“Can’t you come up with anything at all? What does this Arliss character do?”
“Works as a caretaker in some old building.”
“Where?”
“Off Ventura, way down. Dunno what street.” “That’s all you can tell me?” Fanny asked, flashing him the friendly smile in case it would elicit more information.
“I don’t ask questions,” Sam said. “People wouldn’t come here if I did.”
“Okay,” Fanny said.
“I do know where Big Mark works,” Sam offered.
“Who’s Big Mark?”
“One of them guys I mentioned.”
“So where does he work, Sam?”
“At a fancy club on Sunset where rich kids hang out. It’s called . . . let me see . . . yeah, it’s called The Place.”
“Thanks, Sam—you’ve been a big help.”
Sam beamed and wondered if she’d go out with him. She had a lovely smile.
“Oh yeah,” he said. “I just remembered somethin’.”
“What?” she said.
“Arliss’ last name.”
“You did?”
“Yeah, it’s Shepherd—like the dog.”
“Okay, Sam.”
•
BY THE TIME Larry returned home, Taylor was up practicing Pilâtes on the machine he’d recently bought her for their gym.
When Larry walked in, she stopped stretching and reached for a towel. “You were out early this morning,” she said, throwing the small towel around her neck. “Where did you go?”
“Jogging,” he said. “At the beach.”
“The beach,” she said, surprised. “You should’ve woken me. I would’ve gone with you.”
“Taylor,” he said.
“Yes,” she answered, still doing stretches.
“You look very lovely this morning. Getting back to work seems to agree with you.”
“Thanks, darling,” she said. “I’m so pleased you think that.”
“I do.”
“So,” she said, smiling. “What would you like to do today? I’m all yours. No more work until tomorrow. So maybe we could drive down to Shutters at the Beach for lunch, even spend the night. Or just stay home. I’m all yours, whatever you want.”
“I’ll tell you what I want, Taylor,” he said, his plain face rather serious.
She looked at him expectantly. “Yes, Larry, what?”
He was silent for a moment before speaking, and then his words came across loud and clear. “I want a divorce.”
•
LITTLE JOE worked in a hospital, so he knew when something was wrong, and there was definitely something wrong with Nicci. Her fever was rising alarmingly.
“The girl’s sick,” he said to Arliss.
“Sick?” Arliss replied. “How’s that?”
“She’s got a high fever. I think she needs to go to a hospital.”
“You’re such a friggin’ moron,” Big Mark said. “We can’t take her to a hospital. How stupid can you get?”
“Then we’d better sponge her down. Her temperature’s going up.”
“What d’you do, carry a thermometer with you?” Big Mark said rudely.
“I work in a hospital,” Little Joe pointed out. “I know these things.”
“You work with a bunch of loonies,” Big Mark said disparagingly.
“I’m tellin’ you, she’s sick,” Little Joe insisted. “An’ we’d better do somethin’ about it.”
“No. You’d better shut the fuck up,” Big Mark said. “And don’t bother lookin’ in on her again, ’cause you’re a loony too.”
“When Eric gets back, we’ll drop her outside a hospital,” Arliss said. “How’s that?”
Little Joe nodded. He wasn’t at all sure.
•
DRIVING DOWN WILSHIRE, Lissa was aware of the fact that her hands were shaking. She tried to steady her nerves, think clearly, and stay in control.
“Michael, if you can hear me,” she said, barely moving her lips in case she was being watched. “I’ve put the money on the seat as he requested.”
The traffic was not heavy. She checked her rearview mirror, wondering which car the kidnapper was in. Her phone rang again and she grabbed it.
“Get into the left-hand lane,” the voice instructed. “And when you get to the next red light, stay there until I tell you to move. Whatever happens, do not react.”
She veered into the left lane, her heart pounding. Up ahead the light was green. She drove through, watching for the next one, which was changing to red as she approached. She came to a stop.
And then everything seemed to happen at lightning speed. A car pulled up alongside her. The driver reached out his arm, put it through her passenger window, and snatched the heavy bag from the seat. Then the car raced off at top speed.
“Michael!” she yelled, totally stunned. “He’s taken the money. He’s in a black Ford. It’s ahead of me on Wilshire.”
Immediately her phone rang. “I’m on it,” Michael said. “Turn around and go back to the house.”
“What about Nicci?” she cried. “Where is she?”
“I’ll get him,” Michael said. “And then we’ll find out where Nicci is. Don’t worry, Lissa, I won’t come home without her.”
•
ERIC SHOT OFF along Wilshire, making a fast right. He had the money. He had the goddamn money!
With one hand, he unzipped the top of the bag, checking out the stacks of bills.
Bingo! He’d finally made the score he’d always dreamed of.
•
NOW THAT LISSA was out of the picture, Michael could do what he had to do, nail the sonofabitch and find out where Nicci was.
The kidnapper had the money, but who knew what he’d done with Nicci.
Michael concentrated on keeping him in sight. It was a matter of life and death.
•
“SHE’S GETTIN’ WORSE,” Little Joe announced to the group.
“What d’you mean?” Arliss asked.
“I’m tellin’ you, she’s worse now. Freezin’ one minute, burnin’ up the next. She needs medical help.”
“Well, she ain’t gonna get it,” Arliss said. “You know that.”
“What if we dropped her off at a hospital now?” Little Joe suggested. “Nobody would be any the wiser.”
“Are you fuckin’ nuts?” Big Mark exploded. “ ’Course they would. She’d tell ’em.”
“What’re we gonna do?”
“I’ll come take a look at her,” Big Mark said, lumbering to his feet.
“No,” Little Joe said. “I’m takin’ care of her. I’ll give her more water.”
Meanwhile, Nicci was completely out of it. She felt as if someone had poisoned her. Her stomach was cramping, and her skin was breaking out in angry red blotches. Suddenly she began to vomit.
She was too sick to get up and reach the bucket.
She didn’t care. She just wanted to die.
•
AS ERIC RACED down the Santa Monica Freeway, he managed to transfer the stacks of bills into an empty Nike bag he’d purchased the day before. As soon as he’d achieved that, he took the original bag and flung it out his window. It landed on the side of the road. That done, he got off the freeway at the next exit and began taking surface streets to the airport, constantly checking his rearview mirror to make sure he was not being followed.
It seemed to be all clear. A sense of triumph swept over him. He began to whistle to himself, thinking, How smart could one guy get?
When he’d taken out Eric Vernon’s driver’s license, Social Security card, and credit cards, and left them with the morons at the warehouse, that had been his way of saying good-bye to them and Eric Vernon.
He was Norman Browning now.
Nobody would ever see Eric Vernon again.
•
MICHAEL’S HEAD WAS POUNDING. There was nothing more tedious than following a vehicle while trying to avoid the person in the other car knowing
you’re right behind them. Especially when that person was the kidnapper who was now carrying a shitload of money and had everything to lose.
Michael relied on his instincts to tell him which way to go, and he was usually right.
The black Ford was way ahead of him. He had a strong suspicion it was heading toward the airport, which meant that the man in the car probably wasn’t about to release Nicci.
Shit! He’d have to grab the sonofabitch and force it out of him. If he’d harmed Lissa’s daughter in any way, he would certainly live to regret it.
•
RICK MANELONI, accompanied by three of Walter Burns’ men, reached the warehouse ten minutes before Detective Fanny Webster drove up with two squad cars. Maneloni and the three others were looking for Nicci. And Fanny Webster was looking for Arliss Shepherd, who she thought would lead her to Eric Vernon. Once Sam had remembered Arliss’ last name, it didn’t take long to track him down. And he had a record, which Fanny found quite interesting.
Walter Burns’ men made short work of getting into the building. They stood in the old reception area and listened for noise. The sound of a TV came from along the hall.
Rick signaled that they should go in that direction. When they reached the room, one of the men kicked the door open. Arliss, Big Mark, Davey, and Little Joe were sitting around, watching a ball game.
One of Rick’s men pulled a gun and pointed it at them.
“I suggest you don’t move, motherfuckers,” Rick said. “Where’s the girl?”
Big Mark sprang into action like an angry bear, hurling himself toward them.
“Shoot the dumb sonofabitch,” Rick ordered.
The gun exploded, blowing a hole in Big Mark’s leg. He screamed in pain and fell to the ground.
Arliss, Little Joe, and Davey shrank back in terror.
“Where’s the girl?” Rick repeated, as Big Mark lay on the ground, moaning.
“She . . . she’s down the hall,” Arliss stammered. “H . . . here’s the key,” he said, throwing the key in their direction.
“You dumb cocksuckers,” Rick said, shaking his head. “Did you honestly think you could get away with this shit? You—” he said to Little Joe. “Take us to her.” Little Joe scurried to oblige, leading them down to the basement and along a dark musty corridor to a locked door at the end. With trembling hands he opened the door.
Nicci was sprawled on the floor, unconscious.
•
ERIC PULLED HIS CAR curbside, jumped out, grabbed the bag containing the money, and hurried into the airport. He glanced behind him. Nobody following. Easy! Two million dollars, a new identity, and he’d be on a plane to the Bahamas within minutes.
He strode briskly over to the check-in desk and presented his ticket.
“I think that flight might be closed,” the woman behind the desk said.
“It can’t be,” he said. “My mother’s very sick, and it’s imperative I make that flight. Please do something.”
“Let me check,” she said, picking up a phone. She spoke for a few seconds, then said, “Gate seventeen. You can make it if you hurry.”
“Please alert them I’m on my way,” he said. “I have to be on that plane.”
“I will,” she said. “Hope your mom gets well.”
He ran over to the security checkpoint. He’d left his gun in the rental car, so he had no problem getting through. Before putting the money in the bag, he’d insulated it with magazines and old sweaters. The money was snug and safe, and nobody knew it was there except him.
He hurried down the walkway toward gate seventeen, waving his boarding pass as he approached.
Just as he was about to present it to the gate agent, a voice behind him said, “Excuse me, sir!”
He turned around. A tall, dark man stood there.
“Yes?” he said.
“We’re conducting a series of random security checks today. You’ll have to accompany me.”
“I can’t,” he said angrily. “I’ll miss my plane. My mother’s sick, and I have to catch this flight.”
“I’m sorry, you’ll have to come with me.”
“Fuck you,” Eric said, and thrusting his boarding pass at the surprised gate agent, he began running down the narrow corridor toward the plane.
Michael started to follow him.
“I’m sorry, sir,” the gate agent said, blocking his way. “You must have a boarding pass.”
“This is an emergency,” Michael yelled. “Police business.”
“Show me your badge.”
“I don’t have a fucking badge,” he said, and pushing past her, he raced after Eric.
He got to him before he reached the plane. “You lowlife sonofabitch!” he shouted, grabbing his shoulders and spinning him around. “Where is she?”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Eric said blankly.
“You know what I’m fucking talking about. Where’s Nicci?”
“If you don’t let me get on this plane, you’ll never know, will you?” Eric said, an evil look on his face.
“You wanna fucking bet?” Michael exploded, slamming him against the side wall.
Eric wished he’d kept his gun, because if he’d had it with him, he would’ve blown this cocksucker’s head off. This cocksucker who was just about to ruin everything.
With a sudden show of strength he fought back, kneeing Michael in the groin and gouging at his eyes like a madman.
Michael responded with a swift kick to Eric’s knees, causing his legs to buckle under him, throwing him off balance so that he sprawled to the ground, still clutching the bag containing the money.
His hate-filled eyes stared up at Michael. “You’ll never find her,” he said. “Because she’s fucking dead.”
Epilogue
* * *
WALTER BURNS’ tentacles of power stretched in many different directions. And because of his enormous power, he was able to bury the Lissa Roman’s daughter’s kidnapping story, much to everyone’s relief.
Of course, when the case came to trial, it would be impossible to keep it quiet, but in the meantime, everyone had a few months to recover.
Lissa got her money and her daughter back. She was ecstatic about getting Nicci safely home. She couldn’t care less about the money.
Nicci spent a few days in the hospital, recovering from extreme dehydration and an allergic reaction to chloroform. If left unattended much longer, she probably would have died.
Evan rushed to her bedside, his mother beside him. He’d finally realized there were some things more important than a movie.
“I’m happy to see you,” she told him, while Lynda hovered outside. “But here’s the thing, Ev, I’ve changed my mind. I don’t want to marry you.”
“What’re you talking about?” he said, quite shocked. “I’ll admit I had an affair with Abbey, but it didn’t count. It was a last-minute fling.”
“I’m sure that’s exactly what it was, Evan. Only you and I—we were not meant to be together.”
Bitter about the breakup, Evan resumed his affair with Abbey. It was a big mistake. She drove him crazy with jealousy and alienated his mother, who flew back to New York in a huff.
By the time they got married in a quickie ceremony in Mexico, he was a broken man.
Six weeks later they were divorced. And since she’d refused to sign a prenuptial, Abbey Christian—in true Hollywood bitch-on-wheels tradition—walked away with half of Evan’s money.
•
A MONTH AFTER THAT, Nicci and Brian ran off to Las Vegas and were married by an Elvis impersonator.
Nicci grinned at Brian. “You’ve made my dreams come true!” she exclaimed. “Elvis and you. What a wild combination!”
Laughing, he raced her to the limo. “I always knew there was somebody as crazy as me,” he said. “And now I’ve finally found you.”
“Oh, yeah,” she joked. “But you sure did a lot of looking before I came along.”
“Hey,” he said.
“Got it out of my system, didn’t I?”
“You’d better. No more blondes, redheads, or brunettes.”
He threw up his hands. “I’m done!”
“You bet your sweet ass.”
They spent their honeymoon white-water rafting down the Colorado River, followed by a trip to Rio for carnival.
And when they got back they bought a funky house on Bluejay Way above Sunset, and settled in to really getting to know each other.
It was a trip. A trip they were both into one hundred percent.
•
SAFFRON MET A GUY, another stud. His uncle was a TV producer who decided that Saffron was exactly the girl he was searching for to star in his new TV series.
The stud didn’t last.
The TV series did.
•
TAYLOR AND LARRY SINGER were also divorced. And Taylor was also entitled to half her successful and respected husband’s money. But what good was half of Larry’s money when she’d lost her standing in the Hollywood community?
No longer Mrs. Lawrence Singer, she was just another Hollywood ex-wife.
•
OLIVER ROCK’S million-dollar movie was finally produced and became the cult hit of the year. He gave up drugs and concentrated on his work.
Oliver Rock had aspirations to be the Larry Singer of his generation.
•
ARLISS SHEPHERD and his three cohorts, Big Mark, Davey, and Little Joe, were all arrested on kidnapping charges.
Their ringleader, Eric Vernon, was nailed by Detective Fanny Webster for the murder of Pattie, the waitress from Sam’s bar.
Eric sat in prison and brooded about what he would do when he got out.
Eric Vernon, aka Norman Browning, had big plans.
•
AFTER A WEEK’S “ABSENCE makes the heart grow fonder,” James and Claude got back together. James presented himself at the house one day as if nothing had happened.
Claude was out in the lavish grounds, tending to his tomatoes in his state-of-the-art greenhouse, Al Green blasting on the sophisticated sound system. “What are you doing here?” he inquired.
“I’ve reached a conclusion,” James announced.
“Yes?”
“Well . . .” James said, walking up behind his partner and placing his hands on his shoulders. “Your magic is so much better than his.”
Hollywood Wives--The New Generation Page 43