Internal Threat (6 page)

“Martini, dry. Bowl of cream of tomato soup,” he said gruffly, not bothering to look up when she approached.

Ashley nodded and came back with the order a few minutes later. In her determination to not upset the martini glass, she allowed herself to relax while placing the soup on the table. Slightly fumbling it, a large splash ended up on the man’s tie. He gasped and looked up at her.

“I am so sorry,” Ashley offered.
And so fired
, she thought to herself. The man was glaring at her so she decided to add, “Guess it’s a good thing nobody will ever spot it on that tie.” If she was going to go out, it may as well be with a blast.

The manager hurried over, fawning over the customer. “Mr. Corbert, I’m so sorry. Please send me the cleaning bill. I assure you this young lady will never wait on you again.”

Corbert did not hear him, though. His face had broken into a wide smile which quickly turned into a hearty laugh. He waved the simpering man away but not before the manager shot a murderous look at Ashley.

“I should go pack my things. If you’ll excuse me,” Ashley said to the customer.

“Wait,” Corbert said. “I like the way you delivered that line. You’re an actress?”

Ashley gestured at her waitress outfit. “Clearly.”

The man fished out a business card, handed it across the table. The cream white paper had elegant black lettering on it that read, “Ronald Corbert Films.”

“Call me tomorrow. I’ve got a script I’d like to show you.”

Ashley pocketed the card with a mumbled thanks and headed off. It was not the first time that a male stranger had given her a fancy business card that identified him as a producer or agent. It had taken her only a couple of those instances to realize that the men seldom had acting parts in mind for her.

On her way home, however, she called a friend of hers who worked at a talent agency. “Ever hear of him?” she asked.

“Are you kidding? The guy’s a legend,” her friend replied, causing Ashley’s pulse to quicken. “He’s the king of the B-movies, been around for decades. You should totally call him.”

The next day, Ashley was ensconced on a black leather couch in Ronald Corbert’s Burbank office. She was surrounded by movie posters featuring titles such as “It Came From The Deep” and “Screaming Jailbait” with the lurid artwork to accompany such names.

Corbert was deposited behind a large oak desk covered in stacks of screenplays. “I make about thirty films a year,” he said matter-of-factly. “And I’ve been doing this for a long time so I know how to spot talent. There’s a picture starting in two weeks that I think you’d be perfect for.”

“That would be great,” Ashley answered. Yet, she still found it hard to believe that this opportunity could be a reality. Los Angeles had made her so incredibly jaded that hope was a rare commodity, all of which made her add, “Just out of curiosity, how many other girls have been on this couch and received that line?”

Corbert barked a laugh, waving a finger at her. “That’s exactly why you’re perfect for this part. It’s a smart, tough-as-nails girl who doesn’t believe in love. Until she falls for a killer robot.” He reached into the middle of one of his paper stacks and withdrew a script, tossing it on to the coffee table in front of her. “Read that and let me know what you think.” He stood, indicating the meeting was over.

“Thank you, Mr. Corbert,” Ashley said, picking up the script. “I didn’t mean to imply-”

“I don’t get offended easily, kid. And, by the way, my wife of thirty years bought me that couch. The woman I raised four daughters with, so you don’t need to worry about it being used for any ‘casting sessions’.”

Ashley matched his grin and promised to read the script that night. Two weeks later, the camera trained on her for the first scene of
The Exterminator
. The dialogue was clunky but Ashley made it work. When the film was completed thirteen days later, she knew that she had delivered a believable performance. Her hunch was confirmed when she received a call from Corbert.

“I saw a rough cut and you’re phenomenal. I’d like to do a one-year contract for seven pictures. Five thousand per film. Should I call your agent?”

“You could if I had one. But I can save you the trouble.” Although she thought she may be able to get someone to half-heartedly negotiate for her, Ashley knew that there would be no better person to represent her best interests than herself. “I want twelve per film.” She was surprised at how easily the negotiating process had come to her, knowing instinctively that Corbert would never agree to her requested figure but that it was high enough to let him know that she deserved more. They settled on nine thousand.

For nearly two years, Ashley became the go-to actress for Corbert Films. None of her work ever unspooled in a real movie theater, instead being released straight to DVD. Yet, Ashley still found it rewarding. Her dream had been to act in front of the camera and, although this was not exactly what she had imagined, it was close enough. Living in Los Angeles had been a tiresome grind when living off of her previous paychecks but with the respectable income she made from her film work, it became a city of ceaseless possibilities and entertainment. Nights were spent on the party circuit, trekking from Moomba to Bar Marmont and a myriad of secret clubs down twisting back alleys.

In retrospect, Ashley chided herself for not knowing that it would all have to come to an end. However, she never suspected it would stop so abruptly.

It was the first Friday of the month, the standard day for her to pick up the script for the next film she would be working on. Upon entering the company offices, though, she knew immediately that something was wrong. The phones that always seemed to be jangling off the hook lay quiet. Messenger envelopes were stacked haphazardly next to the front door. Concerned, Ashley headed towards the back where she found Ronald’s grizzled assistant at her desk, sobbing into a tissue.

“Helen? What is it?” Ashley inquired.

“It’s Mr. Corbert. He passed away this morning. Fell and hit his head when he was walking his dog.”

Ashley was floored. Since the beginning of their working relationship, she had looked to Corbert as a father figure, someone that was always looking out for her best interest. Now, suddenly, he was gone. Tears pricked her eyes as she shook her head, devastated.

The funeral was an elaborate affair that the whole industry turned out for. Notable names that had gotten their start in Corbert films gave impassioned eulogies for a man they considered a pioneer of the low-budget genre and his daughters each said a tearful goodbye to their father. As Ashley walked in a daze towards her car, a hand on her shoulder caused her to turn. She found herself facing a short man with close-cropped hair and blue-tinted sunglasses.

“Ashley, I’m Scott Brown.”

“Juliette’s husband,” Ashley recognized the name. He was one of Corbert’s son-in-laws who had occasionally worked on set.

“I’m going to be taking over the company for now and I’d like to talk to you tomorrow.”

“Sure, that’s fine,” Ashley managed to reply. Strange, she thought. Corbert had never talked about Scott in a business capacity before. Usually, he just referred to him as “that little putz,” hardly a term of endearment.

When Ashley arrived the next day, she found Scott sitting at Ronald’s desk, speaking harshly to someone on the other end of the telephone. She was waved inside and took a seat on the black leather couch. Scott hung up and sat down next to her, a little too closer than Ashley would have preferred.

“Thanks for coming, Ashley,” he said. “You’re an asset to Corbert films, no doubt. And I’d like to continue our working relationship.”

“OK,” she replied warily. Scott reached back to pull a script off his desk and slapped it down in front of her. “Biker Babes,” she said, reading the title.

Scott nodded. “I’ve got a new vision for this company, something more contemporary. I’m tired of doing the same old thing, you know?”

“The same old thing seemed to work for Ronald.”

“Yeah, well. He’s not here anymore, is he?” Scott leaned forward, plastering a smile on his face. His breath reeked of Altoids and nicotine. “There are some other changes in how we’re doing things, too.”

“Such as?”
“People today don’t just want shocks and thrills. They want titillation, and that’s what Corbert Films is going to give them.”

“Where are you going with this, Scott?”

“I’d like to see…more of you in the next film.”

Ashley flipped through the pages. “From what I can see, the lead is in almost every scene.”

“More of
you
, Ashley. Know what I mean?”

Ashley knew exactly what he meant and any doubts she may have had were dispelled by his cold eyes and predatory grin. “I’m an actress,” she told him.

“Lots of actresses do nude scenes.”

“I’m not one of them. Ronald never would have-”

“Ronald’s dead,” Scott raised his voice. “It’s sad but it’s the truth.”

“You’re all heart, Scott.”

“I’ll spell it out for you, Ashley. If you don’t do this, I’m canceling your contract.”

Ashley nodded, rising from the couch. “You can go to hell, Scott,” she said calmly. Turning on her heels, she walked out the door.

She did not realize it at that moment but it would be the end of her acting career.

Never having the need for an agent previously, she now found herself in a desperate search for one. Few would take her calls. The ones who did said her only value was in the pictures that were no longer being made by Corbert Films. Three months later, she was still unemployed and nearly broke.

Just as it had a few years earlier at Musso & Frank’s, fate stepped into Ashley’s path to rescue her. This time, it came in the form of an acquaintance that Ashley noticed in the line ahead of her at Starbucks.

“Ashley Kane, where have you been hiding?” the young man asked.

“Here and there,” she answered coyly. She took in his crisp suit and pricey Bluetooth. “What are you doing these days?”

“Making a boatload of money,” he replied with a smile. “You looking for a job?”

She was about to say ‘no’ but stopped herself. Instead, she answered, “As a matter of fact, I am.”

Sales were a natural fit for Ashley. Her effortless charm and negotiating tactics lent themselves easily to the job. Within four months, she was the top salesperson at her server space firm. It was not long before she jumped ship and started her own company, planting her offices on bustling Beverly Boulevard. The business was always humming with only one obstacle ever in her way – Matt Weatherly. The man seemed to always be a step ahead of her in sniffing out the next client.

As Ashley swirled the last sip of her espresso, she rose from her outside table and headed back in the direction of her office. She had finally arrived at a conclusion for Weatherly’s mysterious behavior. If he gave up TekStar, she mused, he must have something even bigger on the hook.

And Ashley was going to find out what it was.

“L
ook in your glove compartment,” the voice on the phone instructed Matt. Since he had answered a few moments ago, there had been nothing but commands. The first one had been to exit the house.

“I’m not doing one damn thing for you until you tell me what’s going on!” Matt roared.

“Relax,” came the answer.

If his blood was not boiling, Matt would have laughed. “How dare you tell me to relax after what you’ve done. You killed two of my friends – two innocent people! And I want to know why.”

“Let me begin by telling you that Colin Nemec was not so innocent. He has been hiding clients and commissions from you for six months, most likely to fuel his addiction to expensive alcohol and prostitutes.”

“How could you know something like that?” Matt found himself asking.

“As far as you are concerned, Weatherly, I am omnipotent. Now, go outside to your car.”

“I’m done following orders.” Matt hung up the phone. He took Luke by the shoulder, guiding him to the front door.

“Where are we going?” Luke asked.

“The police. We have to-”

The phone rang again. Matt hesitated, then punched the button to answer. “I told you I’m done-”

The smooth male voice on the other end interrupted, “Right now, I am looking through a sighting scope at a little girl riding her bicycle on your street. She is wearing a yellow shirt, orange ribbon in her hair. If I used words such as ‘adorable,’ it would be appropriate in this instance.”

Matt stepped to his front window. Outside, he saw the girl the man was describing. It was the younger daughter of his neighbors, the Rabins, pedaling furiously on a bike with training wheels. She began to tip over but was saved by her father exiting the garage and righting her.

“Oh, here comes Daddy,” the killer continued. “I wonder what he would think if his daughter suddenly did not possess a head.”

Frigid cold shot through Matt’s veins.

“I have the gun trained on her right now. Pretty easy shot, actually. You no doubt remember how accurate a Barrett 50-caliber rifle is, correct, Captain Weatherly?”

Matt remembered. If the man was telling the truth, then it would be as simple as plucking off a tin can from a nearby fence. “What do you want?” he whispered.

“Right now, I want you and Luke to get in the car. We will get to the rest after that.”

“My son stays here,” Matt replied. “He doesn’t need to be involved.”

“Afraid not. He goes, too. Besides, do you really want to leave him all alone with some murderous maniac on the loose?”

Options pulsed through Matt’s head but he arrived at the same conclusion: Luke was safer for the moment at his side. There was no way he could leave him here alone with Ana’s body and the killer so nearby. Whatever this man’s plan was, he would have to follow it for now.

He stepped out the front door with Luke and walked to his car. As they did, the Rabin daughter and her father called out hello and waved. Matt nodded and waved back, silently praying for them to get back in the house. As Luke climbed into his Porsche, Matt was relieved to see his neighbors enter back into the safety of their home.