by Jeff Vrolyks
In charge of security was A.J. Diggs—Arco Arena’s head of security and Kloss’s long time friend. He ran a well oiled machine, with years of experience as a Marines Captain and Green Beret. Encountering Diggs would instill a healthy amount of respect in even the surliest of men. Nobody knew if he was as formidable as his chiseled enormity suggested; nobody dared test him. Diggs was to allow nobody on the premises other than those on the list of a hundred and twenty. This included uninvited cops, journalists, industry professionals, and caterers.
The day wasn’t yet sweltering. Shadows were long and growing shorter. Channel Thirteen forecasted triple-digit heat and somewhere in the sky Helios was shoveling coal to a hungry sun. It was two hours to showtime and already the sounds of acoustic guitar and bass were blaring from heavily-amplified speakers. The equipment crew was hard at work and irked that equipment-lead Keith Sorenson hadn’t yet arrived; although they were relieved that Kloss, for some reason, wasn’t pissed-off about it.
Second-in-charge of the equipment crew was Uni-Brower, who was eager to rise to the challenge in hopes of securing the Lead Tech title himself someday (Kloss had promoted him hours ago; there was just the formality of letting the missing-persons investigation begin before informing him).
The crew member dutifully setting up the drums was Eddie Booger. Kloss had asked him if he would play the conga drums if Keith didn’t show up (he almost said when instead of if—an unacceptable slip of the tongue that a tired mind might make). Booger was thrilled, and not only because he was bursting with joy to rap on his conga drums for an hour in the intense heat: Kloss wrote him a check with a one and a small army of zero’s marching behind it.
Sound checks were being made by Uni-Brower as authorized people trickled through the armed bodyguard check-point one at a time and made their way down the slate driveway flanking the house where it became a make-shift parking lot for equipment vans and caterers. The invited guests not authorized a vehicle on the premise parked in a double-rank along the length of the driveway beginning at the property gate and spanning to the street. There was just enough room for late-arriving equipment vans to make their way to the backyard.
Kloss popped a couple caffeine pills and chased them with a bottle of Amped Cola. Diggs stood by his side skimming through the pages on his clipboard and gave him a preliminary report of the attendance. Diggs’ Walkie Talkie beeped. He removed it, and in a voice resembling Barry White impersonating The Terminator, said “Diggs here.”
“A.J., we have a silver Jaguar at the gate,” Chad informed. “Guy’s not on the list. Name’s Sebastian. Waiting on orders to proceed or deny.”
“Keith’s brother,” Kloss said. “Damnit. I forgot Keith mentioned he was coming. Tell Chad to let him in but do me a favor, keep him away from me without making it seem obvious.” Kloss imagined the sound of twisting metal when Diggs’ tight-lipped grin stretched across his cheeks.
“Don’t ever call me A.J. again,” Diggs said reproachfully into the Walkie Talkie. “Let him in.”
A squelch, then, “Affirmative. Incoming is one Sebastian Sorenson in a silver Jaguar. Over.”
Diggs holstered the transmitter and remarked, “That’s what you get when you hire an Army guy, Mr. Vee.”
“You’re the one who hired him!” Kloss said amusedly.
The non-oiled gears in his head cranked over a few rotations before he nodded. “You’re right. That was my charitable donation for the year. Remind me to claim it on my tax return.”
“How many children are here so far?”
“Five. Don’t worry, One Shot will keep everyone away from the garage, as per your request. He’s standing post as we speak.”
“Excellent. Keep him there until this thing is over. Nobody goes inside the garage, period. I have… uh—”
“Fresh paint.”
“Yes,” Kloss remembered. He pounded the rest of his Amped Cola and said, “Thanks, Diggs, you’re a godsend. I appreciate you coming out on such short notice.”
“Anytime.”
* * *
Lounging on the couch in Holly’s room, admiring my good-as-new arm, I flipped through the TV channels, settling on the local news. I was curious if they would mention the album recording. I assumed it wasn’t news worthy, but lately anything Kloss-related meant ratings.
The hair dryer in the bathroom turned off, and the door cracked open. “Sweetie,” Holly said, “why don’t you pick something out for me to wear today?”
“Why me?”
Her cheerful face peeked out of the gap and said, “Just for fun. I want to see what you’ll pick, what you like.” She left the door ajar. As I went to the closet I glanced through the open door and saw a nude Holly reflected through the mirror. I stopped and appreciated the sight before continuing on.
In the closet I sorted through shirts. There sure were a lot of them considering her entire wardrobe had been incinerated earlier that week. Most of the shirts still had price tags on them. From the bathroom she asked if I really thought we’d see Jack and Peaches again, alive. I said yes, but couldn’t guess how. I had to hand it to the Sue Ellen imposter, the news of Jack and Peaches, whether true or not, pacified Holly greatly.
From her dresser drawer I selected a pair of black stretch-cotton pants. I thought she’d look amazing in them, showing off her legs and butt a little. Holly entered the bedroom in a pink fluffy robe. I handed her the pants, a shirt, and some unmentionables. I admitted to having glimpsed her naked body a moment ago and she stuck her tongue out at me, then flashed me with a quick opening of her robe before whisking off to the bathroom. My pants were a little tight in the crotch. I returned to the couch, resumed watching the news.
“…between seven and eight this morning. The runner suffered multiple bite-wounds, the most severe rending his neck, likely the cause of his death. The victim’s name is not being released until his family has been notified. We are being told that the wounds appear to have originated from a dog. However, there have been reports of a mountain lion in the area just last month, so that has not been ruled out as a possibility. Police and Animal Control are now conducting a search in the area. Until experts confirm or deny that it was a mountain lion, locals are being advised to stay alert and notify authorities should they encounter a mountain lion.”
“Jenn, isn’t Brenner’s Pass a popular trail for runners and bikers alike?”
“That is correct, Phillip. There will be signs posted along The Pass warning of the potential danger. If it was indeed a mountain lion attack, it will be only the second in Sacramento’s history.”
Holly opened the bathroom door with a wry grin. “What’s the big idea giving me this shirt?”
“Nurses do it with patients. You don’t like it?”
“I love it! But it’s not the most flattering shirt in the world.”
“I like it on you. Besides, you paid good money for it. Might as well get some use out of it. Hey, a dog or mountain lion attacked a runner at Brenner’s Pass this morning. Killed him.”
She looked at the TV. The news story had already changed. “And?”
“I don’t know. Never mind.”
“It wasn’t Jack or Peaches. I don’t know what you’re getting at.”
“There were six or seven wolves,” I said. “Not just Jack and Peaches.”
“I wonder what happened to the rest of them. I thought they stay in packs.”
“I thought so too. Did the shower help? You look great.”
“Because I covered the dark circles under my eyes. I’m still tired. I need my eight hours. There are towels on the rack if you want to take a shower.”
“All right. I’m going to see if Mike is awake first.”
Mike’s door was ajar. I entered without notice to find Mike and Ali kissing at the foot of the bed. I blinked wide. Mike was showered and wearing fresh clothes that he had brought in case he slept over. As always, he was wearing clothes straight out an eighties catalogue: hot pink Gotcha shirt and blue jeans pegged
at the bottom. Alison wore pajamas, no make up, tousled blonde hair tied in a loose bun. He had worked his appearance up as she had worked her appearance down, and here they met in the middle.
“I’m sorry, guys.” I backed out of the room.
“What’s up, Kev?” Mike said.
“I just wanted to make sure you were awake.”
“Yep, an hour or so ago.”
“Is Holly up?” Ali said.
“She just got out of the shower. See you guys.”
I walked away smiling, fist-pumping.
I had developed quite the habit of singing in the shower over the years, despite my unsavory voice. Today I sang quietly. On my tiptoes I could see the RV through the small window in the shower.
“I’m high on you, a junkie all I need is you,” I sang. “As we bleed our lives away, we live a thousand lives a day.”
The extended RV awning shaded the Texans, who sat in folding chairs. I couldn’t see Pea Willy’s face through the large Cowboy hat. He was hunched over the acoustic guitar on his knee. Sue Ellen leafed through a magazine, foot tapped percussion to her husband’s song.
I turned the water off and opened the glass door, squinting away from the adjacent mirror. My heart skipped a beat when I discerned a figure at the other end of the bathroom. But it was only Holly, arms folded and looking coquettish.
“Hey, Perv Griffin, how about a little privacy?” I said.
She handed me a towel. “Interesting song you were singing.” I accepted the towel and closed the foggy glass door. “Shy?”
“Eternally,” I said. “And it’s not exactly sexy toweling off.”
“Uh, I don’t know what you’re talking about. It’s very sexy.”
“You’re a strange one.”
“Strange like a fox. What were you singing, hun?—I heard my name.”
“You’re not supposed to hear that yet.”
“Yet?” she said. “You wrote me a song?”
“A little privacy, please.”
She simpered and left. There was a knock at the bedroom door. I heard Holly greet Diggs. I put my change of clothes on.
“Good morning, Miss Holly. Long time, no see. How’ve you been?”
Holly noticed the cell-phone in his hand. “Mostly good, thank you. Phone for me?” He nodded and handed it over. She pressed it against her chest and said, “Why are they calling me on this phone? Who is it?”
“Wouldn’t say. He dialed the office of my security firm and said it was an emergency. They patched the call over to me. He wanted to speak to Kloss but that ain’t happening. You’re still running the show these days, correct?” Holly nodded. “I’ll wait in the hallway for a few; if you want me to relay the phone to Kloss, just let me know.”
She nodded and closed the door on him. “Hello?... May I ask who’s calling?... I’m sorry, but if you won’t tell me—” She frowned. “Or what?... Who is this?... Shit.” She exhaled. “I’ll get him.” She muted the phone and summoned Diggs.
He opened the door and said, “Give the phone to your brother?”
“No. Go tell him to come here right away.”
Diggs hesitated. “Miss Holly, he’s in the back getting ready. He wanted to keep the disturbances to a minimum. Couldn’t I just bring him the phone?”
“Tell him to get his ass over here,” she said sternly. “Immediately.”
He nodded and rushed off.
Chapter 40
“Who is it?” Kloss said pettishly as he entered Holly’s bedroom.
“He wouldn’t say,” Holly replied.
“I told you, I don’t take calls from—”
“Kloss?” she said in her do not test me tone. She proffered the phone and he accepted it. “You might want to listen to what he has to say.”
He unmuted the phone. “Kloss speaking.”
“Hey, friend. You don’t know me but that’s not important. I’m calling from outside your gate. I’m the guy in a Mariner’s ball-cap. I need you to tell this ape to let me inside so you and I can have a little discussion.” What grated Kloss’s nerves was the air of confidence this prick was speaking with.
“Why wou—”
“Why would you want to let me in? For starters, there’s an ass-load of reporters, photographers, and lunatic fans out here. I don’t think you’d want any of them eavesdropping on our conversation.” He lowered his voice and threatened, “Unless you want to do some jail time. I have some photos for sale that you may want to take a look at. Let me in.”
“Sonofabitch, what is this? Pictures of what?”
“Let me in or I hand this Channel Four bitch a picture of you and your two cute little pets. I especially like the one with the pink collar, precious.”
Kloss ended the call. “Fuck! Sonofabastard!”
I flinched from his anger. His face was red, eyes murderous. He shot Diggs an icy glare.
“Sir?”
“There’s a guy in a Mariner’s ball-cap at the gate. Give him a seat in the office, I’ll meet him there. Stand guard and don’t let a soul near there until I come out.” Diggs nodded and left. Holly and I stood in silent fear as we watched Kloss pace rapidly about, face turning a new shade of pissed-off every second. He stopped abruptly and hurled the phone like a Nolan Ryan fastball into the wall. It exploded into an array of plastic parts and wire clusters. “Sonofawhore!”
Holly and I back-stepped away from him. Holly cautiously squeaked out, “What pictures does he have?” She anticipated a nasty response.
“Pictures of the wolves, for starters! God knows what else, but I can imagine! Can’t you?”
Holly’s eyes widened.
Kloss stormed out of the bedroom and went into his own. In the closet he entered a combination into to his safe and withdrew a handgun and tucked it into his waist. His tee-shirt was long enough to conceal the bulge.
* * *
Kloss sat behind the desk, the man in a Mariner’s cap seated before him. Kloss gestured to Diggs, who nodded back and closed the office door behind him. Kloss seethed as he glared at the scruffy-bearded guy grinning smugly. The guy was no older than Kloss, had a nappy mop of oily brown hair cinched down with a cap, wore a faded Judas Priest tee-shirt. There was a Manila envelope on his lap.
“So what is it,” asshole, “what have you got?” You smug piece of dog-shit.
“First of all, Kloss, you can call me Robert. I hope we can resolve this peacefully and quickly. There are no hard feelings or animosity from my end, it’s just business.”
Restraining himself from lunging over the desk and throttling him, Kloss said, “Well there’s a geometric shit-ton of hard feelings and animosity from this end, pal. Explain yourself.” Kloss hoped the guy would pull out a weapon or try something funny so he would be justified in boring a hole between his eyes with his .22.
“I sell pictures. To whom, it doesn’t matter.”
“Tabloids,” Kloss said. He knew the type, all right.
Robert grinned. “I took a couple from your property wall, which wasn’t easy with all the trees and barbed wire.”
“I don’t try to make it easy for you sons of bitches to take pictures. What the hell do you expect? Get to your damned point.”
He extracted an eight-by-ten photo from the Manila envelope and handed it to Kloss. The picture was of his backyard. It was a close-up of Jack and Peaches. Holly was stooped over, pouring a bottle of water into their dishes. Due to her unfortunate angle, the loose collar of her shirt hung down, exposing the tops of her bare breasts. He could have gone his whole life without having seen his sister’s breasts; as if he needed another reason to hate this douchebag Robert. She was smiling in the picture, oblivious to the maggot seventy feet away on a step ladder. The picture infuriated Kloss on multiple fronts.
“Beautiful pair,” Robert said ambiguously, exacerbating Kloss’s rage. “How does one obtain a pair of pet wolves?”
“I don’t have time for trivial bullshit. Are you going to get to the point or am I going to hav
e to throw you through the window to jog it loose?”
“Owning wolves is illegal, as I’m sure you know. But I’m also sure that someone with your clout and celebrity wouldn’t get in any trouble over it.”
“So there you go, I won’t get in any trouble. Thanks for wasting my time, asshole.” He stood from his chair.
“Whoa, whoa, have a seat. There’s more.” Kloss sat back down and gestured him to continue. “When I took these, I figured I could sell them for a few bucks. But then”— he repeated emphatically—“then came last night.” Like the raspy itch in the back of your throat before a cold, Kloss felt the first itch of fear. “I don’t know the law very well, and I don’t suspect you do, but there’s something written somewhere about aiding and abetting, if I remember correctly. Am I right, Kloss?” Robert tried to keep from grinning, but it was of no use. He had this bastard where he wanted him. His Saturn would be a Corvette by tomorrow afternoon.
Kloss imagined a rope coming down from the ceiling to form a noose around his neck. Why didn’t I just call the cops? He thought. Because of Holly. Jail is a better alternative than her dying, that’s why. Kloss nodded at this unassailable logic.
“Aiding and abetting for manslaughter couldn’t be a good thing for a celebrity such as yourself. In fact, I wouldn’t be surprised if avoiding a charge like that might be worth a good deal of money to someone like you.”
“What are the odds?” Kloss muttered inwardly. “A photographer at three in the morning?” Robert perked up in his chair. Kloss added, “It’s like winning the lottery.” His tone was still angry, but there was concession there, too. “Don’t you people have lives?”
“Not at all,” he said dryly.
“How much money are we talking about?”
“How much is it worth to you? Not going to jail for murder?”
“I ain’t paying for a get out of jail free card for murder, guy. It wasn’t me who shot them, and you know it. And he did it in self-defense, anyway, so don’t be flapping your gums about murder charges.”