Vertigo Effect: The Eighth Jonathan Shade Novel

by Gary Jonas

  “Too time consuming. You can either make the jump or you can’t. If you can’t, then I see no reason to use you for anything in the picture.”

  I stared at the other building, then looked down at the street some twenty stories below. Sweat broke out under my arms and on my palms. I drew a deep breath.

  Fournier laughed. “I’m just fucking with you, Easton. Turn the page.”

  I turned the page and saw another blue sheet, but this one read Tess runs and leaps from one building to the next, landing with grace. She does a shoulder roll and leaps into the air kicking two men at the same time, sending the bad guys reeling.

  “I got a call from Trudy this afternoon,” Fournier said. “She told me your friend Kelly can make this jump easily. So I called the writers and had them whip up a new scene.”

  My breath came a little easier. Kelly could definitely make that jump. She might be able to jump twenty-eight feet, though I doubted she could reach thirty, which would set a world record.

  “Yes, Kelly can do this. But Trudy called you this afternoon? You asked for this meeting this morning.”

  “Because I have some information, you might need, but I didn’t want to say it where anyone else could hear.”

  “I’m listening,” I said.

  “I think Angela is the one who killed Terrell.”

  “Say what?”

  “I think she used magic to kill him because he’s been sleeping with damn near everyone working on this movie.”

  “Angela is the one who arranged to have me come look into it.”

  “A clever ploy to take suspicion off herself.”

  “It was listed as an accident. Nobody would have been looking at her.”

  “She was furious with him.”

  “She didn’t do it,” I said. “It wouldn’t make any sense.”

  “Unless she wanted you to find out who all he’d been tapping.”

  “You seriously called me here for this nonsense?”

  “I don’t trust her.”

  “Let me guess. She’s fucking up your movie.”

  “On the contrary. Every shot I’ve been lauded for is one she did, and that shot of Terrell making that jump was the best I’ve seen her do. The producers won’t let us use it, though.”

  “Sneak it into Faces of Death 400.”

  “Those movies are all fake. The point is that she’s a killer.”

  “Bullshit.”

  “Mark my words,” he said. “You’ll see.”

  CHAPTER TEN

  That night I caught up to Angela as she crossed the hotel lobby toward the doors.

  “Wait up,” I said, closing my iPad. I jumped up from the chair where I’d been reading for hours.

  “Hi, Jonathan. What are you doing down here?”

  “Reading a Lee Child novel.”

  “I’m heading to the set for another second unit shoot. Are you scheduled for any stunts tonight?”

  I shook my head. “I’m off. Mind if I tag along?”

  “Please do. I’d like a progress report.”

  We caught a limo to the set. Once we were underway, I caught her up on what I’d learned. I ended with, “And you might like to know that at least one person thinks you’re the most likely suspect.”

  She turned to stare at me. “What? Who said that?”

  “It doesn’t matter. I pointed out that you called for the investigation after it was listed as an accident. If you were the killer, you’d have gotten away with it right then and there, so to call for anyone else to look into it would be stupid. And you are definitely not stupid.”

  “I just want to know who killed Terrell and why.”

  “Well, lots of folks took issue with the guy. He got around a bit.”

  “I know all about his wanderings,” Angela said. “I loved him anyway. And he didn’t deserve to be killed for it. Are you at least convinced it’s murder?”

  “No.”

  “But people had reasons to kill him.”

  “Doesn’t mean they did.”

  “But—”

  “Angela, if every person who cheated on their partner or spouse was murdered for stepping out, there’d be bodies littering the floors everywhere we go.”

  “I realize most people won’t kill over jealousy, but some will, and as Terrell is dead, I think it’s clear someone did.”

  “People have killed for less, but it’s not how we behave in civilized society. And I hate to say it, but I think Terrell’s death was an accident. I have a few more T’s to cross, but it’s looking like I’m just here to do a few stunts for the movie.”

  ***

  The night’s shoot went off without incident, though I went back to the hotel long before they finished. Esther waited for me in my room.

  “Kelly still isn’t back,” she said.

  “She’s having fun.”

  “I don’t trust that Trudy dame.”

  “I’d be shocked if you trusted anyone other than Kelly or me,” I said. “Don’t worry about it.”

  “I know, I know.”

  “Did you learn anything today?”

  “No, but I don’t like it here.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because watching movies was like magic to me, but seeing them film one…” She shook her head.

  “I understand,” I said. “The magic is gone. You see how many takes they require to get a shot you thought looked natural. You see how many times actors flub their lines or sound is off and they have to run the whole thing again. You see how the scenes are shot out of order, and often in pieces.”

  “Or how many fellas and dames are behind the camera when a scene is supposed to be romantic or intimate. They shot a love scene today, and it was anything but.”

  “Oh no. Romance is dead,” I said. “Call the paramedics.”

  “I don’t want to stay here, Jonathan. I like movies.”

  “I love movies, but seeing how the sausage is made won’t stop me from suspending my disbelief when I go to the new Star Wars flick this December.”

  “How about for this movie?”

  “This one will be different,” I admitted. “We’ll have been on set while certain portions were filmed. We’ll know the politics, and who was sleeping with whom, and how many takes a particular scene took, or who was sick, or whatever. But even then, once the music is added, and the editing is done, it might still be able to pull us in for a few hours and make us forget about our real world problems while Cole Mitchell goes after terrorists and saves the kidnapped girls.”

  “I hope so. There’s not enough magic in the world.”

  “Says the ghost who should know better.”

  “You know what I mean.”

  I laughed. “I’m going to bed. Have a good night.”

  “Right. While I sit in the dark and wait for the world to wake up again.”

  “You could wander,” I said.

  “Go chase yourself. I don’t want to watch couples caress one another when I can’t touch anyone.”

  “You’re in a mood tonight.” I started to head into the restroom, but someone knocked on the door.

  Esther stuck her head through the wall then pulled back. “Never seen him before. Odd looking duck.”

  I opened the door and revealed a short, slender man wearing round rim sunglasses with blue mirror lenses. His white suit seemed to hang on his skeletal frame like forgotten laundry on a clothesline. He wore a bowler hat, also white, and when he removed it with a white-gloved hand, his nearly bald head gleamed in the fluorescent lights of the hotel hallway. His face was round in spite of his slim physique.

  “Greetings,” he said, his voice raspy as a four pack a day smoker. “My name is Gibson Davies.”

  “Pleased to meet you,” I said and extended a hand.

  He didn’t accept the handshake. He held his hat in front of him and gazed up at me with a poker face.

  “May I enter your rented room?” he asked.

  “Of course,” I said. “Come on in.”<
br />
  He stepped across the threshold and moved to one side so I could close the door.

  “I was tasked with the examination of a corpse this evening,” he said. “I’m here to give you my report.”

  “Great,” I said. “You want to sit down? Can I get you a drink?”

  He waved me off with one hand then removed his sunglasses. His eyes were solid white. No irises. No pupils. “I require no sustenance,” he said and slipped his glasses into his coat pocket. He took out an oxygen mask, drew a deep breath from it, then returned the mask to his pocket as well.

  “What can you tell me?” I asked.

  When he spoke, his voice sounded almost normal, but by the time he finished, he’d grown raspy again. “I gained entry to the Modesty Brothers Funeral Home at eight thirty this evening. Upon examination of the remains of one Terrell Williams, I detected burns consistent with magic around the remains of his left eye. With closer study, I determined that the official cause of death was inaccurate. The actual cause of death was two simultaneous bursts of magic which entered through the left eye to impact the brain tissue.”

  “So he was murdered.”

  “May I finish my report?” he said, offended.

  “Sorry, Gibson.”

  “I am Mr. Davies to you, sir. We are not acquainted beyond this minimal conversation, so please do not infer that I wish to know you in anything other than a professional manner.”

  “Don’t get your panties in a twist,” I said. “I’m listening.”

  “Should you expect me to complete my report, you will now apologize to me for insinuating that I would wear female undergarments. I assure you, sir, I have a penis, but I shall not display it before you as a measure of proof.”

  “Glad to hear it,” I said.

  “What’s his trauma?” Esther asked.

  Gibson looked directly at Esther. “Unattached spirit woman, you shall vacate the premises until I leave or I shall dissipate you in a permanent fashion, and that will be your trauma.”

  “Well I never,” Esther said.

  “Esther,” I said. “Go check on Kelly. Come back in twenty minutes.”

  She looked indignant for a moment, but popped out of sight.

  Gibson returned his gaze to me. “I await your apology, Mr. Shade.”

  “Easton,” I said.

  “Your given name was Jonathan Shade, and I will not refer to you by your current alias. Issue your formal apology now, or I shall return to New York without providing you the rest of my report.”

  “Chill out, dude,” I said. “You’ve told me what I needed to know.”

  “On the contrary,” he said. “I reserved the pertinent information to be revealed in the conclusion of my remarks, but I find your attitude distasteful. Good night, Mr. Shade.”

  He turned to go.

  I placed a hand on his shoulder to spin him around, but he reached up with one gloved hand, gripped my wrist and twisted hard. I hit the floor on my back before I knew he’d grabbed me. He dropped his knee into my throat and applied pressure. He pressed a particular nerve cluster on my side, and I couldn’t move to defend myself. If he wanted to kill me, I was helpless to stop him.

  “I did not grant you permission to lay hands upon me. You are an offensive little ape in a costume pretending to be sentient and failing miserably. Fortunately for you, Ms. Slaughter warned me to expect impertinence from you, so I shall allow you to continue drawing breath. This time.” He took out his oxygen, took another hit, then stared into my eyes as he returned the mask to his pocket. “Pray that you do not offend me again.”

  He rose, opened the door, and exited the room. The hotel door swung closed on its own, and ten minutes later, I was finally able to move again.

  Another five minutes and I was able to get up off the floor. I staggered to the bed, sat down and rubbed my side and throat. My wrist throbbed, but it wasn’t broken. I called Brenda.

  “Hey, sexy man,” she said.

  “Hey there,” I croaked.

  “You met Gibson Davies, didn’t you?”

  “Yeah.”

  “And you ignored my warning not to joke around with him. How much of his report did he give before you pissed him off?”

  “Enough for me to know Terrell was murdered with magic.”

  “So you upset Gibson after his report?”

  “During,” I said. “He mouthed off to Esther.”

  “Gibson saves the important parts of his reports for the end.”

  “He didn’t get that far, but at least I know it was murder.”

  “I’ll try to get the rest of the report when he gets back to New York, but don’t hold your breath. Odds are, he won’t tell me because he knows I’ll tell you.”

  “Strong little guy,” I said.

  “You’re lucky he took it easy on you,” Brenda said. “I’d kiss it and make it better if I were there.”

  “If you were here, I’d let you.”

  I wondered what Gibson Davies hadn’t told me, but I knew enough. Terrell had been murdered, so I needed to find the killer.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  Angela and I had breakfast the next morning. She was exhausted from a long night shoot, but agreed to meet with me before crashing. We opted for the hotel restaurant for convenience. They had an overpriced buffet where we could get scrambled eggs, bacon, sausage, and biscuits with gravy at our convenience. Of course, the food sat out there for ages, so the bacon was cold and greasy while the sausage was at least still warm, but had no flavor. The eggs were fresh, so they tasted all right. I wolfed down the food anyway.

  “You were right,” I said to Angela when she joined me at the table.

  “About?”

  “There’s evidence of magic in Terrell’s murder.”

  “Gee, it only took a week for someone to believe me. Cops took two days and called it an accident. Now you’ve been here a few days and you finally see it.”

  It was Wednesday, so this afternoon would be the one week anniversary of Terrell’s death.

  “It wasn’t obvious.”

  “I know,” she said. “It’s just been hard.”

  “I understand,” I said. “Someone planted that hex bag, and I suspect it has Terrell’s blood in it, but I can’t prove that. Still, it makes sense. His blood would trigger the spell once he was in range. When he crawled over the balcony, it blasted him, and it was lights out, draw the curtains time.”

  She nodded. “Why do you believe me now?”

  “We brought in an expert to look at Terrell’s left eye.”

  She sipped her coffee. “Can I speak with the expert?”

  “He went back to New York last night, but this is vindication for you. Terrell was definitely murdered with magic. So all we need to do is work out who had access to the hex bag and Terrell’s blood. And the knowledge to use the magic, of course.”

  “Other than Trudy and myself, nobody else around here knows how to work magic.”

  “Well, I know you didn’t do it,” I said pointing the air in her direction with my fork.

  “Thank you.”

  “So that leaves Trudy.” I shoveled more eggs into my mouth.

  “But she never cared about Terrell sleeping around,” Angela said.

  After I swallowed and took a drink of orange juice, I said, “Maybe she’s a good actress.”

  “I don’t know,” Angela said. “We’ve been friends for years.”

  “People are usually murdered by people they know well. Where was Trudy the day Terrell died?”

  “She was probably with the first unit.”

  “Did she have access to the set you were using?”

  “Everyone on the crew had access to that set. We’ve used the same room in several scenes. We just redress it. We rented the entire floor of the building so we can go shoot interiors when it rains. We use some of the rooms to store equipment, and we use some for two of the FBI offices.”

  “Separate from the other FBI set?” I asked. The eggs needed more sa
lt, so I grabbed the shaker and went about seasoning my meal.

  Angela hadn’t touched her food. She drank her coffee, but that was it. “We have a DC office, a Boston office, and a New York Office. The Boston office looks different and we sandwiched the others around it so people won’t notice how much alike the rooms are. Especially with the set decorations and such. Then again, they’re all standard offices, so it doesn’t make that much difference.”

  “Were they filming that day?”

  She pulled a notebook from her purse and flipped some pages.

  “Let’s see. Last Wednesday, the weatherman promised no rain, and he was right. First unit had the morning shots at the building, then moved to the pier to shoot some boat scenes where Cole gets called in by the commander. Second unit shot the building jump at about the same time that afternoon.”

  “So damn near everyone had easy access to the room to plant the hex bag,” I said. “But Trudy made all the bags, so she’s still the responsible party.”

  “She liked Terrell. Why would she kill him? And why wait until now? She’s more interested in women these days anyway.”

  “Jealous hearts do stupid things.”

  “I’m not buying it.”

  “I’ll talk to her again. See what she has to say.”

  “In the meantime, my eyelids are so heavy it’s time to give up and saw some logs.”

  “All that coffee and you can sleep?” I asked.

  “Caffeine doesn’t affect me.”

  “Must be nice.”

  She shrugged. “You can charge the breakfast to the studio. Just put my room number on it.”

  “Don’t mind if I do,” I said.

  Angela pushed herself to her feet. “Thanks, Jonathan,” she said.

  “Just doing my job,” I said.

  “Oh, Trudy’s here with your friend.”

  Sure enough, Trudy and Kelly exited the elevator and headed toward the hotel restaurant. I waved them over.

  “Good morning, Jonathan,” Kelly said with a contented smile.

  “Looks like it was a good night.”

  “You have no idea,” Kelly said.

  “But I do,” Trudy said.