Sex and Violence in Hollywood

by Ray Garton

  “I turned it off. You’ve still got time.”

  Sitting up, he pushed the covers away and yawned.

  Alyssa asked, “How about some quick hot monkey lovin’ before another hard day in court?”

  He put his arms around her. “I’d love to. But I don’t even want to think about what Rona would do if I was half a minute late. She calls her first witness today. The trial’s half over.”

  Alyssa swung a leg over his lap and straddled him, wrapped her arms and legs around him. “And then we can start our life. Together.”

  “Maybe. That’s up to the jury.”

  She kissed him. “I’m gonna be optimistic.”

  “And I’m gonna be late.” He returned her kiss, slid her off him and went into the bathroom. Turned on the radio on a shelf beside a stack of towels. Opened the shower and reached in to turn it on.

  “—currently being held on charges of murder for hire, while Rivers is being questioned.”

  Adam pulled out of the shower, turned toward the radio. “Rivers?” he muttered. The news broke for a commercial and he rushed naked to the living room. Grabbed the remote, turned on the television and flipped to CNN. His mouth dropped open.

  On the screen were two mug shots. One of Diz, the other of Billy Rivers. A male voice was speaking over the pictures, but it was babble to Adam. The ringing in his ears competed with the pounding of his heart. He dropped onto the sofa as Alyssa came into the room.

  “What happened?” she asked. “What’s the matter?”

  He barely heard her as he stared at the television. The news reporter droned on. Adam made out only a handful of words: “—turned themselves in late Monday night.”

  Even after the story ended and the anchor had moved on to the next, Adam continued to stare slack-jawed at the television.

  “What is it, Adam, tell me.” She went to his side. “You’re scaring me.”

  “It’s, um...well, I guess it’s...” He launched from the sofa, went to the telephone and dialed Horowitz’s office number. When she came on the line, he asked, “Have you seen the news?”

  “Yes.”

  “So you know?”

  “Know what?”

  “That Diz and—I mean Nathaniel and Billy have turned themselves in. They’re in jail.”

  “Yes, I know that.”

  “Well?”

  “Well what?”

  “Did you know about this?”

  “I just told you. Yes, I know.”

  “No, I-I mean...well, what does this mean?”

  “It means we can put Nathaniel on the stand.”

  The thought of Diz on the stand telling the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth terrified Adam. “Are you sure that’s a good idea? I mean, who knows what he’ll say?”

  “I would never question a witness on the stand without knowing exactly what he is going to say, Adam. Relax. Everything is under control. I will see you in court.”

  “What’s wrong?” Alyssa asked, putting a hand on Adam’s shoulder.

  He put down the phone, turned to her, and tried to smile. “Diz and Billy turned themselves in last night.” He nodded toward the television.

  “Is that bad? You look worried.”

  “No, it’s not bad. I...I don’t think it’s bad. It’s...good, probably. Yeah. It’s good.” He smiled again, but with great effort. Diz knew the truth that Adam had kept from his attorney and everyone else. If he revealed it in court, even Rona Horowitz would not be able to save him.

  FIFTY-TWO

  "I will not get Nathaniel on the stand until this afternoon at the earliest,” Horowitz said to Adam. They stood by the drinking fountain outside the courtroom before the trial began for the day. “Why are you fidgeting like that?”

  Adam could not hold still. His nerves threatened to spring free of his body and shatter like icicles on the tile floor of the corridor. But he stuffed his hands in his pockets and stood straight when Horowitz chided him. “Sorry. I’m nervous.”

  “There is no need for you to be nervous, Adam. I am the one who has to do all the work.” She winked at him.

  “Are you going to put Billy on the stand, too?”

  “No. Billy does not seem very...communicative.”

  “That’s because he’s brain-dead.”

  “I think Nathaniel will be more than enough.”

  Yeah, Adam thought. But more than enough of what? “Why this afternoon?”

  “I beg your pardon?” Horowitz asked.

  “You just said you won’t get Nathaniel on the stand until this afternoon. I thought you’d get him on the stand first thing.”

  “First I have to tell Lester and Lazar. Lazar will object and claim it an unfair surprise, and I will have to remind the court that Nathaniel Cunningham turned himself in just last night. Lester will allow it, but first, an investigator will be brought in to get a statement from Nathaniel. They will check his background, make sure he is who he says he is. He has no identification on him. None of his own, anyway. Lester will want me to call my next witness and continue the trial while this is going on, but I will argue that Nathaniel is my next witness because I want him to testify while Waldo Cunningham’s testimony is still fresh in the minds of the jury before I muddy the waters with other witnesses. Factoring in bureaucracy, incompetence, and the usual unforeseen hold ups, I will be lucky to get him on the stand this afternoon.”

  “You mean, there’s a chance you won’t get Diz on the stand?”

  “Of course I will, and everyone knows it. But this is the way it works.”

  “Jeez,” Adam said with a sigh. “If they did it this way on The Practice, I bet Camryn Manheim would be a lot thinner.”

  “Once things get underway this morning, you will be here for no more than an hour, maybe ninety minutes.” Horowitz flashed a smile. “Then you can go home and watch Lost in Space reruns until we are ready.”

  * * *

  The day was hot and muggy.

  “It’s not just muggy,” Adam said to Lamont with a whine hidden in his voice, “it’s soup- thick with mug.”

  They were in Lamont’s silver Porsche 911 Turbo. Lamont had just picked up Adam at his apartment and was driving him back to the courthouse. The air conditioner blasted icy air in their faces and Nine Inch Nails made the black, diamond-shaped speakers in the doors quiver. Lamont lit a cigarette with a silver Zippo, clanked it shut. Inhaled a long drag as if it were the fragrance of angels.

  “You don’t look so good, Lamont,” Adam said as he took in Lamont’s drawn face and mussed hair. His jaw was dark with stubble, but Adam decided not to mention it while Lamont was driving. The way he ran in a panic to shave every time Adam pointed out his five o’clock shadow, he was afraid Lamont would shoot across traffic and onto the sidewalk. End up killing a few pedestrians and sticking out of a Fotomat.

  “Oh, yeah? I don’t look so good?” Lamont glanced at him. Took a quick Bette Davis puff on the cigarette. “Well, everybody’s lucky I’m conscious, that’s all I can say. I’ve been in nonsmoking places all day, haven’t had a cigarette since about five-thirty this morning. I think my fucking lungs have actually had time to reconstitute. I practically begged that dictatorial diva bitch to let me pick you up so I could have a couple smokes. I haven’t gotten more than three hours of sleep since Thursday night. Nothing but running back and forth and waiting and making calls since Friday. All of it my responsibility, of course. Gerald is in the hospital with some kind of flu that was apparently brought to earth by an alien spore from another galaxy. I talked to his mother on the phone and I could hear him in the background, throwing up. He sounded like Mr. Creosote in Monty Python’s The Meaning of Life. I could actually hear it hitting the wall. I was waiting for him to talk backwards, I was going to call a priest. It’s nice to know someone’s been slightly more miserable than I this past weekend.”

  “What were you doing over the weekend that kept you up all night?” Adam asked.

  “Working! Carrying out the whi
ms of that fucking tyrant. Doing her dirty work. On Sunday, I was so tired, I started hallucinating Egyptian pyramids and Roman columns. At one point, I thought I was Randolph Scott and Rona was Helen Gahagan, and we were in She. Rona threw a Dixie cup of water in my face and told me to have some coffee with plenty of sugar. Can you believe that fucking soulless bitch?” Traffic backed up and Lamont rolled to a stop.

  Adam became more curious. “What were you guys working on all weekend?”

  Lamont rolled his eyes, as if that were a stupid question. “What do you think we were working on? We were—” He stopped mid-sentence and stared silently out the windshield for a long uncomfortable moment, mouth open. Traffic began to move again as Lamont closed his mouth and let out a long, noisy, raspberry sigh through his lips. “We were working for you, Mr. I-Don’t-Wanna-Spend-My-Life-In-Prison, Mr. I-Don’t-Wanna-Be-Executed. We knew Lazar would wrap up his little show by Wednesday at the very latest. Rona prepares for trials the way James Bond villains prepare for world domination. I wouldn’t be surprised if the tyrannical cunt has an underground fortress and a fucking shark tank tucked away someplace.”

  “Does she know you talk about her in such glowing terms?”

  The Porsche slowed suddenly. A car beeped behind them. Lamont shot fearful bird-like glances at Adam. “You wouldn’t. I mean, really, you wouldn’t, right? Haven’t I been good to you through this whole thing? Haven’t I tried to make it easier on you?”

  He had, there was no doubt about that. Especially when Adam was locked up in the Peninsula for what seemed a lifetime. But Adam said nothing, just looked at him.

  “You little shit,” Lamont hissed.

  “Look, I’ll make a deal with you. I won’t tell Rona how you talk about her behind her back if you promise not to drive off the road and take out a family of four when I tell you that...you really need a shave.”

  Lamont’s fists tightened on the steering wheel. His Anthony Perkins shoulders rose as he took in a deep breath. Shouted, “So I’m growing a fucking beard! Somebody just go ahead and shoot me, for Christ’s sakes!”

  * * *

  A problem with the courthouse air conditioning had caused the heat rather than the air conditioner to turn on and off all morning. It was fixed minutes before Adam arrived, but the courthouse still felt nearly as hot and humid inside as it was out. As he walked up the aisle, spectators on both sides fanned themselves with envelopes and folders and pamphlets taken from purses and briefcases. All we’re missing, he thought, are a couple ceiling fans and Gregory Peck as Atticus Finch.

  He sat beside Horowitz at the defense table. She was writing on her legal pad. Adam watched her a moment, then decided to interrupt. Lamont’s remarks had bugged him all the way up in the elevator and he wanted an answer. “What did you do over the weekend that kept Lamont from sleeping since Friday?” he asked.

  Horowitz scribbled for a few seconds more without acknowledging him. Stopped, reread what she had written. Turned to Adam and said, “I beg your pardon?”

  Adam repeated his question.

  Horowitz said, “Lamont is having personal problems and has been exhibiting signs of delirium. Claims to be growing a beard. And Sunday, he called me Miss Gahagan. As soon as this trial is over, Lamont will be going on a desperately needed vacation. As will I.”

  “All rise,” the bailiff said. There was a low rumble when everyone stood.

  “Okay, can we get back to it?” Judge Lester said. “At my age, I could go any second, and I’d kinda like to see how this thing turns out.”

  After the jury had been called back in, Horowitz stood. “I call Nathaniel Cunningham to the stand.”

  Adam cringed.

  As Diz entered the courtroom and went to the witness stand, Adam tried to make eye contact with him. Diz did not even look in his direction. But Adam could tell Diz knew he was there, because he made such a concerted effort to avoid looking at him. It chilled his blood. Adam was certain it could mean only one thing. Diz was about to tell everything he knew.

  No, no, he argued with himself. Rona would never let him up there if she thought he would damage our case. But what else can he say?

  There was a ripple of reaction to Diz’s appearance. His burned scalp and face, the hole in his cheek. Plain black patch over his eye, gnarled flesh where his fingers used to be. He was dressed like his father, but stood up straight and walked with dignity in spite of his shackles.

  I bet Rona told him to walk like that, Adam thought.

  After Diz was sworn in, Horowitz stood beside the lectern, propped her left elbow on it.

  “Nathaniel, how long—may I call you Nathaniel?” she asked.

  “Nathaniel, Diz. Whatever.” His voice was full and clear. He smiled, and as sincere as it was, Adam saw some faces grimacing among the spectators in response.

  “Nathaniel, how well do you know Adam Julian?”

  “Not real well. I only met him once. That wasn’t for long.”

  “Enough to recognize him if you saw him?”

  “Sure. He’s right there.” Diz pointed at Adam with a thumb and forefinger on a stump. He looked at Adam, but did not make eye contact.

  “Very good,” Horowitz said. “So, you only met him once. How did you meet?”

  “He came to my house. My parents’ house, really.”

  “You had never met him before?”

  “No.”

  “Then why did he come to your house?”

  “He gave my friend Billy a ride.”

  “Who is Billy?” Horowitz asked.

  Diz shrugged, and the gesture was all his. But it was just a glimpse of the strange young man Adam had met in the desert. Something about him was not quite right. It took a while, but he finally realized Diz was not talking like Diz. He used no profanity, there were no verbal pauses. No words running together lazily. He was talking like Horowitz. Like one of her clients.

  “A friend. I’ve known Billy five, six years,” Diz said. “Billy Rivers.”

  “Why was Adam giving Billy a ride?”

  “Billy makes stuff, like movie special effects stuff. Y’know, masks and bloody wounds. That kinda stuff. We got a lot of chemicals and stuff around the house. Billy uses some of ’em to make those things he makes. He needed some that day, but didn’t have a way to get there, so Adam took him. Adam brought along his friend Carter. Billy and Carter was good friends, too.”

  Adam clenched his teeth to keep his jaw from dropping. He could not believe what he was hearing. My God, he thought, he’s sticking to the statement I gave the police, to the story I told Horowitz so many times. He’s lying...with my lies.

  “That was the only reason Adam came out to your house?” Horowitz asked.

  “Yeah, far as I know. Just a ride.”

  “When you met him, did you talk?”

  “A little.”

  “What did you talk about?”

  “Movies. TV, maybe. Nothin’ much.”

  “And that was all?”

  “Yeah.”

  “How long were you together?”

  “I don’t know, twenty minutes, maybe.”

  “Did you agree to meet again later?”

  “No.”

  “You’ve had no contact with one another since that day?”

  “No.”

  “At any time during your one brief meeting, did Adam offer you money to blow up his father’s yacht?”

  Diz rolled his eye. “No, he didn’t.”

  “At any time did he mention wanting to kill his father?”

  “No,” Diz said with a firm shake of his head.

  “Perhaps he just joked about it, Nathaniel. Did he make any funny remarks about, say, inheriting all his father’s money?”

  Diz chuckled. “No, he didn’t.”

  “Did he mention his father at all?”

  “Yeah, he said his dad wrote movies.”

  “Do you think he might have been proud of that fact? That his father wrote movies?”

  “Probably. I woul
d be. I’d be proud if my dad did anything I could tell people about.”

  “Did you tell your father, Waldo Cunningham, that you were hired by Adam to blow up Michael Julian’s yacht?” Horowitz asked.

  He chuckled again. “No, I never said that.”

  “Did you say something like that?”

  “Something like it, yeah. It’s stupid.”

  “Why don’t you explain, Nathaniel.”

  Diz sighed. “Okay, look, my dad don’t listen to me. Never has. My mom’s the same way. They haven’t heard a thing I’ve said since the doctor smacked my ass and I cried for the first time. And over the years...I kinda made a game of it, y’know?”

  “Made a game of what?”

  “When I was a kid, I used to see how far I could go before they’d pay attention to what I was sayin’, you know? Once, when I was, I don’t know, eight or nine years old, I was goin’ out and my dad asks me, ‘Where you goin’?’ And off the top of my head, I said, ‘Toby and me’re gonna steal a car and drive to Mexico.’ That kinda thing. I been doin’ it ever since. And that’s what happened. One day, I was goin’ out, and my dad asks me, ‘Where the hell you goin’?’ and I said, ‘I’m gonna go blow up a yacht.’”

  “Those were your exact words?”

  “Closest I can remember. It was just something that popped into my head.”

  “Did your father respond?”

  “No. He never responds. He never hears me. I mean, asking me is just, like, a habit. That time...I guess he heard me.”

  “Tell me, Nathaniel, why did you and Billy turn yourselves in last night?” Horowitz asked.

  “A few reasons.”

  “Could you tell us what they were?”

  “Well, for one thing, it ain’t easy hidin’ from the law. I mean, Billy and me’ve had our pitchers on TV almost as much as he has,” Diz said with a wave in Adam’s direction. “I just didn’t wanna keep doin’ that. Neither did Billy.”

  “Were there other reasons?”

  “Oh, yeah. Mostly because everybody’s been sayin’ I did somethin’ I didn’t do. It’s all over TV and on the radio, people sayin’ I blew up this yacht and killed those people and I didn’t.” Another wave at Adam as he said, “And he didn’t try to hire me to do it. I’ve done some things. And I’ll have to...y’know, deal with that. But I didn’t kill nobody.”