The Boy Who Never Grew Up (23 page)

“You were where?”

“Way up near the top of Mandeville Canyon. I almost cracked up my car when he told me. Maybe that’s what I should do—drive off a cliff. Then this would all be over …
Jesus
… Norbert said he’d find me another lawyer. He said everything will work out. I don’t know. I don’t know what to do anymore. About anything.”

“Nobody does,” I said. “You do what you have to do. Sometimes things work out all right for you and most of the time they don’t.”

Her eyes searched my face. “Don’t they?”

“In the real world we just live unhappily ever after.”

“They said on the radio they were looking for Johnny.” She stubbed her cigarette out on the pavement and sighed wistfully. “The teen fan magazines decided we were an item after the first movie came out. He actually did ask me out once. We went to see Michael Jackson at the Forum. A limo took us. Afterwards, we made out in the back seat. It was like kissing your boyfriend in kindergarten. So sweet and harmless. He turned gay right after that. I sometimes think I was the one who drove him to it. Poor Johnny, he just can’t stay out of trouble.”

“He didn’t do it. He and Matthew were together at the time.”

She swallowed, startled. “Then who did?”

“Excellent question. The cop who’s on it will find out. He’s an old friend. Good man. Major fan of yours, too. Rising star in the department, real cute. Want to meet him?”

“You’re busting me, aren’t you? Sorry, I guess I’m not much in the mood for jokes right now.” She pushed herself up off the Vette and started back to her own car.

“Why don’t you go inside?” I asked, glancing at the two Shelleys’ house.

She stopped there in the middle of the street. “What makes you think I want to?”

“Wild guess.”

She put her hands on her hips. “Maybe I was waiting here for
you
,” she suggested provocatively.

“Now who’s busting who?”

She looked at the house. “They hate me,” she said softly.

“I’ll go in with you,” I offered. “Me they like—so far. And they don’t hate you.”

“Bunny does.”

“Okay, Bunny does. What do you say?”

She hesitated a moment. “I have to get Georgie home.” She walked back to her car.

I followed. He was still asleep, burbling quietly. “Seems like a very well-behaved little guy,” I said as we stood there, looking in at him.

“He’s an angel,” she said. “I love him to death. Does Matthew … does he ever ask about him?”

“He started crying before, just thinking about him. Georgie’s favorite scene in
Dennis
came on the TV.”

“I know just which one it is,” she said. “It’s when Dennis meets Althea and he … and she … and they …” The tears came first. Then the sobs, big wrenching ones. And then she hurled herself into my arms and let go completely. I held on tight. She was small and slim, but a sturdy little package, her back ridged with muscle, her clutch pythonlike. When she was all cried out she released me. I gave her my linen handkerchief.

“I—I don’t know why I did that,” she blubbered, using it.

“You’re upset.”

“But I hardly know you.”

“Think nothing of it. People cry in front of me all the time. I seem to have that effect on them.”

“You’re awfully nice,” she sniffled.

“No, I’m not.”

She studied me, her porcelain blue eyes shimmering. “I meant, you’re very comforting.”

“I’m a good, hot bowl of Cream of Wheat, all right.”

“In case you didn’t know it, Cassie has a terrible crush on you.”

“Don’t remind me.”

“And she’s not the only one who does.” She whispered that. I barely heard it. Maybe I never heard it at all. She gave me back my handkerchief. Then she got in and drove off.

I watched the lights of her car disappear down the road …
“What makes them so special, Meat
?
”
… I don’t believe I’d ever missed Merilee as much as I did right then, standing there in the road, holding my wet hankie. I missed her so much my chest ached. I took a couple of deep breaths in and out. Then I shook myself and climbed into Tod Stiles’s Vette and headed back to the dream factory.

The phone was ringing in the Ramon Novarro bungalow when I came in. Merilee. She missed me. She couldn’t live without me. Her. It was her. It had to be her.

I lunged for it. “Hello?”

“Gawd, you’re such a star.”

It wasn’t her. “In what sense, Cassandra?”

“I mean, ya get so used to people not living up to their own hype,” she gushed. “But you, wham, this thing’s already going right through the roof. I’m in awe. No shit—
awe
.” She lowered her voice conspiratorially. “Didja steal Penny’s negatives yourself? Is that how ya did it? Your secret’s safe with me.”

“Actually, I rather thought
you
did it.”

She let loose her shriek of a laugh. “Me? No way, Jose.” She lowered her voice again. “What about Zorch and his boyfriend? Didja kill ’em?”

“What do you think?”

“It occurred to me, I gotta confess, that ya mighta. I mean, you’re
so
lucky, and nobody’s this lucky, but—nah—you’re too classy to shoot down two guys. Ya wouldn’t. Ya didn’t.” She came up for air. “Didja?”

“They were dead when I got there.”

“Yeah, yeah, shewa. So listen, I’m out here in Trancas and Penny just called and—”

“Locked in a heavy give-and-take session with Big Steve?”

“Jealous?”

“I don’t believe so.”

“She said they think maybe Johnny didn’t do it.”

“Evidently not. What time did you get out there?”

“Me? Hey, forget it, honey. I been here since five. Took a dip in the blue Pacific. Neighbors can vouch for me.”

“And Trace? Where was he?”

“Someplace up the beach. He come shambling in about seven-thoity. He has no concept of time. None. He’s the reason I’m calling. Penny said you’re tight with the cop who’s investigating it.”

“I wouldn’t exactly call it tight.”

“Trace wants him to know that the fight he had with Zorch at Spago was just … Here, wait, I’ll let him tell ya. Trace, wake up! Christ, he’s so laid back he’s comatose. Hey, honey, wake up! I got Hoagy here, willya?”

There was a rustling, followed by the heavy breathing thing. “How the hell are you, Buck?”

“Just dandy, Trace.”

“I … uh … I wouldn’t want anybody getting the wrong idea about me and Abel. He was a worm, and I hated his fucking guts, but it’s not like I’d kill him or anything. What I mean is, I already got enough problems without the cops mixing me up in some fag killing. Half the casting directors in town are fags. They’ll cut me dead if they think I had anything to do with it.”

“Where were you when it happened, Trace?”

He yawned. “Right here.”

“Cassandra just told me you weren’t.”

“She did? But I was … I see what you’re saying. I wasn’t home, but I was
here.
Up the beach, visiting a sick friend.”

“What’s her name?”

“Hey, let’s not get too carried away here, Buck,” Trace warned roughly. “I’m not involved in this thing, remember?”

“What are you doing tomorrow, Trace?”

“Maybe a joint at sunrise,” he replied. “Couple of margaritas for breakfast. Care to join me?”

“I thought you’d never ask.”

“Come on out. I’ll be here all day. Fourth house from the left, one looks like it’s ready to fall over. Takes after me.”

“I’ll be there. Could I speak with Cassandra again?”

She got back on. “So listen, Hoagy, if there’s anything I can do …”

“Actually, there is.”

“Gawd! This is like a dream. My old lady in Bensonhurst won’t believe this. Just name it. Anything.”

“You used to work for the
Enquirer.
Know anybody here in the L.A. bureau?”

“Yeah, yeah, shewa. Coupla people.”

“Think they might tell you how they got hold of the negatives? Off the record, I mean.”

“I was wondering about that myself,” she admitted. “They may not, since they know I’m woiking for her. But I could try, if ya want me to.”

“I want you to.”

“Hey, it’s done. I’m like Domino’s. I deliver—right to your door.”

“The phone will be fine, thanks.”

“Does this mean we’re actually woiking together?” she asked eagerly.

“It means we’re cooperating.”

“What are you gonna do for me?” she wanted to know.

“I’ll let you have my autograph. How’s that?”

“Hey, Hoagy?”

“Yes, Cassandra?”

“You’re a real douche bag.”

“And it’s high time you found out.”

I hung up. The phone rang again almost immediately. Lamp. He was at the station house. I could hear voices and phones in the background.

“Just wanted to let you know it checked out, Hoagy,” he reported crisply. “Johnny and Wax
were
at Hamburger Hamlet. The waitress and hostess IDed the both of them for the time of the shooting. I’d still like to talk to Johnny though. He may have some ideas.”

“I highly doubt that.”

“Maybe he saw something when he was hanging around at the scene. Or someone. He’s not there at Bedford Falls, is he?”

“Not that I know of.”

“If he turns up will you call me?”

“Of course, Lieutenant.”

“We’ve got ourselves one other dead-end road,” he informed me. “That ex-boyfriend of Geoffrey Brand’s, Darren Dust, has been in Palm Springs for the past three days. Jeepers, who goes to the Springs in the middle of a heat wave? It must be a hundred and thirty there. Anyway, we can cross him off … Oh, I got hold of the service manager at the Rolls-Royce dealership. His boys worked on Zorch’s car this morning and delivered it to his office on their lunch break. It sat there in the parking lot of Zorch’s building until he used it in the late afternoon to go to court. I drove by the building just now. It’s all valet parking. They keep them down in the basement, unlocked. Someone easily could have slipped down there and fooled with his remote. We’ll check the day men tomorrow, see if they remember noticing anybody.” He hesitated a moment. “The heat’s on under this one, Hoagy. Zorch was big time. Many powerful friends. You, uh, don’t have anything for me, do you?”

As it happened, I had four or five things he could check out that I couldn’t. He wrote them down and said he would.

“There is one other thing, Lieutenant,” I added.

“What’s that, Hoagy?”

“I smoothed the way for you with you-know-who.”

“You did what?” he asked, his voice cracking.

“She thinks you sound real nice. Seriously, I think if you play your cards right you and Penny will soon be—”

“Cut that out!” he cried. “Gosh darn it, Hoagy, I mean it!” Then he slammed down the phone, hard. He was getting a little touchy. Must have been the heat.

It was certainly hot in the bungalow. No breeze came in through the windows. I shut them and flicked on the air conditioner. I took Lulu out for a walk while it did its job.

The bungalow courtyard was dark and deserted. Bunny was still at the two Shelleys’. We strolled, Lulu sniffing at the plants, me sniffing at the day’s events. The theft of Pennyroyal’s negatives. The murders. It couldn’t be a coincidence. They had to connect. And the same person had to be responsible. But who? Matthew and Johnny were accounted for. Cassandra, too, apparently. But Trace wasn’t. Nor was Pennyroyal. Except that she wouldn’t discredit herself by leaking her own nude shots to the press. That made no sense. There was Norbert Schlom, whose multibillion-dollar deal with Murakami was in jeopardy because of Zorch’s gutter tactics. There was Toy Schlom, whose murky past tied her in with Shambazza and the negatives. And then there was the Bedford Falls inner circle. The two Shelleys, Bunny, Sarge. They’d do anything to protect Matthew and his studio. Had one of them killed for him? Possibly. But why leak Pennyroyal’s negatives? Why drive a deeper wedge between her and Matthew when reconciliation was Bedford Falls’ best hope? No sense. It made no sense at all.

Perplexed, I found myself up near the front gate. Shadow was on duty in the guard’s booth, browsing through a copy of
The New England Journal of Medicine.
A small fan blew on the counter before him.

“Evening, Shadow,” I said.

He showed me his gold tooth. “Why, good evening, sir.”

“Batman make it back yet?”

“He did.”

“Any visitors? Robin, perhaps?”

Shadow hesitated. “No sir. Quiet night. Extremely so.”

“Did you really do that to him, Shadow?”

“Do what, sir?”

Plant coke in his bungalow so he’d have to direct
The Three Stooges
?”

He shifted uneasily on his seat and looked away. “That happens to be a part of my life I deeply regret. Mr. Schlom, he’s an evil man. Expects his employees to be just as evil as he be. But I got out of that place, thanks to Matthew. And I’ve tried as hard as I know how to make it up to him. I truly have.”

“What else do you know, Shadow?”

“Sir?”

“You told me the Shadow knows plenty. What else?”

The old outfielder thumbed his chin thoughtfully, then crossed his big arms. “I know that Bedford Falls is doomed. I know that. Yessir.”

“How come?”

“Because Miss Ayn Rand was right. She be one smart lady, that gal. Ever read a hefty volume of hers by the name of
Atlas Shrugged
?”

“I have.”

“You’ll recall she suggests that the true hero of this American land ain’t no ballplayer or soldier but the man who creates something, a product, and makes a profit off of it. And that this here creator, he is destined to be destroyed by the moochers and parasites and other various forces of mediocrity who are lurking out there in the tall grass.”

“Is that what you think is happening to Matthew?”

“Don’t you?”

“I think that’s the essence of the movie business. Always has been. Always will be.”

Shadow took a handkerchief out of his back pocket and swiped at his thick, muscled neck. “Small fry. We all be small fry here. Don’t stand no kind of chance. No sir.” He sighed wearily. “Shit, don’t be listening to me. I’m just tired and hot. Said on the radio it might finally break tomorrow. Something sure gonna, it don’t. You get yourself some rest, sir.”

“Good night, Shadow.”