Wild L.A.

by Tripp Ellis

  He ambled to the house phone, dialed room service, and ordered breakfast. When he hung up the phone, he asked, “What are your plans for the day?”

  I shrugged. “Trying to get in touch with Amber Angel.”

  His eyes lit up. “Oooh, Amber Angel. She’s one of my favorites.”

  I told him about my failed attempt with her agent.

  His face twisted. “Amateur. There’s a simple solution for that. What’s the number?”

  I told him, and he dialed the agent. Through the tiny speaker, I heard the gruff voice bark.

  “Hi,” JD said. “I’m over at the Château in the middle of production, and one of our girls flaked out. We’d like to replace her with Amber Angel. Is she available today?” JD listened intently. “Yes, I’m sure she is in high demand.”

  The gruff voice crackled through the phone.

  “Solo girl…. Yes, with toys.” JD grinned. “If you need references, you can check my website.” Jack gave him the address to his photography site. He looked at his watch. “1 PM would be great. Do you take credit cards?”

  The gruff voice said something.

  “Excellent. Let me give you the number. What’s my total, with agency fee?”

  21

  “See,” JD said with a beaming smile. “Easy as pie.”

  “Amber’s going to be pretty upset when she gets over here and there’s no actual job,” I said.

  “She’s getting paid either way. And she doesn’t have to sleep with some troll. It’s a win-win.”

  “That seemed all too easy for you,” I said. “Done that before?”

  JD scowled at me. “It’s just a business transaction. Plus, I ordered the cheapest option. As a solo act, she’s not going to have to interact with other performers. That way, there’s no need for testing or any of the usual hoops. We just need to check her ID, and I’ve got model releases in my bag.”

  “We’re just asking her questions.”

  “You’re just asking her questions. If I’m paying for it, I might as well take pictures.”

  “What happened to Sloan?”

  “I’m not dead.”

  “You might be if Sloan finds out.”

  “There’s nothing wrong with taking artistic, black-and-white photos of a beautiful woman. Besides, if you keep your trap shut, who’s gonna know?”

  I raised my hands in surrender. “You know I can keep a secret.”

  JD was merely in pursuit of Sloan. It was far from a done deal. A lunch date and a few pecks on the cheek hardly made a relationship. It was somewhat refreshing to know that JD hadn’t totally changed his ways. I was beginning to worry that he had put all his eggs into one basket prematurely. From what I could tell, he sure was lovesick over Sloan. Who wouldn’t be? She was a great woman. But she had expressed mild interest at best. I hoped it would work out for him.

  We lounged by the pool for a while, had burgers for lunch, then made our way back up to the room in anticipation of our guest.

  A few minutes before 1 PM, there was a knock on the door.

  JD pulled it open with an eager smile. The sultry blonde little vixen stood in the hallway wearing sweats and holding a duffel bag. “Are you JD?”

  “I am. Come on in.”

  He motioned for her to enter, and she stepped into the foyer. Her skeptical eyes surveyed the accommodations, then fell on me. “Is he talent?”

  “No, he’s my co-producer.” JD looked at me and winked.

  I waved at Amber.

  “Where’s makeup and the crew?”

  “It’s just us today,” JD said. “Are you comfortable doing your own makeup?”

  “Yeah, sure. Whatever. This is just Solo Girl stuff, right? I mean, I’ll need to see his health card if you want me to fuck him,” she said, pointing to me.

  “Just solo stuff,” JD assured.

  “Okay. I brought an assortment of toys.” She set the duffel bag on a table and unzipped it. She spread it open, and JD peered into the bag of naughty items. He looked shocked. I rarely saw anything that shocked JD.

  She pulled out a gargantuan silicone pleasure device. The thing would make an elephant feel insecure in comparison. “This is the largest I can take. And if it goes up my ass, it’s gonna cost double.”

  I almost choked. “We just want to ask you some questions.”

  “You mean, like pre-interview questions? Or questions on camera? What’s the setup?”

  I flashed my badge.

  “Oh, so you’re going to play a cop. What are you going to do? Catch me playing with myself and punish me?” She thought about it for a moment, then her face crinkled with confusion. She eyed JD. “I thought you said this was Solo Girl?”

  “It is,” I assured. “I’m really a cop. I want to ask you some questions about Mia Sophia.”

  Amber shifted uncomfortably.

  “Don’t worry, you’re still going to get paid.”

  “You want me to talk about Mia on camera?”

  “No. Off-camera.”

  Amber wasn’t a brain surgeon.

  “Okay. What do you want to know?”

  “You worked for Nikki Griffin at the same time Mia did, right?”

  She hesitated for a long moment. “Yeah. What’s this about?”

  “You know Mia is dead, right?”

  “Duh. I’m not stupid.”

  “Was Desmond Ross ever a client?”

  “That’s how Mia met him. Nikki sent both of us to his hotel room one night. I could tell he liked Mia more than me. Which was just fine. That guy is gross. He stinks.” Her pretty little nose crinkled.

  “Did Mia continue to see Desmond after that?”

  “Yeah. He would call Nikki and request Mia all the time.”

  “Do you know why Mia quit working for Nikki?”

  “I think it wasn’t for her. Getting busted didn’t help either.”

  My brow lifted with surprise. “She got busted?”

  “That’s what I heard. Nikki sent her to a gig, and it got raided, or something like that. I never got the full story.”

  “Do you know if she got arrested?”

  “I don’t know. I’m just glad it wasn’t me. That’s another thing I like about adult films. It’s not illegal in California. As long as there’s a camera rolling, you can pay me for sex.”

  JD grinned.

  According to the law, if you paid for sexual services, it was illegal. But if you were paying someone to have sex on camera for commercial entertainment, it was legal in the state of California. One of the only states in the union with such a loophole—which is why the San Fernando Valley is the adult entertainment capital of the world. The dirty little secret of Hollywood is that 75% of entertainment revenue comes from the adult industry. More than the biggest blockbusters combined. Everything from camera rental, catering, crew personnel, editing, post production, and distribution. It also accounts for 75% of all online traffic. The city, county, and state liked the tax revenue too much to shut the whole thing down.

  “What happened after Mia quit working for Nikki?” I asked.

  Amber shrugged. “I don’t really know. We lost touch. I tried to call her a few times, but she would never return my call.”

  “Can you think of anybody who wanted to harm Mia?”

  She shrugged again. “Like I said, we weren’t that close. We did a few gigs together. We did girl/girl stuff at parties for rich creeps.”

  “Why did you leave?”

  “Nikki takes a larger cut than my current agent does. Doing on-camera stuff, I’m in control of my career. I say who I have sex with and who I don’t. I get to build my brand, and I can tour around the country as a featured dancer at strip clubs and make a ton of money. And that money goes straight into my pocket.”

  I exchanged a glance with JD. I wanted to know more about Mia’s arrest.

  22

  “Is that art, or is that art?” JD asked, showing me images he had taken of Amber on his phone.

  They were tasteful sh
ots.

  Amber stepped out of his bedroom, wearing sweats, her duffel bag dangling from her shoulder. She gave JD a hug on the way toward the door. “Thanks again, guys. You were great to work with. Book me anytime.”

  JD smiled. “Thank you.”

  She slipped out of the room and pulled the door shut behind her.

  “I think I’m in the wrong business,” Jack said.

  I gave him a look.

  He shrugged innocently. “What? I just took a few pictures. Harmless fun. I didn’t do anything with her, I swear.”

  “You better hope Sloan doesn’t see those pictures, just saying.”

  He shook his head, dismissively. “It’s fine art. I’m a fine art photographer.”

  I chuckled. “If you say so.”

  My phone buzzed with a call from David. “Hey, you got a minute?”

  “Sure, what do you need?”

  “I just want you to look over this treatment one last time before I finalize everything. And I use the term finalize loosely. This will be a work in progress until we begin production on the show.”

  I told David we’d meet him in the lobby in a few minutes. Then I called Isabella. “I need you to run a background check on Mia Sophia. Real name Mary Jane Burnett. I’m looking specifically for any history of an arrest record.”

  “Give me a minute, and I’ll see what I can find out. I’ll get back with you in a few.”

  I ended the call and slipped the phone back into my pocket.

  “Something tells me you’re not going to find an arrest record,” JD said. “It would have been all over the tabloids.”

  “Agreed,” I said. “I need to talk to Nikki Griffin. See if there’s any truth to what Amber said.”

  A moment later, a text dinged back from Isabella. [No criminal history. Just a few parking and speeding tickets.]

  [Thanks.]

  “It’s possible her record could have been expunged,” JD said.

  “There would still be a record of the arrest.”

  “Not if a few wheels were greased. You don’t stay in business hustling high-end hookers without having law enforcement on the payroll.”

  “You think Nikki Griffin has someone on the payroll?”

  “No doubt about it. I suppose Desmond could grease the wheels if he didn’t want his up-and-coming starlet outed as a former prostitute. Maybe that’s part of the leverage he had over her. Maybe she wanted out from under his thumb and threatened to expose him. They both would go down in flames if they turned on each other, but maybe Mia thought she could come out looking like the victim? A good publicist might be able to spin it.”

  I needed one more favor from Isabella. I texted her Nikki Griffin’s number and asked her to locate her cell phone. She texted back a few minutes later with an address in Malibu. I planned to pay Nikki a visit after my meeting with David.

  David was in the lobby when we arrived. We greeted each other and took a seat on the comfy couches. He had compiled all of his notes and typed them up into a presentable format. He handed me the small packet. The first page was a basic summary of the series, followed by character descriptions, then bullet point outlines for the first 12 episodes. It was just the basic skeleton of what the show could become.

  I thumbed through it, made a couple of notes, then handed it to JD. His face crinkled when his eyes fell on the character descriptions. “Houston, we have a problem!”

  David’s face tensed with concern. “What’s wrong?”

  JD read the character description aloud. “The quirky, but lovable, sidekick. Well past his prime, desperately hanging onto 29–an age he hasn’t seen in decades. A walking, talking midlife crisis.”

  There was an uncomfortable silence.

  Jack cleared his throat. “First of all, I am lovable, I have to admit. I don’t know if I’d described myself as quirky, but certainly not well past my prime. The only 29 I’m hanging onto is a gorgeous brunette, and to be honest, she’s closer to 26. And there is no crisis. I’m at my peak. And I’m having the time of my life.”

  David smiled. “No problem. That can be fixed with a couple of keystrokes.”

  Jack handed the treatment back to David with an annoyed frown. “And I’m thinking Brad Cruise should play me.”

  Brad Cruise was one of the biggest movie stars on the planet. The guy had six-pack abs, sparkling eyes, and a winning smile that could charm the pants off just about every woman he crossed paths with. Panties melted at the mere mention of his name, and girls swooned.

  He was also getting $20 million a picture.

  “Food for thought,” David said, placating Jack. “We can discuss that in greater detail when we get to casting.”

  “I have one more suggestion, if I may,” I said. “You might want to change the word quirky to delusional. Delusional sidekick.”

  Jack scowled at me.

  23

  After the meeting with David, I called my agent, Joel. "Can you get me a meeting with Desmond Ross?"

  "I can get you a meeting with anybody in this town," Joel said with confidence.

  I had no doubt that he could.

  "But why?"

  "He seems like an industry player. I thought it might be a good idea to set up a general meet and greet."

  Joel could see through my bullshit. "What are you up to?"

  "Do I always have to be up to something?"

  "I know you too well." Joel paused. "This isn't about Mia Sophia, is it?"

  "It could be," I said innocently.

  “You want me to set up a meeting with one of the most powerful and influential men in Hollywood so you can harass him about the death of a starlet which you have no factual basis to connect him with?"

  "Pretty much."

  "Not to mention, you have no jurisdiction here."

  "I don't think the truth cares about jurisdiction."

  Joel sighed. “Of all my clients, you’re one of my favorites, Tyson. You know that."

  "Thank you. Of all my agents, you're one of my favorites, too,” I mocked.

  "And as your agent, I have a fiduciary duty to look out for your best interest. Setting up a meeting so you can harass Desmond Ross is not in your best interest, nor is it in mine.”

  "So, you won't set up the meeting?"

  "Not only no, but hell no!”

  "What if I want to find another agent who will?" I said, throwing it out there casually.

  He scoffed. "Go ahead. I'll even help you find other representation if that's what you want. But as soon as they hear that you want to piss your career away and alienate everyone in the business, you'll get dropped. I don’t think you want to be without an agent."

  I had no desire to get into an argument with Joel. "Point taken. I wouldn't go looking for another agent anyway."

  "I know. Once you’ve had the best, why mess with the rest?”

  I chuckled.

  "Do me a favor, leave Desmond Ross alone,” Joel pleaded.

  "What if he had Mia killed?"

  "Do you really believe that?"

  "I don't know what to believe. But I don't think Mia drowned in that pool all by herself. She had some assistance." I told him about the fentanyl, the alleged changeup of the autopsy report, and various rumors I had gathered.

  "It's all weak, Tyson. Find something more substantial. When you've got something solid, bring it to the LAPD. They can take it to the District Attorney, and he can decide to move forward or not. Let them take the brunt of it. Nothing will blow back on you."

  I paused for a moment. "I promise I will stay out of trouble."

  "I don't believe your promises, but that's what I'm going to go with right now to keep my anxiety level low. How's it going with David?"

  "I read his final treatment today. So far, so good."

  "I'll set up a meeting with Susan. You and David can go over what you've come up with and get her to sign off on everything."

  "Then what?"

  "Then, David will do what a producer does. Hire the creat
ive team—directors, writers, crew. Once everything is green-lit, pre-production will ramp up. I'll let you know when I have the meeting arranged."

  He cautioned me again before hanging up.

  We took a Zoomber to El Toro Beach in Malibu. Nikki Griffin had a home in a gated community. There was no way we were going to pull up to the gate in a Zoomber and gain access pretending to be LA County. But there was a public beach access point less than 500 yards away.

  We had the Zoomber driver drop us off at the parking lot, and we took the meandering wooden steps down to the magnificent beach.

  Blue waves crashed against the sand. Stunning rock formations protruded from the sea and along the shore. One particular formation created an archway of stone. There were several professional photographers snapping photos of bikini-clad models against the rocks.

  Toned bodies glistened in the sun, and grains of sand stuck to pert assets. Seabirds hung in the air, and pelicans gathered on the rocks. Whitewater crashed against the stone formations, and the smell of salt water filled my nostrils. It reminded me of Coconut Key, and how much I missed the place—even though I’d only been gone a few days.

  We walked along the beach, southward. There was a no trespassing sign where the private homes began. The sign referenced a list of state statutes. Malibu was notorious for overzealous homeowners and their attempts to keep the public off their beaches. But according to the Coastal Waters Act of 1972, all beaches south of the mean high-tide line were public—much to the chagrin of the wealthy tech billionaires and movie moguls who bought up all of the prime real estate.

  Malibu was loaded with fake no parking signs and misleading signs near public access gates stating passage by permission of owner only. Some owners had even gone to the lengths of locking public access gates, barricading easements, and embarking on misinformation campaigns.

  It was no wonder people in California hated the rich. Quite a few of them acted like assholes.

  There were six houses along the beach that backed up to the white sand. Beyond that, sheer cliffs towered over the beach. Luxurious homes sat perched on the edge with precarious walkways down to the shore.

  The large, modern three-story home on the beach belonged to Nikki Griffin. It looked like it could have been the set of a movie. It probably had been at some point—certainly a few adult films.