Mortal Crimes 1

by Various Authors

  Yet Jenny’s life, her womanhood, had been defined by those years, and to discard or deny them only proved how little Keating knew about his own daughter. For all of the talk, all of the memories that had been presented here today, none of the people who spoke had captured the essence of who she really was.

  Not to Hutch’s mind, anyway.

  Ten years may have been a long time not to be in contact, yet he felt as if he had known Jenny better than any of them. And if he had returned her calls, if he had gotten together with her for lunch or a drink—or whatever—that instant chemistry they had always shared would have kicked in immediately. That deep understanding of each other that no one else could grasp.

  And as he sat there in the pew, listening to the drone of the organ music, Jenny’s friends and family getting to their feet around him, Hutch suddenly realized why he hadn’t returned her calls.

  He had been afraid to. Because Jenny had known him far too well. Could see into him with a razor sharp precision that cut past all the Hollywood bullshit and went straight for the soul.

  The life he had been leading was a fraud, one he had lucked into. And there was no doubt in his mind that she would have called him on it. Would have forced him to see himself for exactly what he was—a lost, insecure man in search of something—anything—that would define him as a human being.

  Hutch had never set out to be an actor or a celebrity in the first place. Had never studied drama or tried out for any school plays. Had been nothing more than a twenty-one year old pre-law undergrad, trying to figure out what to do with his life, when he was “discovered” at a keg party in University Village by a local casting director hunting for new faces.

  His, she told him, was just made for TV.

  An arguable comment at best.

  At her urging, Hutch auditioned for a supporting role in an upcoming series pilot about a Chicago medical examiner who investigated cold cases. And to everyone’s surprise—including his own—he got the part.

  Before he knew it, he was on a Hollywood sound stage, completely out of his element, playing the snarky young lab assistant, spouting lines that would make even a third-rate pulp writer wince in pain. But for reasons known only to the Gods, the show was picked up and became an instant hit.

  Hutch moved to Los Angeles, where most of the series was shot, and his character got so popular that the storylines started focusing on him rather than the designated star, an old television veteran named Jack Van Parkes.

  Needless to say, this made for an unpleasant working situation, but he slogged on simply because he had nothing better to do.

  Then, of course, there was the money.

  And the fame.

  The cars. The women. The booze.

  The drugs.

  Within a couple years of getting the gig, Hutch was a show business cliché. Had left the show and moved on to features and become a spoiled, over-privileged brat with enough yes men around him to get him believing the hype. And when his first three movies tanked, followed by another three that went straight to DVD, he was too busy getting blitzed to know that his so-called career was on a downward slide.

  Then, late one drug and alcohol-fueled night, he turned to the woman lying next to him in bed, her bare ass peppered with traces of the coke he had just snorted off it, and he suddenly realized he had no idea who the hell she was.

  Or who he was, for that matter.

  Not only had he lost control of his life, he was completely alone. His parents were dead, his friends were bought and paid for, and the only people he had ever really cared about—his old college pals—had long ago given up on him.

  All except Jenny.

  She had left a message on his voice mail shortly after the incident with the paparazzi. The fistfight outside The Viper Room that had gotten so much airplay. He was so coked out of his mind that night that he couldn’t remember any of it, and had awakened in a jail cell that smelled of booze, old urine and industrial antiseptic.

  When his manager bailed him out and he collected his belongings at the front desk, he found Jenny’s message waiting on his phone. He had no idea how she’d gotten the new number, but Jenny had always been a resourceful woman.

  “You can’t keep doing this, Ethan. You need help. Please don’t ignore me this time.”

  But he had. Because it hurt too much not to. She was a reminder of everything he had thrown away—and for what? A face on a movie screen? A half dozen cars in his garage? A line of coke on the ass of some flavor-of-the-week starlet?

  Looking at it from a distance, it might have seemed like every man’s fantasy. But it was a lifestyle that started to consume you after a while. To control you. And once you lose control you’re bound to crash.

  Which was exactly what Hutch had done.

  More than once.

  ________

  “I NEED A drink,” Nadine said.

  Hutch had forgotten she was sitting next to him. He looked at her now and saw that her eyes mirrored his, red and full of tears.

  “You okay?” he asked.

  “I’ll live, but only if I can get my hands on a rum and Coke. Old man Keating opted for a private burial, so a bunch of us are heading over to The Monkey House instead. You game?”

  The Monkey House. Their old hangout near UIC. Hutch couldn’t remember the last time he’d been inside the place, but he wasn’t sure if tagging along was a good idea. He reached into his pocket, brought out his AA coin and showed it to her. The one that said KEEP IT SIMPLE.

  “Six months sober,” he told her. “And I’d like to keep it that way.”

  “So order a club soda.”

  “I hate club soda.”

  “A root beer, then. A glass of water. I don’t care as long as you come with.”

  “I thought I was persona non grata with you guys.”

  She shrugged. “So now’s your chance to prove you’re not a complete asshole.”

  “You assume far too much.”

  “Hell, most of us figured you wouldn’t even bother showing up today, so you’re already ahead of the game.” She paused. “Look, all I know is that Jenny loved you, and I’m pretty sure she’d like to see us all back together again. This’ll give us a chance to celebrate her life the way she’d want us to.”

  Hutch thought about it a moment, that sense of nostalgia coming back to him, stronger than ever. He glanced around and saw a few of his old friends huddled together near the cathedral entrance—Ronnie, Matt, Andy… And now Monica Clawson heading up the aisle toward them, her arms outstretched for a bear hug.

  Then Ronnie caught his eye, giving him a bright smile and a waggle of her fingers. She was dressed pretty casually for the occasion and looked a little frazzled, her dark hair even wilder than he remembered it. But she was refreshingly real—the exact opposite of ninety-percent of the women he knew in Hollywood—and he’d always had a soft spot for her.

  It would be good to talk to her after all these years.

  It would be good to talk to all of them. Make him feel just a little bit closer to Jenny. The Jenny who wasn’t included in today’s Mass.

  “Well?” Nadine asked. “Are you in or out?”

  Hutch slipped the coin back into his pocket and nodded. “Root beer it is.”

  CHAPTER SIX

  DESPITE ITS NAME, The Monkey House was your typical Irish pub, located in the heart of University Village.

  Stepping inside was like stepping through a portal into the past. The place had a kind of worn, old world feel to it, accompanied by the nearly overpowering smell of stale beer. You half expected to see a bunch of weathered old coots bellying up to the bar.

  But, as always, it was packed with college students, many of whom were under the legal drinking age—not that it mattered. In the name of commerce, management had always been pretty lax about checking IDs.

  They all looked like babies to Hutch. He sometimes felt as if he had aged thirty years in less than a decade.

  On the cab ride over, as he watc
hed the city streak by, he had started to reconsider this little excursion. Had wondered if he was making a mistake by accepting Nadine’s invitation. While Ronnie and Nadine seemed happy to see him, he doubted Matt or Andy or any of the others would be all that thrilled about making room for him at the table.

  He was a stranger to them now, no longer part of their world, and he knew they must resent him for his failure to stay in contact. He hadn’t helped matters much by quickly exiting the church after promising Nadine he’d catch up with them. But he’d needed to be alone. Wanted to walk the streets for a while and reacquaint himself with the city he loved.

  Then halfway through the cab ride, he had almost told the driver to turn around and take him to the apartment in Lincoln Park. His parents had left him the place and he had decided to stay there tonight rather than grab a late flight out. It had sat dormant for years and he had been meaning to sell it for some time now, but it was the one small piece of his folks—and the city—that he still had left, and he was reluctant to let it go.

  There was a time when he had dreamed about moving into the place with Jenny. He had just finished a movie in France—a miserable experience for everyone concerned—and was back in L.A. feeling a little lost and a lot lonely, and had thought about chucking it all and giving Jenny a call.

  But he was only halfway serious. He had been two weeks away from shooting another movie and he knew that Jenny was involved with someone—a guy from the Chicago District Attorney’s office. He may not have kept in contact with her, but he did keep tabs. His life never felt complete without knowing how she was getting on, and he’d freely admit to occasional Google searches to find out. She was a fairly well-regarded corporate attorney and he was never surprised by the number of hits he found.

  But he hadn’t called—then, or in all the months that followed. And as he rode in the back of that cab, he kept wishing there was a way to take it all back, to erase all of the mistakes he’d made.

  This wasn’t possible, of course, but maybe meeting up with his old friends was a way to make up for some of it. To atone for his sins.

  So, instead of telling the cabbie to turn around, Hutch had remained silent, lost in his thoughts as he rode toward University Village. Less than twenty minutes later he was walking through that portal into the past, a knot in his stomach as he instinctively moved toward their old table in back.

  He was halfway there when he heard a familiar voice behind him say, “Hey, stranger…” and a pair of hands grabbed hold of him and spun him around. And there was Ronnie, pulling him into a hug, the faint smell of lavender wafting off her skin as she kissed his cheek.

  Then she held him at arm’s length, looking at him with tear-stained eyes. “I thought you might’ve chickened out and caught the next flight back to L.A.”

  “No such luck,” he told her. “In fact, I may even stick around for a couple days.”

  The thought hadn’t really occurred to him until that very moment, but seeing The Monkey House after all these years made him realize just how much he missed living here.

  Seeing Ronnie may have had something to do with it as well.

  “Hell of a thing, isn’t it?” she said.

  Hutch assumed she was talking about Jenny. “She didn’t deserve it. Not this.”

  “Who does?”

  “The guy who did it to her, that’s who. I’m not usually vindictive, but I’d like five minutes alone with the bastard.”

  “Assuming they ever catch him.”

  Hutch’s eyebrows went up. “I thought they had a suspect?”

  She shrugged. “Depends on who you ask. They’re working on some leads, but I figure something like this, it’s gotta be some kind of serial killer. And if Jenny was a random victim, how the hell will they ever find him?”

  “Please don’t say that. You don’t know how badly I need them to catch this guy.”

  Ronnie’s eyes teared up again and she gave him another hug. “Oh, Hutch, you poor thing. Don’t even listen to me, okay? Nobody else does.”

  “Then who do I listen to? Matt? Is he still with the Post?”

  “Last I heard, although they’re cutting staff like crazy.”

  Hutch pulled away from her. “Is he coming by tonight?”

  She nodded. “They’re parking the car. I rode over with him and Andy.”

  “That must’ve been an interesting trip.”

  She grinned. “Did you feel your ears burning?”

  “No. Should I have?”

  “Let’s just say your name came up once or twice.”

  “But in a good way, right?”

  Her grin widened. “You really want me to lie?”

  Maybe he did. Maybe he wanted her to tell him that he was still well loved by all his old friends, because thinking that might make him believe that coming here hadn’t been a mistake. “So how many times was the term ‘jerk off’ used?”

  “We’re talking about Matt and Andy, so use your imagination.” She gave his arm a squeeze and said, “God, it’s good to see you. Come on, let’s go grab our old table before the young’ns do.”

  “Young’ns?”

  She gestured. “I don’t know if you noticed, but we’re senior citizens around here.”

  She grinned again, then moved through the crowd, pulling him along with her. He got a few surprised stares along the way, but he ignored them and let Ronnie drag him to the back of the bar where the old table was miraculously empty.

  Then he saw the RESERVED sign and realized someone had called ahead.

  “Thank God for Nadine,” Ronnie said, then slid onto a chair and patted the one next to her. “Don’t think you’re getting away from me for the rest of the night.”

  Hutch wasn’t sure he wanted to. He was relieved to discover that Ronnie and he had slipped quite easily into their old personas, the camaraderie between them familiar and comfortable. If he hadn’t been obsessing over Jenny, he might have noticed how attractive she’d grown over the last few years.

  Maybe he did anyway.

  But before he could sit down they were suddenly assaulted by two fast-moving figures, the first of which—Andy McKenna—slid onto the chair that Hutch was about to occupy. “Sorry, dude, this is my spot.”

  Ronnie tried to shove him away. “Jesus, Andy, do you always have to be so rude?”

  “You don’t want to sit next to me?”

  “I’d rather sit next to somebody civilized, thank you.”

  Andy looked at Hutch. “You see how it is? Without the movie star looks, all I get is the cold shoulder.”

  What Hutch saw was that nothing had changed. Andy McKenna, God love him, was just as boorish as he’d always been. The only reason anyone had ever tolerated him was because he was Matt’s best friend, and everyone loved Matt.

  Speaking of whom, Matt himself scraped a chair back and sat across from Andy, telling him to “Quit being a douche, all right?” Then he looked at Hutch and nodded his head toward the chair next to him. “Have a seat, stranger. It’s good to see you.”

  In light of his conversation with Ronnie, Hutch wasn’t sure how sincere the words were, but he told himself to take them at face value. They shook hands and he sat down. “How’ve you guys been?”

  Andy shrugged. “How do you think? I’m stuck in a cubicle all day. Ain’t like I’m rolling around in the sheets with a hottie-of-the-month like Gina Wakefield.”

  Hutch had expected comments like this. The sheets in question had been on a Paramount sound stage, surrounded by a lighting crew, a continuity girl, a DP and an obsessive-compulsive director who had no idea what he was doing. Oh, and most of the shots had involved a body double named Bridget whose voice was so high and whiny it was like a knife to the skull. But Hutch didn’t bother to point that out.

  Ronnie frowned. “Jeez, Andy, can’t you dial it back for just a few minutes?”

  “Buy me a drink, hot stuff, and I’ll do whatever you want.” Then he turned to Hutch, a sullen look on his face. “I’ve got a bone
to pick with you, Hutchinson.”

  Here we go. “Oh? Why’s that?”

  “I sent you a script about a year back, and you never said a word. If it sucks, it sucks, but you could at least give me the courtesy of picking up the phone and telling me.”

  Matt said, “Give it a rest, Shakespeare. This little soirée isn’t about you.”

  “No, no,” Hutch said, “that’s okay.” He looked at Andy. “Thing is, this is news to me. Where did you send it?”

  “To your agent, with a nice little note telling her I’m a friend of yours.”

  Hutch frowned. “Do you realize how many emails my agent gets every week from so-called friends of mine? I have a two-minute conversation with a car wash attendant and we’re suddenly long lost buddies.”

  “So?”

  “So I never got it. And knowing my agent, it went straight into her trash folder.”

  “What the hell kind of agent is that?”

  “The kind who’s trying to protect him,” Ronnie said, “from morons like you.”

  Andy shot her a look and Hutch asked, “So do you still want me to read this thing?”

  Andy’s eyes brightened. “Hell, yeah.”

  Hutch hadn’t known the guy was a closet writer, and was skeptical that the script would be any good. Ninety percent of the screenplays that managed to get past his agent were complete dreck. But it wouldn’t kill him to take a look. “I’m thinking I might stick around for a couple days, so if you can get it to me before I leave…”

  “Are you serious?”

  “Absolutely.”

  Andy stood up. “Hell, I’ll go get it right now.”

  “Oh, for chrissakes,” Matt said, “give the guy a break. You can email it to him later.”

  “I’m like six blocks from here. I’ll pop it on a thumb drive and be back before you finish your first drink.”

  There was a sudden desperate eagerness to Andy’s demeanor that made it impossible to discourage him. Hutch had seen it a million times before—people on the outside looking for a way in. And despite his agent’s love of the trash folder, he figured everyone deserved a shot. Even Andy.