by D P Lyle
“All due respect, but I think I have that covered.”
“You? Or the police?”
Tony’s eyes narrowed. Then, he shrugged. As if to say—is there a difference?
“Mr. Guidry,” Ray said, “I know who you are. I know your position in the community.” He emphasized the word “position.” Ray jerked his head toward the camp. “And I understand that you’d want to talk with Kirk Ford. But I don’t think his attorney would agree to that.”
“Like I care what his attorney thinks.”
Tony’s guys—Johnny Hebert and Reuben Prejean—flanked him, as Pancake and I did Ray. Johnny was tall and wiry with long arms roped with veins; Reuben short and thick with arms that had seen the weight room. I faced Johnny. I smiled. He didn’t but rather gave me a flat-faced glare. At least I think he did. Hard to tell through his wraparound sunglasses. He had his hands folded before him, relaxed, confident. Since I couldn’t see his eyes, I glanced at his knees and his feet. Wondering which one I could most easily take out if I had to. Neither looked promising. Ray’s book made it seem so easy, but here, standing on a gravel road, not so much.
“Tony,” Ray said. “May I call you Tony?” Not waiting for a response, he pressed on. “Kirk is on private property. Property leased by the studio. And these gentlemen”—he nodded toward the two guards—“are here to protect that property and Mr. Ford’s rights.”
“So, Ray. May I call you Ray?” He smiled. More a smirk than a smile. “Maybe you should tell these two clowns who I am, since you seem to know.”
“They’re from Hollywood. I wouldn’t think they’d know you.”
Tony hesitated. “But you think you do?”
“We’re an investigative firm. We look into things.”
That got a derisive chuckle from Tony. “Then you know I’m not the guy you want to fuck with.”
“That’s my impression. But, let me add there is no way you are going to sit down with Kirk. Not here, not now.”
Tony glanced at Reuben. “Get a load of this guy?”
“There’s no reason we can’t talk this through like gentlemen,” Ray said. “If that’s what you prefer. If you want things to go another way, then that can be arranged, too.”
“You threatening me? You know what happens to guys who do that?”
“I imagine some of them end up floating down to the Gulf.”
Tony’s face hardened.
“Can I say something?” I asked. Everyone looked at me. “Aren’t we on the same side here?”
“How you figure that?” Tony asked.
“We’re trying to find out what happened. Why your niece was murdered. And by whom.”
“That’s an easy one,” Tony said. “Ford drugged, raped, and strangled my Kristi.”
“Did he?”
“What the hell else could have happened?”
“Maybe it was someone else?” I said.
Tony looked at me like I was an idiot. “Two people in a room. Drugs and alcohol. One ends up dead. It’s an old story.”
“But do killers usually drug themselves?” I asked.
Tony stared at me but said nothing.
“Look, like it or not, Kristi and Kirk were having an affair. Truth is, he liked her. A lot, it seems.”
“Funny way of showing all that love,” Tony said.
“The facts are that he was drugged, too. He remembers nothing about what happened.”
“Convenient, don’t you think?”
“Maybe,” I said. “But there are a lot of holes in what might seem obvious. Both Kirk and Kristi had ketamine in their systems. Kirk, regardless of what you might believe about him or Hollywood actors in general, didn’t use anything harder than alcohol and a little weed. The laced joint came from Kristi.”
“Not a chance.”
I hesitated, deciding whether to push this or not, ultimately choosing to press on. Ray and Pancake were there, after all. “You sure? People always think they know their children. Or their nieces and nephews. But in situations like this, things that are unexpected pop up. I’m sure you’ve seen it before.”
Again, Tony had no response. But he did seem to be listening, thinking. Progress is often measured in small steps.
“All I’m saying is that this might be an Agatha Christie locked-room case. There might be someone else involved.”
“I doubt it.”
“But it’s possible?” I asked. “Right?”
Tony sighed. “I guess.”
“So, let’s work this out. Let us sniff around. You, too. I’m sure you have folks out there who can trace exactly where this drug came from.”
Tony gave a half shrug.
“What if someone did give Kristi a loaded joint and neither she nor Kirk knew that was the case? And, according to Kirk, had they known they would have tossed it. Neither would have used it on purpose. So, if someone did give her a drugged joint, you have to ask who? And why?”
“It’s always the who and why, isn’t it?” Tony said.
“That’s my point. If Kirk did this, he should pay and pay big-time. But if he didn’t, there’s someone out there who took your niece from you. And just might get away with it. Would that sit well with you?”
Another sigh. “I still want to talk with him. I want to look him in the eye. Is that asking too much?”
“No,” Ray said. “Let me see what we can work out. But not here. Okay?”
Tony nodded. He looked toward the production area, as if thinking. “Okay. When?”
“I’ll let you know.”
“Be sure you do.”
Tony and his guys climbed in the limo and drove away. I watched the dust-trail behind the limo rise and ride away on the breeze.
Ray turned to me. “Good work. I like the way you brought the temperature down.”
Did he really say that?
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
AFTER TONY AND his boys drove away, Pancake decided it was time for more dessert, then maybe watch a little moviemaking. Jake, Ray, and Nicole passed and left for the hotel, after Pancake assured he could hook a ride back with Ebersole. No problem. Only a couple of hours shooting left, some close-ups, so it wouldn’t be too long.
Pancake’s return visit to the catering table led to a plate piled with bread pudding, bourbon sauce, of course, a slice of pecan pie, and two ramekins of creme brûlée. He sat at a table with Kirk and the twins.
“Wish I could eat like that,” Kirk said.
“No one’s stopping you,” Pancake said.
Kirk patted his belly. “Don’t think it would go well on camera.”
“Camera adds ten pounds,” Tegan, according to her tee shirt, said. “I hate them.” She munched on a bowl of strawberries, licking the juice off her fingers.
Pancake spooned in some creme brûlée. “Glad I don’t have to worry about what I eat. Much as I love food and being a growing boy and all.”
“You ever done any acting?” Kirk asked.
“Every day. PI work requires a bit of role playing.”
“You mean like undercover work?” Tara asked.
“Sure. But mostly day-to-day stuff. Getting folks to say things they don’t really want to talk about.”
Kirk nodded. “You’d make a good villain. In a James Bond sort of way.”
“I am a villain,” Pancake said. He smiled. “It’s what I do best.”
“We might want to use you in the next episode.”
“Do I get to eat like this every day?”
Kirk laughed. “They do feed us well.”
“Then I’m all over it.”
“Have you met Nicole’s uncle yet? Charles Balfour?”
“Nope.” Pancake shook his head and dug into the bread pudding. Damn, it was good.
“You should. I’ll have a chat with him about you.”
Pancake pointed his spoon at him. “Do I get to punch a few folks? Break some stuff?”
“Absolutely.”
“Sounds like an Oscar’s in my future.”
The twins laughed.
A girl walked up. Small, maybe five-two, no bigger than a minute. Lean and tight with dark red hair, pinned to one side with a clip, falling in a wavy cascade over her shoulder. She spoke to Kirk and the twins. “I think Mr. Ebersole wants to do the closeups in about forty-five. You guys ready to get your war paint on?”
“This is Sophie,” Kirk said. “She’s does our makeup. Makes us look good.”
Sophie shrugged. “Not always easy.”
Kirk rolled his eyes. “And this is Pancake.”
“Nice to meet you,” Sophie said, extending a hand toward him.
Pancake shook it, her hand disappearing inside his. Soft and warm. And electric. “Pleasure’s mine.”
“Oh, a gentleman.”
“That’s me.”
“And a redhead. We reds have to stick together.”
“Ain’t that the truth.”
Tegan stood. “We need to go wash our faces then we’ll see you in the trailer.” She tapped Kirk on the shoulder. “You coming?”
“See you guys in a few,” Sophie said. “I’m going get to know the big guy for a minute.”
Kirk gave her a wink, stood, and followed the twins.
“So, who are you?” Sophie asked.
“I work with Ray and Jake and Nicole.”
“A PI? How mysterious.”
“It can be. Mostly it’s tedious.”
“I doubt that.”
Pancake shrugged. “So you do the makeup?”
“Sure do. Have on every Space Quest episode. You mind?” She nodded toward the mountain of bread pudding before him.
“Knock yourself out.”
She ran her finger through the bourbon sauce and sucked it off her finger. “I love this stuff. Fact is, I haven’t found much about New Orleans I don’t like.”
“Never been here before?” Pancake asked.
She shook her head, her red hair swaying. “Seems I never get to leave Hollywood. Unless it’s a remote shoot. And most of those aren’t to places like New Orleans.”
“Well, don’t be a stranger. We need all the pretty women we can get down here.”
“I’d say there are plenty of those around. I’ve seen quite a few in the past couple of weeks.”
“True. But pretty redheads are special.”
She laughed. “Aren’t you the charmer?”
He smiled.
She reached up and mussed his hair. “You could use a trim.”
“Didn’t have time before we left. To come over here.”
“From where?”
“Alabama. Gulf Shores.”
“Never been there either. What’s it like?”
“Beachy.”
She laughed. “My favorite kind of place. Good food there, too?”
“Jake’s place has great ribs. Then there’s a ton of seafood joints.”
“What do you think? Maybe a trim after I get them all painted?”
“You do that?”
“I do everything.” She gave him a look and a smile.
Pancake felt a current run through him. Parts of him anyway. “Sounds like a plan.”
“Cool.”
After slamming down the pecan pie, Pancake followed Sophie into a trailer, where Tegan sat in a makeup chair facing a large mirror. He took an empty stool and watched as she worked. After applying all the makeup, giving Tegan that camera-perfect look, she began applying splotches of brown powder, smudging it on one cheek and her chin.
“Why’re you doing that?” Pancake asked.
She turned to him. “The closeups will be cut into the scene they just shot. Them being chased out of the swamp. Swamp means mud.”
“Makes sense.”
Thirty minutes later, Kirk and the twins left. Sophie patted the chair. Pancake climbed in. It creaked under his weight. She pulled a comb through his hair, working out a few tangles, and then began snipping away.
After a couple of minutes, she asked, “How do you see this? This thing with Kirk and that girl?”
“Doesn’t look good for him. Hard to explain away a dead girl in your bed.”
“I find it hard to believe. I’ve known him for years. Sure, he loves women. He seems to find one or two in every port as they say. But this? I don’t see it.”
“Not sure I do either,” Pancake said.
“Really? Why?”
“Can’t say. But there are some things that don’t add up.”
She stepped around to face him, scissors in one hand, comb in the other. “Like what?”
“I can’t talk about an investigation.”
She nodded and went back to work. “I bet you’re a good PI.”
“I am.”
“Tell me about you,” she said. “Other than snoop around on people, what do you do?”
“Eat and drink. Harass Jake when I can.” He smiled. “’Course, he’s an easy target.”
“And I bet chase women.”
“I’m too shy for that.”
She laughed. “Yeah, I believe that.” Another couple of snips. “Girlfriend?”
“Nope. You?”
“No girlfriend. No boyfriend.”
“That’s what I meant.”
“I know. Just messing with you.” She walked around him, examining her work. “I think that’ll do it. Now you look positively handsome.”
“That I do.” He turned his head side to side, inspecting the results in the mirror. “You do good work.”
She smiled. “I do a lot of things well.”
“That I do not doubt.”
“Plans tonight?”
“Sure do.” He stood and looked down at her. “Having drinks with you.”
“Sounds like a deal.” She poked his stomach with a finger. “I’m buying.”
“How do you figure that?”
“I don’t want you to feel guilty about getting me drunk.”
He laughed. “What about you?”
“I’m not big on guilt.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
TONY RARELY VISITED Ju Ju’s place. Most of their communication went through intermediaries. On Tony’s side, Johnny and Reuben. Guys he trusted. Too many eyes and ears out there and Tony wanted little direct connection with Ju Ju. Their mutual business dealings weren’t for public, or cop, consumption. The rare occasions face time was needed, it took place in the back room of the Belly Up. Late at night. Not after closing. That would be way too suspicious. But late, while the night crowd was in full swing. When Ju Ju was just another customer, drinking, listening to the music, checking out the girls. When a visit to the head, or the door just beyond that led to Tony’s office, would go unnoticed.
Plausible deniability was always a good thing.
But now he felt an urgency. Didn’t want to wait until midnight to scratch the itch he felt worming around inside. It was what Jake Longly had said. He hated to admit it, preferring this case have a simple and complete courtroom resolution, but the truth was he had no answer that sat well in his gut. Why would Ford drug himself? He definitely would not if he had something truly evil on his mind. Not if his plan was to assault, or kill, Kristi.
And that pained him. The fact that Kristi had of her own free will taken up with this guy. That she had willingly been with him. That wasn’t the image he wanted of her. She was a good girl. Very good. Never did wrong. Wasn’t starstruck or the kind to be overly impressed with anyone. She got that from her mother, Tony’s late sister-in-law. Kristi’s infatuation with Ford seemed out of character.
The other thing that caused his chest to hurt was the drugs. His sources told him that she and Ford had been using marijuana regularly. That Ford had admitted he had made the introduction but that Kristi had welcomed it. Had fallen right into smoking dope and having sex with him on a nightly basis.
Maybe it was Ford’s pretty face, his A-list star quality, his money, his suite at the Monteleone, his world, that had turned her head. Made her stupid. Or maybe, just maybe, he didn’t know Kristi as
well as he thought.
But what really niggled at him was that if they, both of them, had taken the drug on purpose, it offered Ford a diminished-capacity defense. And that could get him off. Tony couldn’t abide that. No way her killer would walk on this. Couldn’t happen. But if the courts didn’t take him down, he would have to. And that was an exposure he wanted to avoid. The dots would be difficult, if not impossible, to disconnect.
Shit.
And the person who sold the bump to either Ford, or God forbid, Kristi, would suffer. Grievously. His death would be epic.
So here he sat. At Ju Ju’s backyard picnic table, his de facto office, and looked across at Ju Ju and Ragman. He liked Ju Ju, but Ragman was a punk. He did good business but he was a pain. A jive-ass Tony couldn’t warm to. Or trust.
“Since I guessed what the topic would be, I took the liberty of asking my man Ragman to sit in,” Ju Ju said. “Figured he could offer some intel.”
Tony shrugged, waving a hand. Giving his blessing.
“Thanks for letting me sit down with you, Mr. Guidry,” Ragman said.
Tony ignored him, fell silent.
“That cop was here a little while ago,” Ju Ju said. “Detective Doucet.”
“I figured he would get around here sooner or later,” Tony said. “What’d he have to say?”
“He don’t know shit. But he ain’t stupid. He knows tracking the source of the bump might be the key to all this.”
“And he wants your help finding the source?”
Ju Ju shrugged. “I suspect that’s why you’re here.”
“It is. What are you going to give him?”
“As little as possible. But enough to keep my relationship with him intact. That’s good for both of us.”
Tony nodded.
“I’ll give him a couple of leads that don’t go nowhere. Be the concerned citizen.”
“Tell me,” Tony began. “How did bump end up in the room where my niece was murdered?”
“I don’t know,” Ju Ju said. “But I got guys, including Ragman, on it.”
Tony hated uncertainty. He looked at Ragman. “Please tell me you don’t sell this shit.”
Ragman had that deer-in-the-headlights look. He glanced at Ju Ju and then back to Tony.
Tony leaned his elbows on the edge of the table, giving Ragman the look. The one that said be careful. “The only thing you could do wrong here is lie to me.”