit, and he listened to the stereo, turned low so as not to attract attention, which he quickly realized was pointless given that every new arrival felt obligated to gun their motors with an ear-splitting roar before shutting down.
Hunter arrived on his bike, a custom-shop sled that easily cost a hundred grand, and backed it into a slot near Black before ambling to the front doors. Black watched him as he entered the establishment and took a seat at a window booth where another man sat waiting.
Black’s ear piece chirped and he fumbled for his phone. “Black.”
“I swear you sound sexier every day, darlin’.”
“Hey, Colleen. How’s it going?”
“Good. Okay, that’s a lie. How about, as well as can be expected?”
“Works for me.”
“Hunter called me this morning and told me that you’d worked a deal with him. Congratulations.”
“It might be too early. I haven’t done anything but pocket his check.”
“If there’s anyone who can get to the bottom of whatever’s going on, it’s you, big boy. I’ve got faith in you.”
“Misplaced, obviously, but appreciated nonetheless.”
“I just wanted to say thank you for giving it another shot.”
“Hey, I like a full stomach as much as the next guy. Hunter agreed to my terms, so we’re kosher. Now all I have to do is figure out why he’s being targeted, who’s killing the paparazzi, and whether he’s complicit himself. Piece of cake.”
“What? Why would he be involved? He hired you to find out who’s after him.”
“True, but I can’t help but notice that he’s been the beneficiary of a lot of coverage since all this started. He claims it’s the wrong kind of coverage, but scandal always sells, so I’m not so sure…”
“You’re barking up the wrong tree. He’s straight. And he certainly wouldn’t be involved in murder.”
Black winced as another big bike revved past, its rider a woman with more arm muscle than Schwarzenegger. “I don’t think so, either, but I want to cover all the bases. And LAPD didn’t pull him in because they wanted his autograph. He’s a suspect, whether he likes it or not, which he knows.”
“Which is why he hired you, tough guy. Don’t make this more complicated than it already is. You’re wasting your time looking at Hunter. If I was you, I’d be raking Freddie Sypes over the coals. He’s as dirty as they get, and it’s his firm that’s also in the headlines.”
“Wait, you think Freddie is somehow involved to generate publicity for his firm? That he’s killing his own employees to generate buzz?”
“I’ll bet his traffic has gone through the roof since this all started. Honey, I don’t know who’s doing what to whom, but all I know is that when a scumbag like Freddie is in the neighborhood, bad things start happening. I don’t trust him. Never have. He’s a backstabbing cockroach who would do anything to further his ambitions. That’s all I’m saying.”
Black leaned into his seat. “I’ll be looking into him as a matter of course. At this point, everyone’s a suspect. That’s rule number one of investigative wo
rk: never assume anyone’s innocent.”
“I thought rule number one was to get paid.”
“Fair point. Oops. Sorry, Colleen, but I have to go. I’m on a stakeout.”
“A stakeout! Look at you, like Sam Spade or something. Take care of yourself, darlin’.”
“Count on it.”
Black was sliding his phone back into his jacket pocket when Hunter emerged from the double restaurant doors. Apparently his meeting had been a short one. As he stepped into the sunlight, a pair of rough-looking men in greasy denim and black leather vests were arguing with a young woman wearing a neon pink tank top and a skirt so short it was an afterthought. One of them grabbed the young woman’s arm and began manhandling her. Hunter paused, stared at the two men, and then approached them, his flat black half-helmet clutched in one hand.
Black’s internal alarms triggered as the actor moved toward them, and he hastily swung his door open as Hunter engaged. Within a few seconds the altercation had turned ugly, and one of the bikers took a swing at the actor. Hunter ducked the clumsy punch and swung his helmet, striking the big man in the head with it, and he went down, hard. His partner released the girl and moved on Hunter, his stance unmistakably menacing. Black was ten yards away and sprinting when the second assailant’s blow went wide and Hunter punched him, following the blow with one to the solar plexus. The second man fell to the ground clutching his stomach, and for a brief second Hunter stood in the bright sunlight looking for all the world like one of his action film heroes, his bare biceps rippling beneath his vest and tank top.
The girl ran to Hunter and was thanking him just as Black arrived. A small crowd had gathered as the pair of miscreants struggled to get up. Camera shutters clicked behind Black, and he positioned himself between the men and his client.
“All right, boys. Show’s over. I saw everything. You threw the first punch. That’s assault. This man was just defending himself,” Black said loudly, hoping that his declaration would make a suitable impression on the bystanders. More importantly, he hoped that these two didn’t have another dozen buddies inside Stubbs.
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