Black

by Russell Blake

  What a town. More like a circus.

  Black was right at home.

  Chapter 33

  “So when are you going to get a car?” Roxie asked, her voice somewhat playful, which was always a dangerous sign to Black.

  He was seated in his office, having grown accustomed to the way his ass stuck to the taped seat, albeit not welcoming its familiarity. Mugsy had seemingly lost interest in any further destructive binges involving his furniture, at least for the time being. He’d probably figured out he couldn’t eat it, so why expend precious calories that could better be conserved for valuable pastimes like lounging and sleeping? Roxie was standing in the doorway sporting ripped jeans, a black leather choker, and what appeared to be a leotard top that highlighted her pert breasts and body art. Pert young breasts, he mentally corrected.

  “I’ve got to wait for the insurance to pay out. The adjuster said it could take a week or two.”

  “Don’t you have the company that has the commercial with the lady getting her check within forty-eight hours? I thought that was their claim to fame.”

  “Roxie. You might want to sit down. I don’t know how to break this to you. People lie.”

  “That’s got to piss you off.”

  “Do I look happy?”

  “You never look happy.”

  “That’s not true.”

  She grinned triumphantly. “People lie.”

  Touché.

  Black returned to his web browsing, and then realized that Roxie was still standing in the doorway.

  “What?”

  “We’re almost broke again. The five grand didn’t last long.”

  “I’m working on a corporate security contract. Should get it by the end of the week. Through Bobby.”

  “Just in the nick of time.”

  She didn’t move. Black leaned back in his chair, the base squeaking as he moved, and sighed.

  “What?” he asked, eying her.

  “Have you called your mom?”

  “I tried, but her number was busy.”

  “Liar.”

  “Apparently people do that. But only if it gets them what they want.”

  “Ah. Good to know. Speaking of which, guess what I found?”

  “What?”

  “A copy of Hunter’s pre-nup with your new girlfriend.”

  “She’s not my girlfriend. I haven’t even talked to her since the incident,” Black said.

  “A whole two days.”

  “Still. Not anything close to a girlfriend.”

  “You don’t necessarily have to talk to your girlfriend.”

  “I’m not going to discuss this with you.”

  “Don’t you want to know what’s in the pre-nup?”

  “Desperately.”

  She shrugged. “It’s the usual.”

  “Which is…”

  “She gets a token payout if they divorce within five years, and gets nothing if it’s due to infidelity regardless of when. Pretty one-sided.”

  “Men are pigs.”

  “I’ll say. But what’s the alternative?”

  “Girls.”

  “No, thanks. Just being one’s enough for me. Although…is that a fantasy of yours?”

  “Being a girl?”

  “No. Two lipstick lesbians going at it.”

  “Why?”

  “Just curious.”

  “Then, no, it’s never come up.”

  “Because of lack of opportunity or lack of interest?”

  “This is getting uncomfortable. Can we talk about something else?”

  “Sure. What’s it feel like to be driving the Nazi babe magnet?”

  “It’s very economical.”

  “That’s good, because in case I didn’t mention it, we’re broke.”

  Black nodded. “This is becoming circular. Is there anything else besides my rich inner landscape, automotive shortcomings, and our lack of current liquidity?”

  “You should really call your mom. And quit smoking.”

  “Thanks for the reminders.”

  “You’re welcome,” Roxie said, smiling sweetly again and pirouetting to return to her desk.

  Black shook his head and picked up his cell. He’d procrastinated long enough. As much as he didn’t want to disturb Meagan in her time of grief, money was money, and Hunter’s estate owed him fifteen more grand, which he’d more than earned.

  When she answered, her voice sounded flat. “Black. I was wondering when I’d hear from you.”

  “I figured I’d give you some time.”

  “Thanks.”

  “How are you doing?”

  “It’s been rough. So much has happened. I’m…still trying to process it all, I guess.”

  “It can take a while. But you’re in no rush.”

  “That’s right. Still, it’s a lot to digest.”

  “At least you’re safe and unhurt,” he said.

  “For which I’m grateful.”

  “How’s the movie doing?”

  “How do you think? You saw it.”

  “Not so great, then.”

  “It’s never going to break even. More a question of how much it loses.”

  “I’m sorry to hear that. I know…I know Hunter had financial difficulties.”

  “That’s putting it mildly. I’m still trying to wade through it all. It’s a swamp.”

  Black stalled, wondering how to approach the subject of his fee, and decided that business was business – he’d done his part, so he shouldn’t feel any shame about getting paid.

  “I hate to play pile on, but there’s the matter of my fee. Hunter still owed me fifteen thousand dollars for services rendered.”

  “Don’t feel bad. That’s nothing. The kinds of problems he left me with are six and seven figure problems. A few grand here or there is no big deal.”

  “Should I come by and get a check, or can you contact the production office?”

  “I can try them, but they’re not very responsive to me.”

  “That’s…I put this off as long as I could, but I kind of really need the money.”

  “Why didn’t you say so? If it’s urgent, I’ll just cut a check and sort it out with them later. No reason you should suffer because of their incompetence. Come by as soon as you can. I’m at the house.”

  “I really appreciate it, Meagan.”

  “You’ve done so much. You don’t need to thank me.”

  “Still…I’ll see you in a few.”

  “I’ll be waiting.”

  She sounded different. Distant. After everything she’d been through, it wasn’t surprising. But humans were surprisingly resilient, he knew from personal experience. She’d bounce back.

  A gardening truck was parked near the entrance of Meagan’s house, and Black parked La Bomba behind it and got out. The roar of a leaf blower from the rear pool area echoed through the estate, and Black stopped to examine the front door before ringing the doorbell. The ornate wood panels had been replaced, as had the glass surrounding the entrance area and all the off-white stone. You’d never know that a man had been gunned down where he was now standing – although Black had a feeling that it would have to be disclosed to any new buyer and would sour the deal for most.

  The housekeeper answered the door and led him to Meagan, who was sitting in the kitchen, reading a magazine. She rose as he approached, and offered a cheek to kiss – a far cry from the borderline body dance she’d been throwing his way on the previous visits.

  Which was fine by him. He was over his momentary infatuation. Or more accurately, lust. Although she still looked like a few hundred million, he had to admit. A heartbreaker in a city that minted them.

  “Nice to see you again, Meagan,” he said, taking her in. She was wearing jeans and a jade green silk blouse with strappy sandals, and still could give most centerfolds a run for their money.

  “Same here, Black. What a wild ride, huh?”

  “I’ll say. You don’t know the half of it. The killer tried to
get me, too. Blew up my car. At least I think so. Not much left of it, so no way to know for sure yet.”

  “What? You never said anything. When did that happen?”

  “The morning he came for you.”

  “Oh, my God. That’s…that’s crazy.”

  “That’s why they call them psycho, right?”

  “He was, wasn’t he? Trying to kill everyone connected to Hunter. I just don’t understand any of it…”

  “Not sure you can ever understand how an insane person’s brain works. Sometimes you just have to shrug and say, it is what it is.”

  “That’s my approach.” She stood and motioned to him. “Come on, let’s get you paid. I’m sorry to seem rushed, but I’ve got a lunch date with some sympathetic neighbors who probably just want to hear the inside scoop on what really happened.”

  She led him to Hunter’s teak-paneled office, bookcases lining both sides, framed photos of Hunter shaking hands with other stars, the governor, and two ex-presidents adorning the far wall. She rounded the lavish handmade desk, opened a navy blue leather oversized checkbook and selected a black Mont Blanc pen, then quickly began scribbling.

  “Who do I make it out to?” she asked as she wrote.

  “Black…uh, Black Investigations, LLC,” he answered, coming to a snap decision to revert to the old company name as he examined the hardbound books – a few first editions, but mostly books on filmmaking and Hollywood history. His eyes roved over the photos: Hunter off-hours in the smaller framed photos, and in the larger ones, Hunter in his most famous roles – dressed as a Roman soldier, sitting in the cockpit of an F-15, astride a camel in the desert.

  Meagan finished writing and signed the check with a flourish, then set the pen down.

  “Here you go, Black. I threw in a little something extra to express my gratitude,” she said, holding out the check. Black appeared not to have heard her, still studying the photographs. “Black? Your check.”

  Black turned and took it from her. He studied it as if it had been written in hieroglyphics, and still looking at it, asked a question in a soft voice.

  “Thanks, Meagan. You know, we never got to talk after the shooting. Of, what was his name? Stef? Seth?”

  “Something like that. Seth, I think.”

  “That’s a pretty uncommon name, isn’t it?”

  “I…I don’t know. Takes all kinds, right? Zander, Drake, Troy, Kendall, Chaz…you hear them all around here.”

  “Yeah. I guess you’re right. Let me ask you a question, though. Did you know Seth?”

  She looked like he’d slapped her. He raised his eyes from the check and carefully folded it as he waited for her answer.

  “What? What kind of question is that?” she demanded.

  “Just a question. A simple one. Did you know Seth?”

  “I…I don’t think so. I mean, I read about him in the paper. He was a director at one time, so anything’s possible, with Hunter and all. But I met fifty people a week in the early days, when he was still…when his career was still going strong.”

  “So you didn’t know him, or you don’t remember, or anything’s possible? Those are three different answers, aren’t they?” Black asked, his voice still reasonable and evenly modulated. Friendly. Just two friends talking.

  “Black, what’s your problem? You’ve got your check. What else is there to talk about?”

  “You know, it’s strange. There have been parts of this whole thing that don’t add up, but they’re little things, insignificant things. I normally would just let them go.”

  “Maybe that’s because they’re insignificant.”

  “Maybe. But what’s that saying? The devil’s in the details? It just occurred to me that in this case, that holds true, in spades.”

  “What are you–”

  Black turned toward the bookcase again and reached out to lift one of the silver-framed photographs.

  “You look so young in this one. So long ago, wasn’t it?”

  “I…I guess so. Must have been. Lot of water under the bridge. Listen, I told you I’ve got a lunch thing–”

  “Yes, it was a long time ago. Oh, the date’s right there on the sign over the gangplank. New Year’s Eve, 2000. The new millennium. I remember. Some people thought the world was going to end then. Turns out that was an overreaction. Where was this taken?”

  “I don’t remember. I was partying a lot back then. It was just another party,” she said, her voice now matching Black’s guarded tone.

  “Oh, wait. Says right there. Newport Beach. Small world. Couldn’t have been that big a boat. Doesn’t look like it. What are the odds of two people being in the same place on New Year’s Eve, 2000? Probably, what, one in a billion? Maybe a little less?”

  “I have no idea, Black.”

  “I’d say really long odds, anyway.”

  Meagan’s face could have been carved out of stone. “I think we’re done here, Black.”

  “Are we? Humor me just a little. Before I go, I want to tell you a story.” He held up a hand, silencing her protest. “Don’t worry, it won’t take long.”

  “Do I have a choice?”

  “No, Meagan. You don’t.” He paused. “Meagan. That’s such a beautiful name. And you were so…you were glowing back then, weren’t you? I bet you stopped traffic. One in ten million. A hundred million.” He hefted the photo then returned it to the bookcase, appearing to think for a moment before continuing. “I’ve only seen one other photo like that. Strangely enough, also from Newport, New Year’s Eve, 2000. Pretty amazing coincidence, wouldn’t you agree?”

  She sat, her face stony, and didn’t answer.

  “It was at my friend Colleen’s house. You know Colleen, right? Of course you do. You don’t like each other much, do you? But Hunter tolerated her. Even asked her for advice now and then, isn’t that right? Anyway, before her trailer blew up, I saw a photo that was this one’s twin. Only it was of Seth. Probably taken with the same camera. You took his, he took yours, was that how it worked?”

  “I told you. I don’t remember.”

  “Spoken in the best tradition of Wall Street bankers and politicians. The smartest guys in the room in the seats of power never remember any of the things that made them fortunes. People are strange that way.

  “But no matter. Back to my story. Seth was bugfuck crazy, all right. We know that. And we know what drove him to it – an affair with Freddie, and Hunter blackballing him so he’d never work in this town again. Isn’t that how they say it? But there’s a detail to the story that’s coming back to me. Hunter and Seth. They got into a fight. And it was over a girl. Seth’s girl. One that Hunter put the moves on. Boy, that must have been something. One of the most popular stars in Hollywood, popular, sexy, virile…she must have been extraordinary for him to risk his marriage, and be willing to go mano a mano with a younger man like that, am I right? I mean, the town’s full of beautiful women, and Hunter could have had any of them.” Black shook his head. “But he had to have that one. Out of all of them, only that one would do. And it didn’t matter if she was someone else’s. A guy like Hunter would never let that kind of trivial obstacle get in his way, would he?”

  He gazed out the window behind Meagan at the pool area, the trees softly swaying as a warm wind caressed them, blown from the hills, and then continued.

  “No, of course he wouldn’t. And maybe the girl didn’t mind, either. Maybe she’d been given a unique chance to jump the status and celebrity ladder a dozen rungs, and move from an emerging talent to a box office sensation. That must have been an almost impossible choice. Or a really easy one. The art of that deal must have been getting past the inconvenient fact that the star was married. Probably took some doing to get him to walk away from a wife and kid – but men are strange, and sometimes they lose their way, and do anything for another bite of the apple or for a sip from the fountain of youth. It’s a common story. Aging star with gray on his muzzle feels invigorated and young again with a woman half – no, less
than half – his age. His wife and daughter just make him feel old. But a new, exciting mate, barely more than a girl, with that…anything’s possible with a new start in life, right? Am I right?”

  “You should write a screenplay. You have an incredible imagination.”

  Black nodded to himself. “And it ate at Seth. It must have felt like someone cut his guts out, stuck a hot poker in the hole, and burned his soul. Not only did his career go nowhere, but the man who crushed him like a walnut got his girl. It’s enough to drive anyone round the bend. I’m not sure how I would react. No, actually, I am – a similar thing kind of happened to me. But that’s not important. Like I said, it’s a small world, and there are no new ideas. So the years pass, all the while this eating at him like a cancer, the wound festering. And the man’s got issues, don’t get me wrong. A gay affair gone wrong, unable to work in the career he’d proved himself a talent in…imagine it. Every day. No wonder he hated women. Only…maybe he didn’t? Maybe he was still so hopelessly in love with that girl that it became an obsession. Is that how it happened? Did he come to you at some point? Want to rekindle?”

  Meagan looked away, unable to meet his eyes.

  “Or did you realize that it was him killing the paparazzi? You’re smart. It must have occurred to you. Who would have that kind of anger against not only them, but also want to connect it to Hunter to hurt him? That couldn’t have been a long list. Or maybe he came to you and asked whether there was still a chance, if Hunter wasn’t in the picture? Was that what went down?”

  She shrugged. “It’s your story. How would I know?”

  “I guess in the end it doesn’t matter. Maybe you knew that Hunter was screwing everything in a skirt, still trying to feel young and vital in a world that had passed him by. Or maybe you knew about his finances, how he’d squandered his fortune, and feared that you’d lose all this. Or maybe…maybe he was going to dump you for a newer model. Wasn’t that his history? You’d already seen him do it twice – and now it was your turn? So maybe with a psychopath like Seth around, there was a solution to your problem. You knew the film wouldn’t save him – that was a pipe dream. His dream. But if there was no Hunter…was that how it unfolded? You would reunite with Seth if Hunter dropped out of the picture? Was that the promise? I was wondering how Seth could have known to be here to shoot him. I mean, sure, he could have been watching the house for days. Could have snapped and decided to shoot Hunter when he set foot out his door. Sort of a crescendo of crazy after killing Freddie. But what if he had help? A phone call? To alert him that his chance had come, and there was a way to make it all deniable?”