The White Gold Score (A Daniel Faust Novella)

by Craig Schaefer

  And Dino wore Monty’s white gold Rolex.

  The stolen watch glinted on his wrist, singing a murder ballad to the world. Dino reminded me of a big-game hunter, draping himself in the skin of the tiger he’d gunned down. Taking smug pride in the kill.

  His office was all cedar and chrome, the chairs tan fabric stretched over art-deco frames, pleasing to the eye but a pain to sit in. Appearances above all. A flat-screen monitor and a keyboard sat on one edge of his desk, a cigar box on the other, imported Cuban Cohiba cigars on display under glass with a thermometer and moisture sensor to keep them pristine. Not the faintest whiff of stale smoke in the air, and no way to open the polished window that looked out over the boulevard. Either he had an amazing air filter, or the cigars were just for show.

  “Thanks again for meeting with us,” I said, pulling back a chair for Caitlin.

  “Think nothing of it,” he said. Magnanimous in his lair. “I like what I heard on that demo. And if you don’t mind me cutting to the chase, I think Ms. Brooks would make a fine addition to the Blue Rhapsody family.”

  “Please,” Caitlin said with a demure smile, playing at being nervous, “call me Lulu. And thank you. These last few weeks have just been…so overwhelming.”

  “Lulu. I understand completely. And that’s exactly why you should sign with us. Blue Rhapsody won’t just oversee your debut, press a few albums, and leave you to sink or swim, like most labels. We’re here for the long haul: to nurture your career, and give you the management you deserve.”

  “Wow.” She chuckled awkwardly, ducking her head a little. “That…that sounds really great.”

  “We have a cutting-edge studio, access to top-quality session musicians, the best producers in the business—”

  “Like T Bone?” I asked.

  Dino paused. “Er. W-what?”

  I took out my phone and flipped the screen around, giving him a quick flash of an email. It was just my flight reservation, but I didn’t give him a second to read before resting the phone back on my knee.

  “T Bone Burnett,” I said, as casual as discussing the weather. “He’s wrapping up a new project with Elton John, and he’s eager to work with Lulu on a track or two.”

  “T Bone worked with Bob Dylan,” Caitlin added, innocently starstruck.

  “Well,” Dino said, “we don’t do business with him specifically, but—”

  “Then again,” I mused aloud, “that offer from Aftermath Entertainment this morning was pretty tempting.”

  “Aftermath?” Dino sank an inch in his chair.

  “Dr. Dre wants to produce a collaboration between me and Eminem,” Caitlin said. “Did you know he’s not actually a doctor? I didn’t know that. Made for quite the embarrassing conversation.”

  “Well, you know,” Dino said, his eyes darting around like he was hunting for a life preserver to grab, “it’s—it’s not all about specific names. I mean, it’s the package, the total album that really counts in this business. And, um, distribution! Have you heard about our new project, Sonic Wave?”

  Caitlin tapped a fingernail against her chin. “I think so. Isn’t that the thing where you can listen to music on the computer?”

  Dino beamed at her. “Exactly. Instant, on-demand music streaming, twenty-four hours a day. And the best part: every single time somebody plays one of your songs, you get paid!”

  I folded my arms, playing the skeptic, just like we’d rehearsed on the drive over.

  “I don’t know. It is a revolutionary idea, but Republic Records is promising us a pretty big signing bonus.” I glanced down, pretending to think, using the excuse to tap out a quick text to Pixie. Watch Dino’s browser. We’re going in for the kill.

  “How…big are we talking, exactly?” Dino asked.

  I glanced sidelong at Caitlin. “Lulu, could you give me and Mr. Costa a minute alone?”

  She looked between us. “I don’t know, shouldn’t I be here?”

  I gave her my smarmiest smile and said, “Sweetie, baby, it’s fine. Just some legal contract stuff you don’t need to be bothered with. I’ll be right out, okay?”

  She reluctantly rose from the curvy deco chair and saw herself out. As soon as the office door clicked shut, my smile went away.

  “Dino,” I said, “c’mon. Real talk, now. You know what we’re both doing here.”

  He gave me a guarded look, pulling in his shoulders a little.

  “Not sure if I do. Why don’t you tell me what you think we’re doing here?”

  “You and me,” I said, “are trying to get paid. First, let’s get on the same page. You’ve heard the buzz. You’ve heard the demo with your very own ears. You know that girl is the next big thing, and you want a piece of the action. Get on the elevator at the ground floor and you can ride it all the way to the penthouse suite.”

  “Maybe,” he said, his shoulders relaxing. Still on his guard, but he liked what he was hearing.

  “Lemme tell you something. What just happened there”—I gestured to the door—“that’s how easy it is. She does what I tell her. She signs everything I put in front of her, doesn’t even read it. Pretty sure I could have power of attorney over her arthritic grandmother by now, if I wanted it. I don’t rep Lulu Brooks; I own Lulu Brooks.”

  Dino steepled his fingers on the desk. The Rolex caught the light, gleaming white-hot.

  “And you’re looking to sell her,” he said.

  “Damn right. Why do you think I’m fielding offers all over town, but she hasn’t signed yet? It’s not about what she gets; it’s about what I get. Because she doesn’t sign on that dotted line until I tell her to. She’s a babe in the wilderness, and the only wolf she trusts is me.”

  Dino nodded slowly, on my level now.

  “I think we can do some business,” he said.

  19.

  “I guess the question is,” Dino said, his gaze drifting to the closed door and back again, “what’s it going to take to get you on board?”

  I spread my hands. “I’m a man of simple needs. At the moment, though, I’m having a little cash-flow problem. I need a signing bonus. Not for her. For me. Something unofficial and off the books. She doesn’t need to know, either.”

  “‘Unofficial’ isn’t easy. I’m running a legitimate label here—my accountant goes over the books with a fine-toothed comb.”

  “C’mon, Dino, don’t tell me you don’t have any rainy-day money set aside. No little stash accounts, someplace safe from the prying eyes of the IRS?”

  He mirrored my smile, chuckling a little as he leaned toward his computer and tapped a few keys. My phone, resting on my knee, blinked once. A message from Pixie: He’s logging into his banking site now.

  “Maybe so, but I’m not made of money. If you’d be willing to wait a little, spread it out as a series of milestone payments—”

  “No can do,” I said. I inched a little closer on my chair. “Look, I’ll be honest with you. When I said ‘cash-flow problem,’ I meant I owe some guys a lot of cash. And my problem is, if I don’t pay them back pronto, they’re gonna put on their tap shoes and do a song-and-dance number on my spinal cord. So time is a factor. I’m going with the first label that can do right by me and make this situation go away. I’ve struck out twice already today. Hoping you won’t be unlucky number three.”

  He couldn’t hide the satisfied look on his face. I had what he wanted, sure, but now he was the one holding all the cards.

  “I think I can help you out.” He glanced at the monitor and tapped another couple of keys. “Of course, I’m going to expect favorable terms on the contract. To reflect my generous aid in your time of need.”

  “Sure, sure,” I said. “Look, long term? I just want there to be a long term. You help me out today, and I’ll get Lulu to sign whatever you put in front of her, no questions asked.”

  “How much cash are we talking about here?”

  I shot a look at my silent phone as he moused through his banking site, the monitor turned so I couldn�
��t read it from my side of the desk. C’mon, Pix, I thought.

  The phone lit up with a new message. He’s got $12,250.26 in his checking account.

  “Fifteen grand?” I asked, looking hopeful.

  Dino winced. “Little rich for my blood. Could you take…five thousand?”

  “That won’t save my kneecaps. I can’t do this deal for any less than twelve. It’s that simple: twelve grand and you get Lulu. Anything else, I’m out the door. We’ve got a three thirty appointment with Sony, and I’ll take my chances—”

  “Hold on, hold on,” he said, staring at the screen like he was kissing his newborn child goodbye. “Okay. Twelve grand, but that’s it. You’re cut off. No matter how well Lulu does, you don’t get one thin dime off this label. Going forward, we deal directly with her.”

  I reached into my pocket and took out a folded slip of paper, opening it to reveal a bank account and routing number. I tensed my forearm as I slid it across the desk, making my hand tremble.

  “You can have her,” I said. “It’s worth it, just to get these guys off my back for good.”

  He could barely keep the smirk off his face. He’d just bought a gold mine at a copper-mine price by taking advantage of the dumb, desperate guy on the other side of the bargaining table.

  I gave him a dumb and desperate smile of sheer gratitude as he initiated the bank transfer.

  “I’ve still got a two-hour window to reverse this payment.” He slid the paper back to me. “So how about you bring the little lady back in here, and we do some official business?”

  After that, it was just a matter of running down the clock. We brought Caitlin back into the room and took turns showering her with false promises while she blushed like a schoolgirl. If lies burned oxygen, the three of us would have smothered to death. Dino laid out some “standard” contracts that nobody in her right mind would touch with anything but a flamethrower. Caitlin signed each and every one, laying down Lulu’s name in swirling script, giving away everything but the rights to her first-born child.

  “Obviously we’re eager to get started as soon as possible,” Dino told her. “Can you come in tomorrow morning for a planning meeting and a roundtable with our producers?”

  “Oh,” Caitlin said, “I really want to, but it’s my little brother’s birthday party, and I promised him I’d be there. The day after, perhaps?”

  The day after tomorrow was fine. Well, fine for Dino. Caitlin and I had other plans.

  * * *

  “Out of curiosity,” Caitlin said, taking my arm as we strolled out into the LA sunshine, “how much did you get out of him?”

  “Twelve grand,” I said. “Well, I didn’t. I don’t have a bank account in my name, and I didn’t want to use the Peter Greyson account just in case anybody came sniffing around later.”

  “So where did you send it?”

  “St. Jude’s. It’s a homeless shelter and soup kitchen back in Vegas.”

  She stopped in her tracks. The yank on my arm, like a leash jerking tight, almost pulled me off my feet.

  “You just stole over ten thousand dollars,” she said, “for charity?”

  “Me? Oh, hell no. See, St. Jude’s is also where Pixie spends all her time volunteering, when she’s not doing the hacker thing. Beyond her help on this job, I’ve had her working around the clock for a week now, trying to track down Lauren Carmichael and crack into her company’s computer system for us. So I figured I’d pay up in the form of a generous gift to her pet cause. More than I owe, but I don’t mind having her on retainer.”

  Caitlin gave me a dubious look.

  “It was the safest play,” I told her. “Now, if anyone pokes around Dino’s accounts, all they’ll see is a nice little tax-deductible contribution to a legal charity. Totally explainable, nothing suspicious. And nothing ties us directly to St. Jude’s.”

  “Still, seems like we just went to a great deal of trouble to give money away.”

  I shook my head. “The money wasn’t as valuable as the information. See, once Pix confirmed he only had twelve grand in his account, I pushed for fifteen. If he had any other sources of income, any cash in his figurative mattress, he could have paid up. Instead he lowballed me, and getting twelve out of him felt like squeezing blood from a rock.”

  “Meaning that’s all he has,” Caitlin said, leaning in with a pleased murmur as we walked back to the car.

  “Exactly. Curtis was right. Dino’s poured all his liquid cash into the new start-up. Once his coke goes missing, he’ll have to sell everything he owns to pay the Sinaloa back. He doesn’t know it yet, but he’s got one of two futures ahead of him: ruined or dead.”

  Caitlin’s fingertip stroked the car remote. The Camaro let out a squawk.

  “I vote for dead,” she purred.

  “I’m leaning that way myself,” I told her. “After all, I still have to get that watch off his wrist before they bury Monty. Technically, I’m still here on a job.”

  We met back up with Jennifer at the hotel. She’d sketched out a crude map of the Hamilton Pavilion based on Caitlin’s description and pulled a timetable from the band’s website.

  “First concert’s tomorrow night,” she told us. “Opening act is at seven, Winter Court takes the stage at seven thirty, and the concert ends around ten. Next show is in Phoenix. There’s a meet-and-greet for the fans at three p.m. on Saturday, so I can’t imagine they’re gonna dawdle around here for too long once the show’s over. Figure they’ll pack up the tour buses and head straight out.”

  “That doesn’t give us a very large window of opportunity.” Caitlin tapped her chin, gazing at the sketch.

  “If we make our move just as they’re arriving or leaving,” I said, “all the roadie cases—and the coke—will be in one place. Problem is, so will Dino’s guys.”

  “Easier to take ’em if they’re spread out a little,” Jennifer said.

  “Exactly.” I tapped the sketch. “It’s gonna be three against ten, not to mention their new recruit with the magic karate. And we absolutely can’t let this get loud. No matter who starts shooting, gunfire means cops, and cops mean this heist is over.”

  “Once the concert begins,” Caitlin said, “all the cases will be inside the hall, yes? Backstage?”

  I nodded. “Should be. They need the actual gear in there to run the show. If these guys know what they’re doing—and let’s assume they do—they’ll have some roadies hanging around to watch the cases and the rest covering the exits, watching for trouble.”

  “So we divide and conquer,” she said.

  I still didn’t like it. Not our odds in a fight—between my cards, Jennifer’s blood magic, and Caitlin’s…being Caitlin, we could do a world of damage. That wouldn’t stop them from turning the place into a shooting gallery, though, and with four hundred civilians packed into the concert hall, I wasn’t comfortable with that kind of risk.

  “I’ve got an idea,” I said. “Let’s take a trip to the Hamilton. Something I want to try.”

  Not a trip to the hall itself, anyway, but the neighborhood around it. We found a nice big commercial corridor lined with coffeehouses and clothing boutiques and started hunting for an easy target. The first place we tried had too many people. The second, a security camera keeping silent watch. The third stop did the charm: a high-end shop aimed at professional women with a sense of style, and price tags to match.

  Jennifer drew attention from the clerks the second she walked through the door, her T-shirt and tattoos sticking out like a sore thumb amid the imported silk and six-hundred-dollar pantsuits. Both salespeople descended with oh-so-helpful attitudes, keeping an eye on her. She brushed them off politely, then hovered near a rack of easily pocketable scarves and accessories, casting nervous glances over her shoulder now and then.

  While Jennifer made herself look like a shoplifter, Caitlin and I browsed as a couple on the opposite side of the store, nice and invisible. I felt a pang of memory and shoved it away hard. It must have shown on my face.
Caitlin glanced away from a Christian Dior jacket, giving me a curious look.

  “What?”

  I shrugged. “This was the first trick I ever learned as a kid. Back before…before I got sent away, I’d take my little brother to the 7-Eleven. He’d pretend to pocket something and draw the cashier’s attention, while I was on the other side of the store filling my backpack.”

  “Mischievous little scamps, weren’t you?”

  “We were hungry.” I put my shoulder to the wall, taking one last look at the room and making sure the clerks were turned away. “Anyway, let’s do this. Set the timer.”

  The second she was ready I reached to one side, grabbed the fire alarm handle, and yanked it down.

  20.

  A shrill, grinding klaxon split the air, and Caitlin and I scurried to the far end of the aisle as the clerks jumped. Jennifer blinked with feigned surprise, looking up at the emergency light flickering on the tiled ceiling.

  “Did they say they were testing the alarm today?” one of the clerks asked the other, shouting over the ear-splitting whine.

  She shook her head and clasped her hands over her ears. “No! I’ll go check the back room.”

  The first clerk herded us like cats, arms waving. “Ladies, sir, I’m sorry, we have to ask everyone to leave. I’m not—I’m not sure what this is, but we have to close up. I’m so sorry.”

  She didn’t have to ask us twice. My eardrums were throbbing by the time we stepped out into the fading sunlight. I rubbed the side of my head, wincing, and led the way down the block. We found a nice little cafe a few doors away, grabbed a streetside table in the shade of a blue canvas umbrella, and ordered a round of lattes.

  Soon we heard the distant roar of sirens, and the slow-moving traffic grudgingly parted for a fire truck. It rumbled to a stop outside the boutique, and a firefighter in a crisp uniform shirt jumped out to talk to the bewildered clerks on the sidewalk.