“The last one’s somebody who might have been involved with her in getting the kids to Papadrious and is worried she’ll mention his name if they find her. If that’s the case, we might just snuff his sorry ass, pro bono.”
LifeEnders never told anyone who their clients were. No names had been mentioned, but Morgan’s comments were a clear indication of their close business relationship with the Ferry. Of course, the Ferry never told anyone—except LifeEnders, in cases like this—who their clients were, either.
“She told us she had to be dead before today.” Mark shook his head. “She knew this was coming. Anyway, we punched her ticket around noon yesterday. She’s history.”
“Good job. Case closed…Hey, I’ve got to be up in your neighborhood Wednesday morning. Lunch at Duffy’s? Say around noon?”
Mark checked his schedule. “Sure—I’ve got nothing in the morning, Lisa’s got a late prospect in the afternoon. Duffy’s at noon, sounds good.”
“See you then,” Morgan responded with a leer. “Give Lisa a pat on the ass for me.”
Chapter Twenty-Two
Maurice
“I’m curious, Mr. LeChance.” Lisa studied the man seated in front of her desk. “You’re a successful TV personality. Why are you here?”
“Oh, please, call me Maurice.” He gave her a most engaging smile—the same smile that had charmed millions of children via Magic World, the nation’s most popular “social education” TV show.
“I don’t know…” The smile took on a note of sadness. “It really seems like the only option now. I’m sure you’ve heard all that horrible stuff that’s being said about me on social media.”
“I pay very little attention to social media, Maurice.” Lisa gave him an engaging smile of her own. “There’s so much disinformation out there, after all.”
Maurice LeChance was 29 years old, a good-looking black man—or medium brown, to be exact, just dark enough to avoid any accusations of ‘non-blackness’ from the activists who constantly badgered Hollywood over perceived maltreatment of people of color. In fact, the producers of Magic World often held him up as an example of the diversity of the show’s cast and crew. Of course, his ethnic background wasn’t the only thing that made him a darling of the diversity crowd.
Maurice was gay, was in fact what Lisa thought of as a ‘straight gay’ person. What she meant by this apparent oxymoron was that Maurice had no transgender aspirations. He was born a man, and was quite happy to proclaim himself a man, even to the point of boasting about his manhood when asked about it by Hollywood gossipmongers.
He was equally candid about being gay. He got along fine with women in social situations—was quite charming, in fact—but had no interest in them otherwise. He wore men’s clothing, but his flashy, expensive, style-conscious choices were a subtle homage to his homosexuality. He also displayed his orientation with speech patterns and mannerisms that were almost stereotypical. His name had been associated with a string of male partners with whom he’d had brief but public liaisons, though he was currently unattached.
“Well, it hasn’t been announced yet, but the show will not be renewing my contract. It’s all because of that social-media nonsense—yes, disinformation—you’re so right about that. And now the producers tell me they’re getting some nasty remarks from viewers who are threatening to use parental controls to block…oh, you know. It’s so hard to be a children’s TV role model these days.”
“Well, as I said,” Lisa replied, “I pay little attention to gossip, and none of this has hit the news yet, so…”
“Oh, but it will—as soon as they announce that I’m being cut from the show! Those awful news people will be digging for every bit of trash they can find on me, and they’ll be fighting each other to see who can come up with the juiciest bits.
“It’s all so unfair,” he sniffed, wiping a tear from his eye. “There’s no proof of any of it, and nobody’s come forward to accuse me.”
Unfair, no proof, nobody accusing…but you haven’t said it isn’t true, Lisa noted. Now, if you’d just tell me what ‘it’ is.
“Accuse you of what, Maurice?” She gave him her most sympathetic look.
“Child molestation, of course,” he said, with a dismissive wave of his hand. “It’s all because I went to a few parties with that horrible Papadrious person—I mean, he invited me, and other people were there too, but because I’m gay, they just assume…”
“You mean his public parties? Just about everybody who’s anybody in Hollywood went to at least one of them. Why would anyone…?”
“Well…there were a few private parties, too. And yes, he had kids there. The kids loved to see me—I think that’s why he invited me—but I swear, none of them got hurt while I was there. I mean, there was some fooling around, but…”
“Fooling around?” She gave him a stern, reproving look.
“Now wait a minute…I’m not saying anything bad happened!” He was suddenly defensive. “You’re not recording this, are you?”
“Of course not. Everything that happens inside Charon’s Ferry is kept absolutely confidential. Nobody’s ever going to know what’s said inside these walls,” she assured him. Except me and Mark. And hell yes, we’re recording it! We always do.
“Well, a few times there were these young boys—I don’t know, maybe 10 or 11 years old…well, maybe some were a little younger—and we played some games. We took off our clothes and fooled around. Nobody forced anybody. Really, we were all just having fun.
“I showed them my magnificent man-thing and let them play with it. Didn’t ask anybody to do any more than that…well, maybe sometimes some of them did. They liked the taste of…well, anyway, we just played around.
“I showed them how to play with theirs and with each other. So cute, you know—a couple of kids going oral on each other when they’re not even old enough to get hard. Maybe I did it with few of them, too, but I never forced anybody. It was all just happy games, and we swore it was a secret club they could never tell anybody about, and…”
He trailed off, seeing the look on her face.
“I see…” she said. “And this is what’s showing up on social media? With details?”
“No details, but there’s enough there that I know some of the kids must have ratted me out to their parents. Parents aren’t going to talk about it—never admit that their kid was involved—but stuff gets around.
“None of the kids I was fooling around with were hurt—not like that other stuff they say Papadrious did. I mean, this was before he got really bad. I didn’t go to any of those parties after he started hurting kids. I quit when that woman they’re looking for started bringing them to him. I mean, she tricked those kids. She didn’t care about them the way I did.”
Lisa didn’t comment on his reference to Honey Ryder. The media were still speculating, but the police had already announced that she was dead, and they were no longer looking for her.
“But you knew he was doing it?” She pointed an accusing finger at him.
“Everybody in Hollywood knew! But they all kept quiet about it. He had stuff on too many people and enough money to pay LifeEnders to shut people up.”
“Until LifeEnders shut him up.” Lisa couldn’t suppress an ironic snort. “Is that what you’re afraid will happen to you?”
“No…if it does, it won’t make much difference—I won’t be any deader than you’re going to make me. But I don’t think anybody will go that far.
“Really, I didn’t hurt any of those kids. I love kids…I just enjoy playing with naked little boys, but it really was play, and they could’ve stopped anytime. They kept doing it because they liked me, and they knew I wouldn’t hurt them—I’m just Lucky Maurice, the happy, funny guy they’ve seen on the show for years.
“I really want you people to do me because that way it’ll all just go away. Social media will quit talking about it, and a few years from now, nobody will remember any of it. If somebody looks me up on Wiki, they’
ll just find Lucky Maurice, the beloved children’s star. That’s how I want to be remembered—not as a child molester who got his brains blown out in public by a LifeEnders agent.
“Charon’s Ferry clients just disappear.” He shrugged. “There’s never a big story on the evening news…sometimes nobody even knows they’re dead until it’s not a story any longer. I plan to let the producers know ahead of time—it’ll be a big relief to them if they can just say I died. They won’t have to tell anybody they were going to drop me or answer any questions.
“Maybe the social media freaks will still keep trashing me, but nobody will be listening anymore. That’s the way I want it. That’s why I’m here.”
“I understand,” Lisa said.
In fact, she did understand. She found herself actually having some sympathy for the guy. He really didn’t want to hurt those kids, really believed he was just having fun with them. He’s just like a kid himself. He may be fucked up in the head, but he’s not evil.
“All right, Maurice, let’s get down to business. You may be relieved to hear that as soon as you sign a contract with us, LifeEnders will no longer accept a contract from anyone who wants them to kill you. Of course, if you fail to show up here at the appointed time, you become fair game for them once again.”
“Likewise, if anyone has already taken out a LifeEnders contract on you, I’m not allowed to sign you up with us; but I just checked, and—as of right now—LifeEnders doesn’t have you on their list, so we’re OK to proceed.”
“Now…here are some standard provisions of our contract that I’m required to go over with you…”
Mark had returned from his lunch with Morgan—an enjoyable hour of swapping Marine Corps “war stories”—and had ushered LeChance into Lisa’s office. He had nothing scheduled for the afternoon, so he continued to work at the reception desk while Lisa negotiated with the prospect. He’d given this one to her because the guy was openly gay. Lisa always seemed to relate well with members of the LGBT community, whether they were male, female, or undecided.
His brief interaction with Maurice at the front desk had convinced him that the guy was definitely not undecided. He’s definitely a man, but he bats for the other team—and he’s not shy about it. Their contact had lasted no more than a minute, but LeChance had tried to hit on him twice in that short time.
He looked up as the terminal pinged at him—a message from Lisa.
He’s willing to sign, standard contract, method of our choice, but he wants pre-term service. Willing to pay outrageous money for it. Need your approval.
Mark was puzzled by the message. Lisa had full authority to negotiate pre-term services, and was in fact incredibly good at it. He might have questioned her judgment in one case—the lesbian bikers—but in the end, she’d taken care of the problem. And she rarely consulted him in advance, so why was she messaging him…unless…
What kind of pre-term service?
He wants to have sex. With you.
Not a chance.
$1,000,000.
Mark stared at the number, then pulled up the report they had on LeChance. Yes, he could afford it, many times over—and like most Ferry clients, the money didn’t mean anything to him (or wouldn’t three days from now).
But Lisa had once said that if you look up the word ‘heterosexual’ on Wiki, you’d see Mark’s picture. He wasn’t just not interested—he found the idea of having sex with another man repulsive. He was still staring at the number when another message came up.
We both do crazy things in the name of business. Remember Moreno and Langsdorf? Lisa knew that was a sensitive spot with him—he blamed himself for the abuse she’d taken at their hands.
You thought that was going to be fun—found out too late what they had in mind, he replied. Define ‘have sex.’ What exactly does he expect?
He knew she was smiling on the other end, knowing that she had him going in the right direction. She would get him to agree in the end, but he wasn’t going to let her—or LeChance—have a blank check. She was taking her time with the reply, probably discussing it with the client.
Oral/Anal, both ways. You on him, him on you.
Negative. Oral, him on me. That’s all.
It wouldn’t be the first time. Mark had been fooled by a cross-dresser in a bar in Thailand when he was in the Marines. He’d been drunk at the time and had gotten a blow job out of the deal, then beat the shit out of the guy—when he found out it was a guy. But in retrospect, it had been a good blow job.
Not enough. Needs a better offer.
Now it was his turn to pause. What was he willing to do for a million bucks?
Oral, him on me. Anal, me on him.
He says your man-thing gets fun, his gets none. No deal. All or nothing, anal/oral, both ways. Says try it, you might like it. Besides, it’s his last wish.
Mark played his last card, knowing he was going to lose.
$2,000,000
The reply came back instantly.
Done deal.
Chapter Twenty-Three
Katie Kim
It was Thursday, Time Out Day, and Mark was doing routine maintenance on some of the Ferry’s systems. He had originally planned the company as a one-man operation, and he’d built the place with the ultimate in automatic systems to ease the everyday task of maintaining the building.
He’d been a fairly wealthy man at the start of the project but had put almost every dollar he had into the startup venture. When construction was finished, he was down to a ramen-noodles-every-day food budget, but he owned the building free and clear.
And now his careful planning was paying off. He could do almost everything needed to keep the place running, all by himself, using just one or two Time Out Days per month.
He and Lisa had spent a wild night in her huge bed. She’d told him she owed him for the Maurice deal—knew she’d shamelessly manipulated him to get him to agree—and tonight was his party, whatever he wanted.
They’d slept late and finally arrived in the office—in Time Out mode—after 10:00 AM. They had no clients or prospects coming in, so Lisa had dressed in business casual—slacks, blouse, and sensible shoes. Mark had dressed in his maintenance day uniform—jeans, t-shirt, and work boots. He would add a set of coveralls when he arrived in the basement workshop to gather tools and supplies. Today’s first project involved scheduled replacement of the 24 filters that served the building’s complex heating and air conditioning system. He had just finished the task at noon when Lisa called. She’d been working on an inventory of the Ferry’s consumables and supplies and wanted him to review her shopping list.
“Let’s break for lunch,” he told her. “We can look it over after that, then I can go back to my chores.” He stripped off the coveralls and cleaned up, then went to meet her in the cafeteria.
They had just finished lunch, and Mark was looking over Lisa’s list when both of their pads chimed with the special tone that indicated a request for attention from the security system. Lisa got her pad out first.
“Someone’s at the gate—they just hit the call button.” She brought up the kiosk connection on her screen.
“Well…look who’s here.” She showed Mark the image of an attractive young Asian woman in the driver’s seat of a small car.
“Right…Katie Kim. Can’t be a really big story, or they’d have sent one of their first-stringers.”
Kim was a junior investigative reporter for a local television and live-streaming news station. Like most such people, Mark suspected she’d gotten the job more for her good looks—derived from pure Korean heritage—and clear, pleasant voice than for any journalistic talent she might have.
On the other hand, he liked her reports—as much as he could be said to ‘like’ any media reporting these days—because she didn’t try to spin her reporting, tell her viewers what to think, or fake an emotional involvement, like so many media personalities did. Occasionally, she even checked her facts before opening her mouth. Unfortunate
ly, that meant she was probably doomed to the lower ranks of street reporting—chasing the little stories that more senior correspondents didn’t want to do.
“May I help you?” Lisa inquired, answering in audio-only mode so Kim couldn’t see her on the kiosk screen.
“Katie Kim—KQXZ News—I was wondering if I might speak to a Mr.…” she consulted her own pad, “…Mark Marshall.”
Lisa looked at Mark with a raised eyebrow. He grinned at her and picked up his pad, also selecting audio-only.
“This is Mark Marshall,” he said cheerfully. “What can I do for you, Ms. Kim?”
“Mr. Marshall?” She seemed surprised that he had actually taken the call. “I wanted to talk to you about the late Honey Ryder.”
“Who?” Mark rolled his eyes and Lisa suppressed a chuckle.
“I’m sure you know who I’m talking about…your recent client, the actress Honey Ryder. We have it on good authority that she came here to end her life.”
“What ‘good authority’ would that be, Ms. Kim? The internet? Social Media? I hate to tell you this, but your ‘good authority’ is giving you bad information.”
“Department of Human Services says she’s dead. As best we can determine, LifeEnders didn’t do it, so…”
“DHS is usually accurate, so you can probably assume she’s actually dead,” Mark said with amusement. “As for LifeEnders, they have their own rules of confidentiality, but if they kill somebody, they usually don’t deny it. So I guess you can safely assume they didn’t, but that does not mean we did.
“People die all the time, Ms. Kim…and your superiors should already have told you the Ferry does not discuss any of its clients—or non-clients, for that matter. If somebody comes here tomorrow and asks us if you were here today, they will get the same answer you are getting now: No Comment.”
The Ferryman Page 16