Reel Stuff

by Don Bruns

  “James.”

  “I’m Skip.”

  “Whatever. I need help.”

  “Okay.” I was groggy, not sure where this was going. It appeared she’d been crying, but I didn’t feel comfortable prying for information.

  “The police, they had a lot of questions. They wanted to know how close we were, what I knew about his life away from the movie business. They wanted to know—”

  “Ashley, when they took you in for questioning, you were in the middle of a sentence. You were talking about your possible engagement and you said—”

  “I know what I said. I said, ‘the worst thing was.’”

  “Yeah. That.”

  “And you want to know what the worst thing was?”

  “I’m a private investigator. It’s part of what I do. I ask questions.”

  “The worst thing was—and I haven’t told the police this—when he told me he was concerned about the jump, he said he’d been receiving threatening e-mails.”

  “He was a Hollywood legend. I would guess that he got thousands of threatening letters, e-mails, texts, postings on Facebook—”

  “James,” I didn’t correct her, “Jason was the most gentle man. He was like a river of peace.”

  “A river of—”

  “Soothing, calm, focused. Someone who took other people’s problems as his own. He was getting these messages from Juliana, and she had no reason to—”

  “Do you want to come in?” Suddenly, I realized I had this beautiful actress on my doorstep, and I was standing there in boxer shorts.

  “Yes.”

  She stepped into the tiny trailer and immediately removed the wrap. She wore a summer dress that was high above her knees and low on her chest. I tried not to notice as she sat in one of the ratty, green, cloth-covered chairs in what passed as our living room. Actually, our apartment was possibly in worse shape than the Airstream, so for the past three nights, this was a step up.

  “Let me get dressed,” I said and walked five feet to our small bedroom where James was lightly snoring. I pulled on a pair of jeans and a Green Day American Idiot T-shirt, decorated with someone’s fist squeezing a hand grenade. Walking back into the living room, I sat across from Ashley, trying not to look up her short dress.

  “Who is Juliana?”

  “She’s a talent agent.”

  “Jason Londell’s talent agent?”

  “She was.”

  “So she’s upset that she isn’t any longer?”

  Ashley pursed her full lips, and I figured as perfect as she looked, she’d probably had a little work done. Maybe some lip plumper or filler. Everything about her was just too perfect.

  “She’s upset about a lot of things,” she said.

  “So, have you seen any of these threatening messages? I mean, was she going to sue him? Try to destroy his reputation? Or was she talking about killing him?”

  “I haven’t seen any of the messages. He told me about them. There was one in the last several days that said, ‘Be careful on the set, Mr. Londell. You wouldn’t want to have an accident.’”

  “That’s it?”

  “I didn’t see it. He only told me that he felt threatened. And now the authorities have his computer and his cell phone. They told me they were going over all that material.”

  “Why didn’t you tell the cops about the threats?”

  “I didn’t have any proof.”

  “Well, I’m sure the police will find out if it was a suicide or not.”

  She shuddered and the start of tears made her green eyes shine.

  “I understand that it hurts, but it sure looked like he wanted to take his own life. I saw it firsthand.”

  “I don’t believe it.”

  The man had jumped off a seventy-foot-high scaffold. With a perfectly good, inflated air bag on the ground, he’d missed his cushion by twenty yards.

  “Ashley, I’m really sorry for your loss.”

  “Will you take the case?”

  “What?”

  She pouted, another facial expression from her acting arsenal.

  “Will you take the case?”

  “What case? There is no case. The man jumped.”

  Now it was a pout with a frown, except the frown seemed forced, like maybe she’d had some Botox injections and her facial muscles were frozen. But then, I really don’t know anything about plumpers, fillers, or Botox. It just appeared that—

  “I want you to investigate Juliana. Find out if she did send threatening messages and see if there is any way she could be behind his death.”

  James and I always needed money. I haven’t seen the figures lately, but I’d bet we are dead last in nationwide earned income percentages.

  “I just don’t see how this could be—”

  “Let’s hear her out, pard.” James had risen from his slumber and stood in the doorway, stretching and yawning. “Don’t want to be too hasty. Maybe Ashley has some reason for suggesting this lady, this Juliana, wanted Londell dead.”

  “She was his agent, and now she’s not. Right, Ashley?”

  “He fired her,” she said.

  “We’d need a five-hundred-dollar retainer.” James was as blunt as I’d ever seen or heard him.

  Ashley Amber reached into her Marc Jacobs ginger-quilted purse and pulled out a checkbook. I know, how would I recognize the purse she carried? My girlfriend, Emily, who lives a pretty good life, owns at least two MJ purses, and the style and quilting are distinctive. I’m embarrassed I even know that, but I do.

  “We should talk about this, James.”

  “For five hundred dollars we’ll look into it, Skip.” He shot me a disapproving look. “If we feel that there’s room for more investigation, we’ll tell you, Ashley, and agree upon a price. Okay?”

  She was already writing a sum on the check.

  “Who do I make it out to?”

  “More or Less Investigations.” James wasn’t going to let this one get away.

  Taking a deep breath and slowly releasing it, I said, “We’re going to need a little more information about this Juliana.”

  “What information do you need? I know her pretty well.”

  “Where does she live?” James asked.

  “California.”

  “She’s there now?”

  “As far as I know. Although, she might be in Miami. I don’t keep track of her location.”

  If she is in L.A., I’m sitting there wondering how she killed Jason Londell long distance.

  “She’s a talent agent,” James continued. “Does she work for a firm, or is she on her own?”

  “Independent. She used to work for DDO Artists Agency. Before that, William Morris.”

  “How do you know her?”

  “I’ve known her all my life. She’s my sister.”

  “Whoa.” James took a step back. “I didn’t see that one coming.”

  “Juliana. Does she have a last name?” I asked.

  She rose from the chair and handed James the check as he stood there bare-chested in his boxer shorts with bright red rosebuds printed on them.

  “Londell.”

  “Like, Jason Londell?” I looked back and forth to Ashley then to James.

  “She’s his wife, okay? And she’s carrying his baby.”

  CHAPTER FOUR

  “You’re out of your frigging mind,” I told him.

  It was eight a.m. and James and I had stayed up most of the night, arguing over the validity of the case.

  “You just made two hundred fifty bucks, amigo. Because I decided to take the case. I just made two hundred fifty bucks because I took the case. So how crazy am I?” He swigged a swallow of coffee, staring at me across the small breakfast table, Ashley Amber’s check in front of him. He raised his voice even higher, and louder. “It would be nice if you would be that crazy. Help me make two hundred fifty bucks.”

  “You know I can damned well use the money just as much as you.” The reason we’d taken the original security job
was to help pay the rent and another two hundred fifty would be sweet. We were always struggling at month’s end to pay the bills. Hell, we were struggling at the beginning and in the middle of the month. He knew I wanted the money, but he also had to realize there were principles here.

  “Then let’s drop it, Skip. Take the money. We’ll run a check on this lady, this Juliana Londell, and we’ll see if there was any reason for her to—”

  “James, I saw it.” I pounded my cup on the tabletop, some of the bitter liquid spilling onto the table. “I watched. Up close. Randy Roberts told him to practice the run three times, then do the jump. Roberts was working with camera angles. Londell ignored the directions, dude. It’s as simple as that.”

  I could hear Roberts’s voice telling him exactly what to do. I could relive the entire episode. I could slow it down and watch it in 3D, all in my head. I was there. The actor, Jason Londell, didn’t follow directions and he leaped off the metal structure to a certain death. It was deliberate. But the cop with the sunglasses, Detective Hawk, and James, my partner, plus the sexy Ashley Amber, they weren’t buying into it. They believed the death might be murder. They seemed obsessed with the idea. Yet I’d never seen anything so plain and simple. Being an eyewitness, having watched the entire incident, I knew without a doubt, the movie star was looking for a way out. It was suicide. Jason Londell took a dive, and it was deliberate. There was absolutely no doubt about it.

  And I wished I could get the image out of my head.

  “Skip,” my roommate seemed exasperated, “this lady seems convinced that Londell was murdered.” He threw his arms up. “Convinced. Come on. She’s willing to put up money, amigo. And we could use the money.”

  “You apparently haven’t listened to a word I’ve said, James. I’m not going to discuss it any further. You can keep my half. I know what I saw. It was a deliberate jump. End of story.”

  My cell phone went off, playing Bruce Springsteen’s Born In The USA.

  “Hello.”

  “Skip Moore?”

  “Yeah. This is me.”

  “Hey, Randy Roberts here.”

  The director who I could have sworn didn’t know my name. And then I remembered. As security staff we had to give our cell phone numbers to all key personnel. Roberts was key personnel and he’d gone through the list of security employees and figured it out. Or maybe I was number two or three or four on the list he was calling.

  “Mr. Roberts.”

  “Please, it’s Randy.”

  “Okay, Randy.”

  “You were standing next to me yesterday when Londell jumped. Am I right or am I crazy?”

  His words were just a little slurred, and I wondered if he was drinking his coffee and brandy this early in the morning. And he could have been crazy, but he was right about me being next to him. Roberts had made an issue of telling me what he thought of Londell and his desire to perform his own stunts.

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Good, good. Then it is you I was looking for. Listen, I’m going in for questioning this morning.”

  Questioning?

  “They questioned you earlier, didn’t they?” These investigators weren’t satisfied. They were very pushy.

  “Follow-up they called it. Listen, kid,” I was convinced the director had been drinking. “I can’t imagine what they’re going to ask me, but someone has suggested the man was murdered. Murdered. Understand?”

  I understood. The man hadn’t been dead twenty-four hours and the murder angle seemed to have taken over.

  “Did that appear to you to be a murder? You were right next to me. You watched the entire scenario, didn’t you? My story is that Jason Londell didn’t follow directions, and I never instructed him to jump. Am I missing something here? That’s what happened, right?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “He was up there with the camera guy and two grips. Hell, I was seventy feet below. I didn’t notice anything strange until he came out of the sky. Am I right? Come on, you know I am.”

  The pitch of his voice rose as he spoke, and I detected a real concern. He was begging for confirmation.

  “You are. You’re right.” Saying the same things I had said to James and Amber. Roberts was obviously very shook up.

  “You were standing there, remember? I gave him specific directions. Three times he was to run the route. Three times. Then he was to jump onto the bag. Tell me you remember it like that.”

  “Mr. Roberts, Randy, it’s what I heard.” I didn’t know what else to say. “I’ve been through these interrogations before. They’re just trying to be very thorough. Don’t worry about it.”

  I wasn’t so sure myself. Maybe they thought Roberts had something to do with the death.

  “All right.” He let out a slow breath as if relieved that I was going to tell the whole truth, nothing but the truth, so help me God. “Listen, if I get into a jam, I may ask you to repeat that.”

  “Excuse me, but what kind of a jam could you get into?” Was I dealing with a criminal? Wouldn’t be the first time.

  “When the cops asked me for the interview,” he paused and took a deep breath, “they said something that bothered me.”

  “What was that?”

  “The officer who called said, ‘Since you were the last one to talk to him.’”

  “I heard what you said. How could that be a problem?”

  “You never know. I was involved in an overdose case in L.A. several years ago where a girl died. Reality TV star was shooting up. I was the wrangler, basically herding the talent. Glorified babysitter that job.”

  “And?”

  “I should have been watching her more closely. Girl by the name of Audrey Love. I’d been in her trailer about half an hour before she went down, and those L.A. cops laid on me for two days. Two days, Moore. They were bound and determined to make me a culprit. If the police think there’s a case, they go after anyone in the immediate vicinity. Firsthand experience. I’ve seen it in person.” He paused. “Took me a while to get another job after that. This isn’t an easy racket.”

  “I told you, Randy. I heard exactly what you said.”

  “Thanks, kid. It may be nothing, but I just wanted to make sure I remembered what happened. Got a little shook up about the way that scene ended. Never, ever saw it coming, you know.”

  Randy Roberts wasn’t the only one who’d been shaken.

  He hung up and as I pocketed my cell phone, it rang again.

  “Yeah?” I answered without checking the number.

  “James?”

  “No, this is Skip, Amber. Skip Moore.”

  “Oh. Listen, I just heard something that came down from the coroner’s office. I’ve got a friend who knows someone.”

  I knew it. She was trying to drag us deeper into this mess, trying to prove her sister murdered Jason Londell.

  “And what did they tell you? This friend who knows someone?”

  “Apparently, they found a foreign substance in Jason’s body.”

  “Exactly what does that mean?”

  “I don’t know. They said it was a preliminary report. Nothing they could release just yet. But I do know that Jason didn’t do drugs. And I was with him all night until he went on the set yesterday morning.”

  “Yeah?”

  “James, he had a couple glasses of wine. That’s all. And the last I heard, wine isn’t a foreign substance.”

  Only if it comes from France, Italy, or some other wine-producing nation. I motioned to the real James and handed him my cell phone.

  “It’s your client. She wants to talk to you, Mr. Lessor.”

  I left the case in his capable hands and walked into our miniscule bathroom to take a hot, cleansing shower.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  Tentatively, I was on security duty from noon till six so I had the morning free. You never knew, because schedules were always changing. Em’s condo was about one hundred yards south of the park where Deadline Miami was shooting and the show had actually used a
couple of vacant units in her building for interior shots. Em was employed by her contractor father and usually worked from her office at home, so I figured she’d be in when I knocked on her door.

  She was.

  “Jesus, Skip. I saw Eye Witness News this morning. Alison Cole actually mentioned you by name. Said you saw the jump, and she even quoted you. You know, you could have called.” She seemed a little put out.

  I vaguely remembered mumbling something to a lady with a microphone after we’d talked to the police, but I had no idea what I might have said. I was somewhat in a state of shock.

  We walked into her twenty-third-story condo, and as always, I was struck by the view from her floor-to-ceiling glass window. The marina, the bay, South Beach, and the ocean beyond. In another life, this would be my life.

  “How bad was it?”

  “We’ve both seen dead bodies.”

  “We have,” she agreed as she reached up and placed her arm around my neck, pulling me close.

  “But to watch someone jump—” there I was, reliving the event—“and fall through the air.” I shivered and started to choke. “Then crash to the ground.” I couldn’t go any further. I had nothing left to relate.

  “Celebrities, actors, they’re crazy people,” she said.

  I just nodded.

  Em went to the kitchen and came back with two iced teas. We sat on the balcony in cushioned lawn chairs from Front Gate and looked out at the boats on the sparkling water. Serene and peaceful. What had Ashley said about Londell? He was a river of peace? What the hell was that all about?

  Composing myself, I said, “I did watch the whole thing. He deliberately jumped, Em. Yet his girlfriend, the lead cop, and James are willing to suspend reality and believe he could have been murdered. I don’t get it.”

  “As close as you are, in the park right next door,” she said, staring into my eyes, “you’ve been a little distant since you and what’s-his-name took this security gig. I don’t hear from you, see you.”