Double Header

by Lee Goldberg

  Chapter Twelve

  Conrad Stipe was very impressed with Clive Odett's pagoda, the little stream that ran through the office, and the lush foliage. It meant that Clive Odett made money, which meant that his clients made even more money.

  Zita brought sake to Stipe and Odett, who stood in his kimono at the grill, wielding knives in both hands.

  "We're so glad you're going to be part of The Company family," Odett said, knives spinning over sizzling meat, slicing and flipping succulent chunks onto their plates. "We believe strongly in you and the Beyond the Beyond franchise."

  "I appreciate that, Clive. I've had my eye on you for a long time. I've watched you grow from a mere agent to an industry leader," Stipe said, pinching a chunk of meat between two chopsticks. "Like me, you've become a trendsetter. Your business acumen, paired with my vision and creativity, could reshape television for the 21st century."

  Stipe popped the meat into his mouth. It tasted strange, flavorful but gamy at the same time.

  "How do you like it?" Clive asked.

  "Delicious. I've never tasted anything like it before," Stipe said. "What is it?"

  "Chick," Clive replied, sharing a glance with Zita. She smiled thinly.

  Stipe picked up another piece with his chopsticks and examined the moist morsel. He'd never seen brown chicken meat before. It was also the first time he heard it called chick. Obviously it was the cool new lingo. Fortunately, Stipe was a quick-study when it came to being hip.

  "You've given it an entirely original flavor," Stipe dipped the meat in a little soy sauce and ate it. "Put this chick on a pizza and you'll ruin Wolfgang Puck."

  "I'm glad you like it." Odett speared a chunk of Chick and bit it off the knife.

  "You have to give me the recipe." Stipe enthused, stuffing more into his mouth.

  "Certainly," Odett replied. "But first, I'd like to hear what's happening with Beyond the Beyond."

  "We're right on track," Stipe spoke between chews. Once he got used to the taste, it was hard to stop stuffing himself with Chick. "The first draft of the pilot is done, and we start casting the guest roles and staffing up tomorrow."

  "No need," Zita said.

  "Huh?" Stipe would have said more, but his mouth was full.

  Zita handed him a list of names. "These are your guest stars for the premiere."

  "We like Carleton Eastlake for the alien," Odett took a sip of sake.

  "I'm not a fan," Stipe wiped his greasy lips with a napkin.

  "You are now." Odett said firmly.

  Zita slipped another piece of paper in front of him. "This is your writing staff."

  Stipe glanced at the names. "Melvah Blenis? I've never heard of her."

  "She's a Company client," Zita said. "That's all you need to know."

  Stipe pushed his plate aside. "I'll take notes from the network, I'll even entertain suggestions from the studio. But it will be a cold day in hell before I take orders from my agent."

  Odett leaned close to Eddie and whispered: "Then you better buy a parka, Conrad."

  Stipe involuntarily shivered, then a voice deep inside him spoke up. What's the matter with you? He's an agent. You're Conrad Stipe, creator of Beyond the Beyond, a major talent in this business. Crush him under your Florsheims. He looked Odett in the eye.

  "You work for me, don't you ever forget that," Stipe rose slowly from his seat and tossed his napkin on the lists. "Don't insult me again, or I'll take my business to CAA."

  "Don't go without the recipe," Odett handed him a card.

  Stipe glanced down it. He was holding a California Driver's license. "I don't get it."

  "It's the main ingredient," Odett said.

  Stipe looked at it again. The license belonged to Chick Lansing. Realization hit him in the stomach.

  Chick?

  No, it couldn't be.

  "Carleton Eastlake is your guest star and Melvah Blenis heads the writing staff," Odett whispered. "Or tomorrow we're having you for lunch."

  Odett picked up a chunk of Chick in his fingers and tossed it in his mouth.

  Zita smiled to herself. Odett had no idea who Melvah Blenis was, and no idea that putting her on staff of Beyond the Beyond would close the deal that sealed Odett's fate.

  Stipe's stomach started to convulse, but he wasn't sure whether it was revulsion or terror. Either way, he didn't want to puke in this cannibal's pagoda. Who knew what Odett would do?

  He told himself the important thing was that this ruthless monster was on his side, ultimately Odett wanted the show to succeed as much as Stipe did. If Stipe was smart, he'd do whatever Odett asked and be happy about it.

  Afterall, Stipe figured he couldn't end up any worse off that he was for the last twenty years. He gripped his stomach with one hand and reached for the list from Zita with the other.

  "Melvah can start tomorrow," Stipe said, forcing a smile. "I'll get a script to Carleton as soon as it's locked."

  Odett smiled. "Good to hear. Oh, think about Dustin Woods as Captain Pierce. I have a strong feeling Chad Shaw won't be coming through for you."

  Stipe staggered out of the office. Odett looked after him, then offered Zita some meat.

  "I'm so glad we worked that out," Odett said. "I would hate to have to eat someone that disagreed with me."

  * * * * * *

  Usually, the thing with the arms and legs in the frig got an immediate response. It didn't work as fast as, say, chopping up their cat or stapling their cockatoo to a wall. And although animals were often unreliable and messy, using them encouraged creativity. The time he tied up a guy's pet snake in a knot and left it on his pillow was a particular favorite.

  But Kim Woodrell didn't have any pets so Doyle Klemm had to go with the mannequin bit. It was no problem, really, because Klemm kept his van stocked with mannequin limbs "just in case" anyway.

  In his business, it paid to be prepared. He kept his van loaded with everything he needed to instill fear and, when necessary, severe bodily harm. The nice thing was, from an inventory point of view, that a lot of the items could be used for either purpose. Take his power drill, for instance. Klemm could use it to terrify, like screwing a dog to somebody's door, or he could use it for torture, like giving somebody an extra nostril.

  Each job was unique, though he often used the same, tried and true, techniques. Pissing on the walls wasn't one of his favorites, because he liked to be tidy, and it meant staying in a stinking house for quite a while. But most people usually responded to that simple message right away, it was the real hard cases who needed more convincing.

  Apparently, Kim Woodrell was one of them. So tonight the call came down to deliver the message on her body. Nothing fatal, though, because she was no good to Klemm's boss dead. Disfigured was okay.

  He selected a gun-shaped, cordless drill and a 13/64 high-speed, steel bit, recommended by Black & Decker for metal, wood, and plastic, and recommended by Doyle Klemm for knee caps, wrists, and skulls.

  Klemm parked a couple blocks from Woodrell's place and approached her house from the beach, where he was virtually invisible in the darkness in his black outfit. Deactivating her alarm was no biggie, he used to be a SafeSec installer. SafeSec was a wonderful place to learn your trade and case homes at the same time.

  He picked the lock on the door to the maid's quarters and slipped inside.

  * * * * * *

  After Charlie Willis cleaned out the refrigerator of fake body parts, he asked himself how the intruder kept getting into the house and bypassing the alarm.

  Charlie went outside and checked the alarm box, and wasn't surprised when he saw indentations where clips had been placed on the wires. He then studied the house for the intruder's likely entrance, the one best shielded from view from either the street or neighboring houses.

  It was the door to his room.

  So Charlie wasn't surprised when the door opened and man crept in, holding a power drill. He let him get a few steps into the room, and punched him in the solar plexus, kn
ocking the wind out of his lungs.

  Charlie shoved him face down on the floor, jammed a knee into his back, and wrapped a towel around his lower jaw, preventing Klemm from closing his mouth. He picked up the power drill with his free hand and put it against the back of his Klemm's head.

  "Don't even think of biting that cyanide capsule," Charlie said.

  "hyandhide?" Klemm gurgled. It wasn't easy to talk with a towel in his mouth.

  "The only way you're dying tonight is if I kill you. Now, you can either tell me what I want to know, or I'll go looking in your head for the answers myself."

  Charlie squeezed the trigger of the drill, letting the bit spin in Klemm's hair, so the guy would get the point.

  "Do we understand each other?" Charlie asked.

  "Yeff," Klemm said.

  "What does Clive Odett want from Kim?"

  "Who ig Qwife Oehhh?"

  Charlie squeezed the trigger and touched the point of the whirring bit to Klemm's scalp, drawing blood.

  "I woof for woher hinglehein," Klemm spit out in a terrified rush, drool sloshing out of his mouth.

  Charlie loosened his grip on the towel. "Dr. Himmelstein? The plastic surgeon?"

  Klemm nodded, but it was more of a rhetorical question. Dr. Himmelstein was the most popular plastic surgeon in Beverly Hills, so sought after by celebrities that he accepted a wide range of payment, from cash, stock, securities and property, as well as flexible credit terms. There were several A-list actors who simply had him on commission, along with their agents, managers and lawyers.

  "Okay," Charlie said. "What does he want from Kim?"

  "His $250,000," Klemm said.

  "What did she have done that could possibly cost that much?"

  "Everything, Charlie," said Kimberly Woodrell.

  She stood in the doorway in her loosely-tied bathrobe, tears rolling down her cheeks, her arms crossed under her surgically enhanced breasts, the bosom she dreamed of having all those years ago when she was a man.

  Chapter Thirteen

  The bomb wired to Conrad Stipe's front door was strong enough to blow it, and most of Conrad Stipe, clear across the street. Or something like that, Artie Saputo wasn't entirely sure. That was part of the thrill of working with explosives.

  That morning, Artie broke into the ranch-style house, "south of the boulevard" in Encino, by tossing a brick through the sliding glass door. After eating all the sweets in the house, and jerking off a couple times with Stipe's collection of Big Hooters magazines, he set to work on the bomb, using material he found in Stipe's house.

  He could improvise like that because Artie was an inventive, can-do guy, with the tools and the know-how to create the right gadget for the job, just like the Endeavor's wily Chief Engineer Glerp. Of course, he had no formal training in engineering and explosives, he learned by trial and error. Mostly by error.

  He leaned back to admire his work, the yellow pupil rolling around in his hollow, Zorgog plastic eye. The explosive device was spread across the entire wall on either side of the door. It was a complex tangle of Christmas lights, styrofoam cups, extension cords, lighter fluid, fertilizer, paint thinner, thumb tacks, model glue, and a propane tank. The finishing touch was a Beyond the Beyond wet 'n' stick decal. Not very sleek, but the device was state-of-the-art in the Confederation.

  Artie reached for a pair of wire-cutters from his plastic Chief Engineer Glerp action-belt and made the final adjustments, ensuring the device would explode the instant Stipe came through the door. Which, unfortunately, was at that exact moment.

  Stipe and the door were blown to smithereens, just as Artie predicted, along with the entire front wall of the house, which he hadn't. Artie found himself lying on the warm hood of Stipe's Acura, covered in debris and Stipe-flesh. He was also missing his left ear, which wasn't so bad, since he was pretty sure they were still selling Security Chief Zorgog masks at Toys R Us.

  * * * * * *

  But it wasn't Conrad Stipe who opened the door. It wasn't even Conrad Stipe's house.

  The house belonged to Dermot Elroy, 37, a rising star in the answering machine message voice-over field. And while bits of poor Dermot and his house were falling all over 190 South Ardwyn street, Conrad Stipe was coming home to his apartment at 190 North Ardwyn in his '77 Eldorado.

  The Sunset Vista Palms, where Stipe lived, was a half-block of stucco and window air conditioners and laundry hung on tiny balconies to dry. The two, sickly palm trees that gave the building its name were on either side of the only entrance and were pissing posts for every dog within a three mile radius. Stipe had to leap a puddle of pee just to get in and out of his home.

  But his days of crossing the piss moat would soon be over. A man of his stature in the industry belonged south of the boulevard, in a massive house with a front gate, stone lions, and a long, flagstone driveway. A team of real estate agents were already scouring the valley for a suitable abode.

  So when Stipe came in and heard the shower running, he wasn't concerned. He was relieved. It meant another one of Milo's Double-D girls was waiting for him. She would be a welcome distraction from the gloom of his past life and an exhilarating reaffirmation of his newfound power.

  Stipe strode into his bedroom. Steam from the running shower spilled out of the open bathroom door and gave the bedroom a humid, tropical heat. Behind the frosted glass of the shower, he could make out the top-heavy figure of a woman.

  He turned off the lights and hurriedly undressed, peeling off his girdle and letting his stomach flop free. A man of his power and influence didn't have to bother with the niceties of romance and seduction any more. It was straight to the main event.

  Stipe kicked the girdle under a chair and sprawled on the bed, laying on his back and letting gravity flatten his stomach. What gravity didn't hide, the darkness would.

  The woman emerged from the bathroom in a burst of steam, backlit by fluorescent light. Stipe had to admire the cinematic effect, even if it meant he couldn't see her face, not that it was really necessary anyway.

  "It's been such a long, long time," the woman said in a sultry, husky voice. "But it was worth the wait."

  Stipe liked the sound of that.

  "We're going to be so good together," she came around to the foot of the bed. "Again."

  Again?

  She crawled onto him and he saw her face. Shocked, he scrambled back, slamming his head sharply against the backboard. It was Shari, his ex-wife.

  "What the fuck are you doing here?" he yelled.

  She sat up, straddling his legs. "I got tired of waiting for you to call."

  "Why would I call you?" He'd seen her around the conventions, but purposely ignored her. How many times had she remarried? Three? Four?

  "To resume my role as Dr. Kelvin, of course."

  He was about to throw her out, until he looked at those enormous breasts, her nipples big enough to hang a coat on, and decided it would be more polite to fuck her first. No sense turning her away completely disappointed.

  "Of course," he slid back down the bed.

  "I still have what it takes to play the part, don't I?" she leaned over him, letting her breasts swing in front of his face.

  He buried his face in her cleavage and pressed her breasts around his head. He mumbled something against her sternum that felt, more than sounded, like "Oh yes."

  She grabbed him by the hair and pulled him away from her bosom. "So when do I start?"

  "You can start right now," he searched for his erection to put inside her, but was having a hard time finding it.

  "I meant, when do I report to the set?"

  "Let's talk about this afterward." He abandoned his search. If she wanted it, she could find it. Taking one of her massive breasts in both hands, he devoured the nipple, licking, sucking, and drooling with abandon.

  "Do I have the part or don't I?"

  Stipe could see she just wasn't going to give up. He fell back against the mattress, defeated, still panting with excitement, his chee
ks wet with his own drool.

  "No, you don't. We're going with a younger cast."

  Her face crinkled with rage. Stipe sighed. As soon as she left, he'd have to call Milo's office, get a Double D girl to come down right away and finish him off.

  But she didn't leave. She was remembering the last time she saw Stipe, in a lawyer's office, signing their divorce papers.

  To Stipe's surprise, she smiled, all traces of anger gone.

  "I guess I'll just have to settle for the merchandising." She took his head in her hands and mashed his face against her breast.

  He slathered all over it hungrily, unable to believe his good fortune. She was going to fuck him anyway. What a mature woman. Then, her nipple in his mouth, his face mashed against her huge breast, he realized something.

  Merchandising? What merchandising?

  He tried to ask, but his words were lost in her flesh. That's when he realized something else. He couldn't breath.

  Shari didn't understand what he said, but she could guess. She pinned him to the mattress with the entire weight of her body, smothering him with her breast.

  "I just remembered. You never amended your will after the divorce, darling," she grabbed the mattress to hold herself in place as he squirmed frantically underneath her, scratching at her back, kicking his legs. "If you die, I get your share of Beyond the Beyond merchandising."

  His struggle turned into a desperate, panicked flailing, during which he accidentally inserted himself in her. She gasped.

  She read somewhere that terror, rather than diminishing an erection, only made it harder. Now she had clinical proof.

  He clamped his teeth on her nipple and bit it off. She screamed, and was surprised at the erotic charge it gave her. His squirming was hitting all the right spots.

  "Yes," she panted, "yes."

  Just as she was nearing orgasm, Stipe froze, twitched, and died. She rolled off the corpse and caught her breath.

  It was like being married to him all over again.

  * * * * *

  Charlie spent an hour on the phone with Milo Kinoy, who was at one of his castles in Scotland, and told him that Kimberly Woodrell owed someone $250,000, and if it came out what she spent the money on, it would ruin her and probably the network, too.