Sally looked nervous. Ray Kitson looked like he was shitting himself.
“I guess you need more entertainment…”
He grabbed Ray by the elbow, pulled him over to another table. He motioned for two security guys to come over. They were holding baseball bats.
“Remember me, Kitson?” Richard said.
“Yes,” Ray Kitson said sheepishly.
“See, ladies and gentlemen, your favorite action star is a womanizing asshole who treats anyone who gets in his path like a piece of shit. You yelled at a young intern just trying to do her job, didn’t you?”
“Yes…”
“You probably do that a lot. Don’t you? Everyone thinks you’re so cool. But you’re an asshole, aren’t you?”
“Yes.”
“I can’t hear you.”
“I said yes. I’m an asshole.”
“You know what I’d like to see? You know what’d be fun? I’d like to see what your legs look like backwards.”
“What?”
“Yeah. Let’s see what that looks like.”
One of the security guys swung the baseball bat back and plowed it hard right into Richard’s leg. He fell to the ground. The guys picked him up and put him on the table. One of them smashed his leg again. He screamed. Finally his foot flopped backwards facing the other way.
Richard applauded.
“Fantastic. Let’s see the other one now.”
At that moment the other security guy smashed a bat into Ray’s other leg. Then did it again. Finally it too looked sufficiently mangled.
Ray passed out.
Richard loomed over him. “Can’t take a little pain, Ray?”
He turned to the camera. “I’m sorry you had to see that at home. But it had to be done. What goes around comes around, people…”
Richard paused menacingly. “I said a billion dollars. I meant it.”
At that moment a row of lights went out in the swag room. And the camera went off.
Richard looked at Vidic. “What the fuck just happened?”
Vidic motioned to two other security guards.
“Go find out.”
45
Outside on the red carpet, Bronco Bennett was getting ready to be interviewed by CNN. He had to wait for some red haired guy in a tux with red high heels to finish up giving his interview.
Bronco took his place in front of the camera. The Interviewer was a nice piece of ass named Kimberly Carlisle. He’d watched her on the news before and always thought he could tap that given the chance. Now he had the chance. But there was work to be done first.
“So Lieutenant Bennett, what can you tell us?”
“Kimberly, all I can tell you right now is we’re monitoring the situation and we’re really hoping that the terrorists behind this have the good sense not to hurt anyone.”
“Have you spoken to them? Do you know their demands?”
“I can’t comment on that.”
“How about who’s behind this? Can you tell us?”
“Kimberly, I’m sure you can understand, this situation is unfolding for us the same as for everyone else. We have no further information at this time.”
He nodded at her. “Thanks.”
She took the cue. “Thank you, Lieutenant.”
She turned back to the camera. “That’s all we have from the LAPD now. I’m sure we’ll be getting more as it unfolds. Now, I’m going to throw to Candeeza James and Joey Martindale with coverage of what the stars were wearing when they were taken hostage.”
Bronco Bennett’s phone buzzed. He stepped away from the camera and picked it up.
“Bennett…”
“Lieutenant I understand you tried to take us off the air.”
Bronco Bennett felt his blood run cold. “What’re you talking about?”
“You think I don’t have people on the outside? I told you, you take us off the air, hostages are going to die.”
“You’re on the air.”
“Yes. But the point was made. Now I’m going to have to make you pay the price for that.”
“Look I don’t know what you-”
“And if I find out you’ve been fucking with our electrical system things are going to get even worse.”
“What are you talking about? How could I do that?”
“Then you tell me why the lights are out in half the backstage areas.”
Bennett closed his eyes and sighed. Fuck. Jones. What the fuck was she doing? He shook his head, fury building in him. That bitch was going to pay for this insubordination. Her badge would be the least of it.
46
Devin Jones stood behind the door of the Electrical room and waited for the sound of footsteps in the hallway outside.
When the door opened – everything happened in a flash. As one guy came in, Devin grabbed his arm, bent it backwards, dislocating his shoulder and as he went down palmed his gun, flipped it into her hand and used it to shoot the other guy in the heart as he aimed his gun at her, his finger milliseconds from pulling the trigger.
With immediate danger out of the way, Devin held onto the twisted arm of this guy on the floor, she stomped her foot on his back holding him down.
“Now…” She said. “We’re going to have a little talk.”
He screamed in pain from his dislocated shoulder.
“I’m sorry…” She said calmly, pointing to his shoulder. “You want me to fix that?”
“Yeah. Fuck. Fix it.”
“Are you going to help me?”
“Yes. Yes. Whatever. Just fix it.”
She grabbed his hand and with a hard yank, popped his shoulder back in. He rolled on the ground holding his shoulder, writhing in pain.
“You bitch.”
Devin shook her head. “See? Why do you have to go to a Bitch place?”
She walked over and picked up the Glock from next to the dead guy. She turned and held both guns facing the guy on the floor.
“That’s very misogynistic. Say you’re sorry.”
The guy looked up at this ridiculously hot woman in a black dress with two Glock nines pointed right at him. She clearly meant business.
“…I’m sorry.”
“Good. Sit up.”
He did. Leaning against the wall.
She flipped one of the guns behind her and slipped it into the waistband of her dress, where it fit snugly.
She gripped the remaining gun with both hands, which along with her steely gaze, was now trained on the fake security guard. “Who’s behind this?”
“I don’t know.”
Devin pulled back the hammer. “You think I’m kidding? Ask your friend here.”
“I swear. I don’t know… Some guy…”
“Not helpful.”
“Someone who’s saying he’s Gunnar Leise.”
“The security expert?”
“Yeah. Only it’s not him. It’s some other guy.”
“What happened to Gunnar Leise?”
“Fuckin’ killed him probably. You think I asked?”
“What does he want?”
“Money.”
“That it?”
The guy looked unsure. Like there was something he wasn’t saying. Devin saw it as clearly as if he was speaking.
She released the hammer gently and looked at him a moment, then stepped closer, holding the barrel of the gun right at the security guard’s temple.
She spoke measuredly. “What else.”
He got the message. “Look…I don’t know…. It’s something weird. Like he’s got some beef with these people… Like there’s something personal behind it.”
“Why do you say that?”
“The shit he’s making these stupid celebrities say and do… Like he’s got a grudge.”
She took this in. Didn’t mean much. She needed the big picture if she was going to make a difference. “What’s the plan?”
“I don’t know.”
She pulled back the hammer again with a click. She held it aga
inst his head as she leaned down and spoke right in his ear. “I don’t like ‘I don’t know’.”
“I swear. I don’t know. All I knew was we had to be here. Start killing people every half an hour.”
“Yeah?”
He looked unsure a moment. “Only…”
Oh for fuck’s sake. This guy and his holding back was getting on her nerves. “Only what?” she barked.
“Only he’s going to start killing them sooner.”
“Like when? And where?”
“Behind the stage. On camera. First one is in like four minutes.”
Devin closed her eyes a second. Took a deep breath. “Shit…”
She looked at the guy. “Alright… I gotta do something with you. Give me your shirt and your tie.”
He loosened his tie and pulled off his shirt, handing them both to Devin. She used the tie to tie him to a pipe in the corner. She ripped up the shirt and used it to bind his legs tight.
And finally another piece of the shirt across his mouth to keep him from yelling.
Devin let herself out of the electrical room. She looked at her watch.
“Fuck…” She headed for the stairs.
She had three minutes to get backstage.
47
Zack Chevsky looked at his reflection in one of the five computer monitors he had set up on a makeshift desk in a makeshift work area in a storage closet backstage at what a couple of hours ago had been the biggest awards show on the planet. And was now a freakin’ horror zone. Zack loved every second of it.
In front of him, he watched the numbers build and whir by and as he did he turned his head. He did have a chiseled jaw. He could see it now. That guy who sprayed some cologne on him at Bonton’s in the Beverly Center had said that. He hadn’t thought so but he realized the guy was right. He did. At the time he thought the lanky guy with the overly trimmed beard was just trying to get him to buy some cologne. But now he saw it. He did have a chiseled jaw.
And after tonight he’d be rich. That’d get the girls to notice him. Becky Jesperson would have to look twice when he pulled up to the community college in his brand new fucking Ferrari. She’d sure as shit notice him then. No more of this him making her playlists and mixes she’d never even thanked him for. She’d be sorry that she’d been such a bitch when he was a multimillionaire.
Or maybe he’d skip Becky Jesperson entirely and get himself an upgrade. Like Tanya Simmons. Why not? Sure she was a famous model. Sure she’s been in Maxim a whole shitload. And sure every other guy Zack’s age – 22 – wanted Tanya Simmons. but why not him? Why shouldn’t he have her? He had a chiseled jaw and soon he’d have 10 million bucks.
He watched the numbers whir by, and as he did he remembered to swipe the mouse over one of the accounts and type in the reroute number. Zack did his job fucking amazingly and he knew it. It’d be nice if someone mentioned it once in a while. Like if Richard could thank him for the money he was organizing and hiding, instead of just fucking yelling in his ear cause it wasn’t as much money coming in as he’d thought.
The biggest spike in donations… ransom, whatever Zack wanted to call it at the moment he was thinking of it – came after Kaden Conroy appeared on the screen crying baby tears cause he was so scared shitless.
Zack already hated that fucker but seeing him cry on the screen when Richard said he might kill him just about put Zack over the edge. Sure it was scary, but come on. “Man up, you wuss!” Zack had yelled at the TV Monitor he had just above his computer screens. He hadn’t needed to know what was happening with the ‘Show’ as Richard called it in prep. That nightmarish reality these spoiled fucking actors found themselves in right now, that’s what Richard kept calling The Show when they planned this whole night at that Sis Warren’s house all those nights for all those months.
That lady had an awesome fucking house. Zack wondered what the fuck that kinda dumpy jowly lady in her 60s did to get such a big mansion. Sure, he knew she’d done some movies like before he was born. Back in the 80’s. But still. This place was a fucking mansion.
Zack knew he and Sis never really clicked. Maybe they did but they stopped clicking the moment, Zack picked up her husband’s Oscar from like 1960 something and took a selfie with it.
She grabbed it out of his hand and threw his iPhone in the fireplace.
“Don’t fucking touch this again,” She’d hissed.
After that they didn’t get along too great. It wasn’t like Sis didn’t talk to him, she had to talk to him. He was the money man. Or the man who would channel the money. The man who would reroute this money from a simple CashFriend account to a dozen untraceable bank accounts.
He knew he was a big part of this plan. He was the money. It was all about the money. They needed to start treating him like he was the man. Not some fucking assistant.
Zack looked at the screens, he swiped the finder over an account tally. He double clicked and entered some code. And the dollars seemingly disappeared. But there they were on another screen. In a tidy little account in the Cayman Islands. He was making this happen.
The money just disappeared when he pressed a button.
He could make money disappear.
He realized it as soon as he thought the thought. He could make money disappear. And reappear anywhere he wanted. Like his own account he could set up in a nice Venezuelan bank with about three mouse clicks. And about five minutes of entering some code.
Zack felt his heart start to race. The thought was turning him on. More than Becky Jesperson and more than Tanya Simmons. The words sounded so clear in his head it’s almost like someone was yelling in his ear.
Just take it. Take it. Who the fuck is gonna know? You’re the money man. You are the man.
Zack licked his lips and had a swig of his Yoo Hoo. He brushed the hair out of his eyes. His heart pounding and his pulse racing with the thrill of it, he swiped the over the area and began the code.
Who the fuck is gonna know?
48
Devin ran up the stairs two at a time to the main level of the theater, gun drawn, heart pounding and ready to be discovered at any moment.
At the top she gingerly opened the big door. Looked clear. She slipped out the door and into the hallway in one constant stream of movement.
She looked around – she was in one of the backstage corridors. There was a double set of exit doors to the left and directly in front of her a large room with an open door. The room was marked “Press.”
She slipped inside the press room. There were unmanned TV cameras there trained on a small podium where the winners would address the world’s press. But no hostages.
Where are they?
She made her way back into the hallway. She heard the murmur of a TV. She raised her gun in front of her as she made her way along the hallway towards the sound.
As she rounded the corner of the hallway, she realized she was suddenly just outside the green room. She could see through the slightly open door three or four security guards just standing around. No hostages.
“Where the hell are they?” she whispered to herself.
Devin crept along the hallway past an open door to the makeup room. The TV was on in there. It was broadcasting the live feed of the show. Devin quietly stepped inside and stood behind the door, so she couldn’t be seen but she could see what was happening on the television.
Onscreen, she saw Sally Bixby whose mascara had definitely seen more organized days smiling into the camera like someone’s mom on diet pills and Valium, a crazy look in her eye. But when Devin heard the next words she said, she understood why.
49
“So, who’s ready to die?”
Sally Bixby felt her hated stomach flip flop as she read the line off the card in front of her. She grinned at the camera, as instructed, read her lines as instructed and clutched the winner’s envelope in her sweaty hand. Her peripheral vision was filled with the looming image of the large man with the brush cut and the scar as he pointed the barrel
of his gun at her.
Sally swallowed hard. Her voice was shaking but she pushed out a fake cheerfulness as she had been told to. “It’s time to announce the Best Actress winner. And we have some exciting news! Glynn Fielding, if you don’t win this award… you win the consolation prize.”
Sally felt like she might hurl as she said the next abhorrent words. “A bullet in the head.”
She glanced over at pretty Glynn Fielding who was being made to stand in a three woman lineup with her two fellow nominees. Next to Glynn Fielding was America’s sweetheart, that gorgeous Everett Cale who was a bit taller and a lot stronger. She had her arm around the waist of a shaking Glynn Fielding, helping hold her up. Everett Cale had her other arm at her side, where she was holding the hand of Essie Wyath, a formerly unknown African American actress who at 58 was nominated for her first award in her life. She had been in a small indie film that took off and made her the toast of Hollywood. Sally and a camera crew had been in Essie’s suite at the Four Seasons earlier that day as she got ready. Sally saw Essie emotionally tear up several times that morning; this struggling actress who did cough syrup commercials and years of unseen theater work had been nominated for a Hollywood Screen Award. Her mother Frances, at 82, flew up from South Carolina to be her date to the biggest night in Hollywood. And that morning as they stood on the balcony of their Four Season suite sipping champagne and orange juice, while stylists and handlers all milled around the hotel room, Essie looked at her mother and said, “Mommy, can you believe we’re here? Can you believe this is us?” Her mother smiled and let two little fat joyful tears spill from her eyes as she took her daughter’s face in her hands and she said. “I can believe it, baby. I always saw this for you.” That made Essie laugh and cry at the same time. Because it was true. Her mother had believed in her when there was nothing to believe in. When everything else in the world said no, everything in her mother’s soul said, ‘just wait. Your time will come.’
This is Devin Jones Page 11