Hollywood Assassin - A Hollywood Alphabet Series Thriller

by MZ Kelly

  My brother turned to me, his eyes were filling. “Something happened in court today, Kate. During my arraignment, I glanced at the back of the courtroom and realized Zen was there.”

  “What?”

  The tears flowed down Robin’s cheeks. “He was just sitting there, smiling at me.”

  I tried to reassure my brother, but didn’t know what to say. It only further confirmed my feelings that Wolf Donovan was, for some reason, behind what was happening.

  As we pulled to the curb at the hair salon, Robin controlled his emotions and said, “Charlie called and told me about the suspension. I’m so sorry.”

  What would I do without Charlie? “I’m not throwing in the towel, just yet.” I motioned to the figure standing near Sinclair’s trademark green door. “Looks like Clark’s waiting for you.”

  I purposely tended to Bernie while Robin and Clark greeted one another. After a few minutes, I went inside and said my hellos. Robin made some coffee, and we settled into the employee lounge at the rear of the salon.

  Clark was fidgety as Robin poured the coffee. He and Robin tried to politely amuse one another with tales of the difficult customers they’d worked with over the years. Clark looked like someone who was still coming down from what had probably been a cocktail of drugs. He needed to be in a detox program.

  After a few more minutes of chit-chat, I decided to level with him. “Clark, let’s talk candidly for a moment. You need help with your drug problems. I know of several programs in the area.”

  “We only want what’s best for you,” Robin chimed in, trying to take the edge off.

  Clark didn’t look at either of us. His voice broke with emotion. “I’ve blown everything. Almost a year of sobriety gone in an instant.” His fragile composure melted, tears streaming down his face. “I’m sorry for everything that’s happened.”

  As Robin tried to comfort him, I said, “You need to tell us what’s been happening for the past several days.”

  After regaining his composure, Clark tried to explain. “Everything spun out of control so fast. I was offered some Oxies at the party. I refused at first, but everyone at Donovan’s was using. I began feeling like I was the only sober person on the planet. I was given what I thought was an energy drink, but Bon Bon had spiked it, and I was off and running. I spent the next several days out of control.” Clark broke down again, sobbing in Robin’s arms.

  I swallowed my anger at Robin’s apparent easy acceptance of what had been total betrayal by Clark.

  “Tell me about the drug scene at Donovan’s,” I said. “Who is involved, and who is supplying the drugs?”

  Clark blotted his tears on the sleeve of his shirt. He took a deep breath, releasing it slowly. “Everyone’s involved. Bon Bon and a guy named Zen organize and control everything. They stage all the parties and invite the celebrities.”

  “Who is their connection?”

  “I don’t know.” He didn’t look at me. “It could be lots of different people.”

  I studied him for a long moment. I’d interviewed hundreds of suspects in similar circumstances. I was sure that either Clark was lying about not knowing who the drug connection was, or there was a lot more to the story than he let on.

  “Okay, Clark,” I said, “let’s have the truth. Robin is facing serious drug charges that could send him to prison for years. I need to know who you’re protecting.”

  Clark shot a glance at me then set his eyes on Robin. “I don’t know anything more than I’ve already said. You’ve got to believe me.”

  Robin touched Clark’s shoulder, then turned to me. “He’s been through a stressful time, Kate. Let it go.”

  I was disappointed in my brother. He was taking sides, making me the enemy. I tried one last approach. “I need Clark to tell us about Wolf Donovan.” I looked at my brother’s partner. “What’s his role in everything?”

  Clark didn’t look at me. “He usually stays in a different part of the estate. Bon Bon and Zen run the show. I didn’t see him much.”

  I didn’t believe him and was about to say as much when Robin interrupted.

  “Where are you staying, Clark?” Robin asked.

  “In a motel over on Western. I’m basically homeless.”

  “You can move back in with me.”

  “Robin!” I shook my head, then fixed my gaze back on Clark. “You need to be in a residential drug program, not bringing your drug issues home to my brother.”

  Clark regarded me for a long moment. I saw the defiance in his eyes. “I’ll get back into my twelve-step program. I can work through this with Robin’s help.”

  I turned back to my brother. “Remember what we talked about earlier?”

  Robin didn’t look at me. His eyes were locked on Clark. “You’re right. We can work through this together.” He finally looked over at me. “I need my car back.”

  I removed the keys from my purse and handed them over. “You know I don’t agree with your decision, but please stay in touch with me.”

  Robin didn’t respond. He took the keys, put his arm around Clark, and they headed for the door. I called after him, “Robin, please be careful.”

  My brother didn’t look at me, but said, “I can take care of myself.”

  ***

  It was after six when I finally got home after bailing Olive out of the repair shop. I was still ranting to Bernie about the repair bill as we walked through the front door.

  “Three hundred and sixty-four dollars! It’s highway robbery.” I’d written a check to the mechanic and prayed it wouldn’t bounce.

  After crushing the receipt and tossing it into the wicker basket with the other bills, I looked at Bernie and said, “Maybe I should just consider it a down payment on my new home.”

  Half an hour later, Natalie arrived. As I opened the door, she said, “Hello, Ricky. It’s time to get dressed.”

  “Lucy,” I said, laughing at her costume. Natalie made a very young, very attractive version of Lucille Ball, complete with a red wig and matching lipstick.

  “I brought your suit, Ricky.” Natalie held out a black pin-striped suit and white fedora. She then turned to Bernie. “Maybe Fred and Ethel can stay with you while we’re out.”

  I began the excuses: “The outfit is too tight. What if someone I know sees me? I don’t look good in a fedora. I have a lousy Cuban accent.”

  None of it worked. Natalie countered every argument. “Come on, now. Don’t make me blither about the need to forget your troubles for a coupla hours, not lettin’ anyone piss on your popcorn.”

  Natalie held up a plastic bag, waving it at me. “I even brought you a wig and moustache.” As I shook my head, she reached into the bag and held up a man’s sock. “I also stuffed up one of Clyde’s socks with a rock so you’ll have a trouser knob.”

  I laughed. Bernie danced around and yelped as she twirled the sock in the air.

  I surrendered. “I’ve got to be out of my mind. Okay, why not? But, just so you know, I draw the line at the crotch rock.”

  After I dressed, we said our goodbyes to Bernie and headed for Olive. I spotted my reflection in one of the appliance store windows, wearing the wig, moustache, and white fedora. We both broke into fits of laughter.

  As we got into the car, I said in my best Ricky Ricardo voice, “Lucy, you got some ‘splainin’ to do!”

  Natalie turned to me, held out the stuffed sock, and in a perfect imitation of Lucy said, “Oh, just put this in your pants, big boy. The time for talk is over.”

  I passed on the sock again.

  When we walked into the Westside Actor’s Studio, I felt like a complete idiot. A moment later, I almost forgot I was dressed like a dead sitcom star.

  A cast of dozens of Hollywood stars, some living and some dead, paraded around the room. I was introduced to everyone from Elizabeth Taylor to Reese Witherspoon. There was even a political slant on the costumes when a young woman, who was dressed like a former presid
ent—thankfully not Richard Nixon—introduced herself to us.

  After a few more introductions and small talk, I took a seat next to Natalie and watched as one of the acting coaches set up a scene. The actors did a good job of moving through the scenario and a couple more that followed.

  Natalie then stood up and whispered something to one of the coaches. She reached into her handbag and removed the sock I had declined. I groaned when the actress dressed as the ex-president was brought up on stage and the coach set up the scene.

  “You will remain in the character of Lucy,” the acting coach said to Natalie. He then turned to the presidential lookalike. “You will also remain in character; however, you will have a slight problem.”

  The coach handed Natalie’s sock to the former president, who unzipped. “It will be Lucy’s task to explain as politely as possible that you have left your zipper down, Mr. President.” The acting coach then walked off stage.

  The uproar began even before a word was spoken as the actress playing the ex-president inserted the sock and stared off stage, whistling like she or he was completely ignorant of his problem.

  “Ah, excuse me, Sir,” Natalie began, in the voice of Lucy, losing her British accent. “I believe you’re a little over exposed, Mr. President.”

  “It happens when you’ve been the head of the free world,” the presidential actor said. “I’m used to people staring. Sometimes they even want to touch me.” The actor chortled, imitating the retired president.

  Natalie continued as Lucy, now showing some frustration. “I mean to say, your barn door is open and the cow looks as though it’s ready to do a bit of grazing.”

  “Yeah, well,” the former president said, “here on the ranch, we get a few problems with old Bessie from time to time. I just try to keep her milked.”

  The audience roared with laughter.

  “Let me get right to the point,” Natalie said, the exasperation in her Lucy voice now clear. “The turtle is coming out of his shell.”

  The ex-president stared at Lucy. “Pets can be quite the nuisance from time to time. I once had a pussy that was so much trouble I got rid of it.”

  Now Natalie was laughing. I saw the acting coach double over before he pushed a man in a suit, who looked a little like one of the Blues Brothers, on stage.

  “Excuse me, Mr. President,” the man in the suit said, pointing at the presidential crotch. “As your assigned Secret Service agent, I need to tell you something: Your fly is open.”

  The former president looked down, pulled the sock out of his pants, held it up and said in a high pitched voice, “I don’t get it. The warning label said the worst that could happen would be a painful four hour erection.”

  The audience became hysterical. I was the only one in the room not laughing. The voice of the actor who played the secret service agent was replaying in my mind. It was the same voice I’d heard at the Dark Dating event, the voice of the man named Sean who had warned me to stay out of things that didn’t concern me.

  As Natalie came off stage, I stood and removed my fedora, wig, and false moustache.

  “What are you doin’?” Natalie asked.

  “I’ll be back in a minute. A voice out of my past just came to me.”

  I followed the actor, who seemed in a hurry to leave the room after I removed my costume. I found him in a dressing room and blocked the doorway.

  As the actor’s blue eyes glanced up into the mirror, he caught sight of me studying him from behind. I saw the look of recognition move over his face.

  “Can I help you?” he finally asked.

  I walked over to the dressing table and took a seat next to him. I moved a hand through my hair and released it from the bun I had used to conceal it beneath the wig.

  I locked eyes with the actor. “You can start by telling me why you go around threatening people in the dark.”

  He ran a cloth over his face, not looking at me. “I don’t know what…”

  “Stop!” I removed my small wallet badge from my purse. I’d forgotten to turn it in when I met with the captain earlier in the day. I held it up. “I want the truth. Now.”

  The actor pushed back in his chair and released a breath. “It was a job. I was paid to show up and say what you heard. That’s all.”

  “A job.” I stood and circled behind him, studying his blue eyes in the mirror. “Who sent you?”

  “I don’t know. I was paid two hundred bucks by a guy I met a few days ago. He showed me a photograph of you and told me what to say. I did the job and never saw him again.”

  I kicked the chair I’d been sitting in across the room. It slammed into the wall and fell over.

  “Stand up.” I removed the handcuffs from my purse.

  “What’s this all about?”

  I pulled the actor up by his shirt. “Threatening a police officer is a crime. You’re going to jail.” I said it with such authority that it only dawned on me afterward that I was on suspension.

  “Okay. Stop. I’ll tell you everything I know if you’ll let me go.”

  I swung him around so that he faced me. “I’m listening.”

  “I got a call from a friend. He said he met a guy at a party who needed some help with a small acting job. I didn’t know what it involved, but I needed the money. He put us together. When I met with the guy, he told me about the dating event and said I was to make sure I got seated with you. He then handed me a script and told me I had to say the words exactly as they were written. That’s how it went down. I swear.”

  “This guy—what was his name?”

  “He said it was Brian, but he probably made that up. He wanted me to act the part, paid me the money, and said I would never see him again if I followed through.”

  The actor was nervous, but I sensed he was telling me the truth. “What did the guy look like?”

  “Late twenties, dark eyes. Looked like he worked out a lot.”

  “His hair,” I said. “Tell me about his hair.”

  The actor hesitated. He probably realized if he told me anything more, he could be in danger.

  “I’m waiting, and I want the truth.” I pushed him up against the wall.

  “His head was shaved.”

  “And?”

  The actor’s gaze fell away from me. “A ponytail. His head was shaved except for a long black ponytail.”

  I pushed the handcuffs back into my purse and walked out of the room. A smile found my lips.

  It had been one of the worst days of my life, but I was now certain of one thing. Wolf Donovan was linked to Cassie Reynolds’ murder. I had no way to prove it, but I was sure of it.

  Chapter Thirty-Seven

   

  Nathan Kane parks on the street and kills his headlights. He watches through the window as the detective moves around her apartment.

  It’s been a frustrating day, following her and waiting until she’s alone. Now that she’s finally home, he knows there’s a problem. The police dog is with her. He can’t risk breaking in. Why didn’t they take the fucking dog when they suspended her? The flesh on his face hardens with rage. The stupid department can’t do anything right.

  After watching from the street until the lights in the apartment go out, Kane starts his car and drives away. He spends the next half hour driving around the city. It’s a Wednesday night, but that makes no difference. The action in the city of dreams never lets up.

  Kane stops outside a club and watches the lineup of young people tipping the bouncers, trying to get past the velvet rope. A stretch Hummer rolls up to the curb, music blaring. As the door opens, he sees neon lights flashing inside the car and there’s even a stripper pole. A couple of naked women dance around the pole to the beat of the music.

  Idiots. Maybe he’s been away from the city too long. There are better ways to amuse yourself than riding around, watching some whores fuck a pole.

  He drives away and turns onto Hollywood Boulevard. There’s a
parade of women moving up and down the street. He slows down, taking his time.

  Tonight he needs something special—someone who will take his mind off the detective. When he finally pulls to the curb, Kane knows he’s made the right choice. The girl is young and full of attitude. He likes the plaid skirt and white blouse, with her nipples almost popping through.

  “Whatcha lookin' for tonight?” the girl asks.

  Kane flips a hundred dollar bill through the open window. He knows he’s overpaying, but he’ll get the money back later. “Something special, something I’ll never forget.”

  The girl takes the bill, folds it into her clutch purse. She smacks her lips. “That might just be a down payment then.”

  Kane laughs, his sharp teeth glinting in the streetlight. He likes her attitude. This is going to be fun.

  When she gets into the car, he pulls away from the curb and asks, “What’s your name, sweetheart?”

  The girl again smacks her lips together, bends over and unzips his pants. “Most people call me Hoover, but I’ll be anyone you like tonight.”

  Kane laughs. The prostitute begins working on him as he drives away. He turns off on a side street and eases over to the curb. He pulls the girl’s hair away and brings his knife down to the base of her neck. It rakes across her skin, drawing blood.

  He feels the woman tense up, start to pull away.

  “Nice and slow now,” he says. “The longer you make me happy, the longer you have to live.”

  Chapter Thirty-Eight

   

  After stopping at the post office the next morning and calling an emergency meeting with Pearl and Natalie at Dirty Ray’s, I got Jimmy Chester on the phone.

  “I want you to expedite my Board of Rights hearing,” I said.

  “Captain Jankowitz already called me about this. I believe you’re making a mistake, Ms. Sexton.”

  The Rat was no longer calling me “Detective”, and it irritated the hell out of me. “I don’t care what you believe. I want to defend myself at a formal hearing, and the sooner, the better.”

  “These things take time. There are scheduling…”

  “No excuses. I want the hearing set as soon as possible!”

  “It’s your funeral, but…”

  I ended the call and turned to Bernie. “One of these day’s I’m going to serve you a rat for dinner.” Bernie licked his chops as we pulled to the curb in front of the coffee shop.