I made my way into the large living room area and went to check out Brad Jackson’s entertainment center. I was pleased to see that, even though it was just a vacation home, I still had a much better TV than him. His may have been bigger, but it wasn’t nearly as slim and badass as my television back home. This thing was such a fossil, it even had room for him to set the remote controls on TOP of the TV! We’re talking, this thing had to have been at LEAST three years old! How embarrassing. I grabbed one of the remotes from the top of the TV and hit the power button. I was really curious as to what the Hollywood elite watch in their free time. I expected to find the news or an entertainment channel, what I found was Nickelodeon and an episode of that annoying little prick Sponge Bob.
Elise came running over to me. “What the hell are you doing? We have to get out of here.”
I stifled a little laugh. “Hey Elise, you believe this asshole. Millions of dollars and he sits here and watches children’s cartoons. What an idiot.”
“How do you know he wasn’t watching Nick @ Nite last night and just hadn’t turned his TV back on since then? Because it seems like I also know a certain idiot who watches this very same channel at night.”
Ouch. Burn! Faced! Check and mate, my good madam.
“Fine.” I clicked the television back off and set the remote down on his ancient pile of shit TV and double checked everywhere we had been in the house to make sure we left no signs of The Archie and Elise Traveling Circus.
Once I felt satisfied that we were in the clear, we headed for the unlocked door where we entered. Right as we were passing the door leading to the garage, though, we heard a key hit the lock and saw the doorknob start to turn.
17.
Brad Jackson sat at his desk in the main room of his house-on-the-cliff, flipping through the yellow pages until he landed on Hotels/Motels. He picked up his landline and began calling every hotel in the area, asking to leave a message for one of their guests, a Mr. Archie Lemons.
This Mr. Lemons had apparently seen Brad’s crime on the beach below and, now that the body had apparently, hopefully, been dragged far out to sea by the current, Archie remained the only loose thread that needed tying up.
He wasn’t exactly sure what his plan would be to properly dispose of his problem. In fact, he was never really sure of much. But who cares? With a jaw line and chiseled abs like that, nobody gave a shit what you thought. Maybe he would just play it by ear, or see what comes up when he finds this guy with the stupid name.
Paying him off didn’t seem like a very good idea. It never worked out well in all the movies he had played in, and besides, he had no idea who this guy was and admitting to him that what he saw was true and handing him some evidence to the crime didn’t seem like the best of ideas. Brad Jackson wasn’t exactly known for his intelligence, but he was smart enough to know a bad idea when he saw it, apart from a few clunkers he starred in over the years.
Yeah. Archie Lemons would probably need to be disposed of.
An accident perhaps?
Maybe an obsessed fan trying to break into his house? Brad thought of ways he could get Archie into his house and just kill him in a self-defense way.
Maybe Archie could take a bad fall while trying to climb up the cliffs and get into his backyard?
Yea, those two options would seem the most reasonable, especially considering Brad’s previous situation with stalkers. No one would question him killing a man trying to break in to his home. Even if this Archie Lemons was a great, all-around guy, or even if he told everyone he knew what he saw, the bottom line would be that he broke into the house and got himself killed. Seemed like a good enough plan to him. He felt proud of himself. He had formed a plan without the help of one of those stupid, ugly screenwriters he usually had to rely on.
Brad would need to get rid of that stupid homo-eroti-car parked in his garage in case the real police started snooping around his place, though. In fact, the sooner the better. He and his partner-in-crime would move it out of there. Brad could have no ties to that car. It would raise too many questions for which he did not have the right answers. Yeah, he would have his partner take it back to Hollywood. Later. Right now, he had to find Archie Lemons. He had a bad feeling that if he didn’t act soon it might be too late. This guy had balls, showing up like he did to his house and all but telling Brad he saw what he did. If he had the balls to do that, then that could mean he is dangerous. And if he is dangerous he could be unpredictable. It was a bad combination.
Brad’s paranoia started getting the best of him. He got up from the desk and peaked out his closest window, not really expecting to see anything, but still feeling a strong urge just to check. In case.
“Calm down, man,” he said to himself. “You’re Brad Jackson! Nobody messes with YOU!”
He walked to his fridge, grabbed himself a bottle of beer, and quickly took two large swigs. This seemed to calm him down a little bit.
“Mess with Brad Jackson and you get messed with! Brad Jackson’ll cut a bitch!” he yelled, to no one.
Bitch-cuttin” Brad Jackson downed the rest of his beer, walked back to the phone and took a seat. After thinking for a few seconds, he slammed both fists down on his desk. Hard. Nobody can get the best of me, he thought. I’m done messing around. Archie Lemons has got to go. Soon.
He picked up the phone and continued dialing down the list of motels in the area. When he got to the Ocean Inn, his search ended. The friendly man on the other end of the line informed Brad that Archie had just extended his stay and he would be happy to leave a message for him.
The fact that Archie extended his stay had supplied Brad with much more paranoia. This guy was planning something. Brad knew it. He had to act fast and be rid of this pest.
Brad asked the motel keeper if he would tell him what room number Archie was staying in, as he would love to pop in and surprise him. Unfortunately, this was against company policy to give out room numbers, so Brad was out of luck. He would have to do a little surveillance work. He played a private eye once in a bomb from about ten years ago, how hard could it be? He decided he would go and case the motel today. Maybe he would get lucky. Maybe not. Either way, he could scope out the place and decide which plan of action to take from then on out.
He thanked the man on the other end of the phone and ended the call. He then pulled up Google on the Safari server on his iPhone and did a quick search of Archie Lemons.
There appeared to be only one.
And the information he found flooded his body with fear and paranoia.
Of all the goddamn people to see him murder someone, it had to be some hotshot piece of shit private investigator.
He needed to find Archie Lemons, get him to his house, and kill him. And make it look like an accident. Or self-defense. Either way, but he needed to do it ASAFP!
He could do it. He is a superstar!
But first, he needed to shake this feeling of being watched.
He took one more trip to the front window and peeked out. Still nothing out of the ordinary.
Okay, it was time to go. He did a few last minute things then grabbed his keys and headed for the garage. He locked the deadbolt with the key, although he wasn’t sure why. He just knew he didn’t want anyone to see that extra car, no matter how unlikely it really was.
He hit the garage door button, got into his car and backed out into the driveway. With his foot on the break, he took one more look around at his surroundings. He still felt like he was being watched. He was used to that in Los Angeles, but here, people mostly left him alone.
He decided he was okay, closed the garage door and took off towards the Ocean Inn.
The motel turned out to be just up the hill from his house and took him about one minute to get there. He parked on the side of the office and stepped out of the car, hoping not to run in to anyone that may recognize him.
He walked in to the motel area and started looking around for any sign of his man. Unfortunately, he had no idea what he
was looking for. He had no idea what Archie drove or what room number he was in. Shit, he thought. He was totally unprepared for this. He let his emotions and paranoia get the best of him and he set out on a plan which had not been fully formed yet. Or not formed at all actually. That was never his job. That’s what they paid some chump writer to do. All Brad did was show up and bring the sexy! That was the important part, usually. Didn’t really help too much in his current situation though. Stupid ego.
Shitshitshit, he mumbled to himself.
He needed to go back to his house and think this out. He could not be sloppy on this one. It needed to be the perfect murder.
Just like his previous two.
18.
“Holy shit!” I whisper-yelled to Elise. “Did you even hear the goddamn garage door open?”
“We’ve got to move!”
Elise grabbed me by the arm and led me back towards the sliding glass door we had just entered back in from. We didn’t make it though, as right when the door opened and Brad Jackson walked in, we had to quickly duck behind his kitchen bar, right in between two barstools. We were pretty much right in front of him and if we made the slightest of moves we would most definitely been spotted.
We stayed perfectly still, holding our breath.
If he came in to his living room, we would be caught. Our only hope would be for him to stay in the kitchen and then take the long way around or go into his office, which was the first room after the hallway we entered after first arriving.
We couldn’t see what he was doing, which made us staying there all the more nerve racking.
We heard the door to the refrigerator open and we used those precious seconds to scoot down the bar, closer to what appeared to be his dining room. We stopped when we heard a bottle being opened.
I could hear him breathing. He had to have been standing just on the other side of the bar. I heard him set his bottle down right above our heads.
My heart started pounding and I found it increasingly difficult to bate my breath. I was going to have a panic attack.
Beads of sweat started forming on my forehead and I gave Elise’s arm a squeeze to let her know what was happening.
At that moment, I didn’t care what would happen to me, but I needed her to escape from this.
I made a promise to her when I first hired her that I would never put her in harm’s way. I was breaking that promise.
We were trapped in the home of a murderer.
Elise grabbed me by my shoulders and looked me in the eyes, being completely silent. She was trying to calm me down. Signaling me to take slow, controlled breathes.
Brad was still standing right over us, drinking his beer or whatever it was. He began mumbling, which startled the shit out of me and Elise. It was clear he was talking to himself though.
“I’m motherfucking Brad Jackson!” he yelled, apparently to no one. “Brad Jackson doesn’t take shit from anyone! I am famous! God damn it! Look at this stomach! Look at these biceps! I am an Adonis!”
We heard a loud crash of shattering glass. He had thrown his bottle and was obviously pissed. We needed to make our escape.
My face was drenched in sweat and I was having trouble breathing, but I wasn’t risking this situation any longer. I looked at Elise and pointed into the dining room. If we could make it there, we could make it out.
Just as we were getting ready to make a break for it, Brad walked up right next to us and just stood there. His legs less than twelve inches from where we were crouched.
He was standing at the bar, doing…something.
Elise and I stayed perfectly still until Brad turned around and headed back in the kitchen. We quickly crawled out and made it in to the dining room where we took cover behind the separating wall and caught our breath.
My panic attack was still barely being kept at bay. I needed to get out of the house before I had a complete meltdown. Tears were welling up in my eyes. How embarrassing. It’s hard to look tough while crying.
We heard Brad start to clean up the broken bottle in the kitchen and made a run for it, out the dining room and into the hallway that lead to the front door.
Once we hit the door, we stopped and took deep breaths. Elise grabbed the knob and turned it as quietly as possible. It made a small sound as the door opened but we doubt Brad would hear it from so far away, then we bolted outside with a quickness, right out the unlocked gate door and into the street.
I stopped and snuck back up to the gate, grabbed the lock and clicked it back shut.
I joined Elise in the street and we took off back towards our motel.
***
We made it back to the hotel and collapsed on the bed. I was breathing so hard that I thought I was going to throw up. We ran the entire way. I had a pain in my side and I was drenched in sweat. Gross. But, it appeared I had beaten the panic attack. Now my body was focusing on just not having a heart attack.
“Holy…shit…That…was close,” I said, taking big breathes in between each word.
For some reason we both started laughing. I guess it was just to relieve the tension.
“So what now?” Elise asks.
“Well…I guess…we try…and tra…ck…down…the owner…of that stupid…car…”
“And how do we do that?”
“We…run a…trace on the…hold on…”
“Jesus man, are you okay? You’ve been lying down for five minutes now. This can’t be healthy.”
“You shut…your face…right…now…”
“Oh yeah? What are you going to do if I don’t? Barf on me?”
“Hate…you…”
I wiped all the sweat from my face and rubbed it on Elise’s pillow. She let out a disgusted sound then hit me in the arm, hard.
“Ahh! No fair. I’m in pain here.”
“Get over it, Fatty Arbuckle, how do we trace the car?”
“I’ll call one of my guys tomorrow. Or, Detective Anderson can do it, too. Easy peezy, Japaneezy.”
“Okay, can we please get an early start on this in the morning? We have a lot of stuff to do if we’re going to catch this piece of crap.”
“Fine. Early start it is. Where’s the remote?”
***
Right around the time Archie and Elise were reaching their motel room, Brad Jackson had finished cleaning up his mess. He glanced around the room, still not being able to ditch the feeling of being watched. He walked to the sink and washed his hands then headed for the front door to check something his paranoia had made him do.
He reached the door and kneeled down to check on the piece of scotch tape he put at the bottom, between the seal of the two doors. The seal had been broken.
Someone had been in his house.
“Mother of crap!!!” he yelled as he punched the wall, causing a picture to fall and more glass for him to clean up.
“Damn blast it!”
19.
Stupid lousy Elise woke me up before 8am so we could get an early start on our day. I was none too happy. It took me forever for the adrenaline of the previous night’s activities to wear off and I could actually fall asleep. The seven-forty-five-AM sock in the arm from my sister-in-law proved to be quite the pain in the ass. I needed more sleep but she wasn’t going to let me get any.
When I received my wake-up punch, Elise was already showered, dressed and ready to go. Stupid girls.
I was rolled off the bed and forced into the shower, where I did my best to try and wake up fully and greet this wonderful morning with a bright smile and a…fuck it. I need caffeine and I need it NOW!
I toweled off and got dressed, making sure my t-shirt was acceptable with Elise. It was. Apparently Huey Lewis & The News passes muster around here. I was glad because I wasn’t going to change it either way…and I had packed three different ones, anyway.
We were out the door and on our way to the Shell Beach Grocery for some drinks less than one hour from the time I woke up. It was a new record for me.
We each grabb
ed a drink, (Sugar-Free Rockstar for me, Zero-Carb Rockstar for Elise,) and headed towards the small little park so we could sit, enjoy the morning and map out a plan of attack.
We had gone in to Brad’s house last night way unprepared and had had too close of a call for our own comfort.
“Hey Elise, remember that old show Too Close For Comfort?”
“Nope.”
“Aw come on, you remember. It had Ted Baxter from Mary Tyler Moore and Jim J. Bullock.”
“Okay, yeah, I vaguely remember it.”
“How can you only VAGUELY remember Jim J. Bullock trying to play a ‘straight’ guy?”
“He was supposed to be straight on that show?”
“Yeah! That guy is gayer than Boat Trip! People weren’t fooled so the producers of the show tried to give him a girlfriend and shit. Didn’t work. In fact, in a very special episode, he actually gets raped by a bunch of women. Seriously. The audience didn’t know how to react so they laughed…at rape. I’m not making this shit up.”
“Wow.”
“Right? No one laughed when Edith Bunker almost got raped in her house, but when the little gay boy trying to play straight gets raped by a pack of women, it is HI-LAR-E-US!
“Why does this random crap pop in to your head?”
“The things that pop into my head are never random. I can always trace the source, no matter how far back it seems. It’s a gift.”
“You consider that a gift?”
Lemons 02 A Touch of Danger Page 8
