P.J. Morse - Clancy Parker 02 - Exile on Slain Street

by P. J. Morse

“Oh, hell yes,” Patrick said.

  “This your first time?” she asked.

  “Yep,” he sighed.

  Between deep breaths, Topaz said, “It’s okay. I’ve been shot before. It hurts every time.” She bit her lip. “Wolf, I’m sorry, man. I tried.”

  “Me, too,” I said.

  “Me three!” Greg cried out from his corner of the room.

  Wolf said, “Sometimes, the encyclopedia doesn’t have all the answers. Especially if we refuse to read the pages.”

  Patrick said, faintly, “That’s a good one!”

  At that moment, cops and EMTs swarmed in.

  Chapter Thirty-Three:

  Got You Good

  After all the interviews and the mess, I had the chance to go home to South Park. Harold fed me a comforting meal of macaroni and cheese and let me cry for a long time. I was a pro. I’ve seen violence, but I hadn’t seen that many people shot at once. Not only had I been in danger, but Shane, Wayne and Muriel put themselves out there for me. And, when you’re up against a crazy person like Lorelai, you don’t know what to expect.

  The next day, I drove my car up to the Marin County Hospital, hoping to see Topaz and Patrick at least. Much to my surprise, Cookie and Wolf were in the waiting room where Patrick was staying. Cookie grabbed me and started crying, apologizing all over herself. “I am so, so sorry,” she sobbed. “You must hate me.”

  “About what? You’re not the killer.” I hugged her back.

  “About not being straight with you about Wolf! And not kicking Lorelai’s ass when I had the chance! If I tore her down, maybe I could have stopped her…”

  I hugged her back. “I kind of figured out the Wolf thing, you know. I saw your thong in the cabana, and you were the one who said you were barking up the wrong penis.”

  Wolf blushed. “Dogs don’t grow on trees,” he said. At least he extrapolated dogs from barking, but I still had no idea what the hell that man was saying. As long as Cookie loved him and he looked at her like she really was made of sugar, I didn’t care.

  “I never could resist poetry.” Cookie sighed.

  “So, what made you snap?” I asked. “Did you have an idea that Lorelai was bad news?”

  “I knew she was a fake-ass, but not a murderer. And you and Topaz thought I was a stalker! Hell, no! I do love the Nuclear Kings, but… Wolf and I… we got together on the first night. He thought that if I won, I might at least get my own show.” She looked at Wolf, and he took her hand and kissed it.

  “I thought you wanted your own show, Wolf?” I asked.

  Wolf shrugged. “Everyone wants to be a star. And Cookie is a star.” He took her hand again.

  “Did Patrick know?” I asked.

  “Oh, hell, yeah — with his blessing. We told him the second day, after Wolf got hurt by the light.” She patted Wolf on the behind. “Patrick is the second-nicest guy in the universe. You really should try to date him.” Cookie nodded her head. “He does like you. That was real.” She laughed. “Probably the only thing that was real!”

  Then Wolf asked, “What about this?” He swooped in and gave her a long kiss.

  “Ha! Do I need to leave the two of you alone?” I asked.

  Cookie wagged her finger. “I hear your buddies caught something private with me and Wolf!”

  “Better you be watched by a bunch of stoned musicians with twig crowns on their heads than members of a camera crew.”

  “Good point.” Then she saw something behind my shoulder. “Oh, Topaz!” I turned, and Topaz was heading down the hospital hallway on crutches, while a nurse pushed a wheelchair behind her, begging Topaz to sit in it. Topaz wasn’t going to do anything anyone told her to unless she was damn well ready.

  Once she made her way to us, she threw the crutches to the wall and gave all of us hugs.

  She laughed when she got to me. “I got you good, baby… too funny. But you got me. I swear, I thought you were the crazy-ass in the house.”

  “Kevin hired me! I’m a detective!”

  Topaz grinned at me and Wolf. “I’m a bodyguard.” She took a breath. “I usually work for rappers: Honey Bear, Promo, the Big Ballers. Wolf got my card from the Big Ballers in Vegas. I took a bullet for them, and they recommend me to everybody.”

  “Gold standard,” Wolf said.

  Topaz pointed at her leg. “Last time, I got shot in the back. Normally, I’m dealing with young guys, but those bitches… those bitches are mean… Wolf tried to warn me… and Patrick kept going off with you… No offense, but I thought you were trying to get him alone to kill him.”

  I started laughing. “Me?”

  “Hell, you and Tina were at the top of my list. Now, she was my biggest suspect. She said she would kill to get on TV! That girl will do it someday, too…” Topaz rolled her eyes. “Couldn’t let my eyes off her for a second. My theory was that Tina killed Kevin on purpose so Greg would be producer and she could manipulate him. I gave that girl way too much credit!”

  “So did I! I thought that, too!” I said.

  Topaz laughed. “We were on the same page. And then, when she got caught with that boyfriend of hers, I was like, what the fuck?”

  “And I was your biggest suspect!” Cookie said, pointing at me. “It’s okay, you can admit it. I would have suspected myself.”

  “Cookie, you were a whole lot easier to deal with,” Topaz said.

  I said to Topaz, “I thought you hated me! That whole thing with…” I almost said “Dad” in reference to Harold, but decided I could retire the ruse “… my friend and your mom. You were so pissed!”

  Topaz wrinkled up her face a little. “I gotta look out for my mama. Is that really your daddy?”

  “That’s your mother?” I asked.

  Topaz smiled. “She always wanted to be on TV. That was part of the deal with Wolf. Get my momma on TV. Now, for real, that isn’t your daddy?”

  “No. But he’s a dear friend. I’ve never seen him like that with a woman.”

  “He’s not a player, is he?” Topaz asked. “Momma is a sucker for cute and cuddly, and I don’t want her to get burned.”

  “I promise.” I held up my hand. “Scout’s honor. Harold Cho has nothing but the best intentions toward your mother. And if he doesn’t, I will kick his ass.”

  “Good. Now, mind if I ask you a question?”

  “Go ahead.”

  “What is your real name?”

  From that moment, we all started from scratch.

  Chapter Thirty-Four:

  Rewriting the Script

  After rebooting my relationship with Topaz, I went into Patrick’s hospital room. Wolf, Cookie, and Topaz let me go in there alone. I wasn’t sure what to say to him. We had flirted, and I developed a crush, but what was I going to say now?

  He was lying in the bed. Other than a few tubes running out of him, he looked unusually healthy.

  “Are you sure you were shot?” I asked.

  He laughed. “Topaz was right. It’s a bitch. I should thank both of you.”

  “We were a team, and we didn’t even know it.” I pulled up a chair to his bedside, and then I pulled something from my pocket. “I should give this back.” I laid the locket on the edge of the bed. “I’m sorry for jerking you around like that.”

  He laughed. “Topaz’s approach was different! She said, ‘That’s showbiz!’”

  I stared out the window. For once, I was glad to see a view that was different from the one I got at the mansion. “She’s right, isn’t she? You know what, though? I liked you.”

  “Same here,” he said. “I liked Lorelai, too. Until she shot me.”

  I shrugged. “She had us all fooled. None of us suspected her. Not for a second. But I thought about it. You know all those brownies she made you?”

  “Yeah?”

  “She was taking vats of Crisco and greasing up everything she could find. And Tortoise and Hare — ”

  “Who?” Patrick asked.

  “Oh, the sound guy and the camera guy wh
o were assigned to me… that’s what I call them.”

  “Ha! Yeah, Lewis is sound and Tyrell is camera. They’ll like that. Tortoise and Hare.”

  So they did have names. “Yeah, Tyrell found that she had a toolbox stashed in the hallway. So that’s how she screwed up the stripper pole. Kevin trusted her totally. She had the run of the house.”

  “Until she killed him.” He sighed.

  “Yeah. I’m sorry.”

  “I was trying to decide between the two of you,” he said. “I’m an idiot. These shows aren’t real. I already got dumped once. Kevin even told me Lorelai was an actress. But you… I had this pull toward you…”

  “I’m not from Gardenia,” I said. “My bassist is.”

  “Well, it wasn’t Gardenia. It was how you looked at me when I played the guitar. I loved that. You don’t hate me for thinking of Lorelai, either?”

  “It’s dating, but accelerated.”

  He sighed. “Can we start over?”

  “Much more slowly?” I asked. “Cookie says you liked me.”

  “Cookie’s right,” he said. “I feel terrible about where this went. I just wanted to help Sean’s family, get them some money, make up for his mistakes… and somebody gets killed. And that poor kid Dawn. Two broken legs. Such a sweet girl. I knew I’d have to let her go, and I thought that alone would hurt her. But for someone else to hurt her…” He balled his hand into a fist.

  I put my hand around his. “Some people can’t see what’s really important. In that sense, Sean and Lorelai were a lot alike.”

  Patrick smiled. “Well, I see what’s in front of me. And I see you clearly. No matter how it turns out, I know that you’re important to me.”

  I kissed him. I didn’t know if it would be our last kiss or the first of many, but it felt right, and it felt even better without any cameras.

  Chapter Thirty-Five:

  Alternate Ending

  I never thought I would see Topaz on my couch, with her mom and Harold holding hands. Harold and Deandra were smitten and staring into each other’s eyes. Topaz had made herself a Rum and Coke. “All right, Romeo and Juliet, scoot the hell over.” When she had plenty of room, she stretched out, and I made sure she could put her bad leg up on the coffee table. I even plumped up a pillow and put it under her heel. “I am dreading this,” she said.

  “I cannot wait,” Muriel said. She was wearing her crown of twigs again, which she had carefully preserved after the show. She had become infamous within Belvedere. Not only had Andi spotted her, but a few little children saw her on the road one day, and they also called her the “Queen of the Forest.” Belvedere City Council was up in arms and had staged a meeting about what to do regarding mischief makers in the woods and whether or not they were perverts or just plain old hippies.

  As for Andi, she was safely back in Phoenix, where there were very few trees, but she kept in touch with Muriel. According to Muriel, Andi was thinking of moving from cocktail waitressing to stripping, and she was going to call herself “Fawn” and strip down until all she wore was that crown of twigs. Her parents totally approved of her incorporating nature into her act.

  Lorelai was in jail, awaiting trial. After everything she’d been up to, I doubted that she would have television privileges. She had been obsessed with the Nuclear Kings since high school. Ever since Sean Morgan killed himself, she worked overtime to ingratiate herself with Kevin and make sure that the production company paid for Sean’s suicide. She even used her own student-loan money to pay off actors to portray her family.

  Once the story hit the news, I received a phone call from the guy who played Lorelai’s faux father. He apologized on his and his wife’s behalf. Andi’s father, as spacey as he was, had indeed seen Lorelai’s “dad” before in a play in Marfa, Texas. Soon after, they had moved to Los Angeles to get gigs as character actors. Lorelai met them in an acting class and, when she offered them a fee to portray her uptight Orange County parents, they thought they hit the jackpot.

  I asked the guy who played her dad if he had any inkling that she wasn’t right in the head. “Of course not,” he told me. “She said she was an actress. We’re actors. And isn’t reality TV fake?”

  “Some of it is,” I replied, thinking of Patrick. He was touring in Europe. He really didn’t want to be in the US during the premiere and the media blitz regarding the “Reality TV Murders,” but he sent me a bouquet of pink daisies that morning.

  “I gotta give Lorelai credit,” her “dad” said. “If she hadn’t been batshit insane, she would have been one hell of an actress. My wife still doesn’t believe she could have done that sort of thing.”

  I never heard anything from Tad, Lorelai’s oh-so-shocked fake “ex,” but Topaz told me that she saw him in the cast photo for High Society Stud 2, whose season was about to shoot right when production on Atomic Love 2 abruptly ended. I bet Topaz ten bucks that he would make it into the final four on the strength of his acting skills alone.

  Harold suddenly squealed. “Oh! It’s on!”

  Then, all of a sudden, the credits rolled, not for Atomic Love 2 but for the E! True Hollywood Story. Even though we never got to shoot an ending, the footage did not go to waste. The network sold it to E!, which promptly put together a special on “the most-dangerous show in reality-television history.”

  An E! special wasn’t exactly what any of us had in mind. The women on the show who went on expecting to be famous, like Tina, were probably upset at winding up as crime-show fodder. But at least the ending was open and, for once, we had control over how the show was going to turn out long after the cameras stopped rolling.

  Want to read adventures with Clancy Parker and the Marquee Idols? Visit https://pjmorsebooks.wordpress.com, and sign up for P.J.’s mailing list. You can also follow P.J. at @pjmorse1 on Twitter, and take a look at the beginning of the first Clancy Parker mystery, Heavy Mental.

  Free Preview of Heavy Mental

  Chapter 1 — The Woman in Yellow

  The lady didn’t see Anmol’s ice-cream truck coming. She didn’t even flinch at his rumbling sound system, which was blasting rap music that could be heard all over South Park, if not all over San Francisco’s South of Market District. She didn’t hear him yell as she crossed his path, “Ice cream! Fruit cream! Soy cream! Yo!”

  Nor did she listen when Harold and I put down our beer bottles and shouted, in unison, “Look out!”

  “Baby!” Anmol yelled. “Get a move on!”

  The woman held herself in tight, as if she were in a bubble. She didn’t seem to know how to act in our neighborhood, so she froze up. For starters, she was driving a Jag, and her bob haircut was almost as black and as sleek as her car. Tailored and tidy, this classy sister was unlike the rainbow-haired tech geeks who dominated our part of San Francisco. She was one of those people who looked intelligent without seeming to have any skills whatsoever, except maybe on the tennis court.

  She was clad in a beautiful, light, lemony-shaded shift and matching short jacket that just barely prevented her from breaking the cardinal fashion rule that one does not wear white after Labor Day. She had on glimmering black Olsen Twin sunglasses that blocked a third of her face, but the skin that was visible was creamy and perfect, even if it did seem just a shade too taut. I thought of how my mother’s face looked after she had her first face lift and wondered if they went to the same doctor.

  Harold leaned over and whispered, “Oooh! Oooh! I’ll be your backup. I’ll pretend to read.” He stuck his hand in his cheese nibbles, and then he stuck his nose in the Adlai Stevenson biography was reading. He got so excited when I got new clients that I wondered what he’d do during retirement without me.

  Anmol leaned his turbaned head out of his truck to get a better look at the woman in yellow. “Damn!” he yelled, “If you weren’t so fine, I would be mad right about now!” Then he backed up and parked the truck as hipster computer programmers promptly sprang out of South Park’s live-work spaces, ready to relive their youth through
Drumsticks and popsicles.

  When Anmol’s ice-cream truck paused for customers, the woman in yellow continued to float across the narrow street toward me and Harold. Although she never once acknowledged Anmol, she raised an eyebrow at the sight of the two of us. You don’t see teams like me and Harold all that often: a young redhead like me and an old man lounging in lawn chairs on the sidewalk, both of us drinking Heinekens in the early afternoon. Neither one of us liked to wait until happy hour.

  “I’m looking for Ms. Parker,” the woman said.

  “You’re looking at her,” I replied. I finished what was left of my beer and smiled.

  Pulling her chin in ever so slightly, the woman stammered, “I thought you would be … older.”

  I figured what she really wanted to say was “cleaner,” but I wasn’t exactly dressed professionally. No private investigator dresses well. The other ones I knew were schleppy dudes who favored Hawaiian shirts. However, that day was one of my good ones, as I was wearing a polka-dot secretary shirt and jeans I picked up at a thrift store in Berkeley.

  As she was sizing me up, I was already returning the favor. I quickly processed the woman’s car, outfit, and manner of walking. Although you wouldn’t have known it to look at me, I grew up with money, thanks to my father’s incredible knack for convincing people to pay big money for organic produce and imported European sweets. I didn’t fit in Dad’s world, though. I played music on the side, and I snooped on people for a living, so I had minimal access to Daddy’s pocketbook. I knew how the higher rungs of society worked, but it didn’t belong to me, even if I was related to it. I liked to say that I could read the language of rich, but I preferred not to speak it.

  Now, this woman spoke the language of rich fluently. She might have known some words I didn’t. Watching her impeccable posture, I imagined the woman floating through the world on a cushion of inherited wealth. Maybe she got dirty once or twice if she had a pony, like a lot of those girls I grew up with back on Cape Cod. But the woman in yellow sure didn’t look like the type to muck a stall.