Random Revenge (Detective Robert Winter Book 1)

by William Michaels

  “Brooker?”

  The door at the top of the stairs wouldn’t open. “Brooker!” Winter grabbed onto the handrail, balanced awkwardly on the step, and kicked as hard as he could. The door didn’t budge. Winter didn’t even bother with another kick. He hunted briefly for the light switch, remembered it was on the other side of the door. He stuck the flash in his mouth and reached for his phone as he raced back down the stairs to the tool bench.

  He was out of hands, still holding his gun. He hit 911, crooked the phone painfully against his shoulder, grabbed a crowbar, and was back on the stairs, ripping at the door.

  “911, what’s your emergency?”

  Winter didn’t even have proof there was one. He gasped out the address as the door flew open. Brooker was on the floor, face up, his eyes closed. A pool of blood surrounded his head, seeping into his dress blues.

  He knew he should clear the house, but he needed to check Brooker. “Ambulance!” he screamed into his phone as he knelt by his partner, ignoring the 911 operator’s questions as he dropped the phone, the line still open. A faint pulse at the neck, Winter’s hand coming away red. The house was quiet, Winter glanced up toward the hall, no one. Brooker’s gun was still holstered.

  He quickly checked Brooker for injuries, Winter had too much experience in this. Just the head wound, still seeping. Winter grabbed a clean dishtowel out of the sink drawer, not sterile, but the risk of bleeding to death trumped infection. A smear of blood and some hair stuck to the edge of the counter, trailing down to Brooker.

  Winter gently lifted Brooker’s head just enough to slip the towel underneath, pulling it tight to bind the wound. The towel wasn’t long enough to tie a knot, so he held on for dear life, for Brooker’s as well as his, the fingers of one hand wrapped in the towel, the other gripping his gun, daring anyone to come down the hall.

  If someone else was in the house, they’d better be sending the coroner too.

  CHAPTER 15

  Melanie fiddled with the remote control of her new television, bringing up the volume. Jason Ayers was just being introduced, and Melanie had to admit he looked good on camera. Even better for him, his genetic makeup perfectly matched the current heartthrob look for the all important X generation audience demographic.

  Lesli Adams, the New Entertainment show host, air kissed Jason as he took a seat on the guest couch. As the live audience applauded, Lesli sat back down, showing lots of cleavage and even more leg. Melanie didn’t know why the producers bothered, only women watched this show, which is why they booked guests like Jason.

  “So Jason,” said Lesli, “how does it feel to be on one of the top new shows this season?”

  “It feels great, Lesli.”

  “Why do you think the show is connecting so well with viewers? Besides, of course, great acting?”

  “Nice try, bitch,” said Melanie to the television. “You’re not his type.”

  Jason laughed. “We got great reviews from some of the toughest television critics, like Patrick Read.”

  “He rarely has anything good to say about tv in general,” said Lesli.

  “I know. But the writing is great.”

  “Speaking of which, they’ve created quite a chemistry on the cast.”

  “It’s really starting to gel. Working with Michael Stevens is amazing, he can do anything.”

  The interviewer leaned in toward Jason. “We’ve been hearing about some possible cast changes.”

  Jason looked over his shoulder, play acting. “Oh really? Should I be worried?”

  “Not you of course,” said Lesli. “Lisa Vista.”

  “Those are old rumors.”

  “Well, they’re back again.”

  Melanie paused in the middle of opening another bottle of wine.

  “I have no idea,” Jason said. “We don’t get a script until we’re about ready to shoot, so I don’t know what the writers have in mind.”

  Bullshit, thought Melanie. Jason might be able to get one over on silicone Lesli Adams, but Melanie heard the fake glibness in his voice. Something was going on with the cast.

  “One of the trade journals reported that Lisa Vista might be in a Nick Calen movie, last year’s Best Director Oscar nominee.”

  “Well, I wouldn’t know about that,” said Jason. “It’s been great having Lisa on the cast, I’m sure she’s going to have a lot of opportunities in movies too.”

  Melanie thought airhead Lesli had a better chance of getting cast in a Calen movie than Lisa Vista ever would. Shock and Awe might have been flying high, but not because of Lisa Vista. Melanie had read the rags; Lisa was clearly not working out, just as Melanie had predicted. Maybe her stunt at the press conference a few months ago would finally pay off big time. Not that it hadn’t helped already, but nowhere near enough. A lot of offers to be an extra, so many that she stopped taking them, concentrating on jobs with lines and more face time. Enough to be able to afford the new television and some new shoes, but she was still stuck in her dump of an apartment.

  And she hadn’t landed a big role.

  Lesli turned to the audience. “So who wants to hear about Jason’s personal life?”

  The screen panned across whooping twenty year olds who looked like they were dressed for a dance club. Melanie leaned forward, she wanted to hear this too.

  “We hear there’s a hot woman in your life,” said Lesli.

  Melanie’s stomach did a little flip. The rumors she’d been carefully sowing about her relationship with Jason were finally reaching daylight, all the way across the country. Here it comes . . .

  Jason kept a poker face. Melanie was impressed, she thought he’d be a little embarrassed. Maybe he was seeing the light after all. If Melanie got cast against him, there’d be real chemistry on the set, maybe enough to move Shock and Awe to the number one new show.

  “Where do you get these rumors?” asked Jason.

  “Now that you’re a star you’re going to have to get much more comfortable talking about your love life,” said Lesli. She waved toward the audience. “Why don’t you reveal to all your fans today who it is? We all want to know!”

  Jason was smiling, not as uncomfortable as Melanie expected. She was already reaching for her phone as Jason said, “I promise you, Lesli, as soon as I have something to share, you’ll be the first to know.”

  Melanie muted the sound as Lesli cut to a commercial. She had her new agent, Doug Vettig, on speed dial.

  Not speed answer, though. Melanie still had to go through the receptionist. Last time, thought Melanie. After this I’ll have his direct dial. Or a better agent. Vettig probably made everyone wait just to appear busy.

  “Hey, Mel, what’s up?”

  “Finally,” she said. “You know you have the shittiest on-hold music.”

  “What are you, the Grammy nominating committee?”

  “Not the way to talk to your clients, especially one about to earn you some big money.”

  Vettig’s voice brightened. “You got something for me, I mean, us?”

  Melanie hadn’t even met Vettig, she’d only seen his heavily retouched website photo. Why someone in LA would need a fake tan was beyond her. Vettig was far from the big time, but still a step up from who she had before. “I just heard Lisa Vista is getting booted off Shock And Awe.”

  “That’s news to me.”

  “No one called you?” Melanie couldn’t believe it.

  “Why would they?”

  “Because I’m the one who’s probably going to get the role. You know they’ve been thinking about it.”

  “Because of that press conference? Jesus, Mel, that was ages ago.”

  “It was a good idea then and it’s a good idea now. Vista sucks, and everyone knows it.”

  “I told you, I haven’t heard a word.”

  A new agent for sure. “I thought you’d be up on all this, since it’s your job and all. Funny you’d be finding out about it from me.”

  “I know what my job is, honey.”


  “Don’t honey me, Doug. This is the perfect opportunity for you to get me a real job instead of that stupid tampon commercial you offered me.”

  “Commercials are solid. I haven’t heard about any roles.”

  “How about being proactive? Why don’t you set the wheels in motion instead of waiting for a fucking phone call.”

  Vettig’s voice hardened. “Let me give you a little advice, honey. I’ve already got you more than you ever had. From the reports I get it’s clear you’ve got some talent. But you don’t know how to play well with others. You have to pay your dues. So you just might think twice before turning down commercials, lots of actors started out that way. Commercials get you soaps, and soaps get you press and screen time, and both get you casting calls for bigger things. It’s a ladder you have to climb one step at a time.”

  Melanie had heard this speech a million times. “I’m not much for ladders. Lots of actors get a break. Look at Lisa Vista. I would have nailed that role, no one would be complaining about any lack of chemistry between me and Jason.”

  “Look, Mel. You think the universe revolves around you and everybody owes you something. In case you’ve never heard this before: you’re just one pretty face in an ocean of pretty faces.”

  “There’s an ocean of agents, too.”

  “You want to go find yourself a new agent? Be my guest. I don’t need another prima donna, LA is full of them.”

  “Screw you.”

  “There you go, proving my point. You think some big name director is going to take that attitude?”

  Melanie’s phone beeped with another call. “Gotta go, Doug. That’s probably my Shock and Awe casting call now. Maybe they cut you out of the loop.”

  Vettig laughed. “It doesn’t matter. We’ve got a contract, remember? If you get that role, I still get my cut, whether the call comes through me or not.”

  It wasn’t some casting agent calling, it was Tim Tazik. Melanie was so pissed at Vettig she hit the wrong button on her phone, picking up Tazik’s call instead of shunting him off to digital Siberia. She got her voice under control; she still might need him at some point. “Taz,” she said.

  “You’re hard to reach. I want to get together again.”

  “I already paid you back, Taz.”

  “That was a long time ago. And you seemed to enjoy it.”

  Melanie didn’t take the bait. She made a non committal hmm sound.

  “Plus you got some publicity.”

  “Not enough. I thought I’d be in LA by now, and all I’m getting are calls for commercials and crowd scenes. Who knew you had to have talent to be a face in a crowd?”

  “Maybe I can help you out again. There’s a big fundraiser being thrown by Sam Hasting, you know, the media guy and philanthropist? It’s for the performing arts council, raising money to get more production moved to the east coast. I did some family pictures for Hasting, his wife loves me, he got me a ticket. Two tickets, actually. Want to go?”

  “Speaking of wives, what about yours? Why isn’t she going?”

  “She’s in California. For a week.”

  Taz let it hang there, letting Melanie do the obvious math. Another tit for tat, literally. Melanie weighed the options. “Who’s going to be there?”

  “Everybody. All the usual suits from the production companies, lots of the top agents from New York. Plus anyone associated with every show and movie being shot around here, producers, directors.”

  “Hasting has that kind of pull?”

  “They all suck up to him because he has streaming media channels. And he also funds off-Broadway. Most of the plays lose money, but you know how television and movie people are, they think they have to do stage too.”

  Melanie poured herself another wine as she considered. Taz would certainly want something in return for this. On the other hand, her agent wasn’t doing her much good, and this would give her a chance to get in front of heavy hitters. As usual, she’d have to rely on herself.

  “Is it dressy?” she asked.

  “Black tie.”

  “You’ll need to buy me a new pair of shoes. And I’m talking nice.”

  “Consider it done.”

  “Okay. And Taz? Even with the shoes, this counts as one favor, not two.”

  Melanie wasn’t impressed easily, but she was having a hard time not ogling wide eyed at the sheer size and elegance of Sam Hasting’s home. Mansion was more like it, and she’d already overheard that it was only one of his houses. There must have been over a hundred people in what appeared to be the living room, Melanie only later discovering that she hadn’t even reached the real crowd, arrayed around the hotel sized pool, filled with floating candles.

  There was more bling than at a Tiffany’s, and even in her best little black dress and her new Saint Laurent’s ankle strap sandals—courtesy of Taz—Melanie was feeling decidedly under accessorized. She made a mental note to ask for jewelry next time she did Taz a favor.

  Taz had been waylaid by Hasting’s wife, and Melanie had slipped away after being introduced; she didn’t think Mrs. Hasting, even with all her money, could do anything for her, not just yet. Across the room a small group was crowded around a painting; Melanie wasn’t interested in art, but she was interested in what rich folk found intriguing.

  The painting looked vaguely familiar. After the crowd drifted away, she took a closer look. It was a small pastel, signed Degas. Damn, could that be an original? The next painting, modern, just some lines, she skipped on by.

  “That’s a Romsky. That one is probably going to be worth more than the Degas someday.”

  Melanie turned to a short guy who looked even more underdressed than she was, even though he was in a tuxedo. In her heels she could see the top of his comb over, a valiant but unsuccessful attempt to fit in with the chic crowd. Melanie immediately pegged him for a production company suit.

  “Really? It looks like—I don’t know, something a kid could have done.”

  “Yes, but Romsky did it first, so it’s worth a million bucks.”

  “You’re kidding me.” Melanie tried to understand why. “If I had done it first, would it be worth a million?”

  The suit laughed, his voice deeper than his stature suggested. “Nope. Because you aren’t Romsky.”

  “Like if you’re already famous and write a book it sells more than if you were an unknown and had written the same exact book?”

  “Now you get it.”

  And she did, exactly. It was just like acting. She could play a lot of the roles that big actresses landed, just as well if not better. But she couldn’t get those roles, because she hadn’t had those roles yet. A perfect Catch 22.

  A white jacketed waiter offered caviar. Melanie gave it a try, her first taste ever, and didn’t understand what all the excitement was about. The next tray was better; she wasn’t sure what it was—duck?—but it was delicious, going down well with her third champagne.

  The suit was still there, so Melanie asked, “Do you know if Hasting bought any of these before they became valuable?”

  “Some. The Romsky he got as a gift.”

  “A gift? Who gives gifts like that?”

  “People with money. He got that one from Evangelina Stilson.”

  “Now you’re shitting me. She’s just an actress.”

  “An actress with two best supporting Oscar nominations, twenty movie credits . . . and a nice share of her ex husband’s net worth, even with a prenup.”

  Melanie was fully aware of how Hollywood could lead to the gravy train, but this was hard to get her head around. She didn’t even think Stilson was that good of an actress. Is this how these other people lived? In houses like this, meeting rich guys, giving gifts worth millions?

  Melanie needed to get a piece of this. Screw the ladder to the top, she’d get herself a rocket.

  “How do you know all this, anyway?” she asked the comb over.

  “I’m Jack Howker. I’m with Grayson Productions.”

  “Grayson?
Don’t you guys produce the New Entertainment show?”

  “That’s us.”

  “I watch that all the time.” Melanie left out her thoughts about how they were messing up with the way they positioned Lesli Adams. “I didn’t expect you’d have people here.”

  Howker gave her an expensive veneered smile. “We have people everywhere.”

  Howker was probably just a suit, not involved with the production directly. Still . . . She gave him her second best smile. “Nice to meet you, Jack. I’m Melanie Upton. You wouldn’t happen to know any good agents, would you?”

  The pre dinner speeches dragged on, extolling the virtues of the arts council and how it could make Boston the Hollywood of the east. Melanie leaned over to Taz. “Why doesn’t Hasting just donate one of those paintings and we can call it a night?”

  Taz squeezed her arm. “Be nice,” he said, his lips barely moving.

  Melanie wanted to get back to working the crowd. Taz had been right, everyone was here. She already had made six good contacts, including the Grayson suit and the agent he had introduced her to. Four of the six no doubt wanted to get in her pants, an undercurrent that everyone, including Melanie, understood as they had shaken hands. One of them, the producer for a sleazy, and incredibly successful, television reality series called The Other Woman, had practically backed her against the wall into one of Hasting’s expensive art pieces. His name was Larry Barrett, and he had regaled Melanie with the background of the series, which revolved around the uncovering and revealing of secret affairs of the rich and famous. Melanie didn’t need the explanation, she knew all about the show. But Barrett was connected, this wasn’t his first hit series, so she’d let him look down her dress while she pretended to be interested in his spiel.

  Melanie tuned out the speaker. As she sipped yet another champagne she checked out the crowd. She recognized a lot of people, especially the talent. Melanie suspected she was one of the few guests who hadn’t already made it in the wide, multilayered world of entertainment. Even those she didn’t know were probably successful behind the scenes people, many worth even more than the talent.