Hollywood Enemy: A Hollywood Alphabet Series Thriller

by M. Z. Kelly

  I’d called my brother and sister to let them know what had happened. Robin was still on the east coast working as a hairdresser. He’d called Mom several times to check on her. My sister, Amanda, was another story. She was living in Europe and was busy squandering her husband’s rather larger inheritance. She said that Mom got what she deserved for hooking up with a stalker. My call had ended rather abruptly after that when I told her that she was a selfish bitch. So much for sisterly love.

  Bernie and I had spent the week after I returned from Tulsa with Mom. I’d talked to Joe Dawson a couple of times since I left and learned they had no leads on Loretta Martin’s whereabouts.

  The FBI profilers and forensic teams had gone through Martin’s house and found another gown and a pair of Andre Magradi shoes, no doubt intended for the next victim. They’d determined that he or she had worked for SkyAir for five years and had been a model employee, flying all over the country. The job had given Martin access to both the agents working his case, as well as cities around the country where he’d committed his heinous acts of murder.

  Dawson also told me the profilers came up with something unique when they realized that the name Loretta Martin might have been taken from the song Get Back by the Beatles. A line in the song said something about Sweet Loretta Martin thought she was a woman but she was another man. The lyrics then go on to say that Loretta’s mother was waiting for her, wearing her high-heel shoes and her low neck sweater.

  The FBI shrinks said that James Martin’s choice of the name Loretta and the line about his mother wearing high-heeled shoes likely indicated he was acting out a deep seated childhood trauma, and the expensive designer shoes used in the killings might relate to the song. They considered it likely that as a child Martin had suffered both physical abuse and sexual molestation.

  When he heard the shrink-talk Joe Dawson said he’d laughed for a full minute before recovering enough to tell the profilers that it was more likely they were the ones who had been molested, they’d killed their mothers, and had kept them in their basements.

  I’d made arrangements to meet with Joe at the FBI offices in Los Angeles just before The Artist was scheduled to kill again. He’d told me that John Greer was adding a couple of profilers to the taskforce whom he explained had extensive training and knowledge, thanks to watching crime shows on TV and maternal homicide.

  Joe Dawson was a gruff, hard-headed bulldog, but I had to admit there was something about the agent that was growing on me. While I looked forward to seeing him again, the thought of working the case had just the opposite effect. It had me tied me up in knots. We were on a losing streak and I didn’t know if I could handle another girl being murdered, at the same time Ryan Cooper was stalking my mother and me.

  I’d seen Jack a couple of times since I’d gotten back. There was nothing new on finding Cooper and he hadn’t asked me about moving in with him again. Maybe he’d gotten the message or had even thought better of it himself. I decided that I needed more time to sort through my feelings anyway.

  After I drove Mom to the airport, I looked forward to spending some time with my roommates again. There’s nothing like random acts of irrationality to take your mind of your own problems.

  ***

  “I need a drink and a bag of Fugs,” I said to Natalie and Mo when Bernie and I got home.

  “Somebody musta had a rough few days,” Mo said, coming over to me in the kitchen. “But at least your hair is finally growing out. You might wanna see about a trim one of these days, though.”

  “I can get me clippers, even it out a tad,” Natalie offered. “Got me one of them hair mags at the grocery shop. I think I found a do that would work for you.”

  “I wouldn’t let you give Bernie a haircut.” Okay, I didn’t say it. I just told her that I was going to give it a few more days.

  Natalie poured me a drink and I found the bag of Fugs in the pantry. Fugs are a cheesy calorie laden carb-bomb that I’m mildly addicted to. I popped one of the delights into my mouth as we all walked over and took seats in the family room.

  Bernie did a tail wag and sniff when he found Bubba chewing on a play toy in front of the TV. Bubba was growing bigger every day, taking on the characteristics of both his mother, a black lab named Thelma, and his father, a DNA meatball. Natalie opened the slider and let the two dogs out into the backyard to work off some energy.

  “Mo and me got a bet that you’re workin’ that Artist case,” Natalie said, sitting across from Mo and me on the loveseat. “We saw a segment ‘bout him on one of them nighttime news shows. He paints the girl’s faces and dresses ‘em up like dolls before whacking ‘em.”

  The national press had picked up on the crimes thanks to a show called NightStories that had run a segment on the killings. So far, no one knew that the killer was coming back to Hollywood. If that information was leaked, or a letter was sent to a local newspaper, I knew it would become a media frenzy.

  I didn’t see any reason to deny it and confirmed that I was working on the case. “That’s pretty much the way the guy operates. It’s gruesome stuff.”

  “Maybe we oughta run what’s happening past Dudley,” Mo suggested to Natalie. She turned to me before I could open my mouth. “Don’t worry, we’ll leave you out of it, just like with Ryan Cooper.”

  I’d been working on my wine and set the glass down. “I appreciate that.”

  “Speaking of that dirty wanker, how’s your mum doing?” Natalie asked.

  “Better. She’s off to South Carolina to stay with my aunt for a while. I think it’s good that she’s getting away.”

  “Yeah, but that makes you the big target again,” Mo said. “Dudley thinks Mr. Oyster is cycling faster and he’s gonna strike again soon.”

  I thought about Kent Zender, the professor in Oklahoma, and his similar theories about the Artist. I had to smile. “Maybe. But you haven’t…”

  “Course not,” Mo said. “And you don’t gotta keep telling us not to tip anyone off that he’s after you. We’re not like a couple of ninnies from one of them housewives shows that can’t keep their tits in their shirt or their traps shut.”

  I laughed, feeling the effects of the wine, and thinking maybe there was a place for the two of them on one of the shows. I then thought about their profiler. “Maybe I need to meet Dudley Wainwright one of these days.”

  “He’s almost as smart as Tex,” Natalie said. “And, as I said before, he looks like a young Brad Pitt before he turned scruffy. He’s got them puppy dog eyes that makes a girl wanna put him on her lap and pet ‘em.”

  Mo looked at me. “Baby sis has got her a bad case of Dud’s a stud, or maybe it’s just the thought of being married to Tex for the rest of her life that’s getting to her.”

  I heard Tex calling out to Natalie as he came down the hallway. She put a finger up to her lips, silencing us. In a moment he joined us, pecking his fiancé on the cheek and taking a seat next to her.

  After we exchanged hellos, Natalie turned to Tex. “You do know that we’re meeting with Sasha tonight and you can’t be here?” I remembered that she’d told me earlier the wedding planner was coming by.

  “No worries, love muffin.” Tex helped himself to a Fug from my bowl. “I’m on my way out to make the final arrangements for my bachelor party with George, anyway.”

  “George?” I said.

  “She’s an old friend from school who’s organizing the event. We’re considering an activity that’s a variation on the carnivorous feeding behaviors many species engage in relative to the consumption of remains left over in the ecosystem.”

  Mo’s brow furrowed until she looked like an alien I’d seen in one of those Star Trek movies. “Let me get this straight. You and your friend George are gonna play a game of cannibalism at your bachelor party?” She looked at Natalie. “Maybe you wanna think things over, baby girl. This one might be a Jeffrey Dahmer.”

  “I believe you’re confused,” Tex said. “Perhaps I should have included the term necrop
hagy in my description.”

  Mo’s eyes grew wider. She looked at me and Natalie, then back at Tex. “Sounds to me like you’re gonna eat your dead mama.” She looked over at me again. “Maybe you oughta follow this one around, find out where the bodies are buried.”

  Tex laughed in a way that reminded me of a mad scientist. “It’s merely a variation on ancient folk games involving the process of finding items that are germane to a specific subculture, topic, or class. The most notable event in our culture being the Tricadecathlonomania.”

  Even Natalie seemed confused. “Is that some kinda marathon to raise money to cure a disease?”

  More crazy laughter followed. “Your whimsy is most endearing, sweet cakes.”

  I was a little drunk now and had enough. “What the hell are you talking about, Tex? Break it down for us common folk.”

  “George and I are planning a game in which the participants will search the environment for variations on the first video games invented, including a search for games like Pong, Packman, Odyssey, and Atari. If we’re fortunate, there’s even some hope that we’ll find a miniaturized version of the original game created by Ferranti called Nimrod.”

  “It’s a video game scavenger hunt for nerds,” I said interpreting what he’d said.

  Mo shook her big head at Tex, her blue wig shifting slightly. “Can’t think of anyone better than you to find a Nimrod.”

  After Tex left to meet his party planner I heard Nana coming down the stairs with Prissy. As our landlord got off her stairway scooter she let out a screech. We all stood up as she dragged herself over to us like an anorexic zombie, helped into the room by her great grandson.

  Mo gave her a sideways glance, hands on her hips. “Don’t tell me you pulled somethin’ doing the Elvis love tango up there.”

  Nana groaned, slowly lowering her skinny body into a chair as we all sat down again and Prissy joined us. “Don’t be ridiculous. Elvis is having back spasms. He can barely move.”

  Mo did an eye roll. “I’ll bet Elvis is dead by the end of the month—and it ain’t gonna be from natural causes.”

  Nana said, “Ouch,” then added, “If that’s the case I’m gonna need another man.”

  Prissy popped one of my Fugs into his mouth and said to Nana, “I met a guy at my store recently who seemed like he might be your type.”

  “Really!” Nana said, perking up. “What’s he like?”

  “I think he sells insurance when he’s not into bondage.”

  “Forget it. He’s probably just a gold digger who would cut my head off for the insurance money.”

  Mo said to Prissy. “Maybe you should invite this guy over for dinner.”

  “Owww,” Nana complained again, shifting in her chair. She saw that we were all staring at her. “Okay, I’ll just come clean. I got ahold of the exercise booklet from that class you all took.”

  “You mean, Honeymoon 101?” Natalie said.

  Nana nodded, grimaced. “I think I busted something down there.”

  Mo shook her head. “I tried to tell you those exercises aren’t meant for a woman your age.” She looked over at me. “Then again, some people just got a weak vagina.”

  “I’m fine, now,” I said, at the same time deciding that I was a complete idiot for trying to defend my own vagina. “I just had a muscle strain.”

  “Course you did,” Mo said, looking at Natalie and shaking her head.

  Nana went on, “I’ll be fine in a day or two. Besides, I gotta snap out of this in time for the bachelorette party.” She looked at Natalie. “Did you tell Kate about it?”

  Natalie’s voice pitched up as she leaned over to me. “We’re going to ForePlay.”

  “What’s that?”

  Mo scoffed. “Guess Kate’s never experienced foreplay.”

  Natalie explained, “Nana found this place over in the valley called, Foreplay. It’s got a bunch of hunky guys that act like trained seals. They’ll perform any tricks that we come up with.”

  I finished my wine, now really feeling the effects, as I looked at my friends. “Just so you all know, I’m not pole dancing or having someone thrust their nuts in my face or drinking shots until I do something I can’t remember but will later regret because it’s on Facebook.”

  “You’re still upset with me about the video of you setting Mr. Johnson’s nuts on fire,” Nana said, her Leo’s gleaming.

  A few months back I’d used a fire extinguisher on a sex doll that Tex had created for a class on human sexuality when it caught on fire. I’d suffered utter humiliation when I’d learned that Nana had videotaped the entire incident and put it on Facebook.

  “I just hope we get some good pictures at the party for the wedding photo album,” Prissy said.

  “I’m taking everyone’s phone away during the party,” I said.

  “You’re no fun,” Nana warbled, then grimaced and grabbed her nether region as the doorbell rang.

  In a moment Natalie came into the room and introduced us to Sasha Scrum, her wedding planner. Sasha looked to be about Natalie’s age, probably in her early twenties, with large but earnest features. For some reason she reminded me of a friend I’d had in elementary school who once brought a porn magazine to school that she’d found in her parent’s bedroom. I noticed that Sasha had a notebook with wedding details. I got a call and excused myself while the others began going over the wedding plans.

  I went to my bedroom when I realized the call was from Lieutenant Edna. My boss had approved the time off I’d taken while my mother recovered from her injuries and asked me how she was doing. I took a moment, filled him in on her condition, and told him that she’d left the area.

  “That’s a good thing, considering what’s happened,” Edna said.

  “I’m not sure what you mean.”

  “The press has the whole story about Cooper killing your dad, putting your birthmother in a convalescent hospital, stalking you, and attacking your mom. It’s going to be all over the fucking TV and papers by morning.”

  “Shit! How in the hell…” I blew out a breath, my friends coming to mind. Who else would have known about my situation and opened their big mouths. Then something else occurred to me. Jessica. Every cop in the stationhouse knew what happened. It would be just like her to stab me in the back and spill the entire story to a reporter.

  “I don’t know how it was leaked,” Edna said. “All I know is that when you report to work tomorrow you’re riding the fucking pine again, deskbound until further notice.”

  “I’m going stir crazy, lieutenant. Can I work with Charlie and…”

  “Don’t even think about it. The best thing you’ve got going for you is that when the feds call you can head out of town again.”

  I purposely hadn’t told Edna that we believed The Artist was coming to Hollywood because I was afraid I’d be sidelined again—on both my regular duties and The Artist’s case. Now with both Cooper and the press stalking me, I would be lucky if I wasn’t sent to Canada to work a moose round-up if Edna knew about what The Artist was planning. I decided I’d better keep my mouth shut for the time being.

  “I guess I’ll see you at paperwork mountain in the morning,” I said.

  “One other thing.”

  I exhaled, braced myself. “I’m listening.”

  “The Beast is holding a news conference about your father’s case tomorrow afternoon. He wants both of us there.”

  “What for?”

  “Just to show solidarity. He’s gonna put out some bull crap about how we’re close to nailing the bastard.”

  I felt defeated and ended the call.

  I used what little energy I had left and dragged myself back into the family room to say goodnight. I saw that my roommates were still with the wedding planner, laughing about something in one of her books.

  “What’s going on?” I asked coming over.

  Natalie quickly closed Sasha’s book. “Nuthin’ much, just going over a couple of details.”

  Mo had
her mouth clamped shut like she was trying to keep from bursting out laughing. Nana’s grin was so wide that her Leo’s were lit up like piano keys and Elvis had just made a miraculous recovery after she’d taken one of her sex pills.

  “Okay, give it up,” I said. “What are you planning?”

  Sasha solemnly shook her head, shushed the others, and said to me, “You’ll know soon enough. Just remember, it’s your sworn duty to make sure the bachelorette party is a resounding success. You have two major responsibilities: make sure everyone gets pounded and they make a fool out of themselves.”

  “I’m an expert on that.” I started to press them about what they had in mind again when I realized they all had drinks. Then I realized something else, my eyes growing wider.

  “We got one for you, too,” Natalie said, handing me a beverage and giggling. I wasn’t sure what was in the drink because I was too busy examining the flesh-colored straw that was in the glass. It was shaped like a penis.

  I watched in horror as Nana pursed her lips together over her horse-sized dentures and took a big sip of the drink. When she came up for air, Nana smiled at me and said, “I think I’m going to need a bigger straw.”

  CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT

  Before leaving for the station the next morning, I let Bernie and Bubba out into the backyard for a couple of minutes. As I waited for them I came over to the kitchen and saw that Natalie and Mo were glued to the newspaper.

  I started to ask them what was so interesting when Mo looked up at me and said, “We didn’t say a word, Kate. I swear.”

  I glanced at the paper and saw the headline, Cop Stalked by Father’s Killer. “Shit!” I said. “That’s all I needed.” I saw that the story, on the first page of the Herald-Press, had been written by Haley Tristan. “Damn it.”

  “Sorry, pet,” Natalie offered, “But Mo’s right. We kept our big mouths shut for once.”

  I wanted to believe them but they both had gossip priors. It occurred to me again that the leak might have come from Jessica. I decided the best response was no response. I just shook my head and walked away.