In Cold Blonde

by James L. Conway

  So, Syd Curtis, Anne decided, you are getting a pass, for now.

  “Excuse me,” Lieutenant Hanrahan said, brushing past Anne as he charged into the hallway. He spotted Ryan and Syd as they broke their embrace. “Cut that shit out,” he said joining them. “Or I’ll have to break up my best team.”

  “You mean, you know?” Ryan asked.

  “Please. Everyone knows. The way you two look at each other is downright combustible. So, play it cool in public and the LAPD’s most famous homicide detectives can remain partners.

  “Now, I just got a call from our pal, Alex Cortez, in Newport Beach. Nick Wood is dead. He put a bullet through his brain.”

  Ryan was shocked. “Grief?” wondered Ryan.

  Hanrahan shrugged. “I don’t know.”

  I do, thought Syd. And soon so would the whole world.

  Not grief but justice.

  Nick Wood was dead. Rest in peace, Alice. Rest in peace.

  EPILOGUE

  Alice Waterman’s funeral was a media free-for-all. Video crews from around the world descended on Good Shepherd Cemetery in Huntington Beach. In a show of respect to the deceased, the FAA banned all air traffic over the cemetery to prevent the inevitable onslaught of helicopters from disrupting the ceremony.

  The funeral was held a week after Alice’s death; but more importantly, just one day later, the LAPD released two videos: Alice’s gang rape and Alice’s courageous escape from Blake’s handcuffs, their ensuing battle and Alice eventually killing him. But it was a third video that got the most attention, the Lady in Red’s manifesto.

  Syd found the cell phone video Friday morning when they finished cataloging the crime scene evidence and Syd thought to check Alice’s cell phone files. Syd was worried the D.A. would try to suppress the video so she sent it to a friend and it debuted on YouTube that night.

  In a slightly distorted close-up the Lady in Red looks directly into the lens.

  “My name is Alice Waterman. I was a rape victim. If I had been smarter, it never would have happened. If I had been braver I would have gone to the police. But I was weak and did nothing. The men who attacked me flourished while I suffered every day for years.

  “Well, I got smart, got brave and did something. I killed the men who raped me and mutilated their precious cocks.

  “Men everywhere are going to hear what I’ve done.

  “Men everywhere will know it can happen to them.

  “If I could do it, you can do it.

  “Be brave, be smart, fight back.”

  Simply put, those three videos transformed the Lady in Red from serial killer to folk hero. While the talking heads on FOX News, CNN and MSNBC debated Alice’s cold-blooded vengeance, every woman who watched Alice shoot Blake between the eyes was filled with grim satisfaction. Alice’s wish for inspiration and empowerment was realized.

  And the lives of many people on the case were changed forever. The Watermans were deluged with offers for books and movies but were proceeding cautiously; they were determined to honor Alice’s memory.

  Liz was interviewed by Bill O’Reilly and her blunt, irreverent personality made her an instant hit. She became a sought after TV commentator whenever a new murder case captured the nation’s imagination.

  Lieutenant Hanrahan was bumped to Captain and offered a desk downtown. But Hanrahan liked Hollywood Homicide so he said thanks, but no thanks. However, his dental checkup was a disaster. The sugar from sucking so many Tootsie Roll Pops had ravaged his teeth. He had to have six cavities filled, gave up the candy and went back to sucking Marlboros.

  Tony Ramirez was working harder than ever. Besides his job at SID, he spent every evening working on the launch of the first Mirabelle’s Meatballs restaurant — because the first thing Ryan did when he got his three point four million dollars from the California Lottery was to write Tony a check for two hundred thousand dollars to get his franchise dream started.

  Ryan and Syd refused all requests for interviews. Ryan didn’t want to discuss having to kill the now beloved Lady in Red. And Syd’s quest for fame now seemed childish. A homicide cop’s business is other people’s tragedies, and to seek celebrity at their expense was just plain sleazy. Besides, with fame comes examination and Syd wasn’t particularly interested in people digging into her past. Some things are best left secret.

  Thousands of people filled the cemetery as Father O’Malley read his eulogy over Alice’s open grave. Syd stood off to the side with Ryan. Her eyes traversed the faces; the friends, the family and the strangers who were so touched by Alice’s story they felt they had to be there to pay their respects. Syd finally settled on Betty Waterman. The woman whose heart ached the most.

  Tears ran down Betty’s face. The depth of Betty’s grief touched Syd. And Syd couldn’t help compare Betty to her own mom. Did she cry when she realized Syd had run away? Did she ever cry now? Was she even alive?

  Suddenly Syd felt an overpowering desire to know.

  As Alice’s body was lowered into the earth, Syd whispered to Ryan that she’d be right back and she walked to a private spot on a tree-lined hill facing the Pacific.

  Syd took out her cell phone, closed her eyes trying to remember her old phone number and dialed.

  It rang.

  Eleven years is a long time; odds were if her mother was still alive, she’d probably have moved.

  It rang again.

  And what would she say to her? Hi, mom, it’s me. How you doing?

  It rang again.

  And if she gets a machine, should she leave a message or call back?

  It rang again.

  Okay, Syd thought. Nobody’s home and no machine. Sorry, Mom, you missed your chance. She reached to hit End when the phone was answered.

  “Hello.”

  Her mother’s voice; even after all these years Syd recognized it instantly.

  “Hello?” Amanda Stevens repeated.

  Her mother’s voice triggered a fearful little girl inside Syd, ashamed and terrified.

  “Hello? Is anyone there?”

  Syd’s heart pounded, tears flowed. But somehow she fought back the temptation to hang up. “Mom,” she said finally. “It’s me. Syd.”

  There was stunned silence then, “Oh, my God, Syd. Where are you, baby? How are you?”

  And Syd told her.

  THE END

  BUT WAIT!

  Before you go, we’ve included an excerpt from another novel by James L. Conway — a wild and wicked thriller full of humor, unforgettable characters and nonstop action — Sexy Babe…

  EXCERPT FROM SEXY BABE

  ONE

  The worst day of my life began with an orgasm.

  His, not mine. So what else is new?

  His name was Jason Settles, an actor who had that bad-boy thing going on. Jason had long sun-bleached hair, brown bedroom eyes, a perpetual three-day beard and these incredibly perfect white teeth, well, caps really, but this was Hollywood and everyone had caps, or wanted them.

  Jason was usually typecast as Sexy and Dangerous, and his girlfriend, Grace Taylor, that’s me, was usually cast as the cute, perky, blonde, blue-eyed Girl Next Door. Which, I guess I looked but rarely felt like.

  Jason lived on Wonderland Drive just off Laurel Canyon in this little blue bungalow with a hot tub in back. It seemed like every house in Laurel Canyon had a hot tub, some kind of weird remnant of the 70s, I think. It was in that hot tub that Jason and I had first made love. And the answer is no, I didn’t get off that night either. To be perfectly frank, I generally need a little mechanical help, if you know what I mean. It kind of freaks guys out, though, when you ask them to use a vibrator on you. Makes them feel inadequate or something. So I usually just fake it and take care of myself later.

  Okay, that’s probably too much information. Anyway, after Jason’s wham bam thank you Grace, he climbed out of bed and went into the bathroom. “You want the shower first?” he asked.

  “No,” I said. “I need to get home and change. I’ve
got an audition at ten.” Then I bolted up in bed. Shit! My agent was supposed to fax the scene to me here at Jason’s house. I leapt out of bed and raced to Jason’s fax machine. Thank God, the scene was there.

  It was three pages. Not bad, I thought, walking back to the bathroom. Usually, the more pages the better the scene. Then I read the character name: Sexy Babe.

  “Oh, no,” I muttered as I joined Jason.

  “What is it?” he asked through a mouthful of toothpaste.

  “My character. It’s Sexy Babe.”

  “The role’s not even big enough for a character name?”

  I scanned the material, just two lines in a three-page scene. This was bad. I was supposed to be reading for guest star roles, leads in pilots, break-out parts in edgy independent movies, not two lines as a nameless bimbo on NCIS. “I may not have worked in a while,” I said, insecurity filling every pore of my being. “But I’m not doing another bit part.”

  “Hey,” Jason said, “look at the bright side; at least it’s not Sexy Babe #2.”

  The bright side, of course. I’m good at looking at the bright side. In fact, I’ve got a deep well of eternal optimism. I just have to remind myself to tap it.

  “No, Jason,” I said. “The bright side is realizing that this must be some kind of mistake. Someone must’ve sent me the wrong sides. I’ll just call Lucas when the agency opens and straighten it all out.”

  I stepped on Jason’s medical scale, reached to adjust the weights, and then stopped. “Who weighs 94 pounds?”

  “Who, what?”

  “Weighs 94 pounds. The scale is set at 94 pounds, it’s usually set at either 185ish, your weight, or 105ish, my weight. Hey, I know,” I said, trying to be funny. “You’re probably banging the model next door. She looks like she weighs 94 pounds.”

  “Really,” Jason said, as he stepped back into the bedroom and started getting dressed. “I hadn’t noticed.”

  Okay, about a hundred things wrong with that answer. First, no man could not notice how skinny Melody was. She was five-foot-ten, all legs, tits and ass. Second, she traipsed around the backyard in a band-aid sized bikini doing weird Tai Chi exercises every morning. Third, Jason may be gorgeous, but he’s not a very good actor, so he could’ve definitely used a take two on the “Really, I hadn’t noticed,” delivery. And now that I thought about it, he looked guilty as hell.

  Then it hit me. “You’re sleeping with her, aren’t you?”

  “Don’t be ridiculous.”

  Whoa, that reading was even worse than “Really, I hadn’t noticed.” Now I was sure. “Jason, stop lying to me. Why don’t you just man up and admit you’re sleeping with her.”

  This was where he was supposed to sweep me up in his arms, tell me how stupid I was being, how much he loved me, and then shut me up with a passionate kiss. Instead, he looked at me and said, “All right, I’m sleeping with Melody.”

  His words seemed to hang in the air in front of me. I’d asked for the admission, hoping he wasn’t sleeping with her. But actually hearing him say the words hurt more than I could have imagined. I didn’t know what to say, what to do next.

  “In fact,” Jason said, filling the awkward silence. “I think I may be in love with her.”

  Any confusion I felt was suddenly washed away. “Wait,” I said. “You think you’re in love with another woman yet you screwed me ten minutes ago?”

  “I was trying to find the right time to tell you.”

  “Yeah, tough decision. Do I dump Grace before I fuck her or wait until I’m done.”

  “See, I knew you would turn this around on me.”

  “What?”

  “That you’d find a way to blame me.”

  “I do blame you. Hello! You’re fucking another woman!”

  “Because…” He trailed off like the rest of his sentence was obvious.

  I tried to think of what would come next and drew a blank. “Because, what?”

  “Think about it,” he said, staring hard at me. “It’s all your fault.”

  “My fault?”

  “I’m not the one with intimacy issues.”

  “So you’re saying that if I didn’t have intimacy issues, you wouldn’t have cheated on me?”

  “There you’ve said it. And I forgive you.”

  “You forgive me?”

  “What we had was great, Grace. Awesome, even. But it’s time we moved on.” He grabbed his keys off the counter. “I’m going to the gym. It might be best for everyone if you were gone when I get back.” He walked out the door.

  Okay, Jason was a jerk. I knew that. But for the last six months he was my gorgeous jerk.

  And I always knew Jason was just an in-between guy — the guy after my last less-than-perfect boyfriend and before the long-dreamed-about Mr. Right. But still… Ouch.

  Oh, and the worst thing — I weighed 109.

  I burst out Jason’s front door fifteen minutes later. My arms were filled with the detritus of our six months together. A box filled with make-up, tampons, toothbrush — you know, that stuff. I balanced a pile of clothes on top of the box and tried to talk into the cell phone wedged into my shoulder. “Sexy Babe? Come on Lucas, it’s got to be some kind of mistake.”

  Lucas Abrams was my agent. We hooked up when I first got to town — yes we slept together and no, I didn’t. Actually it was more a fling than a thing; he came to a showcase where I performed a scene from Carnal Knowledge. He’d just been promoted to an agent at Pinnacle Artists after making the “mail room to assistant” odyssey. He liked my work, and signed me. We went out that night to celebrate, had too many Cosmos, and ended up back at his place. We both admitted it was a mistake in the morning, agreed our working together was more important than our sleeping together, and we’ve been platonic ever since.

  “Actually,” he said. “The fax was a mistake.”

  “I knew it.” I reached my seven-year old red Miata convertible, dumped my crap in the back seat, and took proper hold of the phone. “I mean, you promised me no more bit parts. So when I saw—”

  “Not that kind of mistake,” Lucas interrupted. “More like the ‘you’re not a client anymore so we’re not sending you out on auditions’ kind of mistake.”

  “What?”

  “Times are tough, Grace. Too many actresses, too few parts. So the partners have decided to trim the client list.”

  “If this is a joke, it is so not funny.”

  “No joke. Look, I fought for you, I did. But the partners just looked at the bottom line. Each year you’ve booked less and less work.”

  “But we’ve been so close! I almost landed that Cameron Crowe comedy six months ago. And you said I was the second choice for the CBS pilot.”

  “I was being nice, Grace. You were a bust in both auditions.”

  “What?”

  “You’ve got tons of talent, don’t get me wrong. But you’re just not the same actress I met five years ago. It’s like the passion’s been sucked out of you.”

  “Do you have any idea how hard it is to learn two or three parts a day, drive all over town auditioning — seeing the same actresses trying out for the same roles — and almost never getting hired?”

  “I do. But you used to be excited to have all those auditions. Now you dread them. Does that tell you anything?”

  “It’s hard not to get discouraged, Lucas. But I’ll do better, I promise. Give me another chance; I’ll be the new improved Grace Taylor, you’ll see.”

  “I’m sorry, it’s out of my hands. Stop by anytime to pick up your head-shots and demo reel.”

  “Lucas, no, please…”

  “Prove us wrong, kiddo. Go out there and become a star.” He hung up.

  I promised myself I wouldn’t cry on the drive home. I made it twenty feet. Tears of anger, frustration and humiliation poured down my face. I was crying so hard traffic was a blur so I turned on the windshield wipers. They scraped uselessly against the bone-dry glass and when I realized how stupid I was, I started laughing.<
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  Then my old optimism came roaring back. Hey, it’ll all work out, I told myself. I had tons of actress friends who would be happy to introduce me to their agent. And guys hit on me all the time. So fuck Jason Settles. Grace Taylor was available again and Hollywood was full of hot guys.

  It was about a fifteen-minute drive from Jason’s house to my apartment in Westwood. Or should I say, apartment about to go condo.

  Would you pay $560,000 for a 400 square-foot, one bedroom apartment in a thirty-year-old building? Me neither. Never mind the fact I had no money and lousy credit. The apartment was shabby, the walls were paper-thin, the refrigerator rattled, the toilet ran, and the shower stall smelled like rotten cheese.

  My lease was up and, since I wouldn’t buy the shithole, they were kicking me out. I had twelve days to vacate the premises. To be honest, I hadn’t even started looking. I was kind of hoping Jason would ask me to move in with him.

  Idiot!!

  I heard the phone ring inside the apartment. I was holding the box in one arm and the armload of clothes in the other, but I managed to dig my keys out of my purse and let myself in. I dumped my stuff on the chair and dove for the phone like a lifeline. “Be someone I know and love.”

  “Will I do?” I recognized the voice instantly. Madison Stone, one of my best friends. We met at an audition for the TV show, House, both reading for a newlywed who’s got a brain tumor and only Dr. House’s quirky brilliance can save her. If I was the Girl Next Door, Madison was usually cast as the Drop Dead Gorgeous. Madison had incredible red hair, a killer body and this oozing kind of sexuality that usually left guys tripping all over themselves. And, if she’d been a better actress, she could have been a star. But to be honest, and she was the first to admit it, Madison was a little stiff. She always seemed to be “acting,” was never able to disappear into the role. But she worked it. She was in two different acting classes, and a cold reading workshop. Madison did book a lot of print work and enough commercials to keep her in a nice apartment, let her shop at Barney’s, and treat us to hundred-dollar lunches at the Ivy.