BLACK Is the New Black

by Russell Blake

  “I’m really snowed under. I’m afraid it’s either 2:00 or it has to wait till the day after tomorrow.”

  “Why that long?”

  “I’ve got an out-of-town engagement tomorrow. I’ll be back the following day.”

  Black sighed. “Then it will have to wait. I can’t cancel this, I’m afraid.”

  “Fair enough. Or you can just ask me your questions over the phone. I’m fine doing it that way.”

  Black wanted no part of that. He wanted to see Demille, read his body language, and watch for subtle signs of stress or dishonesty.

  “No, let’s just plan on doing it when you get back. It can wait.”

  “If you say so. I thought it was some kind of an emergency, from all the messages on my cell and at the office.”

  “Not an emergency. Just being the squeaky wheel.”

  “Well, then, let’s take this up again in a few days. I’m available, but with an insane schedule. That’s what I’m trying to convey.”

  Black was unconvinced when he disconnected, but decided to make the best of a bad situation by letting Daniel know that he was still being blown off, albeit in a less obvious way. When Daniel came on the line, he was obviously dealing with more than one thing at once – Black could hear people talking in the background.

  “Hello.”

  “Black here. I just spoke with Demille and he can’t see me for another couple of days. He said he’d be out of town tomorrow and is full up today,” Black said, stretching the truth just a bit – in Demille’s defense, he had been available at 2:00.

  “I know. I just got his schedule in. He’s got a big shoot in Vegas tomorrow morning, early. I was going to call you. I want you there.”

  “In Las Vegas? Why?”

  “I can’t go, and all my people are busy. Do the same as you did in Mexico – keep your eyes open, and watch for any threats to the models.”

  “Part of the problem is that the danger’s never been overt. I didn’t see anything in Cabo that would have led me to believe there would be a dead model the next morning. I’m not sure my time’s well spent hanging out at a photo shoot.”

  Black heard rustling, like a hand being held over the speaker of a phone, and more talking, and then Daniel came back on the line. “Black, I don’t have a lot of time. Gunther will send the details of the shoot. You’re on the clock, and the merger is done in the next couple of weeks, so play along, will you? I’ll feel better if I know you’re there. And it’ll enable you to watch Demille in action and have your chat with him.”

  “Fine. Shoot me the info and I’ll see what flights look like.”

  “Will do. I’ll have Gunther call Demille and tell him to make time for you tomorrow, one way or another, and also arrange for you to have complete access to the location. It’s at one of the big casinos.”

  “Anything special I need to know about it?”

  “Gunther will send everything we have on it.”

  The rest of the sandwich tasted like lead, each bite a struggle to get down. He’d made dinner plans with Sylvia, which he’d have to cancel. He considered calling her, but decided to wait until he had a firm agenda. Instead he called Roxie.

  “Black Investigations,” she answered, sounding as unenthusiastic as he’d ever heard.

  “Roxie, it’s me. I need you to look at flights to Vegas tonight. The later the better.”

  “You adding gambling to your list of vices?”

  “No, it’s for the Demille case.”

  “When do you want the return?”

  “Just look at one-way.”

  “Wow. A one-way ticket to sin city. You aren’t planning on doing a Nick Cage, are you? A little Leaving Las Vegas?”

  “I think in the movie he drove, didn’t he?”

  “I don’t know. I think that was made when I was, like, ten. My mom wouldn’t let me watch that kind of thing.”

  “Just as well. It was pretty depressing.”

  “But if the shoe fits…”

  “Send me an email with my options, okay?”

  “Sure thing, Bwana.”

  The wind had picked up to a sustained twenty miles per hour by the time he walked back to his car, and his eyes were already beginning to burn from the dust and pollen. He checked the time and saw that he had forty-five minutes to get to Gabriel’s.

  Halfway to Santa Monica he checked his email on his phone and saw one message from Roxie. He opened it and his shoulders slumped as he read. All flights were sold out – there was a major electronics trade show in town for four days, so it would border on impossible to fly in. Which left driving – four hours, best case, and likely far more if others like himself decided to make it to Vegas the hard way.

  Gabriel’s building was a two-story art deco affair that would have been perfectly at home in South Beach, all jutting edges and graceful arcs rendered in lime and peach and pastels that positively screamed avant-garde. A row of meticulously groomed palm trees swayed in front, their fronds flapping like the wings of a giant bird in the stiff breeze as Black strode up the sidewalk toward a glass portico.

  Gabriel’s office was on the second floor, and when he entered the lobby he was struck by how small it was compared to the other agencies he’d been in – the entire suite could have easily fit in DNA’s foyer. A reed-thin young man with an aggressively modern hair style and ferret-like darting eyes greeted him with a disapproving purse of the lips.

  “Yes?” he asked, as though Black had disrupted something important in which he’d been immersed.

  “I’m here to see Gabriel Costa.”

  “And you are…?”

  “Black.”

  One cocked eyebrow signaled his curiosity. He spoke in a low voice into his headset, the fabric of his pale blue shirt shimmering in the bright overhead lights, and then sat back and fixed Black with a bored stare.

  “Mr. Costa will be right with you. Please have a seat.”

  So far this wasn’t starting out well, Black thought as he settled on a tan leather couch that was every bit as uncomfortable as it looked. Two minutes later Gabriel emerged from one of the office doors and approached, wearing a silk shirt with all the colors of the rainbow represented and a pair of distressed oversized jeans that would have been at home on a coal miner.

  “Mr. Black? Right this way. You look familiar…”

  “I think I saw you in Mexico. Cabo. At the dinner.”

  “Oh, right. You were at the Demille table.”

  “That’s correct. Good memory.”

  Gabriel led him into a small conference room. He took a seat at the head of the table and folded his hands in front of him, an earnest expression on his handsome face. Black had to admit that Gabriel was a stunningly good-looking man – the kind that women swooned over and sculptors carved statues to commemorate – as different from Black as an alien species. Thick dark hair hung carelessly over tanned features that were perfectly symmetrical, and he exuded an aura of exotic mystery that must have made him a fortune in his modeling days.

  “Well, here we are. What can I do for you?” he asked, his eyes belying the calm demeanor he was studiously projecting. They were anxious, Black thought.

  “Thanks for seeing me. As I told you, I’m trying to get some background on Demille’s agency for DNA, and as a part of my due diligence I’m speaking with everyone I can find – both current employees and alumni. I’ve found that former colleagues tend to be more willing to spill the dirt than current ones, which is why I’m here.”

  “Makes sense. I’m just not sure I have that much dirt to spread. But I’ll do my best to keep it interesting,” Gabriel responded with an easy grin – but again, his eyes were edgy, if only slightly. Maybe he just wasn’t good at meeting people?

  “How long were you with Demille’s agency?”

  “Oh, let’s see. Eight years as talent, and one as an agent.”

  “Who were you with before that?”

  “One of the big New York houses.”

  �
��Why leave them?”

  “I relocated to the west coast and wanted something more specialized. Demille offered that local flavor I was after. It was a good fit.”

  “I’m glad to hear it. Then as your career wound down, you decided to give the agent game a shot?”

  Gabriel nodded. “That’s right. I sort of knew all the players by then, and it was a natural segue for me from modeling to artist representation.”

  “How did you do?”

  “Pretty well. I like it a lot, which helps.”

  “But you left and started your own agency…what, about six months ago?”

  “Has it been that long? Wow. Yes, that sounds right.”

  “And by all accounts you’ve been fabulously successful.”

  “Well, I’m not sure I’d describe it quite that way. I’ve been very fortunate so far. Clients are happy, and I’ve been able to attract some quality talent.”

  “I’ll say. You’ve got three of Demille’s former models, right?”

  Gabriel shrugged. “Sure. I know everyone over there. It makes sense that I’d get some of them. Especially with the merger coming up.”

  “Of course. That has to have everyone a little nervous.”

  “Some, at least.”

  “How long has it been public knowledge?”

  “Oh, at least ninety days.”

  Black smiled his aw, shucks grin. “When did you first hear about it?”

  Gabriel’s eyes darted to the side. “I…I don’t know. Probably around then.”

  “But it worked out well for you in terms of recruiting, didn’t it?”

  “I’m not sure what you’re getting at.”

  “Just that it hasn’t hurt your artist roster, that’s all. I don’t mean anything by it. I don’t really know much about this industry, so this is all educational for me.”

  Gabriel seemed to relax now that Black had assured him that he was basically an idiot. A transparent tactic, to be sure, but one that usually worked on those who wanted to believe that they held the upper hand. Black took him through a list of industry-related questions, which Gabriel answered without hesitation, and then steered the discussion to his real agenda.

  “What a shame about those models, huh?” Black asked, shaking his head.

  “Those models?”

  “Oh, like that gorgeous creature in Mexico. What was her name? Clarissa?”

  “Ah, yes. A real tragedy. She had a promising career. Really starting to make waves.”

  “Did you know her well?”

  Gabriel hesitated for a split second, but it was enough of a tell for Black to register. “Sure. We’d done shoots together. But she wasn’t my talent when I was at Demille’s. I didn’t rep her.”

  “Did anyone have any idea she was using? She didn’t look like a junkie to me.”

  “It had been a while since I’d seen her. A lot can happen in a few months, you know?”

  “Sure. It’s all a whirlwind, I’ll bet. Exotic locales, jetting away at a moment’s notice, big money…What about the other one – Daria? Did you know her?”

  Gabriel started to rub his thumb against the tip of his forefinger, unconsciously – a nervous habit he seemed unaware of. “She was another rising star. Another tragedy. Nobody saw that coming.”

  Black shifted gears abruptly. “Were you at the beach shoot where the girl got the acid peel?”

  Gabriel blinked, surprised by the question. “What?”

  “The model who had acid in her makeup. Were you there?”

  “I…I don’t remember. What does that have to do with anything?” Gabriel stammered, his polished veneer cracking slightly.

  “I was just curious. Think. Were you?”

  “I told you I don’t remember.” His tone was now hostile, but only slightly. More…frightened.

  “Would it surprise you to know that I have a list of everyone who was at the shoot, and that you were? I’d have thought that would have been sort of like, where were you when the World Trade Center got hit, in your business…something you’d remember. Everyone else said it was a big deal.”

  “Now that you mention it, I might have been. But I think I left before anything happened. That’s probably why I blanked on it. I wasn’t around when the screaming started.”

  “I see. Kind of like Mexico, right? You left early that morning…before anyone else, didn’t you?”

  The speed of the finger rubbing increased. “I had a plane to catch. What are you getting at with this, Mr. Black?”

  “Nothing. Sorry if it’s a sensitive subject. I just thought it was worth noting that you were at both shoots. Tell me, were you in New York when Daria…decided to end it all?”

  Gabriel pushed back from the table, clearly rattled, and stood. “Why don’t you look at your list?”

  Black was unfazed, still sitting. “I did. You weren’t at the shoot. But that wasn’t what I asked. I asked whether you were in New York, not at the shoot in New York.”

  “Mr. Black, I’m afraid I’ve taken all the time I can to help you with your questions. I hope it’s proved enlightening. But I have other, pressing matters I need to get to, so if you’ll excuse me…”

  “Did you hear about Tasha?”

  Rapid blinking. “Tasha?”

  “Your old colleague at Demille’s. Is Tasha that common a name in L.A.?”

  “What about her?”

  Gabriel’s face was unreadable. Black wanted to nail him to the wall with some serious questions about where he’d been the night of her death, but instead stood, deciding not to press. He’d seen what he needed to see. Instead, he offered Gabriel his hand to shake. Gabriel reluctantly grasped it, and Black felt moisture – his hands were sweating. “Sorry about that last bit – I see conspiracies and connections everywhere. Professional hazard. I didn’t mean to imply anything by it.”

  Gabriel regarded him distrustfully. “You come on pretty strong.”

  “Like I said, goes with my line of work. Mr. Costa, I appreciate the time. I know you didn’t have to meet with me.”

  “No problem.” He glanced at his watch. “But now, I really have to get going…can you find your own way out?”

  “Sure. Thanks again.”

  Black walked slowly to the lobby, intrigued by Gabriel’s discomfiture. He was obviously hiding something, and visibly nervous. That didn’t mean he was the killer, but it certainly made Black more curious about his affairs. He took the stairs carefully, lost in thought, and when he reached the ground floor, he stopped just inside the doors and retrieved his phone. Roxie took four rings to answer.

  “I just finished with Costa. Something’s off with him. I don’t know what, but he was as twitchy as a crackhead. Do me a favor – pull everything you can on his company, his holdings, his credit, everything.”

  “Can you be more specific?”

  “If I could, I’d know what I was looking for, wouldn’t I?” Black snapped.

  “Ouch. Sounds like he got under your skin, boss.”

  Black took a deep breath. “Yeah, sorry. Just peel the onion on him, would you? Corporate filings, the whole bit. Something stinks in Santa Monica.”

  “That’s just the beach. All the sewage washing up. And the used needles.”

  “I’ll cross going for long walks there off my Match profile, then.”

  “Depends on what you’re looking for. Some girls like the whole fecal clumps and syringes thing. Some guys, too.”

  “Thankfully I’m spoken for.”

  “If you say so. How soon do you need this?”

  “Stat.”

  “Have you been watching ER reruns again?”

  “No. Scrubs. Better songs.”

  “You really need to get out more.”

  “What’s the deal with the Vegas flights? You’re seriously telling me that there’s nothing? How can that be?”

  “Well, let’s see. Last minute, biggest trade show of the year going on, reduced routes…I’d say you’re screwed. Why not try one of the Indian
casinos? You can probably put it all on red there, and I hear the drinks aren’t too watered.”

  “I told you. I have to get there for a shoot.”

  “Right. Well, I’d start driving, because you aren’t going to be flying.”

  “You don’t think it’s worth trying standby?”

  “Oh, you mean where you wait at the airport for the five or six hours it would take you to drive there, worst case?”

  “I just hate that road. Especially after dark.”

  “Then you better get moving. You’ve got about five hours before nightfall.”

  Black watched the page of a newspaper sail down the street like a ghost bound for the sea. The gap between the two doors whistled at him. He hung up and pushed through, making his way to his car, the wind tearing at his suit like an angry ex, his eyes stinging from windborne grit. He climbed into the Cadillac and sat for a moment, staring at his reflection with watery eyes, and resolved to make the best of a lousy situation – at least he could bill for his travel time. Viewed that way, five or six hours of driving came out to fifteen hundred bucks each way – not a bad return on his investment.

  He drove to his apartment to grab his overnight bag and called Sylvia on the way, apologizing profusely for having to cancel their dinner plans, which she’d been looking forward to – he’d gotten them at one of the hot new restaurants on the Hollywood border she’d been bugging him about, and had to book them two days in advance.

  “They just called out of the blue and told you to go to Las Vegas?” she asked.

  “Yup. No notice. No warning. But I don’t have a choice. They really want me there.”

  “And you can’t fly out late tonight or first thing in the morning?”

  He explained the flight situation. She didn’t seem impressed.

  “How long are you going to be gone?”

  “I should be back tomorrow night. Or the next day, at the latest. Depends on how long the shoot goes. And of course, there’s travel time. I lose half a day each way…”

  Sylvia was understanding, but Black sensed she wasn’t happy. He’d gone from being relatively dependable to leaving her on a moment’s notice, and she probably couldn’t help but wonder whether his enthusiasm for the assignments didn’t have something to do with being around some of the most beautiful women in the world. Over their last dinner that had come up – she’d had numerous questions about the Cabo shoot, most of which centered on the models: what they were like, what they wore on their off hours. He supposed that if she had suddenly started working with endless phalanxes of super-hot men and cancelling their plans together at every turn, he would have had second thoughts about it, too. Although for once in his life, he was pure of heart and mind, having not even been tempted by Tasha, who’d made it about as clear as possible that she was up for anything.