by R. J. Kaiser
“Hi, Arnold, what’s up?”
He grinned and grabbed his crotch. “The same as always, but that’s not why I’m here. There’s some jerk-off at the back door asking to see you. Says he’s your brother.”
“Angel?”
“He didn’t say his name. But the sonovabitch’s got blood splattered all over the front of him. I told him to get his ass out of here, and he got all pissy claiming there was a family emergency. Then he told me I better ask you to come talk to him unless I wanted my balls cut off. I was on my way up front to call the cops, but then I thought maybe I should check with you first, just in case.”
“Yeah, it sounds like my fucking brother, all right. Maybe I should talk to him.”
“Okay, fine, but I don’t want the sonovabitch in here. Mike would have a shit-fit.”
“Don’t worry, I’ll step outside. My mother’s sick, you know.”
“She must be a fucking hemophiliac.”
Squeezing past Arnold, Manuela went down the hall and around the corner to the stage entrance, which was basically an emergency exit accessing a closed-off parking area where the girls left their cars. The access was on a side street, which meant they didn’t have to drive past customers when arriving or leaving the club.
Manuela pushed the bar on the door and shoved it open. Angel stood maybe twenty feet away, just beyond the circle of light from the lamp over the door, smoking a cigarette. She stepped out on the little concrete porch, easing the door closed gently so that it wouldn’t catch and lock her out. Seeing her, Angel flicked the cigarette across the asphalt parking lot and came walking toward her with his usual swagger.
When he got close, Manuela could see the blood, but it wasn’t from a wound like last time. It looked like it had been splattered on him.
“What happened?” she asked.
“Never mind what happened. I need some bread and I need it fast.”
Manuela pulled the little silk wrap closed at her throat. There was a light breeze, but it wasn’t cold. The temperature was actually balmy, but Angel being close to her was chilling, especially when he had that sound of desperation in his voice.
“Do I look like I have money on me? I’m almost naked, Angel. I’m working.”
“Can you get some scratch? I need to lay low for a while.”
“What did you do?”
Angel groaned, looked up at the dark sky and said, “I fucking shot a cop.”
“You what?”
“Can’t you hear? I fucking shot a cop. The stupid asshole stopped me and because I got no license he starts shoving me up against the car and all that shit. Pissed me off. So I wasted the fucker.”
“With what?”
“His fucking gun, what do you think?”
“Jesus, Angel. You shoot a cop, you’re dead meat.”
“Don’t you think I know that? That’s why I need some bread. There could be witnesses. I can’t go home. I gotta find a place to hang.”
A siren sounded up the street, but it went on by the club. Manuela looked around, shivering. “Sounds to me like you got to get out of town.”
“Right, but for that I need serious dough. When can you get that ten thousand?”
“Angel, the party’s not until Friday. I can’t get it before that, and maybe not even then. Me and Mike have only sort of agreed.”
“Can’t you do something to speed things up?”
“How am I supposed to do that?”
“Maybe they’ll fuck you now instead of then.”
“Jesus, Angel.”
“What? I’m kind of desperate here.”
“Yeah, well, aren’t you forgetting something?”
“Like what?”
Manuela looked around, lowering her voice. “Like you’re supposed to do Mac and his girlfriend for me. You think I’m going to fuck a couple of elephants for three months so that you can take a vacation in Mexico?”
Angel hit her with lighting quickness, the blow snapping her head to the side and knocking her against the door, causing it to slam shut. Fortunately, he hit her with an open hand, stinging her rather than breaking her jaw. She wasn’t so much in pain as shock. Worst of all, she was locked out, wearing nothing but a tiny silk robe.
“Dammit, Angel, why’d you go and do that? My key’s in my purse inside. Now I’ve got to ring the bell.” Wanting to get the hell away from him, she pressed on the bell, hoping somebody would let her in quick, before her crazy brother really lost it.
“Hey, Manuela,” he said, taking her arm, his voice suddenly softer. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have done that.”
“Fucking right you shouldn’t have done that.”
“No, really, I’m sorry. But you gotta understand. They catch me, they execute me, no question about it.”
She punched the bell again. “Maybe you should have thought about that before you shot the cop.”
“Please, Manuela, I’m begging you. I don’t got nobody but you.”
She gave him a contemptuous look. But she also knew she didn’t have anybody but him, either. Not if she wanted to get Mac and the bitch cop.
The door opened then. Arnold looked out.
“What’s going on?”
“Sorry, Arnold,” she said. “The door accidentally closed and my key’s inside.”
“You all right?”
“Yeah, our mother’s had an attack, but it’s not too serious. I’m coming back in after a minute.”
Arnold tried to see past her, but Manuela kept the door from opening wide. Angel had moved behind it and out of Arnold’s line of sight. Mike’s beefy brother looked skeptical.
“You sure everything’s okay?”
“Honest, nothing’s wrong except my poor mother. My brother’s got to buy her some medicine and I left my purse in my dressing room. Could I borrow a couple hundred from you for five minutes, Arnold? I’ll pay you back as soon as I get back inside.”
Arnold O’Gill struggled to get his wallet from his hip pocket. He peered inside it. “All I’ve got is a hundred and sixty.”
“That’s fine. I’ll pay you back in a minute.”
Arnold stuck the money out and Manuela took it. She smiled at him.
“Want to wait in my dressing room? Maybe we can talk.”
The suggestion brought a grin. “Yeah, sure.”
Arnold left and Manuela eased the door back so it wouldn’t catch.
“Sonovabitch will probably expect a blow job.” She turned to her brother. “Here.”
He took the money from her. “You’re a saint, Manuela.”
“Yeah, well, fuck that. Listen to me, Angel. You gotta get your ass out of L.A. I know you need money to do that, so I’m going to see what I can do about getting it for you. Maybe Mike and Arnold will agree to a private party before Friday night. But I ain’t doing it out of the kindness of my heart. You gotta help me if I’m going to help you.”
“How?”
“Knock off the bitch cop, Jade. And don’t wait for the money. Do it now to show your good faith. As soon as I get the money from Mike, you do Mac and I pay you the ten thousand. Then it’s adios.”
Angel looked at the money in his hand. “I guess I could do that, but I sure could use a little more scratch in the meantime.”
“So take it out of the bitch’s purse.”
Angel shook his head. “You’re a ball buster, Manuela.”
“Why shouldn’t I be? It don’t look like I’m ever going to be somebody’s wife.”
With that, she went inside, letting the door slam in her brother’s face.
Tuesday, August 29, 2000
Pacific Palisades
When Venita Kumar awoke, Troy Hampton was sitting up in bed next to her, reading the paper, specifically the comic strips. He was nude. “Well, if it isn’t Sleeping Beauty,” he said.
His admiring tone made her smile, though she hadn’t exactly awakened in a cheery mood. Her dreams had been dreadful and dark. “You’re up early, my little duck.”
; “I fell asleep early.”
“Why is that?”
“I had the lay of my life.”
“You say that every time.”
“It’s true every time.”
Venita lay back on the pillow, resting her hand on his thigh. Another day, yet still no police. The whole situation was perplexing, and she’d given up trying to understand. Troy, on the other hand, had been very upbeat all evening and it seemed to carry into the morning. He’d acted as though he had millions in his checking account, even though he’d refused to elaborate on what he was up to. She wasn’t quite sure whether to take what he said on faith or if she should be skeptical. Given how tenuous her future had become, she’d ended up following the course of least resistance and let things flow, focusing on Troy’s libido. Sex, she’d found, was an effective distraction.
“By the way,” he said, “there was something in the paper this morning that might interest you.”
“What?”
Troy reached over to the pile of newspapers on the side of the bed. Pulling out the metro section, he handed it to her. “Second page, bottom right side,” he said.
Venita sat up and opened the section, wondering what he could be referring to. Then, seeing a picture of Percy Gaylord, his face battered and bruised, one eye swollen shut, she just about choked. The headline read, Amnesiac Found. She read the text:
Early Monday morning a man in an amnesiac state was found wandering through an exclusive neighborhood in West Los Angeles. Police say the man, who appeared to have been beaten or fallen, was unable to give his name or say what had happened to him.
Residents of Pacific Palisades spotted the man, bleeding badly from his wounds, staggering down the middle of Northfield Street, south of Sunset Boulevard. Police and an ambulance were called. Melody Craig, spokesperson at St. John’s Hospital, said the man had suffered several serious cuts and contusions, a broken arm and two broken ribs, as well as a severe concussion. His injuries are not considered life-threatening, though doctors expressed concern about the possible long-term effects of the victim’s head injury.
The man, who police say carried no identification, had a camera slung over his shoulder and his clothing was badly torn. Officer Raymond Walcott of the Los Angeles Police Department said the man spoke with a “distinctive British accent,” but was unable to give his name, where he lived or explain how he had received his injuries.
The victim, described as in his late thirties or early forties is dark-complected, perhaps South Asian in origin, medium height and build, wearing a gray suit when he was found. A monogrammed handkerchief with the initials “P.G.,” a few coins and a map of Santa Monica were all that was found in his clothing.
Craig indicated that the attending physicians consider it likely the victim will recover his memory sometime in the next few days or weeks, indicating that amnesic episodes are not uncommon following a traumatic head injury of the type suffered by the victim. Police, using evidence found on the victim’s person, hope to determine his identity and possible clues to the cause of his injuries. Anyone having information about the victim or the circumstances of his injuries are asked to call the Los Angeles Police Department at 555-3400.
“My God,” Venita said, putting the paper aside. She drew her knees up to her chest and hugged them. She was facing a ticking bomb. Once Percy recovered his memory he would tell the authorities what had happened and she’d be cooked. Lord, this was worse than if he’d died. Before, they could only speculate on the cause of a death. Now there’d be an accuser.
“What are you going to do?” he asked.
She looked at him. “What do you mean?”
“If Gaylord tells the cops you shoved him, things could get pretty hairy.”
Her mouth dropped open. “Troy…”
A grin slowly formed on his face. “You have no secrets from me, Venita.”
“You saw,” she stammered.
“Yeah, from the little room across the hall.”
“Why didn’t you say something?”
“Why should I?”
“But…”
“You’re wondering what I think of you.”
She swallowed hard. “I suppose I am.”
“I don’t know what the guy said, but my guess is he was threatening you in some way.”
“Yes. It was about Ramda Bol, that political business in Delhi.”
“That’s what I figured. Gaylord’s a shit disturber. You go around upsetting people’s applecarts, things happen.”
Venita studied him. “You seem rather placid about the whole thing.”
“I assume you know what you’re doing. Besides, your problems are my problems, Venita. We’ve both got a lot at stake.”
“Troy, the fact is, he was threatening to destroy me. And he had the means. I really had no choice.”
Troy stroked his chin. “So, what are you going to do now?”
“That’s the problem.”
“I hope you’ve got a solution because I was counting on you being here for me.”
She took his arm, looking earnestly into his eyes. “Be assured, I’m going to make this film whatever it takes. No one is going to stop me.”
He chuckled. “I guess you’ve proven that. At least to Gaylord.”
“I’ll come up with something,” she said, laying her finger aside her cheek. “Percy Gaylord is a pragmatist above all else. I’ll simply have to find a way to make amends.”
“You do that and I’ll take my hat off to you.”
She somehow managed a smile. “I’m more resourceful than you might think.”
“I wouldn’t bet against you. But I’ve got work of my own. While you take care of Percy, I’ll concentrate on getting the money.”
She took heart, feeling profound relief. Troy, having seen what had happened, could have posed another problem. But the boy was proving more of a man than she thought.
“There’s something else I’ve been meaning to discuss with you,” he said.
She rubbed the palm of his hand with her own. “What’s that, love?”
“What would you think of the idea of you and me getting married?”
“Married? Troy, are you serious?”
“Of course I am.”
“But why? I mean, why now? Isn’t this kind of sudden?”
“Are you saying you don’t feel that way about me?”
Venita knew she had to choose her words carefully. “No, that’s not what I’m saying at all. It’s just…well, I hadn’t expected anything so dramatic this soon.”
“I think you know how I feel about you, Venita. You turn me on like…well, you know your way around the bedroom like nobody I’ve ever known.”
“You’re wonderful inspiration,” she said, touching his cheek.
“Percy’s not the only pragmatist. The way I see it, you and I have got a lot more in common than fucking for pleasure. We’re going to be making films together. And, well, to be blunt, I need you. But you also need me. One thing is Mac’s money, but another is…hell, why beat around the bush…I know some pretty damning things. And maybe you didn’t know this, but in the States they can’t make a husband testify against his wife. And vice versa, of course.”
“What are you saying?”
“We’ve got pretty damn good reasons to join forces. That’s the practical side of me talking.” He ran his hand up her leg, letting it rest on her mound. “Then, there’s the amorous side.” Grinning, he leaned over and kissed her on the corner of the mouth. “Don’t mean to tell you your business, Venita, but you better get hopping with Gaylord. If that fucker wakes up and starts pointing fingers, you’re in deep doo-doo.”
“You’re right, of course,” she said, swinging her legs off the bed. “It’s a matter requiring urgent attention.”
She went off to have her shower, marveling. Troy had proposed marriage, all the while threatening blackmail. He’d offered her millions, while informing her the executioner’s ax was about to fall. He’d completely wreste
d control, leaving her beholden. What unstated agendas did the boy have? she wondered.
Climbing into the shower, she resolved to take care of Troy Hampton in due course. The more pressing concern was Percy Gaylord. By surviving, he’d driven yet another stake in her heart, proving the unlikely—there were still worse fates than being a murderess.
Studio City
Mac felt like the proverbial million dollars. His step was lighter than it had been in years. He’d hummed along with the radio as he’d driven to work. Even Bev noticed a difference. When she brought him his coffee, she said, “What’s with you this morning?”
“Some days a guy just feels on top of the world,” he replied. “What can I say?”
He wasn’t going to tell Bev that it was because of Jade. He was too old for adolescent silliness. Plus, he was the boss of a major business enterprise. A guy in his shoes didn’t get sappy over a young woman fourteen years his junior. But, of course, that is exactly what had happened— the part about feeling lighthearted, anyway. Beyond that, he took his euphoria with a grain of salt, knowing somebody with his problems was prone to grasping at straws. It was simple infatuation and he knew it.
Over the years he’d met women he was drawn to, he’d met women he respected and admired. He’d met smart women, attractive women, and one or two he could conceivably marry. But Jade was the first one who’d made him happy right down to his bones.
He couldn’t say why, beyond the fact that she was a real person, a genuine, decent human being. Cute, yes. Sexy, yes. Crazy, eccentric and fun—yes, yes and yes. Did it mean anything? He had no idea, but he guessed that it didn’t. Why? Because Mac was grown up, he was a serious person, and he knew reality was always twenty to thirty percent less than what it appeared. Always. But what the heck, he was having a good time. Without even trying. The without-even-trying part was key.
“I make you think of peanut butter and jelly sandwiches?” she’d said the previous evening. He’d confessed that as they’d eaten the snack dinner at her kitchen table.
“Yes, and don’t ask me why.”
