by David Chill
Chapter 9
None of Mike Black's neighbors in the building had witnessed anyone coming in or out of his office today. Or yesterday. The owner of Woo Woo Productions casually mentioned Black had been cast in one of their films last year, but they hadn't been impressed with his acting ability. I wasn't sure how much talent a porn actor needed beyond the obvious physical attributes, but apparently Mike Black did not get any callbacks for future roles. The clerk at the liquor store confirmed Black as a regular, but aside from learning his preference for mixing cheap vodka with Red Bull, I had few clues to help in my fledgling investigation.
I pondered my next stop, deciding to call ahead and see if it was worth what would be an hour-plus drive. When I phoned Benjamin Starr's home, the person answering was clearly not Benjamin Starr. A few questions revealed the elder Starr was in New York on business, and that his wife had tagged along to visit the swank shops along Fifth Avenue. That was just what I wanted to hear. What I did not want to hear, though, was my phone buzzing immediately after I hung up. I had just merged onto the welcomed sight of clear traffic on the 101 freeway. I glanced down at a brief text. Nick Roche wanted to see me.
The executive tower loomed over the BMB lot. It was a blue and gray glass building, with enough angles jutting out to make it look artistic. The interior lobby featured a huge atrium with a glass ceiling wide enough to allow a vast amount of light to pour in. So much so, that the effect was not unlike a greenhouse, a little warm and more than a little dank. It was the type of lobby most likely designed by a smarmy architect who would never have to sit in it. Large wall vents blew cold air down mercifully, but it was still uncomfortable.
After a 20-minute wait, Nick Roche's young assistant arrived, and led me up to the top floor and into his office. Roche was on the phone, feet up on the window sill, gazing aimlessly across the western horizon. It had been a few days since our weekend rainstorm, and layers of smog had started to form again. You could still make out the Pacific, a bit fuzzy in the distant sky, but it made for a very different view than the one just a few days ago. But to me, everything felt different from a few days ago. Roche motioned for me to sit and quickly finished his call.
"Burnside, thanks for coming."
"Sure," I said.
"I'd like a progress report," he declared, and his mouth grew stern. "And maybe an explanation for how a simple background check could lead to two people getting killed."
"Good question. I'm glad I wasn't one of them. And thank you for your concern about my welfare."
"Oh. Yes. Sorry about that," he muttered, his executive posture moving down a notch.
"To be perfectly honest, I've been wondering how a background check could morph into this, too. So have the police. I'm sure they paid you a visit."
"They did. You know, you shouldn't have given them my name."
I peered at Roche. "The police wanted to know who at BMB hired me," I said, my voice rising. "There are some things I don't keep from the authorities. But I'm also surprised you aren't expressing concern about your Security Director getting run down like a dog in front of his own house."
"Look. I know this has been a rough time for you, but I don't like your tone," Roche said, the indignation growing in his voice. "You make it sound like I had something to do with all this."
"Did you?"
"Of course not. Don't be ridiculous."
"Well, tell me something." I asked. "What do you think Patty Muckenthaler's role could have been here?"
"Patty? Who knows. Why are you even asking about Patty?" he said as he reached inside his desk for a pack of cigarettes. He flipped one out, lit it and looked at me. "Yes, I'm aware smoking's against the rules. Some habits are hard to break."
"I know. It's easier to break rules. The other day, Patty was meeting with Hector when you introduced us. Hector made a vague insinuation that she was involved in a sexual harassment issue. But that Patty wasn't the one being harassed. A little strange, don't you think?"
Roche took a long drag on his cigarette and pondered this. The other day he looked rather cerebral as he took a long pull and then slowly exhaled a steady stream of smoke. Now it just seemed like an act.
"Maybe," he sighed. "But this is a hard conversation to have, all things considered. And I'd like you to respect the confidentiality here. It's a very sensitive subject."
"Go on," I said.
"It has to do with Kitty Strong. She works for Patty in Production."
I took this in. "Does this person know her husband weighs 260 pounds and has a problem controlling his temper?"
"I don't know," Roche said wearily. "And in this business, some people don't care. But I have a personal interest in this issue. As you know, Kitty's my sister-in-law. My wife's sister."
"Has the offending party been notified?" I pressed.
"It's a little complicated."
"How so?"
"We have doubts that harassment was going on. At least not in the typical sense."
I shook my head. Things weren't making sense. But precious little about this case was making sense. "I don't get it."
"There's something called third-person sexual harassment. Let's say I'm in the lobby and I put my arms around a woman, and embrace her for longer than might be appropriate. And instead of getting upset, the woman tells me that it feels good. You'd think there's no sexual harassment going on, right? No one's being violated. But what if another employee were nearby and witnessed this. If they felt offended, they could claim third-person sexual harassment. That person would be the victim."
"All right," I said, nodding. "Sounds like Kitty was receptive to someone's advances."
"You don't say," he remarked, blowing some smoke up at the ceiling.
"Who else was involved?"
"It doesn't matter. The incident happened awhile ago, but the third person is still filing a grievance. And these things can turn into lawsuits, and then everyone in town starts talking about it. Jay's a public figure, I know this would be devastating to him. And our image would take a hit. There aren't many winners here."
"So you're trying to keep a lid on things."
"Best I can. And with Hector getting killed, it just adds to the mess."
"That's what's so puzzling," I said. "Why would someone want Hector out of the way?"
"One of the detectives that spoke to me thought it could have been another cop. I guess Hector didn't win any popularity contests at the LAPD."
"No he didn't," I said. "And I've also been wondering if it could have been another cop. But things just don't point in that direction."
"Uh-huh," Roche said and took another puff. "You know, I need to ask you about something else. The Eric Starr investigation."
"Ah. The thing I was actually hired for."
"Yes. Where are you on that?"
"Haven't gotten very far."
"Are you kidding me?" he said disgustedly.
"Well, after a couple of thugs tried to kidnap me in the Laputa parking garage yesterday, I managed to shoot one of them. I assume that counts as working on your assignment. I've also been spending a lot of time with the police the past few days. So I'm not exactly going over to Venice Beach and playing volleyball."
"Yes, yes, I know," he said, waving a hand apologetically.
"I did find out a few things, though. Starr was arrested for assault a couple of years ago. Victim was the wife of his business partner. Charges later dropped. You know about the partner disappearing from his yacht, right?"
"Yes, the drowning. But I was unaware of the assault charge against Eric."
"And apparently Starr filed a restraining order against the woman."
"Interesting. It appears like you've been working on this case, after all."
"I was actually on my way down to Irvine when you called," I said, ignoring the crack. "I'm planning to interview his brother. I understand Eric hired him into Laputa a few years ago and then terminated him."
"Fired his own brother?" Roche said, eyebr
ows raised.
"Apparently so. Although I don't imagine that would disqualify him from being hired here."
No," Roche said, stabbing his cigarette out in an ashtray. "I suppose it wouldn't. Not at all."
*
The freeway traffic was still light on the way down to Irvine. I reached the Starr residence and parked a block away, ever mindful I had an arrest warrant still outstanding. The late afternoon sunlight was becoming diffuse, a dark, distant cloud cover was forming, but the temperature was still a pleasant 72 degrees. Lanny Starr obviously thought it was warm enough. When he answered the door, he was dressed in shorts and flip flops.
"Yeah?" he said intelligently.
I flashed my fake P.I. badge, which was nothing more than a shiny gold shield that said I was a Los Angeles Private Investigator, with the number 4040 engraved in blue. I chose the number 40 because it was my jersey number when I played for USC. The badge really did look a bit like a gold shield that an actual LAPD detective might possess, and it was handy enough to fool most people. Especially when I flashed it quickly. If the person asked to see it again, I would hand over my real P.I. license, but that didn't happen often. The person needed to be sharp enough to question my credentials.
"Are you Lanny Starr?" I asked, pretty sure I had the answer.
"Uh-huh," Lanny responded, blinking a few times. He looked like he was about 25, not much taller than his brother, but with a more sizable gut.
"Listen," I said, putting the shield away quickly, "I'm an investigator and I'm looking into some criminal activity up in West L.A. It involves your brother Eric. It's serious. We need to talk."
"Whaaa... ?" he said, struggling to make sense of this. His eyes had a reddish tinge, and he looked mildly stoned. That might or might not be beneficial to me; it depended on how much and how long he had been smoking.
"May I come in?" I asked. "It won't take long."
"Uh, I don't know... "
"Listen," I said with a degree of urgency. "You're not in any trouble. And I don't care what you've been doing today. I just need to ask you a few questions. Won't take long."
He processed this for a few seconds and finally let me enter. The foyer opened up to a spacious great room, with a spiral staircase off to the right. To the left was a den, where Lanny lead me. The faint smell of marijuana smoke lingered in the air. I noticed a blue plastic bong sitting on the carpeted floor, placed to the side of the couch. He sat down on the couch. I sat in an easy chair next to him. A 60-inch TV was mounted across the room and a single video game controller sat on a marble-and-glass coffee table.
"So, uh, what's this about my brother?" Lanny asked.
"Yes," I said, wondering if his being partially stoned would loosen his tongue or make him paranoid. "You worked for Eric at Laputa for a while. Can you tell me about it?"
"Uh, well, yeah. I worked there for a year. Now I don't."
"Right," I said. "And then you were let go. What happened?"
Lanny hesitated for a moment. "Why are you asking me this?"
"It's important," I said brusquely, hoping my professional demeanor would be all the detail I'd need to share for the time being. Sometimes when you speak in a grave tone and maintain the utmost seriousness, a callow witness will take on a similar disposition. "It really is. Critically important, in fact."
"Oh, okay," he said, although I wasn't quite sure whether he believed me. Or even understood. But no matter. His acquiescence was what I needed. "Well, it kind of pissed me off. Yeah, I wasn't doing a lot of work, but no one else there was. It was kind of a party atmosphere. I guess I didn't always make it into the office. Even still, when your brother's running the company, you figure you'd get treated differently. My brother has his own set of rules."
"Totally understand," I said sympathetically, although I wondered if firing an employee like this wasn't the worst move an executive could make, brother or not.
"And there was a lot of stuff going on with his partner's crazy-ass wife."
"Oh?" I said, rolling this around in my mind for a moment. "Jack Beale, the guy who drowned. What happened there?"
Lanny shrugged. "No one knows for sure. One moment he was sitting with his wife, Darcy, on the bow of the yacht. Glanced back a little later and he wasn't. Simple as that."
"You were on the boat that day?"
"Uh-huh."
"You think there was any foul play?"
"Huh?"
"Do you think someone pushed him in?" I asked, reminding myself that patience was supposedly a virtue.
"Aw man, you're making me feel bad," Lanny said.
"Sorry," I said as sincerely as I could muster. "But as I said, this is important."
He shook his head. I half expected to hear something rattle. "I really don't know," he replied, sounding a little more coherent. "The waves were choppy that day, the boat was moving around a lot. I could see him falling in. But push him over the edge? Be a dumb thing to do. I first thought maybe his wife could have maybe done it, but no. Nothing in it for her. Darcy wound up getting cut out, not even getting Jack's shares. Eric ran the company from then on, but Laputa was never the same. No one would have pushed Jack in. Unless they wanted the company to fail. And everyone on the boat that day worked for Laputa. Or I guess maybe their spouse did. Wouldn't have made sense."
"No, it wouldn't have."
"Funny thing, though."
"What's that?" I asked.
"Nearly everyone who was on the boat that day was gone from the company within a few months. Including me. Weird, you know?"
"Very weird," I repeated, a little surprised that he was being as forthcoming as he was. I didn't want to say anything that might make him stop sharing. "But you said something interesting a minute ago. That people don't do a lot of work at Laputa. What's that about?"
"Yeah, it was crazy. People would screw around all day. It was just one big party. I mean, some people worked, but there were a lot of people that just took up space. Surfed the Internet, posted on Facebook, were on the phone a lot. It's an open office, everyone's in cubicles, so there's no privacy. Everyone sees everything, but no one really cared."
"Not even Eric?"
"Especially not Eric. He was always hitting on women in the office, flying around the country, getting his name in the paper. When Jack was there, Jack ran the show. Eric would come up with wild ideas, like turning Laputa into a TV channel, an online shopping site, a dating service. But Jack was the one who made all these things work. Or he told Eric they couldn't do it. With Jack gone, there was no one to stand up to Eric. No one there who could say no. And no one to run the office."
"What happened with his wife, Darcy? You said she got cut out."
"Oh yeah," Lanny smiled. "She was really ticked she got nothing. Or I guess she'll have to wait a few years for it. And she hated Eric. They didn't respect each other. It got nasty. One day she even took a swing at him."
"I thought Eric was the one who got charged with assault."
"Yeah. Not surprising the police thought Eric would be the instigator. They dropped the charges when they looked at her hand and saw the knuckles were scraped, plus he had a cut over his eye."
"Why do you think she took a swing at him?"
"Like I said, Darcy was ticked. She thought when Jack died, she'd get his piece of the company. But I guess you can't rule someone dead without a body. Also, Eric and Jack had a written agreement that if one wasn't around, whatever, the other partner would take over control of Laputa. Darcy has some money, sure. But Eric got the company. Funny thing, huh?"
"How's that?" I asked.
"Eric got what he wanted. Control. And then the company started going into the ground."
I didn't understand this. "I thought Laputa was doing well."
"Everyone thinks so. But it's not. And that's why he wants to go to BMB."
"You know about that."
"Sure," Lanny said. "My dad told me. Eric doesn't want to be around when the bottom falls out. Laputa is rot
ting from the inside."
"Why isn't he trying to stop it then?" I asked.
"What makes you think he isn't the one ripping it apart? It doesn't take much, you know. An accountant with a spreadsheet can steal more than a hundred men with guns."
"I think I've heard that line before. Or something like it," I frowned.
Lanny shrugged. "I think it's from an old video game I used to play."
"Okay. And you think Laputa's going down the tubes. And that's the reason Eric's looking to bail?"
"That's part of it. But I'm not sure how well you know Eric. He's really competitive. If he's being considered for something big, he'll do whatever it takes to get it. It's all about the game, and the rules are always changing. For Eric, the only thing worse than not getting what he wants, is seeing someone else get it."
Chapter 10
The sun was starting to set as I drove away from Irvine. I left Lanny Starr to go back to indulging in whatever mind-numbing activity he was engaged in before I arrived. I hadn't eaten much today, and maybe the lingering smell of weed was having an effect on me, but strong hunger pangs began to set in. I stopped at a gas station and bought a Milky Way bar, the first bite of which made me practically swoon, and I quickly rated it as among the best tasting treats I had had in quite a while. That would at least temporarily quell the hunger and get me home in one piece, although the thickening rush-hour traffic made the drive interminably long.
By the time I arrived back at our house, Gail had started making dinner. Marcus celebrated my arrival with a booming, "Daddy's home!" which filled my soul with joy. I lifted him up over my head, gave him a sky hug and suggested we go investigate what Mom was making for dinner.
Gail, with her long brown hair tied back into a ponytail, was hunched over a counter, chopping some vegetables. In a large pan sat a sizzling puddle of olive oil and a clump of minced garlic, with a steaming pot of penne pasta nearby. With Marcus in my right arm, I put my left around Gail's waist and hugged her gently. She stopped, leaned back and let me kiss her. Not wanting to miss out on the action, Marcus wrapped his arms around both of us.