The Bones of Wolfe

by James Carlos Blake

  Frank gives me a look of “Do you believe this?”

  Lance cranes his head around to try to keep his eyes on her as she positions his arm behind the chair and crouches down to cuff it to the back brace.

  “I’m a great judge of women’s bodies, even with their clothes on,” he says, “and unless you’re covered with burn scars or something, yours is five-star stuff. Besides, I saw the way you looked at the screen when you came in. You like my art form. You should give it a try, make a picture with me. You could be a star, I mean it.”

  She lets out another small laugh and checks the fit on his wrist and the tautness of the cuff’s pull, making sure it won’t cut off the circulation in his hand, then stands up. “I’ll think about it.”

  “Do that,” he says. “I’ll give you my number. There’s paper and pen right there.”

  “Don’t need it,” she says. “I’ll write you at the Venus PO address.”

  She waggles her brow at me as I hand back her pistol, then returns to her post by the door, Lance watching her all the way.

  Frank sidles over to block his view. “If you’re done promoting employment opportunity to my associate,” he says, “I’ll address your question of what we want. But first, I have to ask if you’ve ever heard of a man named Bad Eddie Roget.”

  I have to fight down a smile. Bad Eddie is a persona Frank created when we were in college. We came home to our apartment complex one afternoon and found an unfamiliar car parked in our assigned space in the residents’ lot. We assumed it belonged to some visitor who didn’t feel like walking any farther than necessary and so parked in the nearest spot he could find. On a whim, Frank wrote a note I liked so much I can still recall it almost verbatim. “My name is Bad Eddie. I’m called that because I do very bad things. You have parked in a space assigned to my friend. Should you do so again, you will soon afterward make my acquaintance and regret it evermore. I’ve made note of your license plate and can easily find you. Yours very truly, B.E.” He folded the note and put it under the driver-side windshield wiper. The car was gone a few hours later, and if its owner ever made a return visit to the complex, he didn’t park anywhere near our spot again. In the years since, we’ve made referential use of Bad Eddie on various occasions.

  Lance says he’s never heard of him. “Name like that, what’s he, like some kinda criminal?”

  “You need only know,” Frank says, “that as his forenames imply, Mr Roget is not a man of meek nature or one to trifle with, and I advise you not to do so. Like you, he’s an entrepreneur, and like you he prefers to conduct his operations with discretion and a minimum of disharmony. We’re here because he wants us to locate a young woman who, under the name of Kitty Quick, appeared in a film of yours, The Love Tutors. Where can we find her?”

  “That’s what this is about? You’re looking for Kitty? Why the hell not just say so? There’s no call for guns, handcuffs, all this badass bullshit.”

  “I’m pleased to hear it,” Frank says. “Tell us where she is and our business here is concluded. However, if what you tell us turns out to be incorrect, you can count on seeing us again. And on that occasion we’ll begin by breaking bones. So. Where is she?”

  “Los Angeles, at least that’s where she said she was going, last time I saw her, back to LA,” Lance says, his speech a little faster, most likely because of the mention of bones being broken. “She’d come to me from there, you see. I wanted her to do another movie with me, but no dice. About two weeks after she split I called her to see if I could change her mind, but the mobile number she’d been using was no longer in service. I mean, she really cut the tie.”

  “How long ago she leave?”

  “Uh . . . three months, give or take a day or two.”

  “Give it from the top. From the time you met her.”

  He tells us she came to him around four months ago by way of Ben Steiner, a film agent pal of his in LA who specializes in great-looking young girls who want to be in the movies but don’t have any experience beyond a high school play, if that much. Steiner’s able to persuade many of them that the quickest way of getting professional experience and building a portfolio and earning good money all at the same time is in sex videos and film, and if they’re willing to give it a go, he’s willing to help them. Lance is just one of many adult-film producers in the western United States who have an arrangement with Steiner to refer aspiring actresses to them. His service doesn’t come cheap but it’s worth it because the girls are all truly good-looking and he guarantees that they have been medically examined and found to be free of STDs and drug use. Through police pals, he also makes certain that a girl he refers is not a law enforcement agent and is free of criminal convictions or pending warrants. The only things Steiner can’t vouch for are a girl’s true name and age. His producer clients are on their own in dealing with those aspects. So Steiner sent him this girl who said she was Katie Moore from Fresno and swore she was eighteen years old, but she had no official ID to verify any of it. Lance knew she was lying about both her name and her age and guessed her to be sixteen or seventeen. But she had a great face and body and such sassy confidence that he went ahead and gave her a test anyway. Turned out she could follow direction to a T, and the camera loved her and she had a gift for playing to it. “One of those born naturals,” he said. He offered her a part in The Love Tutors and she grabbed it. To guard against the risk of a child-porn problem, he had his half sister, who works for the DMV in Sun City, issue her a legit license in the name of Katherine Moore with a date of birth that made her eighteen. He photocopied it for his records in readiness against some agent of the law showing up and demanding proof she wasn’t a minor. Whatever her actual age, she was one of the best newbies he’d ever worked with. She asked if she could be called Kitty Quick, and he liked the name and said why not. He put her in with two seasoned actresses and she stole the show, as most of the reviewers agreed.

  “So many wannabes,” he tells us, “think that taking their clothes off and having sex in front of a camera is all there is to being a porn actress. But there’s a big difference between just having sex and performing sex. What so many of them don’t seem to know is that the biggest sexual turn-on for most guys is enthusiasm. Am I right or am I right? Nothing stokes a guy more than a woman taking obvious pleasure in sex, whether it’s a woman he’s having sex with or one he’s just watching have sex. And yeah, sure, a really good actress can fake that kind of, ah . . . gusto pretty good. But the real thing is unmistakable and better than any acting, and this kid you’re looking for, her enthusiasm’s the real thing. It comes across on the screen like gangbusters. I can understand why your Mr Roget wants to meet her.”

  “I didn’t say he wants to meet her,” Frank says. “I said he wants us to locate her. You were saying?”

  “Yeah, well, she told me she was going back to LA, and maybe she did, maybe she didn’t, but that’s what she told me she was gonna do. She lived here with me and the other actors and the crew while we made the tutor thing. When the shoot was done, I threw a two-day party like I always do when we wrap, and she hung around for that, then off she went. With a copy of the flick as per the actors’ contracts.”

  “So she was here maybe a month?”

  “Yeah, about a month. I’d planned on a much shorter shooting schedule, but there were all kinds of glitches and . . . well, hell, it took a month to do it. When we finally wrapped, Kitty was ready to book. She’d had enough of Arizona and figured she could make more money back in LA. For sure they pay better out there, but the competition’s cutthroat. Two dozen grade-A girls for every part that comes along. But like I told you, there’s something really special about Kitty. And now she’s been in a good feature she can show to producers, let them see how talented she is, what she can do. All things considered, I expect she’s making out all right.”

  “She from LA?” Frank says. “She grow up there? Go to school there? Ever mention friends or family there?”

  “She never said an
ything about any of that, not to me or to anybody else on the set. I know, because I asked them all the same questions when I was trying to run her down. Could be she was from LA, could be she was from East Bumfuck. Listen, most of the girls in this business leave home because they don’t like any part of it. Where they’re from is the last thing they want to talk about. I’ve worked with more girls than I can count and never knew where half of them came from or even their real names. Same goes for Kitty.”

  “The LA guy who sent her to you . . . Steiner,” Frank says. “You think she’ll go see him? See if he can find her something? Wouldn’t that be her best shot?”

  “Yeah. Yeah, it would. And you want me to call him, right? Find out if he’s seen her, knows where she is, who she’s working with, whatever.”

  “Very astute. Do it now.”

  “And if he asks why I want to know?”

  “Good question . . . Let’s see . . . There’s an entertainment company in Texas. New outfit called, ah . . . the Texas Starlight Group. Hasn’t got much publicity so far, but it’s loaded with investment capital, and its biggest ambition is in adult-film production. A couple of its people saw Kitty in The Love Tutors and think she’d be perfect for a major part in a production they’re putting together . . . an adult sword-and-sorcery thing. They’re making it in partnership with a cable company that’s heavy into pay-per-view, video on demand, hotel TV, et cetera. If she’s interested, they’re prepared to make her a very attractive offer. Her agent would be in for a nice piece of change.”

  Lance grins big as he finishes up scribbling notes on a pad. “Not bad for bullshit on demand. Some guys have a gift for it. No offense, it’s a compliment. Phone’s in that drawer.” He points and Frank goes over and takes it out and gives it to him, then releases his left hand from the cuff. Lance shakes and flexes the freed hand a few times, then makes the call, listens, then quickly taps the speaker button and holds out the phone so we can hear the recording saying to leave a message, name, and number and “I’ll get back to you.” Then he says into the phone, “Bennie. Lance Furman. Give me a call ASAP. Got somebody here interested in an actress you might still be handling. It’s a sweet deal. Be waiting to hear from you.”

  He ends the call and says, “He’s pretty good about getting back when I say it’s important, but if he’s talking business with somebody it might be a while.”

  “Whatever it takes,” Frank says.

  Lance flaps a hand at the covered tray and the ice chest. “Meanwhile, if anybody wants a beer or something to eat, just help yourself. Josefina always prepares a heap of chow for me when I expect to work late. Usually beef sandwiches and fried chicken, because that’s what I like best, but she always makes way more than I can ever eat by myself. I know she overdoes it just so she can give the leftovers to the garden guys the next day. Thinks I don’t know she’s sweet on one of them.”

  “Well, I, for one, am famished,” Rayo says. She goes to the table and takes the lid off the big tray, chooses a chicken breast, and puts it on a paper plate, then digs a bottle of Negra Modelo out of the ice-packed cooler and uncaps it. She looks over at Moss, still sitting on the floor, and says to him, “Come have something to eat.” He looks at Frank, who tells him to go ahead. Moss shifts from one side of his ass to the other to free his hands, then works some feeling into them and struggles to his feet and joins Rayo at the table. Then we’re all seated and Moss is noshing on chicken, too, while Frank and I and Lance dig into excellent roast beef sandwiches.

  Almost an hour later, while we’re all playing quarter-limit stud with a shabby deck Lance fished out of a drawer and I’m starting to wonder if the Steiner guy will call back anytime tonight, Lance’s phone chirps. He picks it up and checks the screen and says, “Our man.” He swipes it with a finger. “Bennie, thanks for getting back.” With his notes at hand, he gives Steiner the story Frank laid out about the Texas Starlight Group and its interest in talking to an actress named Kitty Quick.

  “Yeah, Katie Moore,” he says. “That’s the one. You still rep her?”

  He listens and gives us a smiling nod.

  “Because they figured she might still be working for Mount of Venus,” he says. “So they nosed around in the right places and came up with my name and office number. This afternoon they gave me a call, said they were in town and had to be in Vegas day after tomorrow and wondered if we could meet this evening to talk about Kitty. I was curious so we got together at this club I know, and I tell you, they’re burning for the kid! Talking nice figures. Your end would be juicy, and they’ve agreed to lay a finder’s fee on me just for helping out. I mean, is this a great business or what? Give me a number and address on her and I’ll pass it on to them.” He listens again, says, “Ramhorn?”—and now looks a little agitated. He asks if she’s still under contract to “him,” whoever that is, and he stares at the floor as he listens. “Christ’s sake, Bennie, all they want to do is talk to her, see if she’s interested. If she is, then they can go to him.” He listens, not looking at any of us. Then brightens and says, “Oh, hell yeah! Hey, if Kitty says yes to their prop, I guaranfuckingtee you they’ll go for that.” He gives us a wink. “Will you? That’d be great, Bennie, because that’s all they want, the chance to pitch it to her. . . . Hell, yeah. . . . Okay, I’ll be right here, man. Do it.”

  He cuts off the phone and grins at us.

  “I’m not the only one in the room who can come up with bullshit on demand,” Frank says.

  Lance points at himself and makes a face like, “Who, me?” Then tells us Kitty did go to see Bennie, who took a look at The Love Tutors and was so impressed with her work that he got her a contract with an old pal named Nolan Dolan. Dolan started out in porn production way back when and is now head man at Ramhorn Associates, an immensely successful Southern Cal consortium of film and video companies whose most gainful product is adult entertainment. In her first two months back in LA she was in two features made by Ramhorn affiliates and did both of them under the name Kitty Belle. The contract commits her to Ramhorn for one more movie, which was scheduled to start shooting two weeks ago but hasn’t gotten under way yet. Steiner doesn’t know why not, but whatever’s holding it up could be something that might make Dolan willing to release her from the project outright or at least let us buy out the contract.

  “Ben’s calling him right now,” Lance says. “Hell, man, even if Dolan doesn’t cut her loose but says you can buy the contract, he’s gotta let you go talk to her, right? See if she’s interested in what you got? You’ve found her, man, you’re gonna see her, and then . . . what? You say your guy Roget doesn’t want to hurt her, and I hope to hell you’re not lying. I mean, I like the kid, I like her a lot, and I don’t like Dolan worth a shit. I could tell you stories but . . . ah, what the hell. Doesn’t matter. I just don’t like the idea of her working for him is all.”

  “As I’ve told you, you can rest easy about Mr Roget,” Frank says.

  “Good, that’s good,” says Lance. “But let me tell you, you can’t rest easy with Dolan. Listen, this kind of business involves a lot of companies working under so many different corporate partnerships that it’s not real hard for a smart accountant to, ah, obscure a company’s financial standing, know what I mean? The business lends itself to a kind of bookkeeping that’s very attractive to certain sorts of cash investors.”

  “You’re telling us the porn biz is a good money laundry,” I say. “Not exactly a profound revelation.”

  “All right, no big news to you guys,” Lance says. “But the word is that Ramhorn’s one of the biggest such laundries in the business. And that one of its chief investors is an outfit down Mexico way. One of the big-time drug outfits, to be exact. Now, I’m not saying it’s true, you understand, it’s just the word. But I thought you should know that about him. He might be connected to some badass people.”

  “Thanks for the tip,” Frank says.

  Steiner calls back.

  “Yo, Bennie,” Lance says. He listens fo
r a while and what he hears makes him smile. “All right, amigo! Nice going,” he says, then listens again. “Well hell, Bernardo, that’s just great. I’ll give them a call and they’ll take it from there. Thanks a ton, buddy. Yeah, you, too, my man. Take care.”

  “You’re on,” he tells us. “He talked to Dolan and told him about Texas Starlight’s interest in getting Kitty for some project and how you’d like to talk to her and, if she’s interested, possibly work out a deal to buy out her contract from him before you go back to Texas. Dolan had him hold awhile as he ran it past one of his guys, then said he can meet with you at nine tomorrow morning but has to leave for the airport at nine thirty to catch a flight. He’ll be in South America for the next few weeks, so unless you want to wait till he gets back, a half hour is all he can give you. But so what, right? All you want to know is where she is, and you won’t need ten minutes to find out. Could be tough getting any kinda charter flight at this hour but . . .” He checks his watch. “To hell with a charter,” he says. “You get going right now, and even with fuel and piss stops, you can drive it and be there under the wire with only minor risk of a speeding ticket.”

  He tells us Arizona doesn’t do daylight saving, so right now we’re on the same clock as California. He works his phone, scrolls the screen, writes a few things on a note sheet, then tears the sheet off the pad and hands it to Frank. “Ramhorn’s address. Super easy to find. Follow those simple directions and you can’t miss it.” He opens a table drawer and gets out a remote control for the gate and puts it on the table. “You’ll need this.” I tell him we’ll leave it under the driver’s seat of Moss’s vehicle, together with its keys, at the minimart just south of the foothills avenue. Lance says he knows the place. Frank tells him to wait a couple of minutes for us to clear the grounds before going down to uncuff Judson, who’s sure to be in ill temper and might be inclined to take a shot or two at us if he’s got a weapon in some hidey-hole out there.