The Big Bamboo

by Tim Dorsey

  “Did you just tell me to shut up?” Ally grabbed Serge’s head from behind.

  “What the hell are you doing?”

  The Fullback grabbed Serge’s neck from in front.

  Serge couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t move his head. He desperately reached for the dashboard, but it was just out of range. The grip on his throat grew tighter. He became faint. He tried calling for Coleman under the dash, but no voice would come out. With the last effort in his body, Serge threw an elbow over his shoulder, catching Ally in the jaw. She released her grip and fell back, allowing Serge to reach the dash. He pressed the washer button, squirting The Fullback in the eyes with Serge’s Super Windshield Fluid. The Fullback screamed and clawed at his face. Serge swerved a final time, and the giant rolled off the Chrysler’s hood into the street.

  Coleman sat back up, puffing a fully involved joint. “Hey, where’d he go?”

  “We came to his stop.”

  Behind them, a double-decker tour bus screeched to an emergency halt after a series of disgusting thumps. Passengers hung out the windows and looked down at the wheels.

  Something hit Serge in the back of the head. “Ow! What was that for?”

  “Pull over!” yelled Ally.

  “What’s the matter?”

  “Pull over this second!”

  Serge made a left onto a dark side street. He parked and turned around. “What now!”

  “I’m getting out!”

  “You’re not going anywhere.”

  “You hit me!”

  “That was a defensive blow,” said Serge. “Technically, I’m guarding the plate.”

  Ally swung a leg over the side of the car.

  Serge pulled his pistol. “Don’t go any farther.”

  “You’re not going to shoot.”

  “I’m warning you.”

  “Tori will find out.”

  “Try me.”

  “You’re bluffing.”

  ** Chapter 36

  Hollywood Tattletale

  VIGIL ATTENDANCE WAY UP

  HOLLYWOOD— Abducted actress Ally Street is now presumed dead by police after ransom talks broke down during a series of bizarre telephone calls received at Vistamax Studios, according to an unofficial press release from a source close to the negotiations.

  Hopes were high for the star of the indefinitely shelved All That Glitters when officials received a cheerful ransom note. But the mood quickly soured during jumbled conversations that indicated Ms. Street’s kidnappers were either international terrorists or local drug abusers. The shocking and exclusive revelations of the terrorist angle came to light during one of the cryptic calls. While the captors made no political demands, they reportedly read a brief statement protesting a recent spate of police brutality before referring to a cache of grenades and anthrax.

  In a related development, detectives were observed leaving the home of TV and movie personality John Goodman. Repeated knocks on Goodman’s door went suspiciously unanswered, and police would only say it was “just a cordial visit.” Caught outside a trendy Brentwood eatery, Goodman’s publicist said he had no knowledge of the police visit, but was confident that all the facts would come out.

  Although Goodman’s name came up numerous times during the hostage talks, police theorize that the actor had only limited and incidental contact with the abductors, who were dropping his name to score points. When asked about their theory, an official police spokesman said, “That’s not our theory.”

  By nightfall, hundreds of fans could be seen leaving flowers outside the Vistamax gates, where a well-attended candlelight vigil lasted past midnight and featured touching performances by many top musicians on the vigil circuit. While few of the mourners actually knew Street, most whom we spoke with said “we felt as though we knew her” or “we wished we had known her” or “how’d you like that notepad shoved up your ass?”

  Meanwhile, Street’s publicist and agent Tori Gersh called a hastily arranged press conference to demand an official inquiry into the source of the police leaks. “Each new detail is so painful,” said a tearful Ms. Gersh. “Like the fact that they were withholding food and water.”

  Police had no response to Gersh’s accusations, but word that the department had been accused of something prompted sporadic looting in several neighborhoods and tied up traffic leaving the Lakers game.

  BEVERLY HILLS HOTEL, THE POLO LOUNGE

  Lush leaves and primrose blooms filled the courtyard. Tori and the Glicks huddled around a small café table under the warm California sun. A folded-over copy of the Hollywood Tattletale lay between them. Tori’s wine had a couple of sips missing, but the brothers’ glasses were already empty, and they waved for the waiter as if they were marooned.

  People at other tables leaned and whispered. “

  The Glicks

  ” A snappy waiter arrived, towel over his arm, and poured Merlot with ceremony.

  Mel grabbed his glass with both hands. “I can’t take the stress.”

  Ian grabbed his chest. “I can’t breathe.”

  “Drink your wine,” said Tori. “It’ll help you relax.”

  Ian guzzled and motioned the waiter for a refill. “How can you be so calm?”

  “Because it’s over,” said Tori, reclining in her chair and savoring another sip. “A few loose ends, but the hard part is done. Instead of heart attacks, you should be celebrating.”

  Her confidence became contagious. “You really think so?”

  “Absolutely,” said Tori, swirling the wine under her nose. “I’ll admit it got pretty hairy for a while. You wouldn’t be human if you didn’t feel it. But that’s all done. You two have been worrying so long you’ve forgotten to stop.”

  “She’s right,” said Ian. “We’re making ourselves crazy for nothing.”

  “That’s more like it,” said Tori.

  Mel nodded. “What can possibly go wrong now?”

  “Nothing,” said Tori. “We’re completely in the clear.”

  Excited yelling erupted from the hotel. All heads turned. Two waiters blocked the doorway to the Polo Lounge. “Sirs! You’re not dressed—”

  “Get the fuck out of my way! Do you know who we are? I know the Glicks personally

  Hey, Ian! Mel! Be right with you!

  ”

  The brothers strained to see what was going on.

  Two waiters stumbled backward. Serge and Coleman marched quickly toward the table. Tori covered her eyes. “Holy Jesus!”

  “What’s shakin’?” said Serge.

  A flustered maâtre d’ ran over and began apologizing to the Glicks. Two beefy security guards arrived seconds later, grabbing the intruders.

  “Let me go!” yelled Serge. “You’re making a big mistake! We know them!”

  The maâtre d’ looked at the brothers. “You know them?”

  The stunned Glicks shook their heads.

  One of the guards jerked Serge by the arm. “Okay, fella, get moving

  ”

  “We’re the kidnappers!”

  Ian screamed. Mel dumped wine on himself. “We know them! We know them!

  ”

  “Is everything all right?” asked the maâtre d’.

  “Yes,” said Mel.

  “Just go away,” said Ian.

  The maâtre d’ nodded for guards to release them. Then he backed away from the table, bowing.

  Serge straightened out his shirt. “That’s better. I’d heard good things about this place, but I was beginning to wonder

  ” He scooted a chair up between the brothers for a tight fit. “So, this is the inner sanctum.”

  “Tori!” Ian demanded. “What the hell are they doing here?”

  “We were never supposed to meet them!” said Mel. “That was the understanding.”

  Tori turned to Serge. “What are you doing here?”

  “Gellin’ like a felon.”

  “Dammit,” said Tori. “You were supposed to call me this morning!”

  “Change in plans.” Serge took a small canvas bag off his shoulder and set it in his lap. “I’ve learned that whenever there’s a possibility for misunderstanding, it’s better to take th
e time and meet face-to-face. Shows respect.” Serge raised a finger to the waiter. “Your finest water.” He pointed at Coleman. “Beer, right?”

  Coleman nodded, digging a fist into the bowl of mixed nuts on the table.

  “Tori!” whispered Ian. “We’re not insulated anymore!”

  “That’s the only reason we agreed in the first place!” whispered Mel. “You guaranteed no contact with lowlifes!”

  “Lowlifes?” said Serge, bolting up straight. “You must be thinking of other kidnappers. Me and my partner are all about culture.” Serge surveyed the courtyard. “Like this place. We could get used to meeting you here.”

  “Serge!” said Tori. “You’re scaring me. What’s happened? What’s wrong?”

  “Give me a minute,” said Serge. “I have to set up.” He reached in the canvas bag and placed his iPod on the table, connecting it to portable speakers. “I can’t believe I’m actually here! Wanted to come my whole life, but never thought I’d get the chance.” Serge worked the click-wheel to his L.A. soundtrack. Music started. “Thousands of people have been made and destroyed in this very courtyard. I’ll bet you two guys have all kinds of juicy stories! Were you here way back before cell phones? Did waiters really used to carry the old rotary jobs to your table when you got a call?” He leaned forward on his elbows and grinned. “I’m all ears!”

  “We just have drinks.”

  “

  Welcome to the Hotel California

  ”

  Serge sat up and frowned. “That’s no fun.” He pulled a hanging vine toward his face and sniffed a flower. “Did you know this used to be a wasteland of undesirable real estate? Until they opened this joint in 1912. They said they were crazy! Then Pickford and Fairbanks built nearby and the rest of Hollywood followed

  ”

  “

  Such a lovely place

  ”

  “What really blows my mind is there’s no traffic-light eyesore at the intersection out front. And it’s a five-way fucker, too. Now that’s class. If this was Miami, you’d be hosing glass and blood twenty-four seven. But out here you just take turns. Because you’re civilized

  ”

  The maâtre d’ hovered nervously. “Sir, I’ll have to ask you to turn off the music.”

  “It’s my soundtrack.”

  “We don’t want any trouble.”

  “You should have thought of that before you let the Eagles put a picture of this place on the album cover.”

  “Sir, please

  ”

  “Alllllllll right.” Serge reluctantly pressed the stop button. “There. You happy? Is it true you can check out anytime you like, but you can never leave?”

  The maâtre d’ backed away, bowing again.

  Serge leaned to Ian. “Another fashionable Eagles-hater. Probably heard The Long Run a million times at his frat house, and it pushed him off the ledge.”

  The next table was staring. Serge turned and grinned. A sixtyish woman had dangling earrings that belonged on a chandelier. She sneered back.

  Serge began singing to her: “Woooo! Hoooo! Witchy Woman! See how high—”

  Tori grabbed his arm. “Will you stop that!”

  “Has anyone been to the gift shop?” said Serge. “Went looking for a souvenir pin, but they just had a bunch of junk out of my price range like baseball caps with the hotel’s name in diamonds

  Oooo. I

  spy

  souvenir

  matches!” He snatched the pack out of the ashtray, dropped them in his shirt pocket and threw his arms up. “He shoots! He scores!”

  Mel shielded his face. “Everyone’s looking!”

  “Yes, sir,” said Serge, looking up at trees draped in strands of white Christmas lights. “I could get used to noshing here with you on a regular basis.”

  “We’re never meeting again!” said Mel. “If we had known—”

  “You don’t have a choice,” said Serge, fiddling with his iPod. “The change in plans. It’s pretty complex so we’ll have to start seeing a lot of each other until it sorts out.”

  “Tori! Do something!”

  “What’s changed?” she asked.

  “I don’t quite know how to put this

  ” said Serge. He stuck the iPod in Ian’s face and grinned. “Holds ten thousand songs”— he pulled it back and fiddled some more—“It’s like the ransom note. Good news, bad news, so don’t overreact until you’ve heard both parts

  ”

  “Oh, Jesus!” Ian flagged down their waiter. “Bring the bottle!”

  “Right away, sir.”

  “What the hell’s happened?” snapped Mel.

  “Don’t rush me. I want to put this the right way

  ” Serge plugged a funky new speaker into the iPod. Except it wasn’t a speaker; it was a microphone. He fiddled some more and activated the record function. “Which do you want first? Bad news or good?”

  “Dammit!”

  “Okay,” said Serge. “I’m guessing you’re a bad-news-first type. People fall distinctly into the two categories. They say potty training—”

  “What the fuck’s happened!”

  “Promise you won’t be mad?” said Serge.

  “Son of a bitch!”

  Serge looked at Tori. “I’m not going to tell if he doesn’t promise.”

  “We promise!” said Tori. “What’s happened?”

  “Okay, here goes: Ally’s dead.”

  “What!” yelled Ian. Every table turned.

  “Tori!” whispered Mel. “Her death was just supposed to be a hoax!”

  “It was supposed to be a hoax,” said Tori. She turned to Serge. “This isn’t funny anymore. Really, where is she?”

  “I don’t know,” said Serge. “Depends whether you’re religious or not. Heaven, hell, worm bellies.”

  “You’re not joking,” said Tori. “You’re serious, aren’t you?”

  “I wouldn’t kid about something like that.”

  “But what happened?”

  “What do you think happened? I killed her.”

  “I know. I mean how?”

  “My gun went off six times.”

  “But why?” asked Tori.

  “She knew my buttons and kept pressing them like an epileptic in an arcade. If it’s any consolation, I gave her fair warning.”

  “Oh, my God!” said Ian, hyperventilating. “She can’t really be dead!”

  Serge put a hand on his shoulder. “My experience is denial never solved anything. Right now, we need to band together like in the movies. I was thinking The Seven Samurai, if they only had five. Think I could get an office near yours? Something with a window if it’s available. I get cranky without sunlight

  ”

  Ian’s head fell to his chest, shaking with sobs.

  “Okay, forget the office,” said Serge. “I’ll work out of my car. I’m more productive there anyway.”

  “We’ll get the gas chamber!” said Mel.

  “You never asked me about the good news.”

  Tears streaked down Ian’s face. “What can possibly be good about this?”

  “I have a new plan!” Serge reclined and crossed his arms with self-satisfaction. “Aren’t you proud of me? After the mishap, I could have gotten down in the dumps, but no! I climbed right back on that drawing-board horse. That’s what you’re paying us for

  ”

  “

  We’re professionals,” said Coleman, a finger way back in his mouth scraping a tooth.

  Both brothers weeping now.

  “I thought you’d be happy,” said Serge. “Don’t you want to hear the plan?”

  “Okay, I’ll shoot myself later for asking,” said Tori. “What’s the plan?”

  Serge rubbed his palms together. “First, you give us two million dollars—”

  “Two million dollars!” said Ian.

  “Why do you need two million?” asked Mel.

  “There’s two of us,” said Serge. “Me and him.”

  They looked over at Coleman, the finger farther back. “Serge, I got a piece of nut stuck—”

  “Coleman! I’m negotiating!”

  “Sorry.”

  “We need the money to leave the country and start new lives.”
/>
  Coleman examined a wet cashew chunk on the end of his finger, then flicked it.

  “This is extortion!” said Mel. A nut chunk hit him in the eye.

  “Think of it like spending on yourselves,” said Serge. “It’ll put us as far away from you as possible. But that’s not all! For two mil, you get the ultra-lux job. Right after leaving here, I’ll get to work making sure they never, ever pin this on you.”

  “How are you going to do that?” asked Ian.

  “By pinning it on someone else.” Serge motioned for all of them to huddle closer. “Here’s what I had in mind

  ”

  Ten minutes later Serge sat back and smiled again. “What do you think?”

  “Never work,” said Tori.

  “Of course it’ll work,” said Serge. “I planned it down to the last detail.”

  “You know, I think it will work,” said Ian.

  Mel nodded. “It’s worth a try.”

  “I can’t believe you’re siding with him now!” said Tori.

  “Me neither,” said Ian. “But it sounds like he’s got all the bases covered.”

  “We see a lot of mystery scripts,” said Mel. “Even the best had more holes.”

  “Great,” said Serge. “Just one more thing. I was kind of saving it until I’d won you over. A final condition of my employment. It’s nonnegotiable

  ”

  ** Chapter 37

  ALTO NIDO APARTMENTS

  Ford Oelman trotted down the stairs from his third-floor unit and opened the front door.

  Police cars everywhere. Detectives waiting at the bottom of the steps.

  “What’s going on?”

  “We have a search warrant,” said Reamsnyder.

  Babcock produced a pair of handcuffs. “And an arrest warrant.”

  “But you already questioned me,” protested Ford, cuffs snapping behind his back. “You said you believed me.”

  “Please step out of the way.”

  An evidence team with crime-scene kits trotted up the stairs. The detectives stuck Ford in the back of a patrol car.

  “What am I charged with?”

  “Obstruction for now.” The door slammed.

  Ford watched forensic experts making continuous trips in and out of the building. Clear bags of fiber samples, strips of latent-print impression, cardboard boxes with unknown contents. His heart began to pound.