Hollywood Games: A Hollywood Alphabet Series Thriller

by M. Z. Kelly

  Larry’s brother turned red and grunted, “It’s okay. I’ve been in an anger management twelve-step program. The sixth step is all about acceptance. I’m learning to accept my name, so I’m good with you all calling me Phyllis.”

  I spent the afternoon continuing to unpack and arranging things in my room until I heard a scream coming from downstairs. I dashed down the stairs and found my sister, Lindsay, with Claude at the front door.

  Claude looked over at me. I saw that Maurice was on his slumping shoulder as he closed the door. “She also thought I was a vampire.” He sighed. “Maybe I need a makeover.”

  Lindsay looked at me and shrugged. “Sorry.”

  After Claude sauntered off with Maurice I said, “There’s a couple of things I need to warn you about. Actually, maybe more than a couple of things.”

  Lindsay came into the living room and put her purse on the sofa. “Whatever it is, I can handle it.”

  “Claude doesn’t like being referred to as a vampire. The bird on his shoulder is a raven named Maurice who only knows how to say fuck you.” Lindsay laughed. I went on, “And there’s a couple of big guys who are going to be living on the grounds of the estate. One of them is named Phyllis.”

  Her brows came together. “Phyllis?”

  “Let me help you get your things out of the car and I’ll explain.”

  I spent the rest of the afternoon helping Lindsay move into the bedroom next to mine. My half-sister was twenty-five, tall like me, also with green eyes. I’d only met her a few months ago when she’d saved my life.

  After we put some things away, I sat with her on the bed and asked, “How are you coping with everything?” I knew she’d been depressed about the events surrounding her father’s death.

  She brushed her brown hair from her eyes. “Better, I think.” She smiled. “I met a guy.”

  “Really? Tell me about him.”

  “His name is Eli. He works at a deli on Sunset while going to school.” Her green eyes brightened. “He wants to be a psychologist and we talked about what happened. I think it helped.”

  My sister had spent much of her childhood in Brazil where she’d been raised by my bio-mom and her father. She and my birth mother, Judie Crawford, had been controlled and abused by Lindsay’s father, Ryan Cooper. Cooper was the same man who had shot and killed my father when I was a child, angry after learning that my dad and Judie had been in a relationship while he and Judie were separated. What Cooper didn’t know at the time was that Judie was my biological mother, my conception occurring while she and Cooper had been estranged.

  I’d been adopted shortly after my father’s relationship with Judie ended and he married my adoptive mom. My mom had only told me the truth about Judie being my biological mother a few months ago.

  I found Judie Crawford a few days after learning the truth. She was in a vegetative state in a convalescent hospital, thanks to being battered by Cooper. She’d died while Cooper was stalking me after he found out that Judie was my bio-mom. My former boyfriend had been shot and killed by Cooper. Lindsay, the sister I had never known, had saved my life by shooting her own father.

  “I’m glad you were able to talk through everything,” I said, taking Lindsay’s hand. “What happened was a tragedy…”

  “I killed my own father.” Her gaze fell away from me. “Even Eli thinks it’s going to take me a long time to recover.”

  I nodded. “I’ll always be here for you if there’s anything you need.”

  She met my eyes again. “When we met on Catalina I mentioned that I thought I might want to be a police officer someday. I’d like to come by the station, see how things run one of these days.”

  “I’ll make the arrangements.” I was less than thrilled with Lindsay wanting to be a cop. I knew how difficult that career choice could be. But I also knew I would do anything for my sister. “I’ll also see if you can do a ride-along with one of the officers.”

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  I spent the rest of my weekend at home with my roommates and Lindsay settling into our new digs. Larry and Phyllis had made remarkably quick progress of getting the pool house into shape. They promised they’d see what they could do with the main house the following weekend, although I told them they might want to see about renting a bulldozer. We were still going without hot water part of the time and heard strange noises in the night. Maybe it was Claude leaving the house to visit a local blood bank.

  Bernie and I got to work early Monday morning and I took a seat across from my partner. I was about to ask if he’d been discovered by a talent agent while sitting at a soda fountain over the weekend, when Edna stopped by.

  The lieutenant said to me, “I want you and Han Solo in the conference room.” He glanced over at Gluck and growled, “Nice suit, Harrison.”

  Gluck tugged at his expensive silk tie and trudged toward the conference room with me after the lieutenant left. “He’s still unhappy with me.”

  I had little sympathy for him since he’d reverted to being Cop Hollywood. “Maybe someday you’ll dress up in a chicken outfit, win an Oscar, use it to murder Edna, and you’ll be famous.”

  A thin smiled found his lips. “Not a bad scenario.”

  We were told that Pearl would be in later, but found Carl Hammer was already at the table. After Bernie settled down, I turned to the smug little detective. “Thought you’d move on since you got your collar.”

  He looked at me but didn’t smile. “It seems that The Beast has other ideas.”

  “Listen up,” Edna grumbled after taking a seat. His eyes were bloodshot, his hair uncombed. I wondered how many more years the lieutenant was good for the job before the stress got the better of him. “That reporter who’s been all over our case, Beelze…” He looked at Gluck. “What the fuck’s her name?”

  Gluck flushed, looked up from his coffee cup. “Basheeba.”

  “Who the hell names their kid that?” Edna dragged a hand through his hair. “The Beast wants us to give her an interview about Biggs.” He glanced at me. “You and Hammer are up.”

  “What? I don’t…”

  “I don’t wanna hear it,” Edna bellowed, cutting me off. “I’m told by MRS, it’s another one of the chief’s efforts to improve relations with the media. He wants the two of you.”

  I sighed and glanced over at Hammer, who had his trademark shit eating grin. I’d had a couple of go-arounds with the Media Relations Section on recent cases and knew all they cared about was the department’s image with the press.

  Edna went on, “This Basheeba person is gonna interview you two along with the real estate agents on that idiotic TV show. You’re supposed to meet with her at seven tonight at the Avalon.”

  “What?” I glanced over at Hammer. His grin was back, now almost wide enough to swallow a banana sideways. “You set this up.”

  “What are you talking about?” Edna asked me, then looked over at Hammer.

  The detective shrugged. “I don’t have a clue.”

  I shook my head and dragged a hand through hair that a cold shower had done nothing for. I said to the lieutenant, “Never mind. Let’s just move on.”

  Edna tried giving us a pep talk about the interview but had trouble pulling it off and ended it with his favorite four letter word.

  I’d been turning our case over in my mind all weekend and decided I needed to air some concerns. “I’m not sure we’ve thoroughly looked at everything on Biggs. King said that someone planted the murder weapon in the trunk of his car and we all know that Barry Steiner had a motive to kill him, both because Biggs owed him money and because he was jealous of his relationship with his ex.”

  “Bullshit,” Hammer said, his smile gone. “Is this the first time you’ve heard a suspect claim he was framed? And, Steiner wouldn’t kill the fat goose that owed him a million bucks.”

  “Steiner has more money than God, so the money meant nothing. And we both know that Biggs was hooking up with his ex at the Highland Park penthouse. Maybe Steiner
was still in love with her, found out they were still in a relationship, and snapped.”

  “What you’re saying is pure speculation. None of it adds up to the facts as we know them.”

  I huffed out a breath. “There’s something else. Brie Henner with the coroner’s office called me a few minutes ago. She’s still waiting on some test results, but said that Biggs’ tox-screen was positive for alcohol and codeine.”

  Hammer leaned closer to me. “So he was sipping some syrup. Biggs was a hip hop artist. It goes with the lifestyle.”

  The “syrup” Hammer was referring to was something called “Lean” on the streets, an addictive cocktail of cough syrup, cold medicine, alcohol, and a soft drink. It gave the user a lethargic high, causing some subjects to lean over as they nearly passed out from the drug, hence the street name. “We also found several bottles of prescription medications in Biggs’ bedroom. All I’m saying is that it’s something that merits looking into.”

  We went at it for another ten minutes before Edna said to me, “We’re moving on. And I don’t want you saying anything about having doubts about King’s guilt to Beelzebub.”

  On the way out of the meeting Hammer said to me, “See you at seven.” He glanced at my pantsuit. “And wear something nice for a change, maybe something that shows off your assets.”

  ***

  I spent the rest of the day pushing paperwork around on my desk and listening to Gluck talk about an acting class that he’d signed up for. I’d tuned out most of what he said but as I was getting ready to call it a day, get a bite to eat, and meet the reporter, I happened to hear him say something about where the class was being held.

  “Your acting workshop is on Highland?” I asked, remembering that Natalie and Mo had said they were attending classes there.

  “It’s in the shopping center. They converted an empty store.”

  “And your first class is tonight?”

  He nodded. “Yes, my girlfriend, Misty, is going to come by and watch.”

  “I have a feeling you’re going to know a couple of the participants.”

  “Who are you talking about?”

  “Just a couple of broke girls I know.” I tugged on Bernie’s leash and he came up. “Have fun.”

  ***

  Bernie and I found Basheeba with Carl Hammer and the two Hollywood Gold realtors at Avalon, a popular nightclub filled with a mix of hip-hop, techno, and disco beats. The club was huge with a large dance floor, three bars, and a patio. The group had gathered on the patio, probably because it was the only place in the noisy establishment where you could talk.

  I’d purposely decided beforehand not to change out of my work clothes because of Hammer’s comment but immediately felt underdressed. The attractive reporter for the Harold-Press, who also had a nighttime gig on the TV show Hollywood Confidential, was tall, with dark hair and luminous brown eyes. She reminded me of someone in one of those slick ads that you see in front of women’s magazines. Her designer clothes were just a cut beneath Gloria Powers’ outfit. The snarky realtor could have walked a runway for Armani or Dior in a dress that showed more leg than material.

  I settled Bernie in as Basheeba began the interview. I glanced over at Hammer and watched as his gaze drifted to Powers’ long legs. I had the impression that he hadn’t heard a word the reporter said while she took several minutes discussing the case, the TV show, and King’s involvement in the murder.

  After processing the events surrounding King’s arrest, Basheeba asked the two realtors what they thought about Jerry King being charged with the murder of Jiggy Biggs. The realtors were circumspect in their answers, each of them stating for the record they were shocked by the news.

  Gloria Powers then gave her true feelings away when she said, “Frankly both men were not…” She sipped her drink. “Let’s just say they had some undesirable qualities.” I watched as she fussed with the buttons on her blouse before her gaze drifted over to Hammer and she smiled. Their attraction to one another was obvious. I decided that if they later hooked up they deserved one another.

  “It’s still hard for me to believe Jerry’s involved,” Wesley Breen said to the reporter, maybe trying to take the edge off what Powers had said. “He and Jiggy were…they almost seemed like brothers from a different mother.”

  “What about you two,” Basheeba said, looking at me and then Hammer. “Is there any doubt in your minds that Jerry King is guilty?”

  I let Hammer answer. “Absolutely none. While I can’t got into specifics at this time, let me just say that King had a financial motive to commit the crime and we have evidence that he threatened Biggs before his death.”

  The reporter’s eyes then found me and her brows lifted. I tried to be diplomatic in my answer. “Based upon the current evidence we believe the correct suspect is in custody.”

  “Current evidence,” Basheeba said, emphasizing the phrase as her chocolate eyes locked in on me. “It sounds like you believe something else could come to light that might cast doubt on King’s involvement.”

  “I have no comment.”

  “But surely you have an opinion, Detective. That’s why your department sent you here.”

  I started to answer when Breen said to me, “You believe Jerry’s innocent, don’t you?”

  “He’s as guilty as OJ,” Powers said before I could respond. “He deserves to be on death row.”

  I finally said, “That’s for the courts to decide.”

  Hammer apparently realized some doubt had been raised and managed to pull his eyes away from the realtor. He said to Basheeba, “The department stands behind the arrest of Jerry King. We’re all in agreement that he’s guilty of the crime.”

  All eyes turned to me. I sat there for a long moment, studying them. If there was one thing that I’d always stood for it was going the extra mile, making sure that we’d turned over all the ground before we permanently ended someone’s freedom. I’d put both my personal and professional reputation at stake to stand for that one overriding principal.

  “Well?” Basheeba said. “What do you say, Detective?”

  I drew in a heavy breath and released it slowly. I knew that my words would cause a firestorm at police administration, but I also knew that I had to make a statement about going that extra mile and honoring my profession. “I’m personally going to continue looking at the case until I’m completely convinced there was no one else involved in the death of Jiggy Biggs.”

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  It was after nine by the time I dragged myself home, walked Bernie around the grounds of the estate, and went inside. My roommates were all drinking wine. I accepted a glass and flipped off my shoes. I learned that Lindsay was on a date as I slouched down onto the sofa.

  “Somebody musta had a bad day,” Mo said, looking over at me.

  I met her eyes. “Let’s see, it started with a cold shower and it ended with me being dragged over hot coals by a reporter.” I wheezed out a long breath. “It could have been better.” I sniffed the air and thought maybe something in the kitchen had burnt. “What’s that smell?”

  “One of Claude’s old family recipes,” Natalie said. “You want my opinion, he killed one of the rats runnin’ around here and made stew.”

  “I thought he was a gourmet cook?”

  Mo said, “He’s okay with burritos and desserts, but…let’s just say…I think Dracula might have cooked up one of his victims.”

  I sipped my wine, finally feeling some of the day’s stress lifting. “I’m glad I ate out earlier.”

  Mo set down her wineglass and leaned forward. “I heard something on the streets today you should probably know about. I know a girl who hooked up with one of the writers for Hollywood Gold. She said she heard that producer, Barry Steiner, didn’t want Jiggy on his show. According to the writer, Steiner thought Jiggy was hurting the ratings.”

  What she’d learned fit with what we knew about Steiner and Biggs being in conflict, but it was the first I’d heard about Steiner t
hinking Biggs was hurting the show’s ratings. Despite what she’d said, I wasn’t about to tell her about Steiner having an affair with Biggs’ wife, and the rapper being on the show because he won a bet.

  “I’m going to take another look at the case,” I said, at the same time knowing I’d catch hell for my interview. “If you hear anything else let me know.”

  “Hey, your partner was at our acting class tonight,” Natalie said, changing the subject. “He even played a part in one of the improv sessions.”

  “If you call what he did acting,” Mo said, rolling her eyes. “Harvey Gluck couldn’t act his way out of a cheap suit.”

  “And that includes a fake Armani,” Natalie added.

  I sighed. “I’m afraid he’s suffering from…I guess you could say he’s got Hollywood fever.”

  Mo yawned. “All I know is that somebody needs to do a reality check with him. One of the students in class came up with a saying when somebody screws up their lines. She said they suck like Gluck.”

  Natalie set her glass down and said to me, “We’re having another workshop in a few days. Why don’t you come by?”

  I thought about the last acting workshop I’d attended with Natalie. We’d gone as a couple of old sitcom stars and I promised myself I’d never do another workshop. “I don’t think…”

  “Come on, Kate,” Mo said. “You’ll just be in the audience. You can tell Harvey you’re there for moral support and believe me he needs all the support he can get.”

  I told them that I’d think about it as we heard a rumbling noise that sounded like it was coming from the basement.

  “What the hell is that,” I asked, standing up. Bernie also came up and looked in the direction of the noise.

  “Sounds like somebody’s groaning,” Natalie said, also standing. “Or maybe it’s the water pipes.”

  Mo finally got to her feet as the sound came again, this time a little louder. “Yeah, it could be our roommate’s pipes,” she suggested. “Maybe Dracula’s got himself a bad case of gas.”