Sedona Law 6: A Legal Thriller

by Dave Daren

  “As it would,” I agreed. “So, Roy decides that if he can’t be with her, he wants her and the kid to be happy. So, he decides to make James famous. Which is going to take some time. So, he finds a good group of guys, and he pays a salary to be in the band.”

  “That’s not typically the way things work,” AJ said. “That’s weird.”

  “Exactly,” I said.

  A row of cars edged up to me and honked.

  “Where are you?” Vicki asked.

  “In the parking lot,” I answered. “Hold on.”

  I found a bench and sat down. “So the band isn’t making the kind of money to justify a regular salary for all the members. So, Roy starts doing a little side hustling.”

  “He starts selling drugs?” AJ asked.

  “That’s what you would think,” I replied. “Instead of risky drug dealing, he starts smuggling in overseas contraband. It’s less dangerous than drugs, and it’s harder to get caught, I imagine.”

  “Where does he get the stuff?” Vicki asked.

  “Mainly Irwin Montague,” I said. “But the trip to Africa was big.”

  “So how does he make money?” Vicki asked. “Where’s his buyer?”

  I laughed. “That’s where it gets real interesting. Remember our old friend Brent Levinson?”

  “Ugh,” Vicki said. “Ass grabbing La Vista Brent Levinson?”

  “Yeah,” I said. “Him.”

  “He’s the buyer?” Vicki asked incredulously.

  “Yeah,” I said. “He’s got houses in both Beijing and Cancun. Irwin gets the stuff to Mexico. Then, Brent flies out on his jet to Cancun, and then to his house in Beijing, where he sells it for boatloads.”

  Vicki and AJ were silent for a few minutes as the connections all smoothed out in their heads

  “What does this have to do with Kelsi and James?” AJ asked.

  “This is the part I’m not totally sure about,” I said. “Levinson offered James the contract on the premise that he’d continue to keep Roy around. James, however, figured out about Elias, and hated Roy and Kelsi, so he fired everyone. Then, without Roy and the smuggling, James had no value to Levinson, and now he’s got him in an expensive contract.”

  “So Levinson has James killed?” Vicki concluded. “That seems excessive.”

  “And what motive would the killer have themselves?” AJ asked. “Other than Levinson told them to do it?”

  “That’s what we need to find out,” I said. “But I know where Levinson is. Let’s send the Feds out here.”

  “Where is he?” Vicki asked.

  “I found him standing outside a strip club called The Pink Kitty Kat Lounge,” I said.

  There was silence for a couple of seconds.

  “Wait,” Vicki asked. “You were at a strip club?”

  Damn.

  “No,” I said. “I found him outside. I figured it was the most likely place for ass grabbing Levinson to hide out in Sedona.”

  Vicki laughed. “You’re probably right about that.”

  “I’m calling the agent now,” I said. “But I think we’ve got this one wrapped up pretty much.”

  “Yeah,” Vicki said. “I think we do. Chalk another win up for Team HAV.”

  I laughed at the resurrection of our ridiculous moniker for our firm in the early days.

  “Not just yet,” I said. “There’s still a lot of holes in this one. We’re going to have to get the FBI out here to sort it all out. I’ll call them here in a second.”

  The line got clearer and I could tell I was off speaker.

  “I miss you,” Vicki said.

  “I miss you too,” I said.

  “It sounded pretty rough on the recording,” she said. “You get banged up?”

  I laughed. “A bit. Eh, nothing I can’t handle.”

  “Come home in one piece,” she chided gently.

  “I will,” I said. “I love you.”

  “I love you too,” she said.

  We said our goodbyes and I sat outside on the bench, and realized the rest of my life had begun. I would spend the rest of my life coming home to Vicki. And I felt like the luckiest man on the planet.

  Chapter 17

  I didn’t call the FBI right away. There was one more thing I was waiting for. One more piece of the puzzle. I knew the client Brent was meeting. I knew the way Brent did business well enough to figure out what was going on. I just needed the client to arrive.

  He stormed through the parking lot, a figure all in black, and flicked a cigarette onto the concrete. He wore dark shades in the mid-afternoon.

  “Jagger,” I called out.

  He raised an eyebrow when he saw me, but his expression was sultry.

  “Henry Irving,” he mused in his thick Australian brogue. “Didn’t expect to see you here. Thought you weren’t the type anymore.”

  “I’m not,” I said. “But I think we have a mutual interest.”

  “Oh yeah?” he said. “What is that?”

  “Brent Levinson,” I said. “That’s who you’re here to meet.”

  He nodded slowly.

  “I think you might need some help in there,” I said.

  “And why would you do that?” he said.

  “I need him behind bars,” I said. “If I can get him on fraud, I can get the FBI to crack him on everything else.”

  “You mean the smuggling and shit?” Jagger rolled his eyes.

  My mouth dropped.

  “You knew about that?” I asked.

  “Yeah,” he shrugged. “Everyone knows. He’s been doing that for years. I think that’s why he’s not paying royalties to artists. He’s losing it all in the game.”

  I stared at Jagger in disbelief.

  “Where were you a month ago?” I mused.

  “What do you mean?” he asked simply.

  “You know we’ve been trying to pin down-- forget it,” I said. “Let’s come up with a game plan.”

  “Cool,” he said. “Brent, via Arista, owes me two fifty in royalties for Stay.”

  “You wrote Stay?” I stared at him shock.

  Stay was the one hit that made Captain Hook’s Nemesis a one-hit wonder. Except the song wasn’t a hit until it was covered by Sim One, an alt rock band that sold it to a Matt Damon movie.

  “Yes I wrote Stay,” he said defensively. “The fucker doesn’t want to give me credit, and it’s right there in the liner notes on the CHN album. But, Bret’s paying Johnny Hawthorne all the royalties that come in from Universal Studios. He says Sim One bought it from the band and that Johnny Hawthorne signed off on the purchase, and I should collect from Johnny.”

  “That’s bullshit,” I said. “Did you sign off on the sale to Sim One?”

  “I didn’t,” he said. “No one ran it by me. Well, Johnny just informed the band, and we all thought it was great. But, I guess I didn’t ask enough questions, because you know, I’m a rock star, and wasn’t totally in my right mind…”

  He laughed ruefully and scratched the back of his head.

  “But Johnny, or Arista, should have paid me something,” he said. “It’s only right.”

  “Yeah,” I said. “They should have. The standard contract with La Vista explicitly stipulates that you should have been given due opportunity to consider royalty purchase options. And I know, because I pored over that clause of that CHN contract.”

  “So,” he said. “He owes me the two fitty then?”

  “He does,” I said.

  “I threatened to sue him and shit,” he said. “But I don’t know the first thing about the courts. You know, and this goes all the way to fucking Matt Damon. How am I going to get Paramount Picture into court? They’re going to eat me alive.”

  “They probably will,” I said. “That’s why you want to settle out of court.”

  “How do I do that?” he said.

  “With my help,” I said.

  “Okay,” he nodded. “I’m interested, but I can’t afford to pay you.”

  “How about
this?” I said. “I’ll go in there with you right now, and I get you your two hundred fifty grand. In exchange, you agree to testify to the FBI everything you know about Bret Levinson and smuggling.”

  Jagger laughed. “On that again? Really? I can’t believe you didn’t know about that. It’s...everyone knows. He’s got a fleet of--”

  “Oh my gosh,” I rubbed my face. “A fleet?”

  “Yeah,” he shrugged nonchalantly. “I met his pilot one time. He got drunk and told me all about it.”

  “Fuck,” I said. “You’re coming with me.”

  I grabbed his arm and led him up the steps and into the club.

  “You’re sure you can get me money right?” he yelled as we entered into a wall of music.

  I winked.

  “Trust me,” I yelled over the volume.

  The Pink Kitty Kat Lounge was true to its name… pink. The whole place was done in pink and black, with fuzzy couches, and loud house music filled the room. The stage was empty at the moment, and scantily clad women walked around serving drinks.

  We quickly found Brent, who distigustingly ogled a pretty young, blond waitress and stuck a bill in her waistband, and slapped her bottom. She laughed and he said something to her, and she laughed again. I rolled my eyes.

  “Hello Jannette,” I greeted the dancer.

  She turned to me and smiled.

  “Henry,” she shouted about the noise. “I heard you were living out here now. How’s your life?”

  “Good,” I said. “How’s your brother?”

  “Playing minor league,” she said. “I’ll tell him you said hi.”

  “You do that,” I said. “Can you get us some drinks?”

  “Wait,” Brent said. “You know her?”

  I raised an eyebrow. “Grew up playing sports with her brother,” I smirked and then I added as a joke. “Big Catholic family. Doesn’t believe in birth control. Super into it.”

  He made a disgusted face and then turned to Jagger.

  “Jagger, Jagger,” he yelled over the noise. “Take a seat.”

  Jagger sat, and as soon as I followed suit, Brent’s expression changed.

  “What the fuck are you doing here, Irving?” he asked.

  “I negotiated this contract, Brent,” I said. “I know every word, every clause. Stop dicking around.”

  “The deal’s been signed over a year ago,” Brent rolled his eyes. “Your ‘client,’ I guess, needs to stop bellyaching over a dead deal.”

  “No,” I said. “Everyone from Steven Spielberg to Matt Damon is, and has, made money off my client’s work. He, on the other hand, hasn’t seen a dime.”

  “Not my problem,” Brent said. “He should have paid closer attention when he sold the song.”

  “Bullshit,” I said. “You didn’t give him ‘due opportunity.’”

  Jannette brought the drinks and Brent visibly backed away from her, as she set them down as if she could somehow be impregnated by osmosis. Jannette looked around the table confused, and I just shrugged at her. Brent was a dick. She’d thank me in the long run.

  “We fulfilled the terms of the contract,” Brent continued as Jannette walked away, “and any attempt to prove otherwise is wrong. But…”

  He pulled out a notebook and slipped an envelope to Jagger.

  “We’re willing to settle,” he said. “Out of the interest of kindness, we’re willing to give him a sizable cut of the profits, if he signs a waiver releasing us any further obligation.”

  “What is this?” I grabbed the envelope and read the check.

  “Seventy-five thousand dollars?” I read the number and threw the check back at him. “You must have us confused for two idiots.”

  Jagger tentatively picked up the check, and I saw him gulp at the number, and hand back the check a little slower than I did.

  “It’s not a bad deal,” Brent capitalized on Jagger’s hesitance. “Sim One got one hundred and twenty-five.”

  “You’re lying,” I said. “How many units did the Sim One version sell?”

  “I don’t have those figures off hand,” he said.

  “If you’re going to talk a song writer out of money,” I said. “Don’t you think that would be an important fact to prepare? I think you know, the number just works against you, so you thought you’d distract him with a couple lap dances, while you screw him out of a hell of a lot of money.”

  I saw Jagger turn to me, raise an eyebrow, and grin in admiration.

  “The film itself grossed fifty million at the box office,” I continued. “And Stay was the character’s love theme, featured in two different scenes--”

  “Three,” Jagger piped up. “It was featured in three different scenes.”

  “Three different scenes,” I corrected. “In a two hour feature film. And you want to tell me that it’s only worth seventy-five thousand?”

  “What is that you want, Irving?” Brent sighed deep.

  I grabbed a napkin out of the dispenser and snapped at Jagger who quickly produced a dull pencil. I wrote down a number, and slipped it to Brent.

  “No fucking way,” he laughed. “You are out of your mind.”

  “Given the sales of the film,” I said. “And the distress you put my client through, it’s not unreasonable. Of course, you have a great relationship with Amy at Paramount.”

  A shadow passed over his face. Amy at Paramount was the rep that would have to have signed off on the purchase. She was also a raging feminist who hated Brent’s guts.

  “I’m sure it was a big win for you to sell that song to her,” I said. “And I’m sure that your boss was elated that you got something across her desk. What a pity, that you’re going to have to take it all back, and tell her that you fucked up, and she’s going to have to go to court for it.”

  He smirked and rolled his eyes.

  “I’ve dealt with her before,” I said. “She likes me. Nice woman. But, she doesn’t want to be in a courtroom anymore than you do. So, why don’t we just put this whole nasty matter behind us, and settle this right here, right now.”

  “I’m all for settling out of court,” Brent said. “But what you’re asking for is completely outrageous. Not even Sim One got that much.”

  “Can you prove that?” I asked. “Because once I file this lawsuit, I can subpoena those records. And I’m sure your boss would love that, especially, given what I’ve heard.”

  “What’s that?” he draped his arm around the chair next to him and played with stray salt crumbs on the table.

  “Sales are low, Brent,” I said. “You’re an old school player. You’re a slick salesman that can close a deal, get it signed. But after that, you play by the old rules. That might have worked when you were growing up in this game, but now it’s not working. You’re just not hacking it out in the digital market. Napster ate your lunch in 1999, iTunes at your dinner in 2009, and Spotify is eating your dessert now.”

  I hadn’t heard any of that, but I knew him well enough to know that it was true. Or it least that he feared it was true. He raised his eyebrows, and I visibly saw him gulp. I snuck a glance at Jagger who couldn’t contain his shock. His mouth was wide open, and he stared at Brent, who was disintegrating in front of us.

  “Fine,” he said and he pushed the napkin back at me. “But I’m not paying that. I’ll pay half.”

  And then he stared me dead in the eye. Jagger nodded slowly, and Brent pounced on the gesture. I could have gotten more, but Jagger was caving too fast.

  “Not a penny more, or I will go to court,” Brent’s eyes flashed anger as he pulled out a pen.

  He pulled a checkbook out of his pocket, and scrawled out a check. Jagger glanced back and forth from Brent to me in the tense silence. Brent ripped the check out and tossed it to me.

  “You want to take that money,” he told Jagger. “You damn well better sign this.”

  I showed Jagger the check. It was for three hundred thousand.

  “We’re getting screwed here,” I told him. “Bu
t it’s probably all you’re gonna get from this scumbag.”

  Jagger raised an eyebrow, and caught my bluff. He played along.

  “How long would it take to go to court?” he asked me as he fingered the check.

  “We could file today, and have a hearing in six to eight weeks,” I shrugged. “For getting screwed for half, I’d say it wasn’t a bad idea.”

  “Fuck,” Brent rolled his eyes and tossed Jagger the original check for seventy-five thousand.

  “That’s it,” he said and he stood. “I’m done.”

  He pointed a meaty finger at the signature line. “Sign it now, or I take the whole booty and walk.”

  Jagger stole a quick glance at me, and I winked. He wordlessly signed the document. Brent grabbed the waiver off the table and stuck it in his notebook.

  “Fuck you, Irving,” he said. “You’ve lost everything I ever respected about you. I hope you enjoy the commission on that. Because that’s the last L.A. dollar you’ll see if I have anything to do about it.”

  “Don’t count on it, Brent,” I said. “And it’s far from over.”

  I stood and walked away, and Jagger followed me. As soon as we were out of the club, he burst into laughter.

  “Fuck, man,” he said. “Three hundred and seventy-five thousand dollars! I can’t believe you did that! You just walked in there, you just walked in, and then he writes a check. Holy fuck, man! I’ve been trying to get this money for a year, and you just walked in there, and he writes a bloody fucking check.”

  I smiled and slightly wished I hadn’t made the exchange I had earlier.

  “We had a deal, right?” I said and I clicked the remote on my car keys.

  “Yeah, yeah,” he gushed.

  His accent made the simple syllable sound much more cosmopolitan.

  “Come with me,” I cocked my head toward my car.

  He looked nervous. “If it’s alright, I’d like to take my bike. I don’t want Brent to cut my brakes, you know.”

  I laughed and ducked into the driver’s seat. “Follow me to the office. You’d better get that in the bank though, before it bounces.”

  “Dude, yeah,” he scoffed as he looked over the checks

  I drove out to our office, Jagger on his bike in my rearview. He did look like a rockstar, I would give him that. I called Agent Winslow.