"Jason, what are you talking about? Besides, I'm still here. I care about you."
He sounded kind of crazy now. "And I care about you, too. You're my best friend. The best platonic male friend a gay man could possibly have."
I'm really afraid of where this is heading. Am I getting a little sexually confused here? I'm bitching about my platonic relationship with Smokey. And now I'm wondering if Jason is going to complain to me about ours.
He continued, "But I'm going to be in prison without anybody, because you're going to be dead — I'm going to kill you. Now."
He brings the H&K out from behind his belt and levels it at me. I'm at point blank range. It's going to make a hell of a hole.
"Jason, Jason, now whoa, buddy!"
He tosses the gun to the side and raises his open left hand.
I know what comes next. Jason is a master of taekwondo.
A roundhouse kick.
I block with my right hand and snap kick at his other knee.
I miss as he steps back and moves away.
"Come on, Jason. There's a madman out there. There's nothing more that he'd love than to see us beat the shit out of each other."
He comes straight in, a one, two, three assault to the center of my body with quick, short jabs.
He's out of range before I've had a chance to retaliate. I slump with the shock and pain. He's toying with me.
I'm out of shape. I won't last. If I'm going to keep him from killing me, I'll have to end this skirmish quickly.
He comes at me again, this time with an assault to my face. With his first jab, he makes contact with my cheek bone. But before he has a chance to strike again, I place my right fist in the center of his chest, and it knocks him back a few inches. I follow with the edge of my left hand to his throat, step forward and bring him to the ground with my right arm.
He's gasping for air. I've crushed his trachea.
He's not gasping anymore, his eyes are wide and he's swinging his head from side, to side — suffocating, drowning in his own blood.
"Hold on, Jason!" I tell him.
My Omega Team shows up in the Porsche and Escalade. They run to us.
"I'll have to trach him. I need a straw — a tube, and a knife."
Booger pulls out his pocket knife, and Beautiful finds a piece of rubber fuel-line tubing.
Jason's eyes roll back and he quits moving.
I cut vertically into Jason's throat just below his larynx where I'd struck him.
Booger pours whiskey onto the hose from a half-pint bottle he's been carrying in his back pocket and Beautiful hands it to me.
I massage the opening to suit me, penetrate the cricothoid membrane and insert the tube.
"Jason, breathe! Breathe, Jason!"
I begin chest compressions—one, two, three.
"Goddammit, breathe!" I hit his chest, and restart the compressions.
I feel his chest rise, and the blood around the tube sucks in.
His eyes open.
Beautiful has a first aid kit and he hands me gauze and tape.
I dress the wound quickly.
Sirens blare in the distance. I have no idea how we're going to explain this — how we're going to stay out of jail so we can get this straightened out.
"Let's get out of here!" I tell them.
* * *
Beautiful and Booger took Jason to his doctor's home about a mile from Stella's in Beverly Hills.
I was seeing double and didn't like it. I thought about going with them, but Zoya said she could take care of me — and I was starting to like her bedside manner.
The abrasion on my cheek was one thing, the bruises on my chest was another, but the knot that Pula made on the back of my head was the most troubling. It left me feeling like I'd just done that head-on-a-ball-bat game, where you spin around the bat and then try to walk straight. This game was no fun, especially when they hit you with the bat instead of having you spin around it.
I discovered Zoya was quite a nurse. With a little tenderness and a couple hours in her caring arms, I was sure I'd feel as good as new. In between the tenderness sessions, I checked with Ol' Corky.
Still no sign of Rabbit.
CHAPTER 18
Red Carpet Surprise
This had been a day full of surprises.
I couldn't think of a more eventful and enlightening twenty-four hours than when I broke out of prison two years ago — but that's another story.
I find out that my goddaughter isn't my best friend's daughter, but is Scott Pula's, his business manager — and partner. Actually, at the time of conception Pula was both Stella and Jason's agent.
I also discover that my best friend for the past fifteen years, who I fought beside and saved his life as well as he'd saved mine, is gay. Not only that, but he was sleeping with his business manager, the father of his child — what? Now I do feel sexually confused!
Incredible. My very own good friend and one of the most popular movie stars of our time is another Rock Hudson. Well, that's okay and more power to him. After the initial shock, I was okay with it. But discovering something major about someone close to you that's the exact opposite of what you thought for sure...well, that knocks you back a step. I had nothing against Jason being gay. He'd never pushed his sexuality on me, although he'd had plenty of opportunities: two young guys, fighting side-by-side in God forsaken, piss-ant countries. Living close together, day-in and day-out. We'd gone out drinking on many nights to bars in some of the seediest places in the world. We'd get drunk, sometimes even have to get a room to sleep it off — sometimes, only the two of us sharing one room...drunk....
Hmm, I'm not so sure I want to keep thinking about this — I mean, there was that time I got up and had a hell of an ache in my....
Anyway, you just don't know, do you?
Hey, forget about it — I'm only joking... really... joking....
* * *
So, we had a new plan.
We put it together on the fly, so I couldn't say our strategy was a good one. We still had to get Sophie back — and we didn't even know if she was alive. The kidnapper hadn't tried to contact Jason since the car blew up.
Jason hated the sight of me, which was okay for now. However, with Sophie at stake, he realized it would be best to work together. It turned out that Stella had hidden his secret all this time. It was probably the one and only secret she'd ever known that she could have used against someone for her gain and didn't. Imagine that, Stella did have about half an ounce of integrity.
We weren't done with the Russian and his amateur-hour mobsters — didn't have any idea when they may rear their ugly heads. Just as troubling; we didn't have a clue about what happened to Rabbit. And I had a feeling the professionalism of the Russian was about to shine through. I wondered if the two dead gangster wannabes showing up in Smokey's dumpster was even a more severe warning than we first thought. Maybe the Russian really was cleaning house — getting rid of his scapegoats, the loose ends. I didn't think he'd planned on doing that just yet, but me capping one of them might have gotten him thinking the timing was right. And of course the other Italian mobster could well have been shot and killed by Zoya's Mach 10.
The next thing to worry about was that Jason was going to the Academy Awards, there was no denying him. His doctor bandaged him up as good as he could, gave him some good meds and told him to get rest and not to use his voice. Of course Jason was disobeying the doctor's orders, but not by much, because with the severely bruised trachea, he could only whisper. I almost felt remorseful — but he would have killed me had I not stopped him. And, in that split second, I did the only thing I could.
Something else that would be interesting — Zoya was Jason's date. Can you imagine: the interviewers will ask Jason questions he won't be able to answer — so the little Russian vixen, that I'm growing very fond of by the way, is going to be filling in for him. Could get very interesting.
I was in the limo with my date, Stella Hutchins. My not
-so-favorite driver, Bruno, was our chauffer. Yeah, I know, this could get interesting too.
I still had a bit of a shiner from my encounter with Jason, but Stella helped me powder it up before we left her place earlier in the afternoon. All right, Mr. De Mille, I'm ready for my close-up!
To me, Stella Hutchins was still the raving beauty she'd been over fifteen years ago. The turquoise blue dress she wore was tight and slinky and made out of a kind of thick, vinyl material. It was one of those things with lots of fabric made into feminine poofs, here and there, and plenty of frills and ruffles, with a matching belt and large chrome buckle. But, in just the right places, it was almost not there at all. She wore it very, very beautifully — and I told her so.
She always took my compliments well, I think because she knew them to be sincere. She leaned over and kissed me on the lips, and I kissed her back. I know — I'm a dog. I shouldn't want to be within a mile of this woman. She'd lied to me, used me and half-heartedly planned to murder me. I was sure she was at least unwittingly involved in her daughter's kidnapping. But I couldn't deny the strong physical attraction we had. Beyond the physical, I think we would've both agreed — neither of us could stand the other.
Bruno caught us in the rearview mirror and frowned.
Still twenty minutes out, we watched the television coverage of the red carpet arrivals from the TV in the back of the limo.
When Jason arrived with Zoya, Stella and I both scooted closer to the screen and she turned up the volume.
The camera caught Jason smiling as he and Zoya came through the archway: smiling as if his manager and gay partner hadn't just gotten blown up; as if his daughter, although non-biological, wasn't kidnapped and strapped with a bomb; smiling as if he did not have a crushed, yet somewhat repaired but still healing trachea that his best friend had given him only ten hours ago. It was amazing to me that he was even able to stand. This recognition meant a lot to him, especially if he got to take home Oscar.
The Entertainment Now announcers noticed his throat bandage right away.
The young black EN host, Greg Cole said, "Walking up the runway is Jason Ryder, nominated this year again for Best Actor. His movie "Steel Men of Iron Town" is last year's biggest blockbuster."
Camera flashes were everywhere — worse than a lightning storm. And the mob of fans, onlookers and reporters shouted out from the bleachers along the red carpet. They called out, raised cameras and waived hands. A few were waving handbills, magazines and photos of Jason for him to autograph.
The young blonde Entertainment Now announcer said, "And that's a lovely tuxedo he's wearing, but is that a little something extra around his neck?"
"It looks like a bandage, Amanda. Our producer has just gotten word from Jason's publicist that, only hours ago, Jason had some minor throat surgery for a little rugby injury from this morning. Nothing can keep this man of steel down! But, for the next couple of days, he won't be able to talk louder than a whisper, so we've been asked not to interview him."
Grinning, Jason went to the side and signed a couple PR photos before Zoya stepped over behind him, playing her role by placing her hand on his elbow.
Amanda said, "And what about the beauty on Jason's arm? Obviously a model, but I don't believe I'm familiar with her. Again a late report from our producer: EN has learned that this young lady's name is Zoya — didn't give a last name — but she is indeed a model from Russia, up and coming, that Jason met on a goodwill tour of Bosnia last fall."
Zoya was wearing a slinky, pink gown draped on her shoulders and open backed. It was also open in a broad "V" down the front to just below her navel, exposing the inside of both breasts and a very toned tummy. Although knee length, the sides were slit up past her hips to her waist. She was also wearing a Russian fur hat and red boots covered in pink and white fur.
Greg said, "What a great hat, and with a red Russian star in the middle. I wonder if it's ermine or chinchilla. I'd like to get a good look at her Cossack to see for sure."
Amanda said, "I'll bet you would, Greg. But it's not a Cossack-style hat, it's a ushanka. That's Russian for 'ear hat.' Look close and you can see that the ear flaps are tied up. These warm hats are sometimes called 'trooper' hats and hers is probably blue fox, mink or rabbit fur."
"Let's bet. I'm saying chinchilla," Greg says.
"Well, Greg, we weren't told not to interview his date; go over and see what you can find out from that gorgeous young woman — but leave her hat alone."
"My pleasure!" Greg said. He stepped up to the couple.
"You're so beautiful. Where has Jason been hiding you?"
"No hide. Nyet. I here — show all."
"Yes, you do," Greg said, "And what a wonderful hat."
"You like? You want feel beava?"
Greg was shocked. He stepped back as the couple moved on.
After a moment to recover, he said, "There you go Amanda, we're both wrong — but I feel like a winner. That thing she's wearing — is — beaver." He shakes his head. "You never know what will happen when the stars come out on live national television."
Stella changed channels to see if another interviewer might catch Jason and Zoya farther down the runway before they walk its 500 foot length and go into the theatre. They do.
On this channel, Bill Hadley and Clarissa Brighten were hosts of Hollywood Update.
Bill said, "Of course we've heard about the heavy security and police presence today, even more than usual for this huge event. But they blend in well with the crowd. I wonder what all those tuxedos are costing the city and the Awards?"
As the camera panned the area, finding well-dressed but very serious men and women, Clarissa said, "That's right, Bill. All eyes are on this award show, even more than ever. Rumor has it that there was actually talk of postponing this huge affair due to the bomb scare. Anonymous bomb reports are common with this kind of public event. But this year authorities seem to be taking things a little more seriously."
Bill said, "Here comes this year's talk of the town, Jason Ryder, and a young Russian model known only as Zoya. Word is that, due to some throat surgery this morning, we're lucky to even see Mr. Ryder at the event. What a letdown that would have been — especially for millions of women. Clarissa, can you get in there to interview this lovely couple?"
Clarissa moved in with her microphone. "Zoya, can you tell us what it's like to be with the World's hottest movie star and on the Academy Awards red carpet for the very first time?"
Jason tried to wave her off, but Zoya pulled the microphone to her.
"Amazeeng! Many lights, cam-ah-raz!"
"What about this big, handsome guy? Are you and Jason an item?"
"Dah! Item. Ve go vay back togetha. Know vhat mean? Him ride me everyvhere."
Clarissa seemed stunned.
After a pause, Bill said, "I think...she meant that Jason gives her rides — uh, takes her everywhere — I...think."
Jason and Zoya moved on and Clarissa stepped back, still noticeably dazed. "May-be, Bill — but you can bet that will be the most popular sound bite on TV tonight!"
"Humph!" Stella said, sitting beside me in our limo as we neared the award ceremony. "If they only knew! Jason hadn't ridden me since a year after we were first married, and he'd become a rising star. He told me he was still searching for his sexual identity back then. After we both signed on with Scott, I guess he found it. Said he was grossed out even thinking of having sex with me."
She looked up at me. "Grossed out! Can you imagine? I was young and beautiful, working on a movie career, and I had men chasing me everywhere I went. I was in the prime of my life, and my own husband thought it was appalling to go to bed with me — can you imagine?"
I personally could not, but I said nothing.
The line moving, we pulled up second back from the red carpet.
Stella switched channels to catch a local broadcast shooting the actual limo arrivals in front of the red carpet archway.
I took a moment to watch their c
overage as they filmed the celebs getting out at the curb.
"It doesn't look like they're checking celebrities' purses on the red carpet." I took the subcompact Glock 29 I got from Beautiful out from behind my jacket — it was much less bulky than my Beretta 96. "Put this in yours. If they find it — act ignorant. You're still a big star, and it's the Academy's security that would search you. They won't want the bad publicity that would come with hassling you."
Before Stella could even reluctantly take the .45 automatic, Bruno leaned over the driver's seat with a cannon.
"You ain't going in, anyway," the bald man with the broken nose and swollen chin said.
He held an old wheel gun. Looked like a hog-leg from back in the 1800's — probably a Navy replica. From the large bore, it was either a .44 or .45.
My Glock was now pointing at him.
He said, "Hah! You think I'm stupid? While you were getting make-up on your sweet cheeks, I was taking the firing pin out of your little plastic gun."
Dumb mistake! I thought. One of the primary rules to being in the snoop and poop business: never leave your weapon where someone else can get to it without you knowing.
"Go ahead, pull the trigger," he said, and grinned.
I said, "I put the firing pin back in."
His face sobered. Then, he grinned again. "No you didn't. I threw it in the pool."
"I saw you and got it out."
He frowned, and his look reminded me that, although some people might consider this man a giant, it wasn't because of brain size. "But you ain't wet."
I pulled the trigger and he flinched.
It caught him off guard long enough for me to grab the muzzle of his big sidearm and begin to wrench it away. His finger still on the trigger, I had to be careful of where I directed the barrel — I knew it would go off.
It did.
The bullet passed between me and Stella and through the seat.
The explosion inside the enclosed limo was deafening. Even with tinted windows, people on the outside surely saw the flash — as well as heard at least a muffled blast come from inside the well sound-deadened vehicle.
KNIGHT'S REPORTS: 3 Book Set Page 40
