City of Mirrors (14 page)

“I don't think he's lying.”

“Why?”

“I just don't think he'd take money for a key, especially that key.”

“Why not?”

“My mother.” I could feel my emotions coming undone.

“You mean because she may have gone to bed with him?”

“Because she may
not
have, Ryan.” I snapped. “She may have done just what he said—helped him.”

I realized I wanted to think of her as caring for the “mislaid man.” I wanted to find a way to love her. I looked into the rearview mirror again. The guy wearing the white helmet was leaning low over his handlebars speeding close behind us.

“What's the word for a single paparazzi?” I asked.

“Paparazzo. The term comes from a character's name in the movie
La Dolce Vita
. Paparazzo was a photographer who took pictures of stars by hiding in bushes and stalking them. He was based on a real person Fellini knew. Why?”

“Look behind us.”

He craned around to peer out the back window. “There
is
only one.”

“You're right, Ryan. They should have taken the money shot.” I gripped the steering wheel more tightly. I checked the rearview mirror again. The guy on the bike was right on my tail.

P
ressing down on the accelerator, the old Jag surged forward. I swerved into the other lane.

Ryan clung to his seat belt. “So if they're not fame suckers, then they're … ?”

“Parson's men?”

“Oh, shit, Diana. I am a dead man.”

I made a sharp turn onto a narrow neighborhood street. The biker did the same. Small bungalows fronted by patches of brown grass lined the uneven sidewalks. Plastic tricycles stood in a few of the yards like lawn ornaments. I slowed down; so did he.

“Where is the other guy?” Beads of sweat dotted Ryan's forehead.

“Maybe he wanted to find out from P. J. Binder what we talked about. He might still be back there.”

The street emptied out onto a busy four-lane avenue. I sped up again, racing past old one-story stucco buildings housing barbershops, bleak bars, and bail bondsmen fighting for space with McDonald's, Taco Bell and Burger King. I ran a yellow light and glanced in the rearview mirror. The biker was so close that he looked like he was connected to my bumper. Moving in and out of the traffic, I cut in front of a bus and swung a right, tires screeching, then quickly made a sharp left.

“Not into an alley!” Ryan stiffened his hands pressing against the dashboard. “They always dead-end into brick walls.”

The biker was still there in my mirror.

“Look out for the garbage cans,” Ryan gasped as we careered by iron-gated back doors.

“Oh God,” I blurted, slamming on the brakes.

“Fuck, a brick wall! I
told
you. I told you.” Ryan braced himself against his seat.

It rose up in front of us like a big
you're dead
sign. I pressed the brake pedal to the floor. Rubber burned. The wall loomed closer. The Jag made a grinding noise as it veered and skidded to a jolting halt, its hood inches from the bricks. We pitched forward and then backward.

Adrenalin pumping, my eyes darted to the rearview mirror again. I watched the bike tilt sideways, sliding down on the pavement as it flew toward us.

“He's going to smash into us,” I warned. There was a loud thump as the bike hit us and the Jag lurched again, bumping the wall.

“Perfect. We've killed one of Parson's men.” Ryan craned around, looking out the back window. “Unless he
was
paparazzi and then we could be sued.”

“I don't care anymore.” I flung open the car door and got out.

His white helmet on and visor down, the man had been thrown against a pile of garbage bags. Grabbing at his leg, he writhed in pain. His bike lay half under the car.

“Who are you?” I stared down at him. Ryan came up behind me, peering over my shoulder.

“You fucking bitch. You broke my leg.” He struggled into a sitting position, leaning against the rust and piss-stained wall.

Extending below the knitted cuff of his blue windbreaker, I could see two words tattooed vertically down to his wrist: With You. The thug at the yacht had had a tattoo that read: One Night With You.

“Tell Parson to leave me alone,” I ordered.

He lifted his face guard so I could see his cold eyes. “I should kill you right now.”

“Diana, let's not irritate him,” Ryan whispered in my ear.

“What does Parson want from me?” I demanded.

“What he always wants now. Information about his daughter,” he said through clenched teeth.

“Where's your partner?”

“He left.”

“He's talking to P. J. Binder, isn't he?”

“Fuck off.” The guy squirmed and moaned, his right hand reaching behind him toward his lower back.

Ryan bolted from behind me and stomped his foot down hard on the man's arm. The biker groaned and swore. Ryan and I stared at each other, both of us startled by his bold action. Then I moved quickly and reached under the man and grabbed the gun from his waistband.

“Glock. 47.” Ryan said, still pinning the man's arm to the asphalt.

“Move the bike, Ryan.” I pointed the Glock at the biker as Ryan loped toward the motorcycle.

“I thought you guys were pros,” I said. “But you're not even as good as Ryan and me.” I glanced quickly at Ryan. Grunting, he had the bike righted and was wrestling it toward the side of the alley. I looked back at Parson's lackey.

His emotionless eyes were riveted on me. “You're dead,” he said in a flat voice.

I knew he meant it, but I kept my voice and the gun steady, continuing to talk as if no threat hung in the air between us. “Rule number one in acting. If you're playing a photographer, pretend to use your camera. You should've taken the money shot.”

Turning on my heels, I got into the car and slammed the door. I stared at the thug's gun in my trembling hand. The grip felt a little big and I wondered if they came in different sizes, like tennis racket handles. Ryan slipped in next to me. I put the weapon in the glove compartment and started the engine.

“You're going to keep it?” Ryan wiped sweat off his face with a crumpled paper cocktail napkin he'd found in his shirt pocket.

“Yes.” I threw the car in reverse.

“Can't you turn the heat off?”

“No.”

As I backed the Jag slowly down the alley past the thug our eyes met for a chilling moment. And I knew he was watching me all the way, letting me know he would be seeing me again. Finding an opening in the traffic, I swerved backwards onto the street and put the car into
drive
.

“Do you believe what I did?” Ryan beamed.

“You saved us.” I smiled gratefully.

“I did, didn't I? Shouldn't we be going the other way?” He shifted in his seat.

“I'm going back to Binder's place. We may have unintentionally gotten him involved in this whole thing.”

“This is crazy, Diana. Turn around.” His bravery had disappeared as quickly as it had appeared. “We're artists,” he pleaded. “We create situations like this, we don't live them. That's for… .” He waved a hand in the air. “Other people.”

“Get used to it, Ryan. We're other people now.”

I
sped into the pool-supplies lot and slammed on the brakes. The red Beamer was still parked in its place, but there was no sign of a motorcycle.

“The others guy's not here. Let's go,” Ryan said.

“If you didn't want to be seen, you wouldn't park your bike in front, would you?”

“Yes, I would.” He tried to look sincere.

I retrieved the gun from the glove compartment.

“Oh, God, Diana, don't take the gun.”

“Come on.”

Squinting in the sun, I gestured to a narrow path that ran beside the pool supply store. “Check it out.”

“For what?”

“The bike.”

Constantly peering over his shoulder as if an assassin waited on every roof, Ryan hurried to the path, then rushed back to me. “What if I told you there was no motorcycle hidden down there?”

“Writers are terrible actors. What happened to your new-found bravery?”

“An aberration,” he said as we headed for the entrance. “We could get killed! I mean with real bullets, real knives, real bombs, real fists, real pain. Keep that thing pointed toward the ground!” With his fingertips he pushed the muzzle down. “I need a drink.”

I peered through the dusty front window; nothing looked disturbed. Slowly, I edged the shop door open. Inside, the whirring of the overhead fan was the only sound. The young woman with gray nail polish and lipstick was nowhere in sight, but Binder's office door was ajar.

Pulse pounding, I raised the gun and used my foot to open the door wider. Ryan pressed close. I could feel the tension in his body. Or was it in mine? I slid inside the room. A few feet away from me lay a black helmet and a gun. The biker, sitting up against the back wall of the office as if he had been blown there by a strong gust of wind, had a hole in his chest the size of a grapefruit. A bloody trail on the wall showed where he had slid down.

“Oh, shit,” Ryan murmured, turning ashen. “We're not in Kansas anymore, Toto.”

“We never were, Dorothy.”

Opposite the corpse was Binder's desk. The chair had been spun away to face the wall. On the floor lay Binder's invoices and white chunks of drywall blown loose by the power of a gun. I moved closer and saw Binder sitting on the floor behind the desk, holding a blood-soaked shoulder. He stared up at me unspeaking, eyes dazed.

I dropped to my knees beside him. “Thank God you're alive.” I shouted over my shoulder, “Call 911, Ryan!”

“I already called 'em,” Binder managed through his pain.

Ryan grabbed the jean jacket from the floor and crouched beside Binder, pressing it against his wound. He was brave again.

“Where's your girlfriend?” I asked Binder.

“Pearl? She ran. The bastard wanted to know what I told you.”

“What did you say to him?”

“Nothing. He talked to Pearl like he knew her. Wouldn't let her leave my office. Kept grabbing at her.”

“Like he knew her in what way?” Ryan asked.

“A way I didn't like,” he snapped. “The little shit had the swagger of a man who was carrying.”

“Do you think he intended to kill you?” I asked.

“I wasn't going to wait to find out. As he pulled Pearl to him, I swung around to snatch my rifle. When I spun back his gun was already out. He shot high, I shot better.” He grinned, then winced. “Mommy ran like a dog loose on a freeway. See if you can find her.” He leaned his head against the wall and closed his eyes. “I don't want to lose her.”

“Stay with him,” I told Ryan, getting to my feet. Moving back into the anteroom, I wondered how one of Parson's men, now dead, had known Pearl. The air stirred with the overhead fan. “Pearl!” I called out.

Soft whimpering sounded from behind the receptionist's counter. Walking to it, I peered behind. The young woman was on her knees, hands over her ears, rocking back and forth. Her black eyeliner had smudged and streaked her face. I crouched next to her, easing one of her hands from an ear.

“It was so loud. It was so loud. Is Daddy dead?”

“No. Help is coming,” I told her.

“I have to go see him.”

I held on to her hand. “How did you know the dead man in Binder's office?”

Her eyes looked away from mine. “I didn't.”

“He thought you did. The police are going to be here any minute. Do you want to tell me or them?”

“You won't tell Daddy?” she asked in a low, desperate voice.

“No.” I shook my head for emphasis.

“He was a client from way back.”

Way back? She had to be all of twenty-five, I thought. “What kind of client?”

“What do you think? But I stopped hooking when I met Daddy. Until… .” She fell silent, her lips pressing together.

I thought about a young woman living with an old man who had a key that somebody wanted. “Tell me about the key, Pearl.”

She blinked at me.

“Did you have a copy made?”

”You won't tell the police, will you?” She clutched at my shoulder. “I never thought I would miss it. But I did.”

“Miss what?”

“The game. It was a lot better at the Bel Air house. The money was good, and some of the men were celebs. We weren't hurting anybody. The men got what they wanted, and I made a little extra cash.”

“Did the dead man in Binder's office go to the Bel Air house for sex, too?”

“No. That was a long time ago.”

“Who asked you to get the key?”

“Zack.”

“Zackary Logan?”

She nodded. “He used to be my pimp. We sort of started out together in our teens. He was looking for a posh kinda place. I told him about the house where Daddy cleaned the pool. I knew it was empty.”

“Did you know Jenny Parson?”

“The actress who died?” She shook her head. “But Zack knew her.”

“Was she one of his girls?

She bit her lower lip. “Zack bragged about her. I didn't believe him. Pimps always talk big. But I never saw her at the house. I was always alone when I went there.”

“Alone except for a celeb and the man with the video camera?”

“No. He never taped me.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes. No. I don't know. Then one day he says I won't be needed anymore.”

“Did he say why?”

“He was changing his business plan. Like he really had one. Then he told me to keep my mouth shut or he'd tell Daddy what I'd done there.” Her chin quivered.

“Did Zack mention any other names?” In the far distance I could hear sirens.

“Sometimes he'd get calls where he seemed to be taking orders from someone. It sounded like he was talking to a woman. Sometimes he seemed scared.”

“He was murdered yesterday.”

She recoiled from me. “I didn't have anything to do with that!”

I heard a shuffling sound and glanced over Pearl's shoulder. Leaning on Ryan for support, Binder stood in his office doorway, stooped, holding the bloody jacket against his shoulder.

“You won't tell Daddy, will you?” she continued, unaware of his presence. “I don't want to lose him.” She dropped her head and began to cry.

He had said the same thing about her. Staring back at Binder, I thought about the hell Pearl had unintentionally created by going back to her old life and selling a key. And the pain I had just caused Binder because he had heard most of our conversation. The hurt that showed on his blanched face wasn't just physical.

“You two better go before the cops arrive,” Binder ordered.

At the sound of his voice, Pearl froze.

“There's no reason for you to be involved,” Binder continued. “Or for Pearl. We know nothing about a key. We know nothing about the Bel Air house, you both understand me?”

“Yes.” Holding the Glock, I got to my feet.

“I'll tell 'em it was an attempted burglary. Get up, Mommy. Daddy's going to take care of you.”

Pearl climbed unsteadily to her feet. Holding out her arms, she went to him.

The rescue sirens grew louder as Ryan and I ran for the Jag.