“We good?” I asked him.
“Better than good. I could fool myself with these. I gotta get going. It’s a long drive back to Vegas, and I got some teenagers coming in for fake IDs first thing in the morning.”
“They can’t go on a drinking binge without your help.” I hefted one of his boxes of paper and lugged it to the door. “Truly a noble cause.”
“I’m a philanthropist at heart,” Paolo said.
I helped him bring his gear back to the van, slipped him a wad of cash, and saw him off. Back up in the room, Caitlin and Jennifer were marveling over his work.
“Paolo’s the best in the business,” I said, dead-bolting the door behind me. “Nobody tell him that, though, or he’ll start charging more.”
“He’s got the chops, all right,” Jennifer said. “How’s your hacker doing?”
“She’ll have everything ready by morning, which is when Bentley and Corman arrive at LAX. Just in time to get this show underway.”
* * *
Blue Rhapsody had an office in Hollywood, a turquoise pillbox of a studio bolted onto a steep hillside. Up a flight of gleaming metal steps, past the front door with its glass labeled in midnight blue, a stubby little hallway led to a clean, bright waiting room decorated with posters of the label’s top talent.
We’d staked out the building for hours, with Bentley and Corman stationed at one end of the street in their rented Ford and Caitlin on the other, while Jennifer and I walked up and down the street pretending to be tourists. We weren’t waiting for Dino; he was already there, his black Lexus—vanity plate reading MUSKMAN—parked in a place of pride out front.
“‘Musk man’?” Jennifer asked as we strolled by, arching an eyebrow at the car.
“I…think he was going for ‘music man.’”
“Well that’s a swing and a miss.”
My phone buzzed. I checked it and gave Jennifer a look at the text.
“Ten minutes,” I said. “Let’s do it.”
For this con, timing was everything. Specifically, the timing of the postman. The message was from Caitlin. She had spotted the delivery truck puttering north, heading our way. Jennifer lingered outside, one eye on the parking lot to watch for trouble—like Dino’s buddy Max dropping by, for instance—while I headed into the studio alone.
A framed poster in the entry hall made me do a double take: Tanesha, in concert. I wondered if it was Monty’s poster or Dino’s. Either way, that was some massive wishful thinking on display. I straightened my shoulders, checked my smile in the glossy reflection, and strode into the waiting room like I’d just won a salesman of the year award.
Dino’s receptionist—young and blonde, which I suspected were Dino’s main hiring criteria—sat behind a curved desk, filing her nails and not bothering to look busy. She flashed a thousand-watt smile my way.
“Welcome to Blue Rhapsody,” she said. “Can I help you?”
“I hope so.” I gave her one of the new business cards Paolo had printed up for me last night. Cowrie & Jet Family Law was now Cowrie & Jet Talent Management. “Peter Greyson, here to see Mr. Costa, if he’s available.”
Peter Greyson was my favorite and most dependable alter ego. Unlike the real me, he had a solid credit history, a genuine passport, and a long line of reputable references. Like I said, Paolo was the best in the business.
She eyed the card, still smiling but more out of strained courtesy than friendliness. I felt her getting ready to slam the door in my face, just like she probably had to do ten times a day.
That was fine. It was all part of the plan.
“And…did you have an appointment?”
“No,” I said, “sorry. I was just looking for a few minutes of his time. I’m representing some hot local talent that I think would be a perfect match for Blue Rhapsody, and I was hoping he might be free.”
She shut me down gently. “I’m so sorry, sir, but Mr. Costa’s busy schedule just doesn’t allow for meetings with walk-ins.”
Footsteps behind me. I didn’t have to turn; I recognized Corman’s lumbering gait. At least I’d gotten a look at him when we picked him and Bentley up at the airport—the sight of Corman dressed up in a three-piece suit was about as rare as a blood moon.
“Is there any way you could pencil me in?” I asked, putting a desperate edge in my voice. I didn’t need her to say yes; I just needed her to stay focused on me.
“I’m sorry, sir,” she said, then shifted her attention to Corman. Hoping I’d disappear gracefully. “Hi, can I help you?”
The faint sound of more footsteps. Another new arrival, coming in the front door and up the stubby hallway.
“No rush,” Corman said. “Go ahead, you two finish up. I left my sample case in my car. Be right back.”
I wasn’t sure what pleased her less: being stuck talking to me again, or the prospect of another unwanted salesman hanging out in her reception area. At this point, as she looked my way, her pleasant expression stayed on by sheer force of will.
“I know,” I told her, “I’m making your day difficult. There’s no way in hell I’m getting in to see Mr. Costa, and right now you’re wondering if I’m too dumb to take the hint.”
She blinked, disarmed. “No, I didn’t say that—”
I flashed a smile. “You didn’t have to. Hey, I get it. You’re the guardian at the gate. It sucks. And you’re being paid to keep guys like me out, just like I’m getting paid to keep knocking. And yes, I do know when to give up. So don’t worry, I’m not gonna push it.”
I had her undivided attention now, as a little warmth came back into her eyes. Exactly what I needed, so she’d be focused on me and my voice instead of what was happening fifteen feet behind me.
I didn’t get the details until later, but it had gone down just the way we’d rehearsed it. Corman timed his exit so that he’d be just out of sight, in the hall between the lobby and the front door, as the postal carrier walked in with a bundle of mail.
“Perfect,” Corman said, holding out his hands. “I was hoping you’d get here before my next meeting.”
Faced with a big guy in an expensive suit who was obviously expecting to be given the mail without question, the postal carrier had two choices. Option one: challenge Corman’s identity, insist on handing the mail to the receptionist instead of the man who might very well be her boss, and risk an unpleasant and shouty confrontation. Option two: assume everything was in order, give him the mail, and leave. One choice could make his day hard, one would make it easy, and he had about two seconds to decide.
He gave Corman the mail and left, just like ninety-nine out of a hundred people would. Humans are hardwired to respond to shows of authority, and we are, as a species, allergic to confrontation. A person’s natural reluctance to say no, or ask potentially uncomfortable questions, is a predator’s greatest weapon.
“I appreciate it,” the receptionist told me. Her eyes on me and not the hallway. “You wouldn’t believe how pushy some guys get.”
“Oh, I’d believe it. So, uh, while we’re being all not pushy…” I leaned a little closer to the counter, pitching my voice lower while holding her gaze. “Any chance you have plans for lunch today?”
She chuckled and held up her left hand, showing me the tiny twist of gold and the glittering diamond on her ring finger. “Sorry,” she said, “engaged.”
“I should have known,” I said with a smile. “Nice ring! Hey, you didn’t pick rings out together, did you? My brother’s going to pop the question next week, and he has no idea where to start shopping.”
While the conversation turned to wedding rings and the perfect diamond, Bentley made his entrance in the hall, just out of sight. His postal uniform was about a decade out of date, but nobody but another postal employee would even notice. Uniforms made people invisible. At that point Corman had already stripped the real magazines out of the bundle. He passed the rest of the letters and bills to Bentley, who slipped our doctored magazines into the stack and entered the lob
by with a big, friendly smile.
“A fine day, young lady,” he said, sidling up to the counter beside me. “Got the mail for you. I do hope you get the chance to go outside for lunch. It’s beyond lovely out there.”
“I wish,” she said, giggling as she took the bundle. “Where’s Maurice? On vacation?”
“Just a little under the weather, they told me. I’m only filling in. He should be back again tomorrow.”
I watched Bentley leave, then turned back to the receptionist.
“I should head out too. I’m not done getting shot down: three more doors to knock on before I can hang it up for the day. Good luck with the wedding!”
“Hey, thanks,” she said and sent me off with a friendly wave.
The five of us reconvened at the hotel, and I got Pixie on speakerphone. I didn’t have eyes inside the building, but it wasn’t hard to figure out the general turn of events. First, the receptionist would sort through the mail, bringing most of it into Dino’s office along with his lunch order. Then, over a pastrami on rye, he’d sit down to peruse the latest industry trades.
Which would lead him, hopefully sooner than later, to the two-page spread in our specially doctored version of Billboard Magazine. Featuring a moody shot of Caitlin, looking glamorous and wistful as she cradled an acoustic guitar, and the headline: “Who is Lulu Brooks? Meet the overnight sensation who has LA buzzing.”
As we’d worked on the story last night, Paolo artfully slicing an article from the real magazine and replacing it with our own, I glanced at Caitlin. “Where’d you get that name, anyway?”
Just for a moment, her eyes went distant, and she wore a faint, wistful smile. “An old, dear friend of mine,” she said. “Just doing her a tiny honor.”
Billboard would weave a tale of the unexpected spotlight. Of this ingenue who played coffee houses and dive bars, only to discover the biggest names in the music industry demanding copies of her demo and vying for her attention. A superstar waiting to be born, they all agreed.
A shorter, drier article in Variety would back up the story, with a few crucial name-drops. Names of major players in the industry who, a call to Curtis Rake confirmed, wouldn’t piss on Dino if he were on fire. Even if he wanted to call and double-check the story, none of them would be picking up the phone. His next step, if he wanted to know more about the mysterious Lulu Brooks, was obvious.
“And we’ve got movement,” Pixie chirped over the line. “He just got online and searched for her by name. And…redirecting now.”
Thanks to Pixie’s hack, Dino’s internet connection would go exactly where we told it to. We’d already verified, from his web history, that Bing was the only browser Dino used. It wasn’t hard to prepare a dummy page of search results ahead of time. The top two hits were links to articles on his favorite music sites. Which, once again, would take him to customized counterfeits Pixie had whipped up the night before. Just variations on the Billboard story, with hints that some top producers were aching to collaborate on a track with Lulu Brooks. Oh, and a mention of her rep, good old Peter Greyson with Cowrie & Jet.
“And now he’s searching for Cowrie and Jet,” Pixie said. He’d find a hastily pasted-up website, deliberately shoddy. The kind of firm where you’d look at the talent on display—Caitlin’s headshot prominent on the first page—and think, “They can do a lot better.”
“Thanks, Pix. Gonna hang up now.”
I set the phone down on the table. Jennifer, Caitlin, Bentley, and Corman all leaned in, staring at the blank screen like it was a magic eight ball about to render a prophecy.
“And five,” I said, “four, three, two—”
The screen lit up. Incoming call from Blue Rhapsody.
18.
I let the phone ring. And keep ringing. Jennifer looked my way. “Ain’t you gonna answer it?”
“Nah,” I said. I let it go to voicemail. We waited exactly four minutes, counting down the slow turns of the clock, before I called him back. Just long enough to make Dino antsy. Antsy enough to snatch up the phone after one ring.
“Hi there,” I told Dino. “Sorry I missed your call, been a crazy day over here.”
He bubbled like a fountain, the fake friendliness failing to conceal the nervous tension in his voice. We’d carefully crafted every article, every blurb and bogus quote, as a secret sales pitch aimed straight at Dino’s hunger. Here was a singer with a career about to explode, at a time when Dino needed a hitmaker in his stable. She was new to the business, young, naive, with a dodgy talent agent who was probably already fleecing her. A woman like Lulu was catnip to a scumbag like Dino Costa. Or a piggy bank, ready to be broken open.
“No worries, no worries,” he said. “My name’s Dino Costa, with Blue Rhapsody. Don’t know if you’ve heard of us—”
“Oh gosh,” I said, “of course I have. Who hasn’t, in this town?”
“Great, well, I understand you’re representing an artist named…” He paused, pretending to search his memory. “Lola, something—no, Lulu. Lulu Brooks?”
Nice touch. He might have been drooling at the idea of signing her, but he was doing his best to play it casual. Too bad he was a lousy actor.
“Lulu? Sure, she’s really going places. Are you interested in hearing her demo?”
“Yeah,” he said. “I mean, I’ve got a backlog of demos here—we’re kinda buried in talent right now, and we’ve only got room for a couple more people on the label this year—but I wouldn’t mind giving it a listen when I get some free time.”
“Well, we’re grateful for the opportunity and for your time. Give me your email and I’ll send it over to you right away. And, you know, if you think Lulu would be a good fit for Blue Rhapsody, just give me a call and we can set up a meeting.”
I hung up and shot over the songs. “What now?” Jennifer asked.
“Now we go get a late lunch. I guarantee he’s listening to the demo right this minute, but he won’t call back right away. He can’t afford to look too desperate. If he did, we could bend him over at the contract negotiation.”
“If it was a real negotiation,” Caitlin said. “It’s a shame my music career has to end here. And Pixie can remove the demo from his computer?”
“She’ll be watching like a hawk,” I told her. “Once we’re done with Dino, every copy of that demo goes poof. We’ll keep our promise to Tanesha. No leaks.”
Corman put his arm around Bentley’s shoulder. “Well, kiddo, we’ve got a flight to catch. Glad we were able to help out.”
“It was quite enjoyable,” Bentley added. “Do drop by the store when you return home and let us know how everything turned out.”
I slipped a few folded bills from my breast pocket, folded and palmed them, and held out my hand to Bentley.
“Will do,” I said. “Here, for the work.”
“Oh, Daniel,” Bentley said, “we couldn’t possibly—”
“Please. For the work.”
Our eyes met, and he gave me the faintest smile along with a sigh.
“For the work,” he said. I passed the folded bills from my palm to his. A tiny flick of his wrist, and his hand was empty again.
After they left, Caitlin tilted her head at the door, a quizzical look on her face.
“What?” I asked her.
She glanced my way. “He knew it wasn’t for the work.”
“Sure he did.”
“He wouldn’t take the money if it was charity. So you blatantly lied to him, in a way that you both knew you were lying, and then he accepted it.”
I nodded. “Sounds about right.”
I looked at her. Catching something in her eyes as she processed it. I could almost see her making mental connections, mapping out relationships. Absorbing.
“I’m starting to figure you out,” I told her.
She blinked, finding herself in the spotlight. “Meaning?”
“When it comes to desire, passion, things people want, you know everything there is to know about human beings
.”
“Thank you,” she said, “I do my best.”
I gestured to the door. “It’s families you don’t get.”
Her gaze flicked to the butterscotch carpet. “My people’s families are…different from yours, Daniel. Suffice to say they are neither a source of strength nor of warmth. What you’ve built for yourself here, these people, all bound to you and you to them in different ways—it’s strange to me, yes.”
She looked up at me, her apprehension fading, a tiny smile rising to her lips.
“But I am starting to like it.”
Jennifer sauntered over and threw an arm around Caitlin’s shoulder. “Don’t worry, sis, you’re doin’ just fine.”
We didn’t even make it to the restaurant. Whatever Dino’s strengths were, impulse control wasn’t one of them. Passive-aggression, judging from his tone when he called me up, was.
“Listened to the demo,” he said, his forced-casual voice fraying at the edges. “It was okay. A little, you know, better than the average lounge singer. I could see her doing all right, if she had a competent producer backing her up and solid management.”
I grinned into the phone. “Gosh, Mr. Costa, thanks so much for giving it a listen! I don’t suppose there’s any chance you’d like to talk about this further?”
He paused. I heard a faint rustle of air, like he was counting to five under his breath. Making me wait for it.
“Yeah, y’know, normally I’m so booked it’d be at least a couple of weeks before we could sit down together, but as it happens I just had a cancellation this afternoon. Would two o’clock work?”
“Absolutely,” I said, “I’ll call Lulu right away. Thanks again!”
I hung up the phone and cradled it to my chest.
“He’s on the hook?” Jennifer asked.
“Yep,” I said, then looked at Caitlin. “Let’s go reel him in.”
* * *
I wore a nice jacket and a striped purple tie to the meeting. Caitlin wore a polka-dot dress and tall black boots, guitar case slung over one shoulder, rocking the quirky pop-singer look.
The White Gold Score (A Daniel Faust Novella) Page 11
