"Yep," Matty said in-between bites of pizza, "definitely the car chase scene."
"Cool. Super cool. Anyways, I need to get some stuff off the truck. It was nice meeting you!"
"You too," Zeke said as he and Matty walked to an empty faux stoop.
"Sounds like Cahill knew something was up," Zeke said.
"Totally. Maybe she had a stalker?"
"Maybe. Strange that Mikulski started coming to set every day, though, right?"
"Right. Maybe, Mikulski was her stalker!?"
Zeke rolled his eyes, "yeah that's kind of my point—"
"Hey, can I bum a cig from either of you?" Zeke heard a woman asked from behind them.
Zeke turned around, prepared to tell her he didn't smoke, and was shocked when he discovered Francesca Cahill walking right up to him. "I . . ." Zeke mumbled.
"Yeah, I've been getting that response all day. I'm Sophia, Francesca's stunt double. Cahill finished all of her scenes last week, but I've still got a few I need to wrap up. Anyways, how about that cigarette?"
"I've got one," Matty interjected, pulling out a baby-blue pack of cigarettes. On its front a Native American man smoked a pipe against the backdrop of a setting sun.
"American Spirits? Just how hipster are you?" Sophia asked as Matty handed her a cigarette.
"Oh, I'm pretty much all in on hipster at this point," he replied, uncinching his hair-tie and running his hands through his long air.
"So who the hell are you guys anyways?" she asked.
"Extras," Zeke replied, "we're in the car chase later."
"Oh, sick. That's gonna be a lot of fun. I've done a bunch of car chases before, it’s kind of my niche."
"It's crazy to see you walking around set," Zeke said, "you just look . . . so much like her."
"Yeah, I know. It was totally normal up until last week. Now it’s just morbid. She was so sweet. It's fucking awful what happened to her."
"Did you know her at all?" Zeke asked.
"Heck yeah, I knew her. Actors and their stunt doubles spend hours and days together on set. Whenever Lindsey Delmonico would windup to throw a punch, they would pause the camera, and sub me in to follow through. I've basically been Cahill's shadow for the past two months." Sophia blew a puff of smoke in Matty's direction.
"Wow, that's crazy," Zeke said, "any idea what happened?"
"I don't know what the hell happened at the party. Stunt doubles aren't usually invited to the parties up in the hills. Entertainment is kind of caste system, and doubles don’t usually make the cut. But if they hadn't arrested another guy for her murder," Sophia paused, looking over her shoulder, "I would've told you that Victor Mikulski was the one that did it."
"No shit?" Matty said.
"I'm dead serious. Forgive the pun." Sophia took a long puff of smoke and exhaled. "Things had been going well for Cahill. She was excited to be in another Delmonico movie. This was the series that made her famous, not to mention the payday. She was pulling down 20 million bucks."
"So how does Mikulski fit into this," Zeke asked.
"He's a total greaseball, for starters. VMK has the best pay in the business, even for the average cast and crew. Everyone wants to work on a VMK shoot. Mikulski knows this, in fact, it's probably by design. When he's on set, which isn’t often, it's like the second-coming of Christ. He walks on water. If it ended there, then fine. Just another executive with a head full of air. But Mikulski likes to take advantage. Specifically, he likes getting close with the female talent."
Sophia shook her head from side to side and she took another puff. "This wasn't Cahill's first rodeo. She's worked on VMK sets previously, and Mikulski is known around town as giving the talent anything they want—cars, money, drugs—in exchange for . . . well . . . anything he wants, I guess."
"So, he was harassing Cahill?"
"She never said anything to me, but everyone could tell he was interested. He would hang around set while she was shooting a scene, lavish her with compliments, and talk endlessly about all of the roles he had in mind for her. He was just . . . physically close to her, too. Uncomfortably close. Standing right next to her. Putting his arm around her. Holding her arms. It would've been sweet if it wasn't so creepy, if you get what I'm saying."
"Yeah I see what you mean. But why did she hire bodyguards?" Zeke asked.
Sophia paused, flicking ash at the ground. "I guess the details are starting to come out in the media. Here's something you probably don't know. It wasn't her security. It was Mikulski's."
"What does that mean?" Matty asked, playing with his Zippo lighter.
"About a month into the shoot he hired Cahill a 24 hour security detail. Told the film's producers that it was standard operating procedure for celebrity at her level. But after a week or so, everyone could tell her demeanor had changed. She was freaked out about something. I think Mikulski hired some thugs to keep tabs on her, make sure his pet project wasn't straying too far from the nest."
"So you think Mikulski was involved in her murder?"
"Where there's smoke, there's fire. Mikulski is no idiot, though. He has plenty of hired hands that could've done the job, give him some plausible deniability. But the cops seem confident they have the right guy. Some poor soul from East L.A., I hear."
"Strange," Zeke said.
"Strange is right. Probably was his first time at a big Hollywood party. Sometimes people outside of the entertainment scene are overwhelmed by the wealth and glamour of it all. Seeing how the other half lives, so to speak. Maybe he snapped. Especially after she railed on him like that. You see the videos online?"
"Yeah, I saw," Zeke replied.
"The whole thing is just crazy." Sophia said, putting her cigarette out in a puddle. "I need to get back. Thanks for the cigarette there, man-bun." Sophia walked back towards the set.
"Wow," Matty said under his breath, "there is really a thing against men with long hair in this town."
"You're wearing a scarf over a tweed jacket, Matty."
"It's in right now, jeez."
"Yeah. It's also 75 degrees outside. Anyways, it looks like Mikulski is back on the table."
"I don't like that guy one bit. If Cahill was rejecting his advances, seems like he had all the reason in the world to kill her."
"Agreed. We'll need more witnesses to testify that Mikulski was a scumbag. Martinez told me that Mikulski runs drugs out of a bar called Dirty Laundry in West Hollywood—"
"Dirty Laundry! That place is famous. I think I saw it on Anthony Bourdain or something. Good bar, or so I've heard."
"Great. That's where we're going, tomorrow. We'll sniff around for anyone that knows Mikulski. We're looking for more details about his drug operation, relationships, and Cahill. Anything I can use in court to paint an alternative theory of the case."
"Sure thing, boss. Whatever you say."
"Quit it, manbun."
"What's your plan?"
"I'm going to visit Alex. See how he's doing, update him on where we're at."
"Prison visit. Lovely."
"Jail, actually. Prison is what we're hoping to avoid."
"Right. Good luck with that."
February 26, 3:00pm
"You look like shit," Zeke said.
"I know. But I feel great," Alex said from behind a plexiglass window. "Mind over matter, you know. That's what it takes in here."
"Right—"
"I didn't think I was going to make it. The last time I saw you, I mean. I thought I was going to die in here."
"You certainly seem to have gotten used to the place."
"I'm a trustee now. I've got the lay of the land."
"Trustee?"
"I do chores around the jail. Mopping, mostly. I get access to the unrestricted areas. Apparently, they might take time off my sentence for good behavior."
"Good, good. That's great to hear. But where are your bruises coming from?"
"They're good bruises. I'm not getting beat up anymore. I've got a guy teaching me
how to fight."
"Why do need to know how to fight?"
"Are you kidding me, Zeke?" Alex asked. "Fighting is all we do in here, you can't get away from it. Inmates are constantly kicking the crap out of each other, if not for cigarettes or drugs, then just out of pure boredom. The guys that are too old to fight are competing at chess, checkers, backgammon, and dominoes. And we're all fighting against the District Attorney to get the hell out of here. If you don't know how to fight in here, then you've got nothing."
Zeke was looking into his eyes and could tell he was completely serious. When they had first met, Alex looked young. He was skinny and his muscles were soft. Now, though, he looked like a mangy dog. His arms and hands were lined with fresh bruises and scabs. His face was gaunt, like someone that hadn't slept in a week. But his attitude had completely changed. Alex had cried during Zeke's last visit. But looking at him now, Zeke couldn't imagine this man ever crying. He was tougher and more confident. It was as if Alex was staring straight through Zeke, through the wall behind him, and outside into Downtown. His eyes focused on getting out of jail.
"Well I'm glad you're feeling better. Not sure how that'll play to a jury, though."
"Doesn't matter. I'm doing what I have to do."
"Got it," Zeke moved on. "Listen, Matty and I have been following some leads. We've talked to a couple folks that work for VMK Productions, they can testify that Cahill was acting strange in the weeks before her death. She, or possibly Mikulski, even hired security guards to monitor her 24/7. Another person told us Mikulski has a reputation for being a slimeball around women. He was trying to start something with Cahill before she was murdered, apparently."
"So you think it was Mikulski?"
"Yeah. At least, that's what it's looking like right now."
"What the hell happened with that Martinez guy?" Alex asked.
"Ah, yeah. I—"
Zeke paused. He remembered that the guards could be recording their conversation. "I don't think it was him, you know, given all of the evidence against Mikulski."
"So how do you figure the knife got into my motorcycle?"
"Well, Mikulski threw the party and hired your catering company. He probably had opportunity to slip out of the party and put it in—"
"It was locked, though. The luggage trunk was locked when the cops found the knife."
"Right. Well, Mikulski is a millionaire. He could've hired someone to pick the lock."
"Whatever you say, Zeke."
"We're still working on it, Alex. And I think we're doing pretty good. We've got another lead we're going to follow—"
"Great." Alex was unphased. "Is there anything else?"
"No, not really. I'm hopeful though, Alex. It think we're working up a plausible theory of the case. I just wanted to keep you updated."
Alex waived the guard over, ending the jailhouse meeting. "Thanks, Zeke. I know you're working hard. I am, too."
"Thanks. I'll come back soon."
"Don't. I'll call next time. See you."
Zeke stood up and began the long process of exiting the jail. As he was walking back through the metal detectors, he wondered what Alex meant by "doing what he had to do." He made a mental note to ask him about it the next time they spoke.
February 26, 7:30pm
"Thanks for calling," Lexi said, "I was worried I wouldn't ever leave the office this week." Zeke had texted Lexi after leaving the theme park, figuring he deserved a break from the case. He’d invited to pick her up from her office to get sushi in Little Tokyo. He was careful not to use the word date, but some awkward tension was apparent as they drove to the restaurant. "Yeah, no problem," Zeke said. Matty and I had a good day at the office, so I figured we could celebrate."
"Oh really? What happened?"
"We followed a lead on Alex's case. Turned up some good information. I think we're headed in the right direction. "
"Nice! Anything you can share?"
"Nah, I probably shouldn't. You know, attorney-client privilege and everything," Zeke said, not wishing to fully disclose he and Matty's illegal trespass onto Hollywood's biggest studio backlot.
"Really? C'mon! You and I both know that information you get from witnesses wouldn't be privileged. And it's not like this is high-stakes corporate litigation or anything—" Lexi caught herself too late, realizing she was being rude. Zeke cringed and laughed nervously.
"Sorry. That was just word vomit, you know. I had a long day at the office, and I'm just excited for our date—"
So far this has been an emotional roller coaster, Zeke thought. "Yeah, me too," he said, grinning. "And look, I know that corporate lawyers turn their nose down at state-court criminal matters. But I've got to say, I feel like I'm really making a difference on this one. Sure, it was basically a fluke that the case even came my way. But it was me or an overworked public defender."
"Zeke, you're currently the sole defense attorney working the Francesca Cahill murder. I promise you, nobody thinks it’s small time. I was surprised to hear from you, frankly. I figured you would be busy doing television news interviews."
Zeke had forgotten about the media calls. His phone had been blowing up with texts and missed calls from random numbers. He had ignored them while he and Matty were at the park, but made a mental note for tomorrow to start stating Alex's case to the major news outlets.
Zeke parked across the street on San Pedro and East 2nd street. He got out of the car first, wondering if he was supposed to open Lexi's car door, but she beat him to the punch.
"Relax, cowboy," she said, "you don't need to get fancy with me. Don't forget that I practically carried you home after the post-bar exam pub crawl. You're a lot of things, Zeke Blackbird, but classy isn't one of them. Where are we going, anyways?"
He laughed. "Zencu Sushi, over in the Japanese Village Plaza. I ate there a bunch of times in college. I missed good sushi after I interned in Palm Springs after 1L year." He and Lexi crossed the street and walked east.
"Yeah," Lexi said, "I forgot about that. You interned at the Public Defender's office down there, right? I've never heard you talk about that summer before. Why did you ever want to do corporate law anyways? Your resume screams public service."
"That was . . ." he struggled for an explanation, "a difficult summer.1 I liked the legal side of defense work. I understood criminal procedure and evidence law. I knew enough to be helpful around the office. But what they really needed were lawyers that were good with people."
"Oh yikes. Yeah that's not you."
"I don't just mean being empathetic and patient. I mean, they would stick you in-front of a third-time violent felon with a rap sheet longer than a roll of toilet paper and expect you to represent them like you would anybody else."
"Kind of sounds like that's the job."
"Yeah, it is. But it's hard. One client stole my coworker's car. Another client stabbed his attorney in the hand with a pencil while he was filling out his plea agreement."
"Damn," Lexi said under her breath.
"Eventually I decided that the worry and anxiety wasn't worth it. Especially if the alternative was bringing in big paychecks to shuffle papers in a 50th floor office."
"Ouch!"
"Sorry, you know what I mean."
"Now I know why they say lawyers shouldn't date other lawyers. We've been on this date all of 10 minutes and we already competing for who is more overworked."
"It's too late to go back now," Zeke said, "we're almost to the restaurant."
Zeke and Lexi walked along the cobblestone pathway that winds through Little Tokyo's Japanese Village Plaza. Constructed to mimic a traditional Japanese rural marketplace, the Plaza was lit by bamboo and paper lanterns, and the whole block smelled like fresh seafood and noodles. Zeke noticed a dozen or so college-aged guys and their dates stumbling into a bar at the back of the plaza. It was popular hangout for frat boys looking to get buzzed on the cheap and embarrass themselves at karaoke. Their dates looked unimpressed.
"This is really cool," Lexi said, "I haven't been here before. Thanks for taking me."
"Yep," Zeke said, as he hurried ahead to hold open the restaurant's door, "and for the record, chivalry's not dead."
Minutes later, Zeke and Lexi were seated at private booth in the back with an order of sake, beer, and quail-egg shooters on the way, to be followed by four of the restaurant's most expensive sushi rolls. Zeke, now on high alert about manners and courtship, had forced the waitress to take his credit card before they had even ordered, determined to pay for both his and Lexi's meal.
Once they had started in on their drinks and finished the quail-egg shooters, the conversation hit a lull. Zeke panicked, realizing if there was ever a moment he was going to screw up the date, it was now. The restaurant was silent, too, multiplying their discomfort.
"So," Lexi started, "what happened with Molly?"
Anything but this, Zeke thought to himself. He had been ignoring things with Molly since she dumped him over text, instead pouring himself into Alex's case. It was, sadly, the story of their relationship. Now his date, and close friend, was trying to gauge what kind of boyfriend he might be.
"Molly was great, don't get me wrong. Law school and dating just aren't a good match."
"You're telling me."
When we started as 1Ls, we were ruled by the almighty bell curve. Between classes, reading casebooks, and outlining for exams, taking time off meant losing out to another student. My scholarship was contingent on staying in the top third. I literally couldn't afford to have free time."
"Law schools are such predatory arseholes. But we graduated almost a year ago. I guess things didn't improve?"
"Right. It turned out that studying for the bar was even worse. It was ten weeks of studying, eating, and sleeping. Molly had wanted to move in together after graduation. But I figured it would be too much of a distraction, so I stalled. Told her that it would happen after the exam. After it was over, I still hadn't found a job. So, then I told her we should wait until I had steady income. Once I got my bar card, I ended up setting up my own shop. But I haven't exactly been overwhelmed with clients."
Blackbird: A Zeke Blackbird Legal Thriller (Book 1) Page 10