Wombat Strategy

FIFTEEN

As soon as he realized what had happened, Dave Deer was on the phone in a flash. If I wanted a lesson in the power of the celebrity in L.A., I got it now. Almost simultaneously, it seemed to me, the following arrived: four Beverly Hills cops, two to arrest Randy Romaine for assault and two to hang around asking questions; two lawyers, one representing Dave Deer and Deerdoc, the other to look after the interests of Lorelei Stevens; one high-powered RR. person for Ms. Stevens-Kristi Jane Russo took over this role for Deerdoc; one physician to the stars, called in urgently by Dave Deer, who immediately announced I was too traumatized to be interviewed by the police at the moment.

This wasn't true. Granted, I had a pounding headache, a rapidly blackening eye, and my nose was throbbing like the billy-oh, but I could have answered questions. "No way are you speaking to the cops!" exclaimed Dave Deer, who'd taken Fred and me into his office to consult with his lawyer. "Miles? What's your take on this?"

Miles, a soft, gray man, steepled his lawyerly hands, sent us all a grave look, and said, "At this stage, the less said the better. In that vein, it would be wise, I believe, to provide Mr. Romaine with legal representation. We don't want him to drag any of your clients into a publicity morass."

Dave went quite white at the thought. "Jesus Christ, Miles. Do it! Do it now!"

The lawyer slid neatly out of the office, hardly disturbing the air as he moved. Creepy!

Considering the lengths I'd gone to on Dave Deer's behalf, he was rather low on the gratitude scale. "Lorelei won't be happy if her name's dragged into this."

"It's not my fault Randy Romaine took that particular file," I protested.

Dave Deer switched his displeasure to Fred Mills. "Why weren't you on the spot? Kylie called for assistance. Where were you?"

Fred, with a mean look in my direction, said, "If she hadn't viciously attacked that guy, I could have kept a lid on the whole thing."

"You'll be next, if you keep that up," I said. It was pleasing to me when a nervous expression crossed his flabby face.

Miles slid back into the room. "Too late. Romaine's singing," he said to Dave. "Warbling like a canary." The hard-boiled language sounded ludicrous in his precise little voice.

"Oh, fuck!"

"I suggest we get Ms. Kendall out of here. Keep her incommunicado."

Irritated because I was in pain, I snapped, "I'm here, right here in the room. You can talk directly to me."

Miles's smile was as sincere as a saltwater crocodile's. "So sorry. I didn't mean to offend. You do fully comprehend, I trust, that it would be unwise to speak with the authorities without the presence of an attorney."

"Why not just tell them the truth?"

Miles seemed shocked. "I don't believe you understand the ramifications of what you've just said."

My bedroom at Kendall & Creeling glowed in my mind like a warm and welcoming refuge. I stood up. "I've got a headache and I'm going home."

After argument about whether or not I should drive, I won out and went down to level three, the scene of my confrontation with Randy. I thought maybe I'd see police tape around the scene, but there was nothing but Randy's white Toyota, waiting patiently for him to return.

Outside the Deerdoc building media vans were already congregating. I zipped by, dark glasses perched on my swollen nose. At times like this I saw the benefits of having a generic vehicle that attracted little attention.

I made the Kendall & Creeling car park with a sense of great relief. The high-powered doctor Dave Deer had called in to see me had prescribed a painkiller and rest. Both sounded good to me.

Melodie shrieked when she saw my face. "Oh, my God! It's worse than Chantelle said! Think you'll need plastic surgery?"

Attracted by the commotion, Fran and Lonnie appeared. "Jeez," said Lonnie. "Do you want a cold pack? There's one in the fridge."

"I'm fine."

For Melodie, that was enough about me. "Kylie, I've got a call-back!"

"That's wonderful news." She didn't notice my lack of enthusiasm.

"It's Angel Rejects"

"I can't hear this again," said Lonnie, throwing up his hands. As he walked off, he muttered, "I've had it up to here with angels."

"Run it by us again," said Fran, with a wicked smile.

Melodie took her at her word. "It's like this, see. These angels have been thrown out of heaven. Like, they're in human bodies, and they don't remember they're angels, they think they're contestants in a talent quest. The trick is, no one knows which are angels and which are ordinary people. Angelique-that's me-is sort of the angel liaison between heaven and earth. Isn't a big part yet, but Larry says he's sure Angelique will get more air time later in the series."

"I don't get it."

Melodie sighed. "Oh, it's simple, Fran. Listen up. There's some angels and there's some wanna-bes all mixed together and no one knows who's from heaven and who's from earth. At the end of the show the viewers vote for Angel of the Week. If the one they pick isn't an angel, the person loses and goes to hell. If the person is an angel, they get fifty thousand dollars and a chance to compete another week. See?"

"Never mind," said Fran. "It'll be canceled anyway."

Really stung, Melodie snapped, "It will not. And who are you to criticize? I suppose Quip's going to be a big success. Like, how many scripts has he sold, huh?" She stuck out her fingers and pantomimed counting them off. "Let's see. One script? Two scripts? What's that you say? Oh. No scripts."

"Let me at her," said Fran.

For the first time I was sitting behind the desk in Dad's office, now my office. I'd turned on the computer and was busy checking the zillions of e-mails that had piled up. I hadn't checked my messages since I'd left Australia, and they numbered in the hundreds. A fair portion I instantly deleted, as they were spam. I'd just got rid of the last offer to increase the size of my penis when Ariana knocked at the door.

"How are you feeling?"

"Fair to middling," I said.

"Headache?"

"It's better. I've taken something."

It was a change, having her come into my office, rather than the other way around. "Take a seat?" I said, feeling for once I had the advantage.

"Sure. I've come to report on the situation, but first, you did a great job nailing that guy. Congratulations."

I felt ridiculously pleased. "Thanks."

"Dave Deer's done his best to contain the damage, and so far he's been successful. The wild card in the pack is Randy Romaine. He's still in custody, but he'll make bail tomorrow. The line he's taking with the cops is that he's a great fan of Lorelei Stevens and on an impulse borrowed the file. You attacked him quite unjustifiably, he says, and he was only defending himself when he hit you."

"That bastard."

Ariana half smiled. "The cops didn't buy it. Someone with his record of celebrity stalking is behind the eight ball before he even opens his mouth."

"So what happens now?"

"Bob Verritt found his missing teenager last night in Las Vegas. That means he's available to run a fine-tooth comb over Randy Romaine's life. If Romaine's the blackmailer, which I doubt, he's not about to do anything at the moment, now that the cops have taken an interest in him. It's more likely, however, that Romaine was working for somebody else. Bob's following up on that angle."

She looked at me sympathetically. "That's got to be hurting. Why don't you take it easy, lie down?"

"Can I ask you something?"

"Of course."

There was no easy way to get this out, but I had to know. "Did Melodie tell you I'd been reading a book on how to be a P.I.?"

A faint smile touched her lips. "I believe she did mention something along those lines."

"I knew it! I knew that guy in the brown uniform would blab."

"I don't know why you're worried," said Ariana. "It just shows you're taking the job seriously."

I looked at her closely, thinking she might be having me on.

"I mean it," she said.

"Good-oh."

After Ariana had gone I went to find a mirror to assess the damage. I'd had a quick look in the washroom at Deerdoc, and my face had looked a bit battered but not too bad. The passage of time hadn't helped, I found. The swelling was more pronounced, and my black eye was distinctly blacker.

Today was Wednesday. I wouldn't be presentable by Friday. I was about to call Chantelle when she called me on my cell phone. "How are you? I must have just missed you."

"Lucky you. I look like something out of a horror movie. We'd better cancel Friday."

"You're breaking our date? No way."

That warmed me a little, as I'd looking forward to seeing Chantelle outside her work. Perhaps she was destined to play an important part in my future. I could hope.

Julia Roberts turned out to be my solace for the rest of the day, although Ariana did her share by arranging for a local restaurant to deliver dinner.

On Thursday, Dave Deer asked me to come into Deerdoc to meet the detectives on the case. He put me in his office and advised me not to volunteer anything. I expected Miles the creepy lawyer would be there, but it seemed the heat was off and I could be trusted on my own.

The interview was short. It was clear they were merely going through the motions. After the two cops had gone, Dave Deer smiled at me with a certain smugness. "Kept the lid on it," he said. "The media sniffed around but got nothing. Lorelei is very pleased." He rubbed his hands. "I still need you, Kylie. I'm interviewing for a new personal assistant, but in the meantime…"

He never got to hear my answer. Chantelle appeared at the door. "Dr. Deer? Mr. Perkins insists-"

She was bodily knocked out of the way by Jarrod Perkins. I'd seen plenty of people lose their tempers, but this bloke beat them all. He was literally purple in the face. The moment he saw Dave Deer, he screamed, "You motherfucking bastard!" In one shaking hand he held a crumpled sheet of paper. "Explain this!"

Dave Deer zipped behind the protection of his desk. He put up placating hands. "Jarrod, it's me, your therapist."

"Fuck that for a joke! Some bastard's trying to blackmail me." Perkins stood there panting, poised as if about to attack something or someone.

Chantelle, eyes wide, hovered in the doorway. "I'll get Fred Mills."

I saw it dawning on Dave Deer that this was something that must at all costs be kept quiet. "No, Chantelle. This is a medical matter. Please shut the door and make sure we're not disturbed."

Chantelle caught my eye. "Get out," she mouthed.

It was sweet of her, but I wasn't going.

After the door closed, Dave Deer said soothingly, "Now, Jarrod, sit down and let's discuss what's worrying you."

"You supercilious prick. You knew about this and you didn't tell me." He threw the crumpled page onto the desk. "How long have the recordings been missing? How long have you known, you cocksucker? How long?"

Dave Deer looked so sincere I thought his face would melt. "Jarrod, Jarrod. I was just about to contact you."

Perkins leaned over the desk and grabbed Dave's tie. Although he was a much smaller man, his rage had obviously given him strength. He pulled until Dave Deer, red-faced and choking, was halfway across the desk. Shoving his face with its huge beaky nose into the doctor's, Perkins ground out, "I'll ruin you, Deer, ruin you. When I've finished, there won't be a person in Hollywood who'll touch you with a ten-foot pole."

Released, Dave Deer fell back spluttering. Perkins turned to me. "You!"

"Me?"

"You drove me home."

I nodded warily. Who knew what was coming next?

"Tell that bastard over there I want everything in this building that has anything to do with me packaged up and delivered to my house. Every file, every sheet of paper, every fucking recording of every fucking session I've had here. Got that?"

"Got it."

"And I want you to deliver it, tomorrow morning." He cast a look of burning scorn in Dave Deer's direction. "I don't intend to breathe the same air as that fuckwit ever again. Tell him if he comes near me I'll kill him."

Crikey, I believed that. "I could probably have the stuff to you this afternoon," I said helpfully.

"I'm on a night shoot, you stupid bitch. Tomorrow morning at ten."

He snatched up the letter from the desk and stalked out of the office.

Dave Deer cleared his throat. "That went well," he said.

I'd never have suspected he was capable of such irony.

Friday morning we took my car, with me driving and Ariana navigating. We were using my car because there was a chance Jarrod Perkins might recognize it as the one I'd given him a lift in last Monday. The way the bloke was at the moment, it was wise to avoid upsetting him, and Ariana's BMW would be a strange vehicle as far as he was concerned.

"Can you believe it was only Monday I gave Jarrod Perkins a lift home?" I said. "It seems to have happened yonks ago."

"You've had an eventful week," said Ariana in her customary dry tone.

"Thanks for coming with me," I said. I was more grateful than she knew. I'd visualized myself going up to the director's Hollywood Hills home and, as I seemed to often do, saying something that got quite the wrong reaction. And Jarrod Perkins totally losing it, and before Sven could intervene, strangling me. That was my first scenario. Then I had him shooting me. Or maybe throwing me over the cliff.

So when Ariana had said, "I'm not going to let you go alone, not after that outburst from Perkins. He's unstable at the best of times," I'd been secretly relieved.

"Good-oh. If you insist," I'd said, nonchalant.

Now we were on the way, driving up one of the steep, ascending streets of the Hollywood Hills. A large envelope containing the material Perkins had demanded was sitting on the backseat. Ariana was beside me, wearing black jeans and a black jacket. I glanced over at her. "You've got a gun, haven't you?"

"I do. And before you ask, yes, I'm licensed to carry a concealed weapon."

I felt a whole lot better knowing she was armed. "Are you a good shot?"

"Adequate."

"So you won't go for a head shot, then." I'd been studying The Complete Handbook and had just covered the chapter on the use of deadly force.

Out of the corner of my eye I saw Ariana shake her head. "I'll aim for the torso, if that's your advice." I heard the amusement in her voice.

"What if he's wearing a bulletproof vest?"

I actually got a chuckle. "Highly unlikely."

She gave me directions, much more calmly than Jarrod Perkins had. When I turned into the drive, the gates were open. I drove slowly up to the house, figuring there were probably cameras eyeing us; I wanted Perkins to have plenty of time to satisfy himself that I was the Aussie bringing the stuff from Deerdoc to him.

I parked by the front door. There were no other vehicles in evidence. We got out. I didn't even glance at the view. Noticing Ariana's right hand under her jacket, I felt slightly more secure-but not much. If bullets started flying, my TV-viewing told me to drop to the ground. I checked it out. Gravel. It'd be hard on the skin.

"Ariana, the front door's open."

She motioned me to get behind her. "Let me go first."

The hairs on the back of my neck prickled. It was a cliche, but funny how true. "Something's wrong."

Ariana felt it too. She took out her weapon, a sleek automatic. Black, of course. Her body was coiled steel, ready to react to any threat. I think that was the moment I really fell for her.

She pushed at the front door. It swung open. "Mr. Perkins?" I called. "It's Kylie Kendall. I've got the stuff from Deerdoc for you."

Silence. Ariana, not moving her eyes from the hallway in front of us, said, "Is his assistant, Sven, supposed to be here?"

"Perkins never mentioned him. He just said he expected me at ten."

The house was furnished in generic rental style. It had an empty feeling. I didn't know whether to trust my instincts, but I said, too loudly, "Ariana, no one's here."

She signaled to me to be quiet. "Room by room," she said.

The living room was empty. So was the kitchen. We went into the master bedroom together. The bed was made, everything was tidy. I pushed open the door of the adjoining bathroom. "Ariana."

She moved to stand beside me, then grabbed me when I sagged. Jarrod Perkins was sitting in the shower recess, legs splayed, a gun in his lap, his brains blown in a red-and-white pattern across the tiles.