“Well, deal with it. A lot of money is on the line here and this is the best place to get a clear shot of Damen’s head,” Mark yelled, grabbing Curtis by the ear as if he was a little schoolkid, and guided him to where the gun was going to be set up to shoot the victim, or victims.
They set up the long gun that stretched five feet, right in the center of the bridge, putting a scope on it, and a silencer to muffle the gunshots. After they set everything up, Mark explained, “Now, as soon as we finish them off, I want you to go down to Julienne’s seat and grab the check. Her seat is 25C, she’s the third row from the front. After that, we go, wait for the next day, have her cash it, and split the money.”
“Who is this bitch, anyway?”
Mark got defensive at the name Curtis used to acknowledge her, so he punched him in the face, and whispered with anger, “She’s not a bitch, she’s a very beautiful, strong, and caring woman. She earned my trust an hour ago, that’s how special she is.”
“Yeah, but she hired you and me to kill two people. It sounds like she’s a saint to me,” Curtis spoke with sarcasm.
After his last word, they both heard a noise coming from the doorway that they entered into, the doorway that led to this bridge of death they’re floating on. Once they turned to face it, they saw two security guards walking up the stairway to the rafters.
Curtis and Mark hid behind the big box that held a dead, stagnant, lifeless body, and heard one of the guards asking, “Who’s up here?”
“No one’s here, Greg, you’re just hearing things again,” the other guard chuckled with them both reaching the top of the stairway and looking out at the bridge. “You see, all that’s up here is a bunch of lighting equipment.”
“No, I definitely heard a loud punching sound,” Greg stated with Curtis hitting Mark on the arm; Curtis felt it was his fault for making the noise in the first place.
“Listen, no one’s been up here for years, they maneuver the lights now by computers, ever since they made it the new Oscar building. The only guy that ever comes up here is a drunk named Sam that makes sure none of the lights burn out during the ceremony.”
“No, I saw Sam just a few hours ago, he’s passed out behind the podium on the stage.” Greg then slowly approached the box. Reaching it, he began to smell an odor, sniffing his nostrils up and down, trying to trigger, in his memory, recollection remembrance, what that smell resembled.
“What is it?” the other guard questioned, still seeing Greg sniffing the air.
“It smells like Bob, I know that cheap cologne anywhere.” Greg slowly looked into the box, adding, “Bob, are you sleeping in there?”
Mark jumped out from behind the box and shouted, “No, he’s lying dead in there.”
Bang.
Mark aimed his gun toward Greg and shot him in the stomach, having blood squirting on his gray shirt, and leather pants. The other guard became hysterical and began grabbing his walkie talkie, screaming into it, trying to find the right words to say in a situation like this.
Bang.
Mark shot him in the leg, watching him fall to the floor of the bridge, pleading for his life, his fate.
The guard stared at their evil, darkened silhouettes, seeing the gun being faced toward him, hearing his own desperate screams of help. But then, the flashlight went off, and all this guard could see was darkness, being afraid to not know where his killer was, or when his killer will shoot. The guard wailed with tears, “Please, please, I have a family at home, please don’t kill me.”
Bang.
The flashlight went on, and Curtis shot him in the head instead of Mark doing it, watching the guard’s life travel from his body, seeing his blood dripping down his nose in a fast and thick flow.
Mark turned around, faced Curtis with widened eyes, and shouted, “What the fuck did you do that for?”
“What?”
“I was just beginning to hear his problems. This dude has a family, are you stupid?” Mark hit Curtis in the head with his hand, and watched to see his reaction, still waiting for an answer.
Curtis thought he was crazy, him being a killer as well, and now showing sympathy for a security guard; this caused Curtis to be defensive for his own actions, defending them with all of his might. Curtis looked at him, after feeling his own face from Mark’s punch, and spoke, “Listen, I know you like hearing people’s problems, but this is ridiculous. Besides, you already got to kill three people.”
They started to pick up the guard, who went by the name of Greg, and dumped him in the box with his other buddy that was just in the wrong place at the wrong time. After they dumped the other security guard’s body in the box, they used sheets that covered the old light dimmers to soak up the blood. Then they went behind the box and decided to go to sleep.
“Well, we so far killed four people, now we just have to finish the other two off,” yawned Curtis, slowly shutting his eyes tightly together. “And then we’re finished.”
“Yeah, just don’t screw up tomorrow.” Mark closed his eyes as well, meaning what he said, hoping that Curtis would listen to his words of truth.
“Well, it’s 3:30 a.m., so it already is tomorrow.” After Curtis’ sarcastic enlightenment, Mark hit him on the head again.
“Listen, smartass, I mean it, don’t screw up on this job.”
“Alright, and the same goes for you,” spoke Curtis. He then paused for a second, changed the conversation, and added, “Do you think anyone will discover the cabdriver’s body? I mean, maybe we should get him and put him in this box with the rest, ya think?”
“No, just go to sleep.” Mark and Curtis closed their eyes, and rested for their mission; the mission of ending two more lives to become millionaires. They fell asleep on the rafter, hanging by cables, like bats or winged demons waiting to pounce on their innocent prey.
Chapter Seventy-Two
The beginning of excitement, into fulfilling a dream that seemed impossible, was starting for Damen Schultz, feeling his own nerves, reverberating in his body, driving in his limo to the Academy Awards. He felt butterflies in his stomach as the limo came nearer to the Oscar building. Damen’s mind was overwhelmed with a feeling of happiness, nervousness, and a feeling of sickness. Today the sun shined a different ray down toward his image; it was ray of warning. The sun’s heat was pulsating his flesh through the window, even though they were tinted, and in a way, trying to tell him to not go. But of course, Damen’s gut feeling got misinterpreted and confused by the feeling of apprehension.
Feeling this heat scorching his tuxedo and flesh with cleanliness to its texture, Damen rolled down the window, wanting to get some air into his veins, metaphorically speaking. “Do I look alright in the tux?”
“Yes, Damen, you look perfect,” Chuck replied, grabbing the car phone and dialing up to the chauffeur.
“Chuck, I’m so nervous.” Damen was panic-stricken, feeling the heat still, from the sun’s help, pulsating his flesh and warming his clothes to a high temperature; he just desired this uncomfortableness to go away.
In the meantime, the chauffeur picked up the ringing phone. “Hello, sir?”
“Hey, George, I was wondering how long it will take to get to the awards?” asked Chuck, watching Damen rolling down the ceiling window. Mr. Schultz then stuck his head out of his side window and began coughing up phlegm, spitting it into the passing street, feeling the air pushing his phlegm against the limo’s black body.
“About fifteen minutes, sir,” George answered.
“Is there any way we could get there sooner? It’s already 7:10 p.m., and the event begins at 7:30.” Chuck was nervous when he asked that shaky question. He watched again, in a nervous manner, as Damen began vomiting out the window, instead of relieving his phlegm.
“I’m sorry, sir, but due to the event, there’s a lot of roadblocks up, that’s what’s causing the small traffic jam.”
Chuck noticed Damen vomiting more, so he hung up the phone immediately, asking a very stupid question. “Da
men, what are you doing?”
“What does it look like I’m doing? The technicolor yawn.” Damen stuck his head back in the limo, and sat back in the cushioned leather seat. He lit up a cigarette to get rid of the disgusting taste that he had in his mouth, teeth, and throat, and exhaled his first gasp of smoke, giving an aroma of puke and tobacco, combined together.
“You feel better now?”
“Yeah, I just want to get this night over with.”
“Why? This is the night that every actor lives for. This is the night that every actor wishes he or she could be a nominee at. This is Oscar night.” Chuck was excited, and his exhilaration allowed Damen’s frown and nervous look to turn into a smile.
“Yeah, I guess you’re right, Chuck. I just wish that Jose wasn’t going. I don’t want to see him ever, but I have to tonight, by force of course.” Damen flicked his half-smoked cigarette out the window, and sat back even more in the perfectly contoured seat of comfort.
“It’s gonna be okay, Damen.” Chuck then paused for a few seconds and tried to figure out a way to make him cheer up. In a time like this, a person should be happy, yet Damen wasn’t; he was just nervous and a little bit excited. Chuck saw that he really didn’t want to see Jose Rodrigo. Staring at his eyes of sadness, Chuck saw that his eyes spelled out something of depression. That’s when he added, “So, did you call your parents up and tell them?”
“Yeah, I called last week. They’re inviting Jose’s and Darell’s families over to watch it on their television.” A smile began to construct on his face again, Chuck knew he hit the right button.
“That’s good, at least you boys’ parents are getting along.”
Chuck began fixing his own bowtie, seeing Damen’s smile diminishing to a frown, hearing him speak, “Yeah, I know. I had to lie to them and say that me, Jose, and Darell are getting along great. It’s weird, Chuck, we all came here to make it famous together. Now that we’re famous, we’re no longer friends. I never thought it would end up like this, like a frickin’ soap opera in its last season.”
“Hey, at least you and Darell are still friends,” said Chuck in highness before Damen began to assemble a tear in his right eye.
A tear, single and sweet, gentle and soft, transparent and unique, started to breed in his left eye as well. “No, no we’re not. I called him up this morning to apologize for locking him in his bedroom and for fighting him. Before I could say anything, he told me to eat dirt and a few other terms, and hung up on me.”
“Don’t worry. After tonight, everything will change for the better, you’ll see. I bet that after tonight, you, Jose and Darell will be friends again.” Chuck then put his arm on Damen’s shoulders and looked at him like a father would.
“I don’t know, Chuck, it just seems like everything is going out of control. I mean, I never would have thought that I would be going to the Oscars as a nominee off of my first movie. And then, I never would have imagined that Jose was going too as a nominee, yet alone a nominee in the same category as me.” Abruptly, the vomit began to rise up to Damen’s throat again, feeling the chunks and the acidlike taste swimming around in his upper throat. “Everything was so different back home in Ridge Crest. Everything was so perfect there, especially in Sugar Valley. Me, Jose, and Darell would have done anything for each other, anything at all. We used to talk about this day, the day when we would go to the Oscars and walk down the red carpet.” His tears started to fall from his right eye. “We even wrote our speeches for the Oscars. We all decided to make them into poems. But we left them back in the Valley. It’s just weird now.”
“Well, that’s coming true tonight, Damen. You all are going to walk down the red carpet. And maybe, just maybe, you or Jose will read your speech,” Chuck spoke with sincerity.
“I know, but it’s different now,” Damen suddenly yelled, feeling the anger beginning to build up. “It just pisses me off so much that our friendships had to be ruined because of this, this stupid, stereotypical problem that was caused by Hollywood!”
“Calm down, Damen. Listen to me, don’t think about them anymore. Just think about what you’re going to say up on stage after your name is called as being the winner,” seriously spoke Chuck, trying to make Damen realize that this was his night, and definitely not the night to be down in the dumps about his friends.
“I already memorized my speech.” Damen then paused for a moment, feeling his chunks going into his mouth, saying, “Chuck, I feel sick.” His vomit released from his throat and went all over the limo, coloring it a shade of red mixed with orange.
Chuck quickly picked up the car phone and dialed up to the chauffeur. When the chauffeur answered, Chuck said in a quick way, “George, just forget about the stop you were going to make before. Just take us to the ceremony now. I want to get Damen over there as fast as I can, he’s beginning to lose it, and I mean really lose it.”
Damen finished vomiting and sat back in his seat, questioning, “What stop?”
“I was gonna surprise you, but we were going to pick up my son first before we went to the awards.”
Damen formed a smiled over his pale image. Rolling up the window in quickness, Damen questioned in a strong voice, “You mean ‘John Smitherson’?”
“Yeah, he’s up for the Best Supporting Actor award tonight, and I figured it would be nice if we all went together.” Chuck then realized he was holding the car phone in his hand, and he heard George speaking through the telephone in a distant tone.
“Hello, hello, sir?”
Chuck put the phone up to his ear, while still gawking at Damen, and responded, “Hold on for one second, George.” Chuck still waited patiently for Damen to begin speaking.
“Chuck, just pick him up. I mean, I never got to meet him before. I think it would be great too if we all went together.” Damen suddenly, by a brief miracle, or reverse in situations, forgot about the problems he was having with Jose and Darell, and started thinking about how it would be nice to finally meet the actor he’d always looked up to.
Chuck went to the phone, put it up to his ear quickly, and spoke, “Hello, George, just pick up John anyway.”
He hung up the phone, and heard Damen announcing with happiness, “This is gonna be great! I’m actually going to go to the Academy Awards with John Smitherson.”
“Yeah, he’s excited about meeting you too. I’ve told him so much about you, Damen.” Chuck then saw Damen rolling down the window again. He stuck his head out the window and began vomiting even more than before, causing Chuck to become filled with confusion.
“Why are you doing that again, Damen?”
“Because I’m gonna meet John Smitherson.” Damen continued vomiting, filled with anxiety, but now filled with nerves from excitement.
Chapter Seventy-Three
Staring out a tinted limousine window, gazing at the cars that were going by, watching the last breaths of the sunlight puncturing his eyes before it died, but not hurting them because of the blackened texture on the window, Jose just sat there, in his seat, with nervousness.
He watched in his black tuxedo, looked at Julienne as she talked on the phone, gazing at her evening gown of beautiful taste, hearing her yell into the phone, “How much longer till we get there?”
“We should be at the Oscars in less than five minutes, Miss Wells,” the chauffeur replied, holding the car phone and driving at the same time.
“Well, step on it then, it’s already 7:25 p.m., buster,” she hollered.
Slam.
She hit the phone against the receiver, hanging up abruptly, and showing aggravation to her make-up filled face. Staring at Jose, she saw him tightening up his bowtie, glaring at his hands as they shook, knowing that he had fear of some kind. “Julienne, is my bowtie straight?”
“Yes, it looks perfect, just like you.” Julienne smiled at him and grabbed onto his tie, straightening it herself, wanting Jose to look perfect; not for him, but because she was his date. Miss Wells sat back in her seat and watched Jose constan
tly, seeing him finishing up his last drop of champagne. She smiled at his last drop, asking, “Are you nervous?”
“No, not at all. I know I’m going to win. I’m better than all of them,” he answered, showing conceit through his voice, causing Julienne to smile more.
Miss Wells jumped over to where he was sitting, sat next to him, and gave him a kiss on the cheek, leaving lipstick smeared into a grand lip form. She wiped it off with a tissue and still smirked toward him, chuckling, “That’s the spirit.” Julienne understood and realized her one plan, out of many, had worked, the mission of making Jose a strong, evil, mean, and conceited person, just like her, just as her character evolved into being. Julienne knew that’s what it took to make it big in Hollywood, and that was the button she pressed. The button to turn Jose against Damen, the button to turn Jose into a creature that was full of hatred and strength mixed together. But, Julienne also knew that her second plan, the plan of using Jose to regain her fame, was almost over with, finished, completed. That’s when she began laughing, her laughter was a sign that she accomplished the biggest plan of her life so far, the plan of regaining her fame, her success in Hollywood’s eyes. Miss Wells thought about this, long and hard, and she came to a conclusion; if Mark did the job, that she wanted, right tonight, it would mean everything to Julienne; her destiny, her fate, and her career of height. She still chuckled a little bit longer, seeing in her mind that she was going to lose eight million dollars tonight, plus the two million she already gave him; yet she didn’t care anymore, all she cared about was the addiction she had for the large success that she wanted again, but instead, now being of titanic size. Her laughter caused Jose to look at her with a confused face. She couldn’t help it, all of her hard work, stress that she consumed, literally decompressing and pressing herself over and over again, tactics that she created and followed through with; her laughter was because it was almost finished, and she would be accomplishing it, finally.
Sugar Valley (Hollywood's Darkest Secret) Page 66