Bad Moon Rising

by Billy Kring

“Where are you off to next?”

  “After the audition, we’re going to Venice and quiz locals about some guy that Bodhi was seen with the week before she disappeared.”

  Archie said, “Thanks, guys.” We heard him take the phone away from his ear as someone at the gym talked to him, then he came back on, “I gotta go, one of the starlets is asking for help getting her pelvic thrusts right.”

  “Hands-on help?” I said.

  “Personal service at my gym, guaranteed.” Then he cut the connection.

  We went through the Warner Brothers entrance with no problem and were given directions to an office not to far from Malpaso Productions. I said, “Maybe we should go in and say hi to Eastwood. You know, just to be friendly.”

  “No,” Hondo said.

  “He’s supposed to be a good guy, very approachable.”

  “No.”

  “It’s an opportunity we should not pass up. My horoscope said ‘today is the day’, so there.”

  “You’ve never read a horoscope in your life. Stop talking, and study your lines, we’re almost there.”

  “My, my, aren’t you just a wet blanket on a sunny day.”

  “I know my lines.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean? I’m a professional, too. I’m SAG-AFTRA, just like you.”

  “Say your lines, then. Show me.”

  I pulled the printed script pages out of my back pocket, unfolded them and read my dialogue out loud. “How’s that?”

  “You read your lines, you didn’t recite them from memory.”

  “I’m better when I prepare right before the audition. The scene stays fresh. I read once in the National Enquirer that Laurence Olivier did it that way and said it made all the difference.”

  Hondo laughed as he pulled into the parking area. “You’re so full of it, you even have me believing you.”

  We entered the office, and the casting director’s assistant jotted down our information. We took seats in the waiting area. One other actor was there; a big, handsome fellow, and they called him into the next room as we sat down. I went over my lines again and thought I was good, so I relaxed and waited.

  The door banged open and the handsome actor hurried out, crying like a thirteen-year old girl who just saw the Twilight movies for the first time.

  I looked at Hondo, who said, “Piece of cake.”

  They called me first. I walked through the door and stopped on my mark. Two men sat behind a table, and another one stood behind the camera so I could read to him. He said, “Give your slate.”

  I did, giving my name, the role, and the date.

  One of the men at the table wore a plaid flannel shirt and had a nicely trimmed beard, going for the lumberjack look. He growled, “This is a macho role. What makes you think you’re a fit for it?”

  “Because I’m a macho man.” I came within a hair of singing that old Village People song, but this fellow didn’t look like he had a sense of humor. So I kept it straight.

  “You are, huh?”

  I played it cool, although his attitude irritated me. “That’s what the big boys tell me,” I said.

  “Prove it.”

  Now where do you go with that? This was a casting call, not a biker bar. Did this guy, and he wasn’t as large as me, want to go at it? Jeeze Louise, I thought, the things I do for an acting gig. “Get up,” I motioned with my hands for him to stand.

  He did, and came around the table while his partner did the same, going around the opposite end and flanking me.

  I shifted my feet into a bi-jong stance and could tell they didn’t recognize it as anything. I was pissed now and said, “I’m not playing. If we start this, I won’t stop until you two are on the floor waiting for the paramedics. How about you just give me the role and we can part friends.”

  “Is that what you think?”

  “It is.”

  Both men visibly relaxed and grinned, sticking out their hands. “You’ve got it, Mr. Baca. Nice air of danger coming off you.”

  “I don’t have to say my lines?”

  “Nope. You can relax. You passed the audition. They’ll give you the papers to sign outside. See you on set.”

  I said, “Are you doing this with everyone coming in to audition?”

  “Yes.” They smiled and returned to their chairs on the other side of the desk.

  “Okay. My friend is Hondo Wells, and he’s next on your list. He doesn’t have much of a sense of humor, so I would suggest doing a normal audition with him.”

  Beard guy said, “I’ll be the judge of that.”

  I leaned over the table, getting close to their faces to make my point, “The instant you challenge him there won’t be a chance to utter another word. He will tear this nice table to splinters getting to you. When he finishes, if you’re alive, you’ll need plaster casts on every extremity, and a year to heal.” I leaned back, “You look healthy enough, so you can probably get by on a single kidney.”

  Their faces paled. They looked at each other. Beard guy swallowed several times, and his Adams apple bobbed like a fishing cork with a perch pulling on the hook. He said, “Are you serious?”

  “As cancer. Peace, brother,” I said, holding my first two fingers in a V as I walked out of the room.

  I came out the door smiling, and Hondo said, “Well?”

  “I got the part.”

  “You did?”

  “Don’t act so surprised.”

  “Good for you.”

  The door opened and they called for Hondo, who winked at me and walked in the room, closing the door.

  He came out thirty seconds later. We left and he said, “That was one weird audition. They didn’t ask me to read a scene, just if you and I were friends.”

  “So you got the part?”

  “I did.”

  “You hang with me, I’ll get you into the big time.”

  He slipped on his Ray Bans, “One of these days you’ll have to tell me about it.”

  “One of these days.”

  ~*~

  Finding Jericho Moon turned out to be easier than we anticipated. We drove to Venice and lucked out, finding a space in the parking area beside the Venice pier, where we spotted Bob Masters, a local fisherman we knew. Hondo asked, “Bob, do you know a guy named Jericho Moon?”

  “Sure, Hondo.”

  “You seen him around lately?”

  “The Sermon on the Mount.”

  “What?”

  Bob pointed, “Over there on the grass. He’s preaching the gospel of Moon to the homeless kids.”

  On the grassy area shaded by a dozen palms was a man with hair to his shoulders, and an acoustic guitar across his lap, wearing old jeans and what looked like a long sleeved white shirt made in the eighteen hundreds. He talked to seven or eight young people sitting on the grass at his feet while three women sat beside him.

  “Puffy shirt.” Hondo said.

  Bob and I both grinned. Bob said, “Like on that Seinfeld episode where he wore the shirt on the Today Show? Yeah. The Puffy Pirate Shirt.”

  I asked Bob, “What do you think of him?”

  “It’s not my scene, man. He’s a smooth talker, got a line of psycho-spiritual mumbo jumbo a mile long, and some of the kids around here think he’s a god. Really.”

  “You don’t.”

  “Nope. But I’m older and not a runaway or someone searching for the meaning of life. I think he’s some sort of scam artist. Pretty good singer, though. Kind of a folk and rock style, like back in the sixties. Talk was, he had a musician friend with contacts at Sony Records who was working to get Moon a recording contract, but someone murdered the guy before he completed the deal.”

  I said, “Was that Tom Hammons, lived in Topanga Canyon? I read about that.”

  “That’s him, murdered in his own home. The killers knifed him a few times, sliced off his ear, and tortured him for three days before stabbing him to death.”

  Hondo said, “It had some witchy things about it, too, from what
I remember.”

  “That’s what I heard. The killers used Hammons’ blood to write on the wall. That’s some heinous ju-ju there.”

  Hondo said, “Thanks, Bob.”

  “Sure thing, guys. Hey, are we going fishing anytime soon?”

  Hondo said, “Let’s try for next Saturday. I can get the loan of a boat.” Bob gave us the thumbs-up and ambled out on the pier, stopping to shake hands with friends and compare fish stories. We could tell because they held their hands apart while talking to show the size of their fish.

  We walked across the sand to the area of grass and palm trees where Twenty-Ninth Avenue intersected the beach.

  Jericho Moon saw us coming, but continued talking to the young people, most of whom appeared to be in their late teens, with a couple of them in their early twenties. Moon glanced at us and said to the group, “We will continue our talks tomorrow. You are all beautiful. Peace to you.”

  He placed the guitar on the grass and stood, smiling like he’d been expecting us. I guessed Jericho to be somewhere in his mid-thirties.

  Three women rose with the others, but didn’t leave. They moved to stand beside Moon, and all had welcoming smiles. He touched each of the women as he said their names, “This is Suri,” she had black hair and dark brown eyes, the nicest looking of the three. “Donna,” who had sun-streaked blond hair and blue eyes, “And Willow.” Willow had a slight Asian cast to her brown eyes and a build like her name suggested. He said to the women, “These are the famous Venice private detectives, Ronny Baca and Hondo Wells. Show them welcome.”

  The women put their hands on our arms and said in unison, “We’re happy to meet our new brothers.” They might have been zombies under a spell from the way they said it. Jericho made a slight motion with his hand and the women retreated behind him as he turned his focus on us.

  Jericho had warm, doe-brown eyes, and his entire countenance was one of welcome. Hondo shook hands, and when I reached to do the same, he hugged me like an old friend. He stepped back, his eyes moist, and said, “Brother, I’m sorry for the unhealed wounds you carry inside.” He looked at Hondo, “You as well, my brother. But his wounds,” he nodded to me, “are from not being able to save others. His grief is deep, and he hides it away from the world.”

  Now, I’m the one who usually poo-poos this kind of thing while Hondo is more into the metaphysical, mystical stuff. But this time Jericho Moon pushed my buttons. I felt like he saw deep inside; saw the things I never told anyone. Thank goodness for Hondo, who got straight to the point.

  Hondo said, “Is Bodhi Artell with you?”

  Jericho shook his head. He turned to the three women, “Have you seen her?”

  Suri, the nice looking one said, “Not in a week or two.”

  Moon said, “The Bodhi Child is out somewhere in the world, but not here with our family.”

  I said, “The last time you saw her, was that at Spago?”

  He didn’t appear surprised. “No, a little after that, when some of her friends told me I was an unhealthy influence on Bodhi.”

  Hondo said, “Did they scare you off?”

  Moon smiled, “Nothing like that. We’re all brothers and sisters on this earth, and they are mine. Besides, I don’t scare, because love is all I have inside me. There’s no room for any other emotions.”

  I said, “I’m not a believer, Jericho. People are complex and full of emotions. Nothing else is possible.”

  “Neither of you are believers. But this one,” He nodded at Hondo, “is at least seeking for the answer.” He turned to me, “You, my brother, are not. If you come to me, I will show both of you a better path.”

  “Where would that be, where we would come to meet you?” Hondo said.

  He pointed at the grass, “We are here at the moment. Would you like to begin?” The man seemed so sincere, and like the most understanding human being I ever met.

  Hondo said, “We can’t today. How about some other time, wherever your office is?”

  “My office is wherever I am.”

  I said, “How about if we find you.”

  “As it should be. I’ll be waiting.”

  As we left, we watched another group of four young women come and sit on the grass as Jericho strummed his guitar and sang to them.

  I said, “I feel like I just had Thulsa Doom from Schwarzenegger’s Conan movie tell me, ‘I am the wellspring from which you flow’.”

  “The man has a way about him.”

  I said, “How about we go around and do some digging on this dude, and his dudettes.”

  “Do you think Bodhi’s in danger?” Good old Hondo, he got me back on point.

  “Ahh, you’re right, we need to focus on finding her first. He did say he hadn’t seen her.”

  “He looked sincere when he said it.”

  “That’s what bothers me.”

  Our office was only a few blocks away, so we walked, and Hondo used his cell to order Chinese to be delivered. We tied with the delivery man on getting to our office. I invited Archie over, and he came through the door a few minutes later. We sat at the table and Archie ate two spring rolls while Hondo and I loaded chicken fried rice on our paper plates.

  When he took a third spring roll, I said, “Hey, that one’s mine.”

  “I need the extra carbs after leading the pregnant women in pre-birthing cardio all morning.”

  I looked at our eighty-year old friend, landlord, agent, and gym owner sitting across from me. He wore a white tee shirt with cut-off sleeves, and his arms looked like large oak branches, all sun-browned and hard. His bodybuilding years still held him in phenomenal shape for his age, as did exercising daily with weights. He still bench-pressed three-fifty and could walk across the gym floor on his hands.

  I had a hard time picturing him coaching cardio of any kind, but especially showing pregnant women a fourth his age how to strengthen and tighten their female regions for delivery. My mind suddenly pictured a faceless woman in the delivery room, wearing a hospital gown that said, Trained by Archie, shooting a baby out to a waiting nurse ten feet away wearing a catcher’s mitt and pounding the center of the glove saying, “Put ‘er in there!”

  Archie caught me looking and said, “Okay, I’m sorry. I was a little hungry. Thanks for sharing.”

  Hondo said, “At least Archie doesn’t steal chocolate milk.”

  Now I was being double-teamed. I put a spoonful of hot and sour soup in my mouth and mumbled around it.

  Hondo said, “What was that?”

  “God bless us every one.”

  Archie said, “Haw! Good one, Ronny.” He slapped me on the back in his normal way, and knocked soup out of my nose.

  ~*~

  We checked Bodhi’s credit card receipts to see the last time they had been used, and found one receipt from the Red Lobster on Century Boulevard. We drove to it and talked to the manager. Next, we interviewed several of the staff. It seemed they didn’t remember her, but remembered the order. I said, “Seventeen Maine lobster dinners for takeout, is that a common order?”

  “No way, man,” Jerry, the Manager said, “That’s a lot of lobsters.” He had an odd way of moving his mouth when he spoke. Jerry’s sparse-haired blond moustache seemed to be crawling across his upper lip like an anemic caterpillar staggering across the ridges of a Ruffles potato chip.

  Hondo held the photo of Bodhi up again, “She wasn’t the one who picked it up?”

  “No sir, I’d remember somebody that attractive. I’m sure it was a man picked them up. Guys like us, we always like to see the ladies.” He winked at Hondo and me, and moved his lips in what he considered a knowing leer. His moustache appeared to convulse in death spasms.

  “Did he have any help?”

  “No, just made lots of trips back and forth.”

  “Describe him.”

  “He’s an Indian.”

  I said, “What kind of Indian?”

  “A woo woo.”

  “Come again?”

  “You
know, not a red dot, a woo woo. The kind that kicked Custer’s butt.”

  Man, this guy. “How did he dress?”

  “Jeans and a black tee shirt. I remember that, because it had capital letters on the front spelling ‘F.B.I., with little letters running down below each capital so it spelled out Full Blooded Indian. Oh, and he had braids.”

  “How old was he?”

  Really old. Maybe fifty.”

  “Big?”

  “I guess so. He looked real strong, and had big shoulders and stuff. He wasn’t fat at all, and not tall, either, maybe five ten.”

  “Did you see his vehicle?”

  “Sure did. It was a Rolls Royce. A silver one.”

  “Was there anyone else in the car with him?”

  “Just him.”

  “One last question. Did you see which direction he went?”

  “No, I missed that. We were busy that day.”

  As we left, I asked Hondo, “Any ideas?”

  Before he could answer, my phone rang. It was Amber. I said, “Hey, Amber.”

  She sounded anxious, “I’m working at Moonshadows, in Malibu. Do you know it?”

  “I do.”

  “Can you come by, I need to talk to you and Hondo. It’s about Bodhi.”

  “We’re on our way.”

  Amber had the door open when we arrived and she ushered us to a table away from the other customers. When we sat down, the first thing she did was put her warm hand in mine and give it a little squeeze as she gave me a soft, quick kiss on the lips. My heartbeat quickened, and I could smell her, like honeysuckle in the morning. I forced myself to focus and asked her, “Are you on the clock?”

  “Yes, but the manager said I could take as much time as I need to talk to you two. He likes Bodhi, so he’s worried.”

  “He likes her, as in dating?”

  “They went out a few times before she broke it off, but she’s still friendly and he still has hope.”

  Hondo brought us back to the subject. “Did you hear something about Bodhi?”

  Amber said, “Yes, an actor friend of mine likes to do early morning hikes for exercise. He was on one of the fire roads a few days ago and spotted a silver Rolls Royce on a dirt road a hundred yards or so below him. Like he said, you don’t see cars like that on dirt roads, much less those roads. So he watched it, and saw another car, an older model pickup drive to it and let out a guy who got in the Rolls and drove away. Both cars stayed together as they left.”