Reel Stuff

by Don Bruns

  “My best to Em.”

  “Yeah. I’ll pass that along.”

  “Skip, be careful. There are on-site cameras, security guards, and all kinds of other shit out there. You never know who’s watching, dude.”

  “It’s only a misdemeanor, James. Nothing to worry about.”

  And I was worried to death.

  “Skip, one more thing you need to know.”

  “What?”

  “Jason Londell—”

  “The dead guy who started all of this.”

  “The same. They’re shipping his body back tomorrow,” James said.

  “Autopsy is finally over?” I asked.

  They had the cause of death.

  “Yeah. And Clint Anders and Ashley Amber are flying out the next day for the funeral. I think Randy Roberts might go with them.”

  “Hmm, Anders knows Juliana, and if he sees me, recognizes me, or if Ashley tells him—”

  “Can you get into that office and find what you need in the next forty-eight hours? Assuming it’s there?”

  “I don’t have much choice, do I?” I already knew the answer.

  “Em is the one who interviewed Anders. All of a sudden Clint Anders’s interviewer is a rising star in his good friend’s wife—Juliana Londell’s—talent agency. And Emily is supposed to be a private investigator. All of a sudden she’s an actress? How is that going to play?”

  I had to pause and sort it out. Clint Anders’s interviewer, Emily, is a rising star in his good friend’s wife’s talent agency. Contorted.

  “Chances are they’ll never run into each other.” I wasn’t so sure.

  “God, I hope they give her a new name soon. At least he won’t recognize something like Brandy Hall or Britin Haller.”

  “Where the hell did you get those names?”

  “Went out with the two of them in college. You knew Brandy. Used to strip part time at the Gold Rush.”

  I did remember her. A lot of her.

  “Man, she had some tricks that—well, why don’t you suggest it to Em? I’ve never named a Hollywood star before.”

  “James, all we’ve got to do is get this information to Ashley Amber. Proof that there’s a big insurance policy and proof that Juliana was unfaithful to Londell. Right?”

  “That’s all she asked for.”

  “I’ll get it. As you said, if it’s there. And hopefully before the Miami entourage shows up.”

  “Good luck, amigo. I’ll hold the fort down here.”

  “Not much of a fort left, James. The army is moving west.”

  “If there’s any skirmishes I have one piece of advice for you, comrade.”

  “What’s that, James?”

  “Keep your head down.”

  CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR

  Em wanted to see Universal City, but Juliana had her busy with new photographs, a superstar hairstylist, and a meeting one-on-one with the kisser who owned the emerald-green Jag, Rob Mason, manager to the stars. He kept her busy most of the day, and I was only comforted by the fact that I assumed Mason was dating Juliana Londell, so super manager was off the market.

  I had been her manager just hours ago. But I applauded the fact that he had seen the potential, the talent. Or, at least, he’d taken advice from Juliana.

  While Em was in meetings, I drove to Londell’s office building, parking two blocks away and walking toward her office door, then approaching from the other direction. I looked up, down, and all around trying to ascertain if there were security cameras. I wasn’t sure there weren’t cameras in the tinted windows of the shops and offices leading up to her doorway, but there seemed to be nothing in the first block that was attached to the stucco building.

  At the intersection of Delph and Hamersheid there was a traffic light and what appeared to be a camera above that light aimed directly at the approaching traffic. God help the person who jumped that light, even a fraction of a second before it changed. That person would pay dearly and have his driving record permanently charged. I’d heard that a lot of communities make hundreds of thousands of dollars off of those cameras.

  In the next block there were two businesses that had cameras installed high up above their doorways. An attorney’s office and an accountant. No big deal. These optical devices were aimed directly at the sidewalk. Pull up your jacket collar, duck your head so they don’t get a clear view, and move quickly. I could do that.

  Walking it twice, I noticed that the entrance to Londell and Bavely’s office had two, count them, two cameras. One on the left side of the door, one on the right. What were they afraid of? Jealous lovers like me? These people were going to make Em a star and maybe they were afraid of me and others who would come in and cause a commotion. Maybe.

  I walked the distance once again, attempting to view every camera in sight. I didn’t think I’d missed any. But you never know.

  When I was done, I realized that if someone viewed footage from this afternoon, they’d see me walking by those cameras four times. Stupid. But I could justify it. I’d gone down to the office, one pass, and walked back to my car. Pass two. Forgot something and had to walk back again, then back to the car.

  I had a beer at a place down the street called Lonnie’s, a liquor establishment that I’d call a saloon. Lonnie’s had a camera outside and one on the inside as you entered. Looking for drunks spoiling for a fight.

  Glancing beyond the antique bar, I saw there were at least two more cameras mounted above the hanging wine glasses and back-lit liquor bottles. In this high-tech world of surveillance there were probably cameras in the restrooms, too.

  Damn, you couldn’t get away with anything anymore. Cameras caught your action at every turn.

  I walked over a weathered, worn, wooden floor, and it seemed the place was straight out of a western movie, complete with a long, distressed bar and a tender who wore an apron and a thick handlebar mustache. An old-fashioned player piano stood in the corner and automatically played what could only be described as honky-tonk, the keys clacking a rhythm of their own. A throwback in time.

  The old guy behind the bar was busy polishing glasses as I sat down and ordered a beer, and he glanced up with a friendly grin, probably because I was the only customer in the entire place.

  “Bar came from the set of Rio Bravo,” he proudly proclaimed.

  I shook my head. I knew a lot of movie trivia, but—

  “John Wayne, Ricky Nelson, Dean Martin?”

  James would have recognized it.

  “Obviously you’re too young. There’s a great scene where Dean Martin shoots a guy on the balcony above the bar.” He pointed up where there was no balcony. “Man tumbles over the balcony and lands on the floor and Dean, he looks at the bartender and cool as can be he says, ‘I guess I’ll take that drink now, Charlie.’” He paused. “You traveling through?”

  “I am.”

  “Tourist?”

  “No. Business.”

  “Gonna be some big doings in a couple of days in this town. Big even for Hollywood standards.”

  “What’s happening?” I’d be gone, so I didn’t really care.

  “Funeral. Jason Londell, Academy Award winner, big movie star. You didn’t hear? Got shot in Miami.”

  “No kidding?”

  “Sad day for our town.”

  “Do they know who killed him?”

  “Last I heard the fella disappeared. Londell was shooting a TV show and some guy just popped him. Apparently, he fell off a balcony, some catwalk and—”

  I shuddered.

  “Maybe an L.A. cameraman. Yeah, I think that’s the rumor. Hell, I’ll bet there’ll be a movie about it in six months.”

  And again I was reminded. I’d been there, front and center. I’d watched the whole thing as he came crashing to the ground. And I had no idea he’d even been shot. What kind of P.I. was I? I played the scene back in my mind. Randy Roberts telling him to jump on the third take. Randy telling the camera crew to shoot on the second take just to get the angle
s right. Randy saying—

  “Anyway, it’ll be an event, I’ll tell you what.”

  I stared down the length of the old western bar and thought about Dean Martin and the cowboy he’d killed. The guy tumbling from the balcony.

  “I’ll have that drink now, Charlie.”

  “I’m sorry, mister.” He appeared confused. I joined in, not quite sure what I was missing.

  “You want another?”

  “No.” I waved him off. “I’m good.”

  Finishing the beer, I thanked him for his time and information. I wanted to be there when my girlfriend was done with her meeting.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE

  Em was gushing as she ran out from Juliana’s office.

  “It’s crazy, Skip. Rob already has some ideas about promotion, how a soft-spoken Miami girl walks into an agency and walks out a star. He seems to be very excited about the possibilities. This sitcom thing is huge. There’s a lot of talk about how far it might go.”

  “Is he dating Juliana?”

  “What? Rob? Yeah, pretty much.”

  “What does that mean?”

  “I didn’t come out and ask him. We saw them kissing, and I guess that’s good enough for me.”

  “How long? How long were they dating before Jason was killed?”

  “It’s not something you can just come out and ask.” She bristled. “He’d wonder what business it was of mine.”

  Rolling down her window, she turned away and took a deep breath.

  “Smog, exhaust.” Closing her eyes she said, “Whew, I wouldn’t want to live here.” She rolled the window back up.

  “What do you mean you don’t want to live here?” She wasn’t making any sense. “So, you want to take over this town, own Hollywood, but live somewhere else? Is it possible to do that?”

  “I’ll have to ask my manager if I can still live in Miami and just fly out for jobs. Casting calls.”

  She looked at me and smiled.

  “My manager.”

  “Who isn’t your boyfriend.”

  “Not anymore. And, as of this moment, I’m not sleeping with my manager, either. Are you happy?”

  “That’s a good thing, Em.”

  We had an early dinner at In-N-Out Burger. I wasn’t comfortable going to a bunch of the really high-end restaurants every night, and this sandwich shop was a California phenomenon. Billed as the best fast-food burger money could buy. As far as I was concerned, it didn’t quite meet expectations. The burger was dry and pretty much tasteless. Maybe we should splurge our last couple of nights in town. I’d have to check with James and see what restaurants he’d recommend.

  “What do we do tonight?” Emily asked, chomping on the beef patty and bun. The restaurant was crowded, so apparently a lot of people either liked the place or bought into the hype.

  “I’m going to do a little evening work.” I sucked on the straw in my Coke and considered my blatant lie to Emily. “Find out where the Londells live and do a little surveillance.”

  I surprised myself at the answer. I had no intention of telling Em what my real plans were this evening.

  “You know, it might be a good idea if you don’t come along,” I said. “With this thing you’ve got going, being her client and all, we don’t want to take a chance that someone would spot you.”

  “Driving by her house?”

  “Don’t want anyone thinking you’re a stalker.”

  “Why do you need to see her home?”

  I was making up the entire conversation. I had no idea why that would play into the situation.

  “I don’t know. But since I’m here, it seems like a good idea. It’s part of that seventy-five-million-dollar estate, and I’d like to get a feel for that.”

  “So I’ll hang out in the motel?”

  “No. I had an idea.”

  I swear to God it just came to me. I was apparently in a groove, because the answer was abundantly clear.

  “Today I stopped at a bar down the street from Juliana’s office and talked to the bartender. He brought up Londell’s funeral. Said it was one of the biggest events going on in Hollywood. So I started thinking—”

  “Thinking what?”

  I was winging this. Having no idea how to tie the idea into a coherent thought I just kept going, and remarkably it came out like this.

  “What if you hit up a place where movie people hang out? I’m sure a lot of the conversation will be about Londell’s death and funeral. And the place that seems to be absolutely Hollywood is the Chateau Marmont’s bar. John Belushi died in bungalow number 3.”

  Belushi, the actor from Saturday Night Live and The Blues Brothers had overdosed there back in 1982.

  “Oh, Chateau Marmont?” Her face lit up and she leaned in.

  The place was an iconic landmark in Hollywood. Everyone who was anyone had stayed there, drunk there, eaten there, screwed there, or slept there.

  “Lindsay Lohan, Adrian Grenier, Ashton Kutcher, Matthew McConaughey, I think they all visit the place. I could meet you later. You pick up some of the buzz and see what’s being said.”

  “What if buzz isn’t the only thing that gets picked up?”

  Em was getting a little frisky, and while I normally applauded that attitude, I was concerned on a number of levels.

  “I told you, I’ll meet you later.”

  “Actually, it’s a pretty good idea, Skip. You do your little drive-by and I’ll visit the Chateau. I’ve always wanted to go there. This will be very interesting.”

  “If some guy in a godforsaken little bar down the block makes it the topic of his conversation, think about the rumors and stories that you could pick up at the Chateau? Everyone will be talking about it, and you’ve got a front row seat.”

  I felt pretty good about our plans. Except for my breaking and entering, which I didn’t want her to know about until afterward. Other than that, we were doing exactly what we should be doing. Investigating.

  Em bagged half her sandwich, reminding me that an actress had to watch her figure. We drove to the motel and she dolled up in a brand-new outfit from Rodeo Drive. After ten minutes with an iron and hair dryer, I was about to be impressed.

  We’d checked no luggage, and yet this lady was coming up with unbelievable fashions that trended toward supermodel status.

  “What do you think?” she asked.

  Tight gold pants with spangled sandals that sported six-inch heels, a white tank top that pretty much advertised she wore no bra, and a gold chain that grazed the top of her breasts. I wanted to cancel all of our plans and just go to bed.

  “You will rescue me from any predators?”

  There was no way I could cut my mission short. She would be the hit of the evening, and if I didn’t come back to save her, someone could take her away. So I had to get my information and get it fast.

  Em was fresh meat. And it was my job to protect her.

  “You’re going to listen, right? See what the conversation is all about?”

  “Exactly.” She sounded glad to be back on board.

  “Skip, if someone hits on me?”

  “You’re a big girl, Emily.”

  “I hate it when you call me that.”

  “Big girl?”

  “Emily.”

  “Em, I hope you’re kidding. But if some stranger hits on you, and you decide to act on that, then what the hell are we even doing together?”

  “I was kidding. Skip, it was just an observation, okay?”

  And I was in no position to make that kind of joke. No one was hitting on me.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX

  I dropped Emily off at the door of the huge, larger-than-life white, castlelike building, with photographers lined up on both sides of the drive. Long lenses, wide lenses, Nikons, Canons, the paparazzi were out in force. Several flashes went off when she exited the Chevy, although why they thought a starlet would be escorted in a really cheap General Motors car I can’t imagine. I assumed they didn’t want to miss anything. A
s soon as she entered the building, they were on to the next car.

  It was hard to believe I had actually encouraged her to visit the premier watering hole in L.A. by herself, but I figured she’d actually get some useful information. Also, she’d be occupied while I tried to get the evidence I needed from the files in the Londell-Bavely office. Without Em’s knowledge.

  Driving back down the winding road, something kept bothering me. Like a mosquito that you hear just before you fall asleep, but you can’t see it. That irritating buzz, and you know sooner or later it’s going to bite. There was something that James had said or something I was thinking during our conversation. Maybe it was something that passed between me and the cameraman during our luncheon. Something pertinent to the murder. And I couldn’t identify it. An idea, a word, a thought that kept eluding me.

  You know how you have these thoughts and wake up in the middle of the night, shocked, totally wide-awake, realizing that you’ve come up with the answer. In the morning, if you remember that answer, you often question it. But that’s me. Maybe most people don’t have the same reaction.

  I put it in the back of my mind as I pulled into a strip mall parking lot about two blocks from the agents’ office. All the stores were dark.

  Fifteen other cars were parked there as well, probably people who lived in the neighborhood. The pavement was well lit, and as long as the car owners were out by the time the stores opened, it was a perfect place to leave your vehicle. At least I hoped it was. All I needed was to get towed. Em on one end of town, me on the other, and no car. One hour. That’s all I hoped for.

  The moon was behind a cloud bank, the sky inky-black, but the neighborhood night lights were on, and a soft yellow mist cast eerie shadows as I walked down the sidewalk. More than once I recoiled, thinking someone or something was either following me or had jumped in front of me.

  I’d pulled the collar up on my windbreaker and pulled the bill of my L.A. Rams cap low on my forehead. I felt like some pervert who was looking into people’s windows or looking for a store to rob. If I was a cop on patrol, I’m sure I would pull me over and ask what I was doing. I didn’t see any cop cars at the moment, but I was sure that could change.