Bel-Air Dead

by Stuart Woods

  “Who are the people who want to sell?”

  “They’re all studio employees or independent producers on the lot. They own, generally speaking, from as little as fifty shares to twenty thousand shares. Some of them are nearing retirement age, and they can sell us back their stock at a price determined by a formula, which would net them, maybe a third of what selling the studio would.”

  “So, some of them stand to make forty million to sixty million dollars if the studio is sold.”

  “Yes, and as you can see, that is a strong motive for selling.”

  “Yes, I can understand that. Any hope of getting some of them on your side?”

  Rick shook his head. “I’ve been working on this for two months; we’ve boiled the list down to the four of us: Arrington, myself, Charlene, and Jennifer Harris.”

  “Rick, if you win this fight, how long will you be able to hang on to the studio?”

  “I’m leaving my shares to my two grandchildren, and if Arrington hangs on to hers, then we can keep it going as it is for many years.”

  “I see,” Stone said.

  “Stone, do you understand the importance of keeping Centurion as a working film studio? Not just to the stockholders, but to people everywhere who enjoy intelligent, quality entertainment?”

  “I can certainly see why you feel that way,” Stone said. “If I were a stockholder, that’s what I’d want, too.”

  “Now we come to the crux of things, Stone,” Rick said. “Jennifer Harris, Charlene, and I are on board. Everything depends on Arrington now. What is she going to do?”

  “Has she expressed her intentions to you, Rick?”

  “At first, she seemed to be with us, but the last couple of days I’ve sensed that she’s wavering.”

  “She has to make some important business decisions not associated with the studio,” Stone explained. “She won’t be able to make a final decision until those have been resolved.”

  Rick suddenly looked closer to his age.

  “I believe her heart is with you,” Stone said, “and I will do everything I can to swing her shares to you. I’m afraid that’s all I can say, at the moment.”

  “I see,” Rick replied.

  “Please don’t be disheartened,” Stone said. “This could still work out. When is the new offer expected?”

  “Early next week.”

  “So we have a week or so to make it work.”

  “Yes, I suppose we do.”

  “Charlene, are you acquainted with any of the stockholders whom you might be able to swing our way?”

  “I’ve pretty much done what I can,” Charlene replied.

  Somebody’s cell phone rang. Rick Barron looked at his phone and stood up. “Excuse me for a moment,” he said, then left the room.

  Charlene turned her attention to Stone. “It’s good to see you,” she said. “I hope we can get together while you’re here. It’s been too long.”

  Stone knew from experience exactly what “get together” meant to Charlene, and he hoped his health was up to it. “It certainly has been too long,” he said. “I’d like that.”

  Rick returned to the study and sat down heavily in his chair. “Jennifer Harris is dead,” he said.

  Stone and Charlene looked at him.

  “How?” Charlene asked.

  “I don’t know; the police are at her house.”

  “Do you know what her will says about the stock?”

  “No,” Rick replied. “She seemed in perfect health.”

  Stone rose. “I think we’d better talk again, when you have more information. I hope we can get a grip on this.”

  Everybody went home, and Stone returned to the guesthouse, where Dino was watching television.

  “Nothing’s on at the right time out here,” he said. “The TV schedule is crazy.”

  “That’s not all that’s crazy,” Stone said.

  6

  Stone awoke to the hum of his cell phone on the bedside table. He tried to turn over to pick it up, but he was impeded by an arm across his chest. He looked that way to see a tousled head of blonde hair on the pillow next to him.

  His memories of the night before were hazy, involving arms, legs, and various other body parts in interesting, sometimes contorted positions and some loud noises. He lifted the arm and grabbed the phone.

  “Hello,” he croaked.

  “God, you sound awful,” Bill Eggers said.

  “What time is it?”

  “It’s after nine . . . oh, I forgot, it’s three hours earlier out there, isn’t it?”

  “Forgot, my ass,” Stone said.

  “Well, as long as you’re up, want some news?”

  “If you insist,” Stone sighed, struggling to prop himself up with a pillow, in spite of the weight of Charlene’s arm.

  “I’ve had chats with a couple of people who are acquainted with Rex Champion’s situation,” Eggers said.

  “Which is?”

  “Depends on whom you believe. One of them says that Rex is flush with cash, but is old and tired and wants out; the other says he has bad cash-flow problems and that the stables are losing money hand over fist.”

  “And which one do you believe?”

  “I’m stumped,” Eggers said.

  “You’re a big help, Bill. You want to call me back when you have some indication of which way the truth lies?”

  “Okay, go back to sleep.” Eggers hung up.

  Stone put down his phone and suddenly realized that Charlene’s hand had migrated to his crotch. She gave a little squeeze.

  “Oh,” she said, “nice response.”

  “What did you expect?” Stone asked. He made to get out of bed, but she held on tightly.

  “You appear to have me by the . . .”

  “Yes, I do, don’t I?”

  “Charlene, I’m going to be here for at least a week; do you want to kill me the first day?”

  “I know you better than that, Stone,” she said, hoisting herself astride of him and slipping him inside her.

  “I can’t deny that,” Stone said, “any more than I can extricate myself from your clutches.”

  She tightened a few muscles and accentuated the clutch.

  “How do you do that?” Stone asked, breathing faster.

  “Practice,” she said, doing it again.

  They continued in that fashion until they both came noisily. She gave him a wet kiss, then rolled off him.

  “I still can’t seem to move,” Stone said, “but for entirely different reasons than before.”

  “Then I’ll move first,” she said, getting out of bed and padding, naked, toward the bathroom.

  Stone watched the body that had graced dozens of movies float across the room. He was either a very lucky man or doomed—he wasn’t sure which. He waited impatiently for her to get into the shower, then ran into the bathroom and, with a sigh of relief, let go.

  “Join me?” she called from the shower.

  He looked over at the half-misted glass door and watched for a moment. “Oh, what the hell,” he said, flushing, then opening the door and stepping in.

  “Scrub my back?” she asked, handing him a brush.

  He scrubbed her back.

  “I’ll do yours, too,” she said, turning and reaching around him, pressing her body against his.

  He marveled at how she could keep him interested, even after what they had just done in bed. He managed to extricate himself and found them robes.

  “Breakfast?” he asked.

  “Eggs Benedict, please.”

  Stone called Manolo and ordered the dish for both of them. They managed to get dressed before breakfast arrived, Charlene in a minidress she had tucked in her large handbag.

  Dino joined them in the garden.

  Charlene kissed him loudly on the ear. “Good morning, Dino,” she said.

  “What’s that you say?” Dino asked, feigning deafness.

  “Easy, you two,” Stone said. “Charlene, tell me about this guy who r
uns the Prince hedge fund.”

  “His name is Prince,” she said.

  “Just one name, like the singer?”

  “First name, Terry. There are rumors about how he got the money to start the fund.”

  “Tell me.”

  “You remember, some years ago, there was a guy named Prince running a huge drug business based in the Colombian jungle, way up the Amazon?”

  “Yeah, the Colombian army raided it, didn’t they?”

  “Yes, and Prince was killed when he ran in front of a small airplane that was taking off.”

  “So it’s not the same guy?”

  “Terry is that guy’s younger brother,” she said. “Nobody’s been able to prove it, but it’s been talked around that his original money came out of that drug operation—a hundred million, or so. Then he got very lucky investing in films, two of them enormous worldwide hits that each took in over half a billion each. He used his profits to start the hedge fund and got a lot of Hollywood money invested with him. I had a couple of million in the fund, but I took it out shortly before the last market crash.”

  “You’re a smart girl,” Stone said.

  “No, I wasn’t smart; I invested in two films that I expected big things of.”

  “How’d you do?”

  “One made money, one flopped; I just about broke even.”

  “Tell me more about Prince.”

  “He started a hotel group and bought four or five superluxury hostelries around the country. He was hot after the Bel-Air, where you’ve stayed, but he got outbid.”

  “What’s the word on him now?”

  “Well, he’s left the drug money rumors behind him, and seems to be squeaky clean these days. He wants to put a new, super hotel on the Centurion property, along with some houses and condos and office buildings, sort of like a bigger, fancier Centurion City.”

  “So he’s not interested in the studio as a business?”

  “Apparently, the production end has never excited him; he just wants to make money.”

  “Do you know him?” Stone asked.

  “I didn’t until he went after Centurion; then he made a point of meeting me and pitching for my shares. He’s very charming and persuasive.”

  “Is he the sort of guy who might kill to get his hands on Centurion’s property?”

  Charlene stopped eating. “You mean like murdering Jennifer Harris to get her shares?”

  “It crossed my mind.”

  Charlene shook her head. “He doesn’t strike me as the type. I mean, if he doesn’t get Centurion, he’ll just move on to another project. He’s a businessman.”

  “I hope you’re right,” Stone said. “That will make him easier to deal with.”

  Manolo brought Stone a phone.

  Stone picked it up. “Hello?”

  “Stone, it’s Rick Barron. It’s been a while since you were out here; I thought you might like to take a look at Centurion this morning.”

  “I’d like that, Rick,” Stone replied. “Any news on the cause of death of Jennifer Harris?”

  “We’ll talk about that when I see you. Come to my office at eleven, and bring Dino; I’ll buy you both lunch.”

  “See you then,” Stone replied, then hung up. “Dino, we’re invited to the studio by Rick Barron for a tour of the place and lunch. You available?”

  “Do I look busy?” Dino asked.

  7

  The guard at Centurion’s main gate took Stone’s name, then placed a pass on the dashboard of his rented Mercedes and waved him through.

  “How do we know where to meet Rick?” Dino asked.

  “You forget, I’ve been here before,” Stone said. “His office will be in the main administrative building.” He made a turn, pulled into the parking lot, and left the car in a guest slot.

  At the main reception desk they were directed to an elevator that opened into a paneled area and were met by a middle-aged woman in a smart business suit.

  “Mr. Barrington? Mr. Bacchetti? I’m Grace Parsons, Mr. Barron’s executive assistant. Please follow me.”

  They walked past half a dozen people working at desks and into a small sitting room, then through double doors into a large office, where Rick Barron was seated at his desk, talking on the telephone. He waved them to a seating area with comfortable chairs, finished his conversation, then joined them.

  “Good morning, gentlemen,” he said, sinking into an armchair. “I trust you slept well.”

  “I did,” Dino replied. “I can’t speak for Stone.”

  “Very well, thank you,” Stone said, ignoring Dino.

  “I was just on the phone with a homicide detective of my acquaintance,” Rick said, “a Lieutenant Joe Rivera. Jennifer Harris’s death is being treated as a natural one, but Joe is going to see that the medical examiner takes a closer look.”

  “I see we’re on the same page,” Stone said. “Do you think this Prince fellow is capable of murder to get what he wants?”

  Rick shrugged. “Who knows?” He shifted positions and looked thoughtful. “I used to be a cop,” he said. “I was a homicide detective, too, until I got busted by a captain whose niece I was seeing.” He threw up his hands. “Oh, hell, whose niece I got pregnant. That’s how I got into the movie business.”

  Stone frowned. “By getting a girl pregnant?”

  “You might say that. It’s what got me demoted to sergeant and put back in a patrol car. It was patrol duty that got me into the movie business.”

  “I’m not following,” Stone said.

  “Of course not,” Rick said. “I was sitting in my patrol car one night in 1939, parked just off Sunset, trying to stay awake, when I heard the howl of the supercharger on a powerful automobile. I looked up just in time to see a Model A Ford coupe run a stop sign and start across Sunset, just in time for a Mercedes SS to plow into it and send it tumbling down the boulevard. The coupe came to rest upside down, and the Mercedes veered left into a high hedge.

  “I checked the coupe first and found the female driver dead, then I ran over and checked on the Mercedes. The driver had been thrown out and into the hedge, and I thought I recognized him. Then it came to me: his name was Clete Barrow, and he was Centurion’s biggest star. He was conscious, but very drunk. He handed me a little black book and said, ‘Call Eddie Harris.’ I knew who Harris was, of course. I got him out of bed, and he told me to get Barrow out of there and to Centurion Studios before anybody else saw him.

  “I got him into my car and turned the accident scene over to another sergeant who showed up and who knew the score with movie stars. I got Barrow to the studio, to his bungalow, where a doctor was waiting to examine him, and Harris showed up a few minutes later. The doctor pronounced Barrow well, except for a black eye, and he asked Eddie if he wanted a blood sample taken. Eddie said sure and told me to roll up my sleeve.”

  Stone and Dino burst out laughing.

  “One thing led to another, and I found myself head of security for the studio, and everything grew from there.”

  “That’s a hell of a story,” Dino said.

  “Nothing is stranger than real life,” Rick said.

  “And then you found yourself in the navy?” Stone asked.

  “I didn’t find myself there; I fled to the navy after murdering a man.”

  Stone and Dino were stunned into silence.

  “His name was Chick Stompano, a mobster connected to Bugsy Siegel who liked to hurt women. He made the mistake of beating up Glenna. I had already talked to a naval recruiting officer, knowing that I’d have to go, and I’d had my physical. I went to Stompano’s house, rang the bell, and when he came out I shot him in the head. I was at the door of the recruiting office when it opened that morning, and before noon I had been sworn in and was on a bus for Officer Candidate School in San Diego, thence to Pensacola, Florida, for flight training.”

  “There’s nothing stranger than real life,” Dino said.

  “By the time I was invalided out, in ’44, with a shot-up
knee, the whole business had blown over.”

  “No repercussions?” Stone asked.

  “Just one. When Glenna and I got married, a huge floral arrangement was delivered with a card from Ben Siegel, which I took as an overt threat. I don’t know all the details, but I know that Eddie Harris made a call to a guy named Al, who owned a gun store and who was said to do contract killings on the side.

  A day or two later, Siegel was shot dead with a Browning Automatic Rifle, and the mob got the blame, because Siegel’s girl had been stealing from them, and they held him responsible.”

  “Wow,” Dino said softly.

  Rick stood up. “Let’s get some lunch,” he said, leading the way out of his office and down to the parking lot, where they got into a golf cart. Rick drove them down studio streets, past the huge soundstages. People in the streets wearing odd costumes—cowboys, policemen, showgirls—made way for Rick’s cart.

  “This is what Prince wants to destroy, so that he can build a hotel,” Rick said, waving an arm. “It took me and others more than half a century to build this, and if Prince wins, it will be gone in a month, and so will the movies that would have been made here.”

  He parked the cart outside the Studio Commissary and led them inside. The place was packed with producers and actors, some of them in costume. Stone, Dino, and Rick were seated at Rick’s reserved corner table, and a waitress brought menus.

  “I had heard of this fellow Prince,” Rick said, “but I had never met him, until he came to see me one day. He didn’t bother with the CEO, he came straight to me, and he told me he was going to buy this studio. He was brazen; he didn’t ask me if we wanted to sell, he just told me, as if it were a fait accompli. I’m afraid I didn’t react very well. I told him to get out of my office, or I’d have security throw him out.”

  “That’s one way to begin a negotiation,” Stone said.

  “This isn’t a negotiation,” Rick replied.

  “Everything is a negotiation,” Stone said. “You and Prince were just staking out your opening positions.”