At least my positive thinking tapes are paying dividends, he thought morosely. Then again, it was easy for his doctor to counsel harmony. He hadn’t written an album of hit songs, met the love of his life – who also had pipes like Joplin and the sex appeal of Shakira – and then been screwed out of both at the last minute, just as things were taking off, preparing for a world tour opening for Nirvana to support the release of the record that would go on to become one of the biggest sellers of the nineties. Easy for his quack to say, “Take a few deep breaths” and dismiss his rage as a personal failing. He hadn’t climbed to the top of the mountain only to be thrown off its sheerest face.
A spot opened up on his right and he signaled as he slowed, earning an angry honk from the car behind him. Black offered another middle finger and then swung into the space, all thoughts of his past banished in favor of controlling his focus, just as his MP3s soothingly advised. He was a winner. Everything leading up to this point had made him one. It was his time now. He was master of his destiny and everything was possible, each new day the start of a powerful, compelling beginning.
A tidy enough mantra, indeed, though with a delicate hint of pure BS, he decided as he shut off the engine. But it was all he had. That, cigarettes he had to quit smoking soon, and anger. Always anger, as familiar to him as his favorite underwear.
Succumbing to his base motivations, he cracked the glove compartment open and extracted a hard pack of Marlboro reds, and after a moment’s hesitation, withdrew one and lit it with the car lighter. Black greedily sucked the smoke into his lungs, despising his weakness even as the rush of nicotine into his constricting vascular system dampened his annoyance at the world, if only momentarily. The cigarette didn’t last long, and he considered having another one, then checked the time and swore under his breath.
When he pushed through the door to his “suite,” as the small antechamber and postage stamp office was referred to by the landlord, Roxie was on the line with someone. She glowered at him as he inched past her desk, which faced the dilapidated black faux-leather couch he’d bought from the prior occupant for a hundred bucks. He pretended not to notice her disapproving gaze and ignored the fact that, even though he’d asked her a hundred times to dress appropriately, she was again wearing a tight ebony concert T-shirt with the sleeves cut off, the better to display her tattooed arms. She brushed an errant dyed black lock aside and put the call on hold.
“About time. Where’s the chai?”
“Damn. I forgot. Running too far behind. Who are you talking to?”
“A potential client. Says she knows you.”
A furry, rotund form approached from beneath her desk and rubbed against Black’s leg before stalking away, leaving a trail of cat hair on his suit trousers, which drove him nuts. Mugsy was a stray that had figured Black for a soft touch the day after he’d moved in, and had promptly taken up residence in the office, doted upon and spoiled rotten by Roxie, whom he adored.
“Really? Who?”
“Have you been smoking? You smell like a big fleshy ashtray.”
“I resent the fleshy crack. Uncalled for.”
“If it fits, own it.”
“Who’s the client, Roxie?” Black tried again.
“Crap. I could think better if I had a refreshing chai in front of me. I get all forgetful if I don’t have my fix.”
“Roxie. Who?”
“Says her name’s Colleen. Sounds kind of whack. A little loco, if you know what I mean.”
Black searched his memory banks. “Colleen Fleishman?”
“That’s it. She wants to talk to you. Line one.” Mugsy resumed his position under Roxie’s desk after gracing Black with a wide-mouthed yawn and a look of complete disdain.
“What did you two talk about?” Black asked as he moved into his office and plopped down into his worn executive chair.
“She wanted my advice on currency hedge derivative contracts. What do you think we talked about? Ask her yourself,” Roxie said with an exaggerated eye roll and her trademark sneer, then turned to face the sofa again, her part in the discussion at an end, annoyed because he’d forgotten her drink.
Black hit the call button and lifted the handset to his ear. Colleen was a friend from way back, although he hadn’t talked to her in months…no, make that years. At one time she’d been a heavy hitter gossip columnist, but the business hadn’t been kind to her of late, and as the industry had shifted from paper to online, she’d fallen on hard times. But she still knew a lot of people. A lot.
“Black Solutions, may I help you?”
“Solutions? What the hell does that mean?”
“Colleen?”
“Maybe I should say, Colleen Solutions?”
“Colleen. Nice to hear from you. Been a while.”
“Your receptionist is a hoot. You banging her?”
“Colleen. Come on. I’m not going to dignify that with a reply. Really.”
“You should never bang the help. That’s a good rule to live by.”
“Thanks for the tip. You should write greeting cards – you have a gift. But concern over my love life aside, what’s up? Everything okay?”
“With me? Never better. I can’t get anyone in this stinking berg to answer my calls, but other than that, can’t complain.”
“I answered.”
“I meant anyone that mattered.”
Black was beginning to wonder whether he was wearing his “I’m an asshole” shirt today, or if perhaps this was the new normal for his interactions with the opposite sex.
Colleen’s tone softened. “Sweetie, it was a little joke, okay? You know I love you. I’m just bitter because you won’t jump my bones. Probably worn out from your twenty-something hottie answering the phone, am I right? Men are all pigs.”
“Maybe you could do fortune cookies, too. Greeting cards and fortune cookies. We’ll be rich,” he said, and then tried one more run at it. “What can I do for you today, Colleen? I’m kind of busy…”
“Yeah, your receptionist told me. Sounds like LAX over there. You’ve got a lot on your plate.”
He waited a beat, refusing to be drawn in. He knew her, and he knew that she’d get to her point when she was good and ready. This was all just foreplay.
“But assuming you can push all the other big ‘solutions’ cases aside, I think I’ve got one that will pay the light bill for you. Maybe even get you a new suit.”
He stopped scanning his emails and leaned back in his chair, his interest piqued. “Really? You know what a clothes horse I am. I have expensive tastes.”
“It’s all that retro junk you wear. You should dress like an adult.”
“Again, your counsel is priceless. I’m making notes. But you mentioned a case?”
“I did. It’s a friend of mine. A bigwig who’s got a problem. I was trying to get some dirt about his next movie, and he let slip that he’s in big trouble. So I suggested he talk to someone who’s a professional. That would be you, by the way.”
“A bigwig? Those are my people. Who is it, and what’s the problem?”
“Not so fast. This will go a lot easier if you come out to my place. I can walk you through it. Won’t take too long. Besides which, I haven’t seen you for all kinds of forever.”
Black groaned inwardly and then glanced at the big pile of nothing on his desk. Colleen lived in a mobile home off the highway that stretched like a ribbon through Riverside to Palm Springs and beyond. If he was lucky he could get there in forty minutes, now that rush hour was over. He knew she was emotionally blackmailing him – if he wanted the juice on the client, he had to show he cared, and in this case, caring meant visiting her even though he’d rather be vivisected by zombies.
“All right. You sold me. Give me the address and directions again. It’s been a while. I can probably move some things around and make it out there in an hour or so.”
“Yeah, Roxie felt you might be able to. She’s a firecracker, isn’t she?”
Black eyed her
in the other room, now texting someone on her cell phone, swinging one black denim-clad leg slowly as she hummed to herself.
“That’s the understatement of the year.”
Chapter 3
The drive out of L.A. was a misery even in the late morning, clogged with heavy trucks steaming their way east with their bounty fresh off the docks in Long Beach and San Pedro. Black was beginning to get a sunburn by the time he rolled into the sad collection of mobile homes grouped just off the freeway in a community laughingly named The Oasis.
Colleen’s singlewide was several hundred yards from the entrance, and the downtrodden vehicles he passed gave silent testament to her fall from grace. She’d been methodically downsized from her once-lofty perch as the top gossip columnist in Los Angeles until she now earned a paltry income as a stringer for the new wave of gossip websites that had cropped up. The most popular of these had been created by her old boss, Freddie Sypes, who was also the conniver responsible for her ultimate downfall as he power-grabbed and schmoozed his way to the top of the newspaper’s food chain before kicking it to the curb in favor of his current enterprise. Colleen had reciprocated by starting her own site, but lacking Freddie’s financial resources, it ultimately drained her savings and went under, taking what was left of her career with it.
The smog-laden air smelled like burning oil when he shut off the engine and climbed out of the car. Colleen’s mobile home seemed to sag in the middle, and looked like it had last been painted around the end of the Korean War. The screen door opened and she stepped out, and he had to admit that even with all the hardship, she’d held up well. Her bronze skin was taut from her most recent face-lift, and her augmented breasts announced themselves with unapologetic rigidity, putting the tensile strength of her emerald green blouse to the test with each careful step toward him. She had to be sixty if she was a day, but she could have easily passed for a decade or two younger, and Black told her so, noting the smile his flattery brought to all of her face but her eyes.
“Come on in, darlin’. It’s not Beverly Hills, but hey, I hear that’s all immigrants anyway these days,” she invited, after delivering a not-so-matronly kiss to Black’s cheek, leaving a faint trace of knock-off perfume on his collar.
“How’ve you been, Colleen?”
“You know how it is. I’m on disability – my back. The painkillers help pass the time. And I do a deal here or there. It’s not the old life, but I get by. How about you?” she asked as she led him to a brown tweed couch across from an entertainment center.
“Same old. Working too hard for too little money.”
“I know that story. Where are my manners? Can I get you anything to drink? Soda? Water? Something stronger?”
“Water’s fine, Colleen. Thanks.”
She went to the kitchen and fetched two small plastic bottles from the fridge and then sat down next to him, turning coquettishly to face him. “My friend needs someone savvy to help him out of a jam, Black.”
“A friend. I see. Does this friend have a name?”
“Andrew Hunter.”
Black digested the name. “The Andrew Hunter? Actor?”
“Now director and producer, babe. Times they are a changing, and all.” She paused, and sat back while fishing in the cushions for the television remote control. “Yes, the Andrew Hunter. And believe me – he’s got a problem. If you can do anything to solve it, he’s a great guy to know.”
“That’s what I do, right? I’m the solutions guy. PI to the stars.”
“Hmm. I wouldn’t put that on your cards quite yet. Anyway, I told him that you would stop by his place whenever you had some time. He said he’d be there all day.” Colleen powered on the TV and pushed play on her DVD player, and an image flickered to life: Andrew Hunter at a high profile press conference several years ago, calling for a ban on the paparazzi – a campaign he’d taken on as a cause célèbre. They listened as he laid out his case, and then she muted the sound.
“You mentioned that he had a problem?” Black nudged her.
“He does. It’s a security matter. Which I told him was right up your alley.”
“Security? As in…?”
“I’ll let him tell you about it himself. But he’s pretty agitated, I’ll say that much. And when rich, powerful guys get worried, that means opportunity to little people like us.”
“How do you know him?”
“You forget that in my past life I knew everyone. I always treated him fairly, and a few times I softened a story that painted him in a negative light. We still talk. Since his star started fading at the box office, he’s gotten way more friendly with his remaining allies. He counts me as one. Which is where you come in. I recommended you. He wants to meet as soon as possible.”
“Sure. Where does he live?” Black asked.
“Where else? Bel Air.” Colleen rattled off an address and he entered it into his phone.
“Will they even let me drive up there?”
“You clean up pretty good. Just don’t wear any gang paraphernalia, and you should be okay.”
“I’m always representing the ’hood. Peace.”
Colleen didn’t say anything, the silence deafening. The pause was broken by the sound of a vehicle pulling up in front of the trailer. A car door closed, and a muscular blond man in his late thirties with longish hair and a deep tan pushed through the doorway carrying a bag of groceries.
She cleared her throat and offered a fatigued introduction. “Black, this is Seth. Seth Avery.”
Black rose as Seth placed the bag on the cheap dining room counter. The two men studied each other, and then Seth’s face broke into a practiced grin, his handsome features instantly at ease as he reached a hand out to Black.
“Nice to meet you,” Black said.
“Likewise. I’m sorry, Col didn’t tell me she was having visitors.”
“Seth’s staying with me, helping patch the place up. He’s a very talented director,” Colleen volunteered, and Black surmised that there was more going on than a little handyman action around the trailer. None of his business, and good for her if she could pull off the cougar thing.
Seth smiled again. “Well, it’s kind of you to say so. But that was a while ago. Now I’m a simple carpenter…”
Black and Seth stood facing each other like heavyweights who’d fought to a draw, and then Black held up his phone.
“I was just getting ready to hit the road.” He turned to her. “Thanks for the tip, Colleen. Any wise parting words?”
She stood and moved to his side, linking her arm in his as she led him back to the door. Seth had already lost interest in him and walked into the kitchen to unpack the groceries.
“Hunter’s under a lot of pressure right now, with his new movie getting ready to break. My advice would be to try to minimize the funnies with him. He’s not in a very comedic mood, and he sounded, if not exactly panicky, certainly agitated. So I’d keep it professional.”
“Good to know.”
Colleen frowned. “Don’t blow this. I don’t want it to seem like I referred a loser. Hunter’s an important guy, at least to what’s left of my career. And I need all the friends I can get, Black.”
“I won’t. No wisecracks. I get it.”
She escorted him to his car. Seth’s big silver Dodge pickup truck was parked directly behind it.
“Let me know how it goes,” she said.
“Yo. You know how I roll.”
She pulled away from him and gave him a warning glare. “Black…”
“Kidding.”
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Table of Contents
Books by Russell Blake
About the Author
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Ch
apter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Chapter 40
Chapter 41
Chapter 42
Chapter 43
Chapter 44
Chapter 45
Chapter 46
Chapter 47
Chapter 48
Chapter 49
Chapter 50
Excerpt from BLACK
The Day After Never - Nemesis (Post-Apocalyptic Dystopian Thriller - Book 9) Page 25