BLACK Is the New Black

by Russell Blake

  “At least I don’t have to worry about that in my line of work. Dead men don’t give references.”

  “Tell you what, when I get back from Tahoe, we can implement my scheme to nail Ernest, okay? Call it three days. Can you get the notice printed up by then?”

  “They have this new technology, Black. It’s called the computer and the laser printer. They run on electricity. Amazing stuff. I could have it knocked out in an hour.”

  “Then you know what to do.”

  “I’ll be ready when you get back. Everything will be set to go.”

  “Thanks. By the way, did you ever get anything more on that Tasha woman I asked you about?”

  “Yeah, but no signs of foul play. She was drunk, hit her head, game over. In this case, the butler didn’t do it. There’s no ‘there’ there.”

  “All right. That’s one item I can cross off my list. Hey, could you call Bill and see what happened with Zane Bradley?”

  “What did he do?”

  Black told him an abridged version of the story.

  Stan was amenable. “If Demille pressed charges, he’s probably still in lockup, unless someone bailed him out. Although if he’s a serious suspect in the attack, they might hold him as long as possible while they debate charging him.”

  “I didn’t get the impression they thought so. But could you find out?”

  “You betcha. For my man Black? Anything, baby, anything.”

  Roxie was beaming when Black entered the office. Black studied her, unsure of what she was so happy about, and waited in front of her desk with an expression of puzzlement as his silent query.

  “Did you get my email?” she asked.

  He closed his eyes and shook his head. “Damn. Sorry. I spaced. I was out of it.”

  Her shoulders sagged. “I figured out who owns most of Gabriel’s company.”

  Black did a double take. “Well?”

  “The company in Nevada was a dead end. No way to get the shareholder info. So I started probing around his website. And it turns out that the same person who paid for the website for the Nevada corporation, who owns most of the company, also paid for Gabriel’s site.”

  “The Nevada corp has a website?”

  “Just a one-page placeholder. But it was enough.”

  “I’m not going to ask you how you got payment info.”

  “You probably don’t want to know.”

  “I figured. Well? Who is it?”

  “Does Mugsy look thinner to you?”

  “Roxie. Come on. Give.”

  “Gabriel’s company’s website was paid for by Arapaho Holdings.”

  “Super. And who’s that?”

  “Arapaho Holdings, unlike the Nevada Corporation, is a California LLC. Which I was able to get records for.”

  “Roxie, is this going to take much longer?”

  “Fine, Mr. Grumpy. Suck all the joy out of it. Arapaho Holdings is a hundred percent owned by none other than Thomas Demille.”

  ~ ~ ~

  Gabriel looked up from his desk at Black, who had barged into his office, a sheet of paper in his hand. The fussy man at the reception desk hadn’t moved fast enough to keep Black from proceeding to Gabriel’s door, and he appeared behind Black three seconds later.

  “I’m sorry, Mr. Costa. He got by me before I could stop him…”

  Gabriel eyed Black and waved the receptionist away. “That’s all right, Jacob. I’m sure Mr. Black won’t be here very long.”

  Black approached Gabriel’s desk and took a seat in front of it. “Not very long at all,” he said with a dry smile.

  The receptionist hesitated in the doorway before departing with an exasperated hiss of breath. Gabriel leaned back in his chair, and Black was again struck by how perfect his features were.

  “Well? What do you want?”

  “I know you don’t own your agency.”

  If Black had tossed Gabriel a live grenade he couldn’t have gotten a more shocked look. Gabriel’s face literally fell, as though made of melting wax, and his demeanor seemed to collapse in on itself. He tried to stammer a denial, but Black cut him off.

  “And I know who does.”

  Black allowed that to sink in. Outside the picture window behind Gabriel’s desk, a rust-colored pigeon strolled along the stainless steel rail mounted along the base, its head jutting forward with each precarious step. It stopped and peered in at the two men sitting motionless inside, and then alighted with a sudden flap of wings.

  Gabriel tried to parry Black’s accusation, but it was a feeble attempt. “There’s no law against that, is there?”

  “That depends. I’m quite sure a case for fraud could be made. And of course, murder and mutilation are frowned upon, whatever the circumstances.”

  Black held Gabriel’s gaze, unblinking, waiting for him to say something. It took a while, but when Gabriel finally reacted, it wasn’t the way he’d thought he would. His eyes welled up with moisture, and then he closed them and began sobbing.

  “I told him this wouldn’t work. Somebody would find out. I knew it. I just knew it.”

  “Gabriel? Look at me. Stop that, and look at me.”

  Gabriel reached for a package of tissues and dabbed at his eyes, then took several deep breaths. Black waited patiently as Gabriel composed himself.

  “It wasn’t my idea. It was Tom’s.”

  “I kind of figured that for myself. The question is, why?”

  “You can’t guess?”

  “Sure I can. But why don’t you tell me? I hear confession is good for the soul.”

  “Isn’t it obvious? Tom’s selling the agency. He’s strapped for money. For real money, not a few thousand here and there. DNA has a non-compete in the agreement that locks him up for two years. But he wants to have his cake and eat it too, which if you know him well, is so typically him.” Gabriel paused. “When he started getting serious about doing the deal, he had me start this company. The idea was that I’d get his best faces during the lockup period, and then when he could leave, he’d join me here. Where his stars were waiting.”

  “That would be the fraud part.”

  “I don’t know anything about that. I just did as he asked.”

  “And you didn’t suspect what you were doing was wrong?”

  Gabriel frowned and waved his hand. “Please. We live in L.A. Look around. Are you for real with your right and wrong act?”

  “You helped Demille defraud DNA. Did you tell the models he would be coming to work here once he was done with his contract?”

  “Models are total gossips. It’s just between Tom and me.”

  “And then he started killing them. You realize you’ll be viewed as an accessory to murder, don’t you?”

  “No! I don’t know anything about that! Besides, why would Tom want to hurt any of his models? That doesn’t make any sense.”

  “Maybe they had something on him? They found out?”

  “Are you nuts? How? And do you really believe Tom would do something horrible like at the casino? Or the acid? He’s greedy, not psychotic.”

  “Then who’s behind it? Zane? Another ex-model? One of the current ones?”

  “How would I know?”

  Black debated accusing him directly of being behind the attacks, but then thought better of it. He had no evidence and no motive. Although he now had enough to hang Demille, as far as Daniel would be concerned. The question was, when to present it to him?

  “Gabriel, I’m going to give you some advice. Don’t tell Demille that I know about his little charade. I’ll decide when and how I confront him, do you understand?” Black rose. “If you do as I say, you might be able to walk away from this relatively clean. I have no desire to hurt anyone here,” he said, stretching the truth – he absolutely had a reason to take Demille down a few notches, not the least of which would be the huge bonus Daniel would be willing to pay for the information so he could get out of the deal that was going south by the day. Demille had embarked on a dangerous game, a
nd if he was going to risk it all to cheat one of the biggest players in his industry, then he’d have to deal with the fallout. “You’re under no circumstances to even hint to Demille that anyone knows. Are you with me?”

  “It’s not like I even see him much anymore,” Gabriel said glumly. “He only calls when he wants something.”

  A burst of insight flashed in Black’s mind. “Which wasn’t how it was supposed to be, was it, Gabriel?”

  “No.”

  “This was a chance to spend more time together. To do something important together. To build something, wasn’t it?”

  “That was the idea,” Gabriel answered in a small voice, and Black understood everything.

  “Well, don’t feel too badly. Sometimes things don’t work out as planned,” he said, thinking about Nina and his own betrayal. “Just hold it together, Gabriel. I’ll deal with Demille in my own way when the time is right. If I can keep you out of it, I will. I have nothing against you. It sounds like you’re just caught in the middle of a bad situation.”

  “How do I know I can believe you?”

  “I’m here, aren’t I? I could have just gone to the police and Daniel, and you’d be getting cuffs put on you,” Black answered, exaggerating so Gabriel would cooperate. “But I didn’t. So count yourself lucky, don’t ask questions, and just go about your business.”

  “Like nothing’s wrong.”

  “Exactly.”

  Black kept the stereo off as he drove back to the office, wondering at Gabriel’s gullibility at getting sucked into Demille’s scheme. It was obvious to him that Gabriel was still enamored with Demille – the handsome, powerful older man who had at one time been his everything. Demille had played on that weakness to offer a future where they were together, embarking on a new enterprise, and conquering the world side by side. Only that wasn’t how Demille rolled. Gabriel was just a means to an end, someone to be used for his pleasure and cast aside when his usefulness was over. He recalled Sima’s allusions to Demille’s reputation and thought they were certainly deserved. And Gabriel was the only one who didn’t seem to have figured it out.

  When he returned to the office, he told Roxie how his meeting had gone. She listened attentively, for once not staring at her computer as he talked.

  “Then he’s doing it all for love. Poor bastard. And Demille’s playing him,” she said.

  “That’s how it seems to me.”

  “But then, who’s after the models?”

  “That’s the question, isn’t it? I kind of like Demille for it. But I don’t have a motive.”

  “And this Zane character?”

  “Also a contender. He’s certainly bitter enough, and has a lot of anger.”

  “Sounds familiar.”

  “What?”

  She looked over at the couch. “Mugsy seems angry. I think that’s why he acts out like he does and is so destructive.”

  “Mmm. Mugsy. And what does he possibly have to be angry about?”

  “We don’t know what kind of life he had before we took him in.”

  “We know he never missed a meal.”

  “That’s not what I meant. He might have been mistreated. Abused.”

  Black shrugged. “Could be. But he does look thinner.”

  “You’re just saying that.”

  “Am not.”

  “I know you too well. You’re blowing smoke.”

  “Maybe I’m telling the truth. I just look like I’m always lying. It doesn’t mean I’m actually lying.”

  “Right.”

  “Really. I’m aware that I could look like I’m lying, and that you might think it’s possible I’m lying, even though I’m not. So I get a guilty liar look on my face even when I’m telling the truth.”

  “Sure thing, Dr. Freud.”

  “The point is, I look like I’m lying because I recognize the possibility that I could be lying, even though I’m telling the truth.”

  “Uh huh.”

  Black spent the rest of his morning going through his email and signing the paperwork and checks Roxie had laid out for him. Stan called back on his cell, and it was bad news about Zane.

  “Demille wound up not pressing charges. Said he was too distraught over the shoot. So that didn’t leave anything to hold him on. He was released this morning, after spending yesterday sobering up. Best they could manage was public drunkenness, which the DA won’t want to take to court. Which means as of now, he’s at large and free as a bird.”

  “The system at work. Poetry in motion, isn’t it?”

  “Hey, I’d have just shot him. It’s not my fault the Vegas cops are pussies.”

  “Good to know.”

  Black puttered around the office for another hour, bored, nobody returning his calls, and decided to put his time to better use and stake out Ernest in case he caught a break. Although his plan to ensnare him was brilliant, he thought. He’d read about it online – where the police would send out notices to all the bail skips, posing as an appliance store or a car dealership that was giving away merchandise in a sweepstakes they’d won, and when they showed up to claim their prize, arrested them. If that could work on perps, it could work on Ernest. The idea was to mail him a notice that he’d won a flat-screen TV, and when he came to collect it, nobody would be available to help him carry it to the car. If he was a greedy faker, he’d haul it himself, and that would be that. It was really perfect – unless he was truly hurt, in which case all bets were off.

  Black settled in across the street from Ernest’s house, resigned to spending a solid six to eight hours there, and was surprised when after twenty minutes Ernest emerged from the house, collar on, and made his way to his car. Black followed him at a safe distance. First he stopped at a hardware store and emerged a few minutes later with a small bag. Next stop was a dry cleaner’s for two shirts – hardly incriminating.

  And then Fate smiled upon Black at Petco.

  Black trailed Ernest inside the massive store, recalling Roxie complaining that she needed to get Mugsy a travel crate. He figured he could kill two birds, and keep an eye on Ernest while currying favor with Roxie. He eyeballed the selection of travel containers, chose the largest one available for cats, and then reconsidered and went in search of a small dog crate. Ernest was in the dog food aisle, staring at the large bags of chow. Black held his breath and removed his phone from his pocket, palming it expertly, and began filming as Ernest pushed his cart nearer the racks and then hoisted a forty-pound bag of dog food into the cart with the ease of a toddler lifting a pillow.

  Black couldn’t help but smile to himself, and decided to celebrate by stepping up and getting Mugsy a cat treat and a toy in addition to his portable prison. He was whistling as he followed Ernest to the cash register and stood in line behind him.

  “Beautiful day, isn’t it?” Black said conversationally as the cashier rang Ernest’s dog food up.

  “If you say so.”

  “What happened? Car accident?” Black asked, pointing to his neck. “I got whiplash once. That was a real bitch.”

  “Something like that.”

  “Well, good luck with it. You need some help with that bag? Getting it into your car?” Black asked, with as creepy a smile as he could muster.

  “Uh, no, I got it. Thanks, though,” Ernest said, hurrying to get out of there and away from the overly friendly Black.

  “You sure? Just have to ask. We could get coffee or something after. I know a cute little place near here.”

  Ernest had heard enough, and practically ran with his cart to the exit. Black dropped a hundred dollar bill on the counter, waited for his change, and then hurried to the doors. As he’d hoped, Ernest was loading the bag into his car, which Black filmed as he approached him.

  “Here, let me help you,” Black cooed.

  “I told you, I don’t need no help. I got it,” Ernest snarled, and lifted the bag into the back seat of his sedan in a fluid motion, his powerful arms exhibiting no strain.

  “Ooh.
You must work out,” Black said, and then decided to stop tormenting the man.

  Stan howled with laughter when Black called and told him what he had on tape.

  “Dude. You’re absolutely the best. You know what? Let’s hook up. Download the video, put it on a flash drive, and I’ll trade you the footage for a fifty-inch TV. Brand new. I’d say you earned it.”

  “Really? You don’t have to.”

  “No problem. Besides, it’s not like I can take the TV back. It might be a little…warm. You know?”

  “I have no idea what you’re talking about, but appreciate any gifts you feel like making.”

  “That’s my boy.”

  Chapter 19

  The Eldorado ate up the miles as it hurtled north up I-5, only a few miles now from the turnoff that led to the East Bay and Berkeley, where his parents were waiting for their imminent arrival with the anticipation of hunters for the first season’s buck. Black’s mother had been ecstatic that they were coming, but that had quickly turned to disappointment when she’d learned that it was only for the night. Black had studiously ignored her passive aggressive disapproval, and promised only that they would be there by mid-afternoon.

  The Gypsy Kings crooned and strummed from the stereo, a compromise with Sylvia from his usual guitar-driven hard rock. She’d put her foot down somewhere north of Hanford and switched off ZZ Top’s wailing riffs. Black had acquiesced to her wishes, determined to make the trip as enjoyable as he could, and they’d settled on a safe neutral ground of rollicking acoustic guitars and soaring harmonies. The drive had gone faster than he’d expected, the other vehicles on the freeway averaging ninety, and the big car effortlessly keeping pace.

  Berkeley was a stark contrast to the farmland they’d been driving through. Lush fields gave way to tree-lined streets and hulking Victorian homes once they passed the downtown and made it into the hills. When they pulled to a stop in front of what Black would always consider to be the new house, Sylvia’s eyes widened at its size. Luxury vehicles lined the street in both directions, and Black fleetingly wondered why the area was so crowded – the last time he’d been there it had been a ghost town.