Killing Reality

by Bob Henderson

  Then it hit me, the answer: Proven Killers needed a cop on the show. Show the viewing public that LA’s finest was on the job, and hopefully stir things up a little. Bingo! I got out my laptop and pounded out a scenario for Jonathan to see: A real-life police detective joins the Proven Killers cast to solve the recent murders that have rocked the Hollywood community with the help of Marc Henderson, one of the original “proven killers.” This odd, yet intriguing pair make for a unique crimefighting duo as they infiltrate the show to smoke out the killer that may be hiding among the ranks.

  I hit the “SEND” button and waited, hoping Jonathan would love the idea. Then, I took some initiative and sent an email to my favorite detective, one Artie Kramer:

  To: Detective Kramer

  Artie (I hope it’s okay that I call you Artie),

  I’ve got the Proven Killers show interested in bringing a real-life detective onto the show.

  Before you think this is a joke—it’s not. Just hear me out. The newspapers are saying the investigation seems to be dragging. So, what better way for you to get some new info that could help solve James’s and Klaus’s murders, than becoming a part of the show? I could help you with any obstacles. I could help reach out to people, kind of smooth the way for you. You solve a double-murder case, the show’s ratings go up—it’s a win-win! And who knows, you may even become a reality star yourself! LOL. So, what do you say?

  Marc Henderson

  I hit “SEND” again and closed my laptop. As I looked out the window, I heard a ping from the laptop, signaling that an email had come in. Looks like somebody else couldn’t sleep either.

  Marc: I like the way you think! Let’s talk about this some more. Meet me at my office around 9:15 am tomorrow morning and see if you can bring the detective with you. If I like your idea and this guy Kramer is any good, we’ll see about getting you guys set up. Thx, Jonathan

  Another ping.

  Henderson: How much does it pay? - Det. Kramer

  I smiled and typed back.

  Artie, Meet me on the set tomorrow at 9:15 am so we can meet with our producer Jonathan before he really gets going for the day.

  “I knew this could work,” I said outloud to no one. I slept a little better the rest of the night, knowing there was a real chance of getting back on top.

  38 Bingo

  I woke up tired but feeling good about the day. But then I looked at my alarm clock, which must not have gone off. “Holy shit!” I screamed. The clock read 8:45 am. Oh no, not today! I thought.

  I jumped in the shower and threw on some clothes. The shirt I picked out was clinging to my back because I didn’t have time to fully dry off after my two-minute shower. I jumped in the car and headed for the set. I was trying to drive and text at the same time to let Artie know I would be a little late. I lied and wrote that I’d been working on the pitch we were going to have to give to Jonathan. I looked up from my phone just in time to see the traffic light had turned red, and I had to hit the brakes hard. At the same time, I heard tires screeching, but they weren’t mine. I looked in the rear-view mirror and saw a truck up close, right on my rear end. My sudden braking must have caused the truck’s driver to do the same. I waved to indicate I was sorry, but couldn’t see any response from the other driver. What do you expect in L.A., I thought.

  I waited for the light to turn green, which seemed like five minutes with that truck right on my ass. I pulled away and looked back into the mirror. That’s when I noticed it wasn’t a truck, but a Humvee. A Humvee that looked a lot like the one I’d seen peeling out of Victor’s house the day he was killed.

  I floored it. The Humvee stayed right on my tail. Uh oh, not a good sign. I slammed on the brakes to see if I could get a quick look at the driver, then hit the gas again. Maybe wasn’t the smartest idea, because he got right on my ass again and was speeding up, obviously trying to hit me.

  I braced myself for impact. The Humvee veered and made a screeching turn onto Coronado Blvd. It missed my car by a hair, and that was when I could see the shadowy outline of three people in the mirror. Before they disappeared out of sight, I was able to make out the license plate: SELTMXI.

  Then it came to me. SEL TM XI. Seal Team 6. S.T.S. Shit, that was the Stronge kids! I’d been so focused on pinning the murders on one of the guys from the Proven Killers show, I’d missed what was right in front of me: the Stronge boys. They’d always been walking, talking time bombs, and since their shows had gone down the drain, they were undoubtedly pretty pissed. I just hadn’t known how much, I guess. At least I now had some pieces of the puzzle to work on.

  After the Humvee bolted out of site and my heart rate returned to normal, I was reeling from this discovery and what it meant. This could also work to my advantage with Artie. I had to stop that train of thought and focus. I only had ten minutes to get to Spitz’s old office and pitch to Jonathan why a cop on the show would be a brilliant idea.

  Yet, with this new information, I was going to have to fly by the seat of my pants at the meeting. How much—if anything—should I tell Jonathan? And for that matter, Artie? I was going to have to revise the ideas I’d pitched to Jonathan earlier. I could handle that. And I felt good, like I finally had something of value to trade—if and when I needed it. I just hoped that after being this late he would still see us.

  39 Partner

  I made it to Spitz’s old outer office in record time as Jonathan’s secretary shot me a silent rebuke from her desk. Artie was sitting on the sofa, looking uncomfortable and drinking coffee. I stole a glance in the mirror to make sure I was as presentable enough after having rushed over.

  “You can go in now, Mr. Henderson,” the secretary said as she typed away on her laptop.

  I stopped in front of Artie, leaned over, and whispered, “Just give me a minute with Jonathan first.” He nodded in agreement.

  The office had been entirely redecorated since Spitz’s death, for which I was immensely grateful. I wasn’t sure I’d ever be able to erase that visual from my memory, but I hoped time would help.

  “Hey, I’m glad you’re here, Marc.” Jonathan stood up to shake my hand. He seemed jazzed. “I’ve been thinking about this cop angle and I think I like it—I really do. Have a seat, I’ll have my secretary bring us some coffee.”

  He sat back down, leaned in his office chair, and got right to the point. He started spewing out all kinds of ideas for Artie’s role on the show. I just sat and listened.

  “And last, but certainly not least, with these recent murders so close to ‘home,’ so to speak, having a police detective on site would go a long way to help everyone feel more secure around here,” he finished.

  He looked more than pleased with himself as he typed a few notes into his phone. “Jonathan, first let me say that your ideas are great,” I said. “I mean really great, and I’m grateful you want Artie involved. But I might have some new information that could be a game changer. I mean I can’t say much yet, but…” I paused until Jonathan looked up from his scribbling, then I hit him with it.

  “I just discovered some new information about a possible lead.” Okay, that hadn’t come out as smooth as I would have liked, but judging by the look on Jonathan’s face, maybe it was the right way to have played it.

  “What are you talking about? You may know something about the murders?” Jonathan was all ears.

  I got up and walked over, perching myself on the corner of his desk, and leaned in. “What I meant to say was, ‘Their just might be more than one killer.’”

  Jonathan looked confused.

  “Like as in killers plural.”

  Jonathan asked his secretary to have Artie join our meeting.

  Artie may not have had the total television-cop look Jonathan was envisioning, but I knew he was perfect. He had his own sense of disheveled style, like Peter Falk in the classic Columbo TV series, and that weird out-of-the-box thinking thing that picked up what others missed.

  “Come on in, it looks like we’ve got a lot
of work to do,” Jonathan said, ushering Artie into his office and flashing a cat-who-ate-the-canary smile. I let him have his moment, knowing I was the one who’d really caught the canary. I had to play my hand wisely and not stupidly offer up any details unnecessarily. And most importantly, I needed to make sure I was a major part of this new show idea.

  40 Probable Cause

  You could say that the Stronge boys were a little slow. You could also say they were all fucked up from having a selfish egomaniac as a father and a diva-like, celebrity wannabe for a mother. Sandy Stronge was as narcissistic as her late husband, and singularly focused on obtaining fame and fortune. We all knew she would go to any lengths to get what she wanted. A show of her own with a Kardashian-like following would suit her just fine.

  The more I thought about the Stronge boys and their sorry excuses for parents, the more it made sense that they had to be involved in some way. But had they acted alone or did their psycho-bitch mother have a part in it? If so, she could easily have been the mastermind behind it all. The three boys barely had one brain between them, so it fit that Sandy would be the one giving the orders, right? After all, Sandy had harbored a grudge against Spitz ever since she’d learned he had encouraged Petra’s flirting with the women on the Being Stronge set; Spitz had felt it would generate more sparks in front of the camera. Maybe she’d finally had enough and wanted to teach Spitz a lesson. After all, he did drop her and her boys like a bad habit—if that wasn’t a compelling motive, then I didn’t know what was.

  You see, Army, Navy, and Ranger had lost their moral compasses a long time ago, while growing up in such a dysfunctional family. With names like theirs, they never stood a chance. From the get-go, there was always the expectation for the boys to be tough like their dad, take no prisoners, and kick ass at every turn in life. We all gossiped that they were brainwashed by their father’s “my way or the highway” philosophy, but equally influenced by their walking-talking Barbie doll of a mother, who cemented their beliefs that women were only good at being arm candy and breaking the bank, so they could chase beauty and the illusion of youth.

  The “Military Boys,” as they often liked to call themselves, were in fact the farthest thing from anything remotely military.

  But with Petra gone, their mother depended on them even more. They were the men of the family now. Sandy was as pushy as ever, and she constantly nagged at them to “not take this shit lying down.” They needed to get back on TV in the worse way. But would they resort to murder?

  Maybe the Stronge family was on my mind too much, or my paranoia was kicking in again. But it seemed like everywhere I went, there were the Stronge boys. They kept turning up like a bad penny. I couldn’t figure out why the Stronge boys would be following me. If they were even following me. Was I their next intended victim? Had Spitz told them of my confession before he was killed? Did they now know I had killed their father, even if it was self-defense? Scenarios were running through my head, and they were all bad.

  I needed to find out what was going on and fast. Everyone knew the boys had been royally pissed when Spitz cancelled Only the Stronge Survive. The Stronge boys craved fame and money almost as much as their crazy parents. Spitz had told a few of us hanging around the set one day that the boys wanted to “off” Milo while the cameras were rolling. Spitz laughed as it were the funniest joke he’d ever heard, but it could have been more than just wishful thinking on the boys’ part. Which gave me an idea. Maybe there was a way to give the boys what they wanted.

  I spent the next two days staking out the neighborhood where the alleged Seal Team 6 gang lived. If their comings and goings were any indication, they consumed massive amounts of take-out pizza, beer, Red Bull, and Taco Bell. It didn’t take me long to get their routine nailed down. I waited until they were all at home before springing my trap.

  I needed some courage, so I took a quick snort of whatever tiny amount of coke was left in my jacket pocket before facing the unholy trio. I knocked on the door, and Navy answered. He took one look at me and yelled back into the room, “You guys are never going to believe who's at our front door, and it ain’t the Easter Bunny!” Then he burped. What a charmer.

  I swallowed hard as the two other Stronge cretins crammed themselves into the doorway trying to get a look. Knowing the boys as I did, I decided to cut to the chase and set bait before even trying to wrangle an invite into the house.

  “Hey guys, I know I’m probably the last person you want to see, but I have a proposition for you. I think you boys should be on Proven Killers.” I stopped and waited. Their looks went from sneering and disgusted to curious and interested. And before I knew it, I was being offered a Bud Light from Ranger and sitting with them in their man cave.

  The room held a king-sized couch with matching recliners and two very large, mounted widescreen TVs on one wall. Empty food, beer cans, and DVDs were strewn all over the place.

  “So, what’s the plan, Henderson?” The Stronge boys looked interested, but also a little bored—as if they were deciding whether to hear me out or just kill me and bury me somewhere in the La Brea tar pits. I realized then that they could easily make me disappear and no one would be the wiser. No one even knew I was here. Not my smartest move. So, I hurried to get right to the point.

  “Look, hear me out. I think you guys know who killed Spitz and Klaus, and for the sake of argument, let’s assume I have a pretty good idea who did it too. Now, the only question is: was it one, two, or all three of you boys?”

  The boys’ faces dropped.

  I rushed on, “Now what happened was a bad thing, a very bad thing. But there is something good that can come of it. Based on your recent ‘work history,’ let’s call it, you boys would be perfect for Proven Killers!”

  I shut up and tried keeping my facial expression as neutral as possible. Army stood up and walked over to me, crouched down, and got right in my face.

  “Stop calling us boys, you fucking piss-ant. So, let me get this straight. What you’re saying is, you can get us on the show, correct?”

  “You guys watch the show, right?” They were nodding in spite of themselves. That was a good sign. “You know that Armando dude? Well, Armando hates being on the show, thinks it sends ‘the wrong message’ to kids. He’s on this whole trip against Proven Killers, which is having a toxic effect on the rest of the cast, so the new brass wants him off. Pronto. Ever since he got on the show, it just hasn't been the same. Jonathan Pence, the new head honcho, wants Armando gone and is looking for new blood for the show. Sorry, no pun intended.”

  They seemed to take a long time figuring out what I’d meant by my remark, so I pressed on. “This is where you come in. You’re naturals in front of the camera and you’re already famous.”

  They appeared to be listening, but also hadn’t said anything. I was getting nervous. Let’s face it, these boys were stupid, but they were also dangerous. I had to stay calm.

  Navy flexed his pecs and cracked his knuckles.

  “So, what’s the hitch?” Army growled. He was way over his limit on the steroids he’d been taking. He reminded me of Lync, sadly.

  “You guys force Armando off the show. And—here’s the best part—you do it with the cameras rolling. Think of it as a ‘live’ audition. It will go viral in a heartbeat and everyone will be clamoring for you to be a part of the show. When the press gets ahold of this, you’ll be the most popular stars of the show. What do you say to that?”

  I tried not to look desperate, glancing at my watch as if it didn’t matter one way or another.

  “You mean just bust in and fuck this guy up on camera?” Navy asked.

  “Exactly! Embarrass the shit out of him, give him even more reason to hate the show and quit. Rough him up some, let him know that you think he could be the one who killed Spitz and Klaus. Everyone knew Klaus and your dad were friends. And while Spitz wasn’t close with your family, Armando wouldn’t know that. He hasn’t been around long enough to know all that stuff. Think about
it—it would be great timing! The fingers would be pointed at Armando because all this murder business started to happen only after he came on the show.”

  I could practically see the wheels turning in their tiny little minds. Hopefully they were thinking they had a lot more to gain than they had to lose. From their perspective, they had already rid themselves of two major problems, namely Spitz and Klaus. Now, if they literally pushed Armando off the show, it would all but guarantee their ticket back to stardom and riches. They looked at one another, then back at me. The boys looked stoked. I had them.

  “Hell, I can see the billboards now”—I paused, motioning to an imaginary ad in the sky—“‘Watch out reality world—the Stronge Boys are back!’”

  That was a whopper of a lie, but I wanted to close this deal and fast.

  “Stop calling us boys,” Army said, but without any real heat behind it, as he smacked me playfully in the back of my head.