The Rotten Rancher (A Nick Williams Mystery Book 16)

by Frank W. Butterfield

  "No. We have Oscar. He'll take care of everything."

  "Wonderful! We're both so looking forward to seeing you."

  "Same here." I looked over at Carter. "How about half past noon?" He nodded.

  Roz said, "That would be lovely. Now, dear, I know it's a veritable jungle up there. What's the address and how do we find it?"

  . . .

  An efficient female voice said, "Monumental Studios. How may I help you?"

  "This is Nick Williams. I need to talk to Ben White."

  "Good morning, Mr. Williams. Mr. White is on soundstage two this morning. It's closed. May I have him call you?"

  "No. That's fine. We'll come down there."

  "I'll let him know."

  "What's your name?"

  "My name is Margaret Copes. Everyone calls me Peg."

  "Thanks, Peg. You're doing a great job. We'll see you soon."

  "Thank you, Mr. Williams. I'll look forward to it."

  . . .

  "Oh, Mr. Williams, you really should let us know in advance when you do a one-way rental. I'm afraid the fees are quite extensive if we have no notice. Since you were scheduled to return this car on Friday to the Monterey airport, I'm afraid that's another extra charge. You could have saved ten dollars if you'd just called us to let us know of your change in plans."

  I was standing at the Hertz desk at Los Angeles International airport. Carter was in the Mercedes at the curb, waiting for me. I grinned at the gal behind the desk and said, "It's fine."

  "Well, I just hate to have to charge one of our very best customers such an unnecessary fee."

  I smiled. "I'm used to it. Seems like I do this every time I rent a car."

  She shook her head as she made a note on a slip of paper she'd pulled out of a cubbyhole on her desk. "It really is quite unfortunate. I'm sorry that the other agents haven't explained this to you."

  I laughed. "They always have and I never learn."

  She sighed. "Well, I'm glad to hear that we're on the ball and doing our job. It just seems such a waste of money for these things to happen to one of our very best customers. If I could, I would waive these fees, but I'm afraid I can't. I simply can't."

  . . .

  "Help you?" A middle-aged man in a dark blue uniform was squinting at Carter. We were at the Monumental Studios front gate on Culver Boulevard.

  "Carter Jones and Nick Williams to see Ben White."

  "Do you have an appointment?"

  I leaned over and looked up at the man. "I'm Nick Williams. I'm one of the owners." I hated to say things like that.

  The man frowned. "You are?"

  With a touch of honey in his voice, Carter asked, "Why don't you call and find out?"

  He nodded. "Yeah." He put his hand on the door. "Wait right here."

  As he walked back to his guard shack, Carter said, "This place doesn't look anything like it did last summer."

  I nodded. "I know. It's even nicer than the Paramount lot was." The old entrance arch, which had been crumbling before, had been repaired and restored to its 1920s glory. All of the Spanish-style buildings had been painted a bright white. The red-tile roofs looked brand new. The dirt roads had been paved. Green grass surrounded all the buildings we could see and had curbed borders painted a dashed red-and-white pattern. It was quite a change.

  The guard suddenly reappeared. He leaned down and looked at me through the window. His face was red. "I'm so sorry, Mr. Williams. Peg set me straight." Pointing off in the distance, he said, "Now, Mr. White is working on soundstage two. One of the production assistants will meet you at the door. The way you get there is like this..."

  . . .

  As we piled out of the Mercedes, Carter pointed to the illuminated red light above a metal door. "Does that mean they're filming?"

  "I guess."

  Carter grinned down at me. "You own the studio, son."

  I shrugged. "I also own a construction company."

  He laughed. "Yeah. Good point. I wouldn't trust you with a hammer."

  "Hey!"

  Before he could reply, a young man with a clipboard appeared out of nowhere. He was blond with blue eyes, had a dimple in his chin, and was giving us a big smile. He stood about 5"8' and was trim. Looking at me, he asked, "Mr. Williams?"

  I offered my hand. "That's me."

  He shook quickly and said, "I'm Quentin Howard. I work for Mr. White." He looked up at Carter and said, "You must be Mr. Jones."

  Carter nodded as they shook hands. Right then, the red light went off above the door and it banged open. Ben and Ronald Jessup came charging out.

  Jessup was screaming. "I don't give a rat's ass what you think, White. You're not the goddam director." He put both of his hands, shaped like cups, in front of his chest. "If I want 'em hangin' out, her fuckin' boobs are gonna fly in the goddam wind. You hear me?"

  Before he could reply, Ben looked over and saw us both. His face was red and puffy. He looked like he'd gained a little weight since we'd last seen him. He put his hand up, pushing Jessup away.

  The director snorted and said to me, "This. This! This is what I have to work with. You faggots are such pains in my pimply red ass." He looked over at Quentin Howard. "And that includes you, you little queen. How many times do I have to tell you to leave my boys alone?"

  Quentin Howard backed up, bewildered. "I, uh, I—"

  Ben stepped around and got in Jessup's face. "For the last time, you asshole, that wasn't Quentin. That was Reggie Kilpatrick. And I warned you about him. I told you he had a reputation but, no, you wanted to hire him. You said the snake in his pants would film well. And it did. But he's the one who's trying to lay all the other kids. And, once and for all, they're not 'your boys'. They're our actors. They're employees. Try to have a little respect. Besides, Jessup. I have your number. You're just jealous."

  I stood and marveled at what was happening. Jessup was being himself. But Ben... He was something else. I'd never seen him be that assertive and sure of himself.

  Jessup, meanwhile, was turning red in the face. "Are you accusing me of being a faggot?"

  "If the shoe fits."

  Pulling his right arm back, Jessup slammed his fist into Ben's face. Quentin and I caught Ben as he fell backwards.

  Carter jumped over and pulled Jessup back, pinning his arms in place.

  Ben stood up, rubbed his jaw, and, in a very quiet voice, said, "Get the hell off this lot."

  Jessup struggled but Carter held him tightly in place. "Yeah? Or what?"

  I walked around Ben and looked at the man. I said, "That's it. You're out."

  He spat at me and laughed. "Really, Williams? Like that?"

  I nodded. "Yeah." I pulled back and gave him my famous right hook, which left him stunned and wheezing.

  . . .

  "Jessup's punch looked worse than it was, but Ben's going to have a bruise there for a few days," explained Carter. We were sitting at the dining table with Roz and Freddie. Oscar had served us a simple lunch of vegetable soup with a niçoise salad and fresh bread that he'd baked himself.

  Freddie sat back in his chair. "He'll sue you for breach of contract."

  I shook my head. "He can try but the contract is pretty clear. We can buy him out at any time for any reason. Kenneth Wilcox made sure of that. There's a schedule for it and everything. I'll take care of it when I get home. But I think he's taught Ben everything the kid needed to know."

  Freddie nodded. He then broke into a grin. "He'll still sue you but I wonder if this wasn't his plan all along."

  I shrugged. "Maybe. But you should've seen Ben. He was a real mogul. He's gonna be the next Louis B. Mayer."

  Roz looked alarmed and said, "Oh, dear, I hope not."

  We all laughed at that.

  . . .

  Freddie stood up from the long sofa and began to pace. We had moved to the living room. Carter and I had just finished telling them about our plan to move to Paris for a while.

  He turned and looked at me with tears in
his eyes. "I can't believe it's come to this."

  Roz stood, walked over to him, and said, "My dear."

  He nodded and took out his handkerchief. He wiped his eyes and blew his nose. Looking at me, he said, "You are both very calm."

  I shrugged. "Yeah. Right now, we are."

  Carter added, "We go back and forth."

  Roz sat down and leaned forward. "Do you think it's possible that Henry Miller and this Pfeiffer person were trying to scare you?"

  I shook my head. "The U.S. Attorney in San Francisco is holding something over our heads. And it's just a matter of time before a D.A. somewhere is able to make a case of us, you know..." I started to blush.

  She nodded. "Yes, of course. How stupid of me not to realize that, every night, it's a toss of the dice."

  Carter and I both laughed at that, in spite of ourselves.

  . . .

  "Now that we got that outta the way," I said, "What's the latest? Are you working on a movie we haven't heard about?"

  Roz looked at Freddie, who nodded. Her eyes began to glitter as she said, "Hold onto your hats, kids. I have the best news. Really."

  "What?"

  "I'm going to be Auntie Mame!"

  I sat back as my mouth opened in surprise. I heard Oscar squeal in delight in the kitchen. We all looked over at him as he put a dish towel up to his face and said, "Very sorry."

  . . .

  "When does the play open?" asked Carter.

  Roz said, "Next season. Probably in October. The re-writes are going fast and furious and I'm afraid I'm being difficult about it. I can see her, quite clearly, in my mind's eye."

  I asked, "What does that Dennis kid think?" He was the author of the bestselling book.

  Roz grinned. "He told me that I was the only person who could play the role. He said he wrote the book with me in mind." She blushed slightly. "Isn't that marvelous?"

  I nodded and said, "Congratulations, Roz. He's right. You're the only one who can do the job. I can't wait to see you up there. "

  Everyone else stopped and looked at me.

  "What?" I asked.

  Carter quietly said, "Unless the play goes to Paris..."

  I waved him away. "If we have to swim across the Atlantic, there is no way in hell that we're not gonna be there on opening night."

  Roz laughed. "We'll have to come up with a cover story for you two."

  Carter grinned. "How about Mr. Montague Harris-Epping, that'll be me, and his manservant, George? That'll be Nick. We can both grow in our beards and everything."

  Freddie guffawed while Roz nodded. "Sure. You can sail over on the Ile de France." Looking at me, she said, reminding me of her character in His Girl Friday, "I'm sure you know someone who can make you a fake passport and all that."

  I looked around at the three of them. I could feel the tears trying to get out. It hit me hard, one more time, that we were leaving and we didn't know when we would be coming back.

  . . .

  "So, we wanted to invite you two to move into the house on Beverly Glen." That was Carter, talking as he sawed into his steak.

  We were at the Brown Derby in Hollywood. Ben White and Carlo Martinelli were sitting with us in a booth at the back of the restaurant. It was a quiet night there and we were mostly alone in our corner, which was good.

  Martinelli looked from me to Carter and back. His black eyes began to fill with tears. In a whisper that was hard to hear, he said, "You guys can't leave. You have to stay here and fight!"

  I looked at him. "Fight what? The law is the law."

  Martinelli said, "Then fight the law. Go to Sacramento."

  Carter sighed. "Yep. That's what I wanna do. I've been wanting to do that for as long as I can remember. But no one will listen to us."

  "What about Mrs. Williams? Nick's stepmother? She knows the governor, right?"

  "She does. And she might do just that. We haven't told them yet. But the law takes time. And, having been to jail already, I don't wanna spend six months in San Quentin."

  Martinelli nodded and wiped his face with the back of his hand.

  I looked at Ben. "Remember. You can't tell anyone. The only other people who know right now are Roz and Freddie. We told them at lunch."

  Ben nodded. Along with the big bruise on the side of his face, he looked a little hollow. I noticed that he had stopped eating as we began to tell them what we were going to do. "I don't know if I can run Monumental by myself."

  Before I could reply, Carter said, "Yes, you can." He looked at me and then continued, "I didn't believe Nick, at first, when he told me you would be good at this."

  Ben shrugged. "Neither did I. I'm still not sure."

  Carter reached his hand across the table and quickly squeezed Ben's before pulling it back. "But you can. I saw it today. The way you handled Jessup was nothing short of amazing, Ben. You've got it."

  "It?"

  "The magic. That's what Nick said and he's right."

  I nodded. "I'm always right."

  Ben smiled a little at my obvious joke. "So, you really wanna buy Jessup out?"

  I replied, "Yeah. When I get home, I'll meet with Kenneth and Benjamin and have them take care of it."

  Ben picked up his fork and stabbed at his creamed spinach but didn't eat any of it. "I can't believe I'm saying this, but I love you, Nick. I'm gonna miss you. I really am."

  I smiled at him. "Things have really changed since that night, haven't they?"

  He nodded. "I hated you so much for what happened. Now I can't believe my luck."

  I could see Martinelli put his hand on Ben's leg under the table. I said, "Ain't luck, kid. It's talent. And you got that in spades."

  . . .

  Over big slices of apple pie, Carter said, "Oh! I almost forgot. We met your brother last week."

  Martinelli looked up. "What? You met Franco? How?"

  Carter said, "We were driving through Watsonville and we stopped at your father's store."

  "What?" Martinelli seemed dismayed.

  "Yeah. It was a last-minute thing. I remembered you telling us about it and how it was next to the Fox Theatre."

  Martinelli, who was looking pale, asked in a whisper, "What happened?"

  Carter sighed. "Well, your father kicked us out of his store but your mother came running out and told us to go see your brother down at the hardware store."

  Martinelli nodded, but didn't say anything. Ben asked, "What happened?"

  "Well, we found your brother and he said that you could send letters to your mother in care of him. He promised to make sure she got them."

  Martinelli's face was red and splotchy. He looked over at Ben, who nodded and said, "This is good, baby. This is good."

  . . .

  After dinner, we went over to Ben and Martinelli's apartment on Los Feliz. Once we were there, Ben made a quick phone call. There was a loud knock on the front door a couple of minutes later. Martinelli went to answer it.

  After a moment or two, Martinelli walked back into the living room followed by two big muscle guys: Micky Bailey and Tom Ruggles. They both worked for us. Micky had been in the Army, working as Military Police, in Korea. Tom was a former officer with the Santa Monica police department. The two of them were an item and had been for a few months.

  Ben decided it would be fun to play charades. Tom suggested that each couple split up and play on opposite teams. Carter, Micky, and Martinelli played one side. Ben, Tom, and I played the other.

  We moved into the bedroom and tried to come up with obscure book titles we were sure that neither Micky nor Martinelli would know. After about ten minutes, we had our six titles, so we walked back into the living room. Carter was sitting on the sofa, looking particularly smug, while Micky and Martinelli were getting beers for everyone in the kitchen. After flipping a coin, our group lost and we had to go first.

  I pulled the first slip of paper. Mine was "I Love Lucy." I groaned. All I knew was that it was a TV show and that it starred the husband and wife team
of Desi Arnaz and Lucille Ball. But then I realized it was only three words and that two of them were easy. How hard could that be, I wondered.

  Carter was the timekeeper for the other side. I looked at him as he was waiting for the second hand on his watch to hit twelve. He was grinning at me. I suspected that all of our titles were TV shows. After a few seconds, he said, "Go!"

  Using my fingers, I drew a big square in the air.

  Ben said, "TV!"

  I nodded and held out three fingers.

  Tom said, "Three words!"

  I nodded and tapped my left wrist three times with my right index finger.

  Tom said, "First word!"

  I nodded and then pointed to my chest.

  Ben said, "Nick!"

  I shook my head and pointed again, with more emphasis.

  Tom said, "Me!"

  I shook my head and decided to try another tactic. I held my right hand out and pressed my thumb and index finger together.

  Ben said, "Short word!"

  I nodded and began to roll my right hand in front of my chest.

  Ben said, "A, uh, an, the, my, mine, me—"

  I rolled my hand faster.

  "We, of, the—"

  Tom said, "You said 'the' already."

  I rolled my hand even faster.

  Tom tried. "One, of, we—"

  "I said all of those!" cried out Ben.

  I pointed to myself again.

  "I!" yelled Ben.

  I nodded and tapped three times on my left wrist with two fingers of my right hand.

  "Second word!" said Tom.

  I clasped both of my hands together as if I were an overly dramatic silent star and put them against my heart. I pantomimed a sigh and fluttered my eyes.

  Ben said, "Movie!"

  Tom looked over at Ben. "I movie?"

  Carter, Micky, and Martinelli had started giggling on the sofa. I glanced over and gave Carter the stink eye. He winked at me. He was really enjoying himself.

  Turning back to Tom and Ben, who were sitting on the floor looking up at me, I drew a heart in the air with my index fingers and then pointed to my chest.

  "Heart!" yelled out Tom.

  "I heart?" asked Ben, making a face.

  Tom rolled his eyes and then said, "Love!"

  I nodded and tried to remember what Lucy looked like. I ran my hands around my head. I was thinking of the word, "redhead," but couldn't figure out how to act it out.