Hollywood Hills

TWENTY-ONE

For the very first time since they began smoking OxyContin together, Megan Burke did not join Jonas Claymore in the chasing of the dragon. She swallowed a perk instead, and although it helped ease her nausea and joint pain, she still longed for the euphoria that she got from the ox. Before he zoned, she tried to talk to Jonas about what they were doing.

She squeezed his cheek between her finger and thumb and said, “Jonas, don’t get all smoked out on me. We’ve got to talk.”

His voice was thick when he said, “I know. That’s why I needed the ox. So I could work on my plan and we could talk.”

“I’ve been thinking,” she said. “That guy was very quick to cut a deal with you. Even though he might not believe a thing you said, because to tell the truth, it wasn’t too convincing. He might be talking to cops right now, getting ready to set a trap for when he hands over the money. Maybe we should try to find out something about these paintings and simply sell them. Maybe we should stay away from the guy we stole them from.”

“Okay,” Jonas said. “Later. Man, that was good smoke. I’m toasted.”

He was zoning hard and Megan Burke longed to join him, but she summoned all the self-control she had left in her increasingly frail body and mind. She took both paintings from behind the sofa and looked at them closely. She went to the bedroom and got her cell phone and photographed both paintings in case she decided to make inquiries about them. Then she turned them over and saw the framer’s cards stapled to the stretcher bars.

She read the name of the customer, Sammy Brueger, along with an address and phone number. It took her a minute to realize that the address was the house where they had stolen the van!

“Snap out of it, Jonas!” she said, slapping his face lightly.

“What?” he said. “What the fuck’s wrong with you?”

“The pictures,” she said. “They don’t belong to the gallery guy! They belong to the guy who lives at the big house. His name’s Sammy Brueger. So the gallery guy doesn’t really care about making a deal with you for the pictures. He just wanted to get his van back, and now he’s gonna work with the cops and maybe set a trap for us when we go meet him for the money!”

“Later,” Jonas mumbled, not understanding a single word she said. “I gotta push the off button for a while.”

“Fuck you!” Megan said.

She went to the bathroom and touched up her makeup, shocked to see how pale she looked. A touch of blush on her cheeks brought a bit of life to her face, and she tried to separate her eyelashes with a safety pin, but her hands were so shaky she feared she’d poke her eyeball. When she figured she looked as good as she could, she grabbed her purse and Jonas’s car keys and left.

This was by far the most dangerous idea she’d ever had, but she was going to act on it. If it worked and if real money somehow came from the paintings, she was going to get away from Jonas Claymore for good. For her freedom, for her sanity, for her life.

When she’d phoned home for that last $200 loan, her mother had said to her, “Megan, your life has gone from bad to worse since you went to Hollywood. You’ve got no chance until you leave that terrible place and come home to people who love you.”

Megan had never told her mother about moving into the apartment of Jonas Claymore, and she certainly had never told her mother that they were both straight-up drug addicts by now. She hated thinking about all the money she’d begged and borrowed from her mother, who still had Terry, Megan’s sixteen-year-old brother, to support. And it hadn’t been easy for her mother, with what she made doing a man’s work in the department store warehouse. Bitter experience had taught Megan that the more she thought about her mother, and the more guilt that brought on, the more she’d long for the honeycombed tranquillity of an OC high. She was desperate for money now, more desperate than she’d ever been. And it was that desperation that overcame her fear and propelled her back up into the Hollywood Hills in the little VW bug.

During the drive, Megan ran through in her mind several approaches to get access to that house. She wasn’t sure what she’d find there, but she wanted to see the man, Sammy Brueger, to get a sense of whether they could work with him now that she knew for certain that Nigel Wickland had lied about being the owner of the paintings. In order to bolster her courage, she kept telling herself that this was just an exploratory visit to test the real ransom target, Sammy Brueger.

She parked the VW bug fifty yards south of the Brueger estate, facing the flatland in case she needed a fast getaway. Then she walked to the gate phone and pressed the button.

“Yes?” Raleigh Dibble said. “Who is it?”

“My name’s Valerie Turner,” Megan said. “I’m your neighbor from down the road.”

“What is it?” Raleigh asked.

“It’s my dog, Cuddles,” she said. “He’s on your property.”

“There’s no dog here,” Raleigh said. “This place is completely fenced.”

“He’s a Chihuahua,” Megan said. “He slipped through the gaps in your metal entry gate. I saw him and I have to get him or I’ll get in big trouble with my mom.”

Raleigh said nothing, but he pushed the phone key, and the electric gate swung open slowly and Megan walked in. The mini-estate looked bigger from the inside. She was glad she wasn’t wearing heels when she walked over the uneven driveway, and she could feel the rough stones through the holes in her shoes.

A pie-faced, chubby, balding man who looked pretty old to Megan opened the door and said, “Have you tried calling him?”

“For the last half hour,” Megan said. “I’m glad to meet you, Mr. Brueger.”

“I’m Mr. Dibble,” Raleigh said. “I look after things here. Mr. Brueger is in Cedars-Sinai. He had a stroke.”

“Oh, that’s too bad!” Megan said. “I’ll tell my mom. I think she knows him.”

“You can walk the property and call your dog,” Raleigh said. “Let me know when you want to leave and I’ll open the gate for you.”

“Thank you, sir,” Megan said.

She walked around the garage toward the pool that was designed like a lazy lagoon with a six-foot waterfall. “Cuddles!” she called. “Here, Cuddles!”

She thought five minutes was enough. She rang the bell and Raleigh came to the door again.

“Did you find your dog? he asked.

“No, the brat,” she said. “I know he’s hiding here. He does this when he doesn’t want to be found.”

“If you’ll leave your phone number, I’ll call you if I find him,” Raleigh said.

“Do you have something I can write on?”

“Come in,” Raleigh said, and she entered the foyer while he went to fetch a notepad and pen.

Megan walked into the great room and marveled. She’d never been in a house like this, and the thing that impressed her most was the art. There were paintings everywhere. The corridor along the foyer was lined with paintings, all of them with lights attached to the top of the frames.

And then she saw The Woman by the Water and drew in her breath. And next to it was Flowers on the Hillside. They were identical to the paintings that she and Jonas had in their apartment! What did it mean?

Raleigh returned with a notepad, and she scribbled a fictitious number.

“I majored in art in community college,” she said. “And I’m very interested in art. Do you know a lot about the paintings here?”

Raleigh thought she was a very pretty girl in a waiflike way. She looked so touchingly anemic and vulnerable, and she didn’t do that Valspeak where they made every damn sentence sound like a question. He said, “I know a bit.”

She strolled along the wall of paintings and said, “This one?” pointing at a small British watercolor that Raleigh knew nothing about, and he said, “I think that’s by a German Impressionist. Can’t recall his name. An interesting piece.”

“Wow!” Megan said, and pointed at an oil painting of red-coated hunters riding to hounds. “This must be British, right? It looks like the scenes you see on public television.”

“Yes, I believe it is British,” Raleigh said, feeling a sensation in his loins that he had not felt for ages. He couldn’t think of the last time he’d slept with a woman. And this tulip of a girl with alabaster skin was flirting with him. He was almost sure of it.

“This is interesting,” Megan said, pointing to the replica of The Woman by the Water. It had looked identical to the one in their apartment until she got very close. Then it was somehow different, but she couldn’t say exactly how. She wondered if this was the original and hers was a copy. Or was it the other way around? And why would Sammy Brueger want a copy anyway?

Megan was thoroughly confused when she said, “My mom has always said that Mr. Sammy Brueger is a big art collector, but I had no idea.”

Raleigh said, “Sammy Brueger is dead. His brother, Marty, lives here. He’s the one who had a stroke.”

“Oh,” Megan said. “I’ve always heard her mention the name Sammy Brueger. I never met any of the family. How many Bruegers are there?”

“Mr. Sammy’s widow, Leona, lives here. Your mother’s probably met her.”

“I guess,” Megan said. Then, “Would you mind if I had a glass of water? I’m pretty hot from roaming around the property looking for Cuddles.”

“Sure,” Raleigh said. “Come into the kitchen with me. It’s a gourmet setup. You might be interested.”

Megan followed Raleigh, who took more than one glance at Megan’s calves and thought, The girl has natural curves, but she’s so thin. She looks so childlike in that candy-striped dress. And then the peril he was facing with Nigel Wickland entered his mind and he lost some of the nostalgic itch in his loins. He hadn’t realized how lonely he’d become.

“Would you like a soft drink?” he asked. “Or maybe you’re old enough for a cocktail?”

“I’ll have a white wine if you’ll join me,” Megan said.

He saw that look in her violet eyes again. Her smile was playful and provocative, and now he was sure of it. She was flirting with him! “I’d be pleased to join you,” he said. “I have a lovely Chardonnay in the wine cellar that I’ve been saving. Why don’t you have a seat in the great room?”

Raleigh went to the wine cellar, which wasn’t a cellar but a very large closet lined in redwood and located just off the butler’s pantry. He found a good California Chardonnay that still had the sticker label of $180. He put it in a silver bucket, surrounded it with tiny cubes from the ice maker, folded a white linen napkin over the bucket, and brought it along with two crystal wineglasses to the great room.

He placed the bucket on the table between two side-by-side overstuffed chairs, poured the wine into the glasses, and, handing one to her, said, “Mademoiselle.”

“Merci,” she said, and there it was again. That look.

Raleigh raised his glass and said, “Here’s to Cuddles for bringing a new friend to this lonely house.”

Megan giggled and said, “To Cuddles.”

“I hope it’s not too tannic,” Raleigh said. “It didn’t get a chance to breathe.”

“It’s great, Mr. Dibble,” Megan said, smiling at him over the rim of her glass.

“Raleigh. Call me Raleigh,” he said.

“Okay, Raleigh,” she said, taking another sip and licking her lower lip.

She was so young! He felt a shiver in his stomach that went clear to his toes. “I’m an excellent chef,” he said. “You should let me prepare a meal for you sometime. And your parents, of course.”

“That would be nice,” she said. Then Megan added, “You said it’s a lonely house. Who lives here with you besides Mrs. Brueger and Mr. Marty?”

“That’s all. But Mrs. Brueger’s getting married soon, and the house will be put up for sale. I’ll miss it.”

“That’s too bad,” Megan said. “What will happen to all the beautiful art?”

“It’ll go into storage,” Raleigh said. “And eventually it’ll be moved to their vineyard in Napa. She thinks she wants to live there and make fine wine. That was a common fantasy in pre-recession days. She may change her mind. I can tell you, it’s not easy to produce a fine wine.”

“This one’s sure good,” Megan said.

“It’s amusing,” Raleigh said.

“Oh, that reminds me,” Megan said. “A few nights ago… I don’t remember when it was… my mom was out walking with Cuddles just after dark, and she said an art truck sped out of your driveway like mad and flew down the hill.”

“An… art truck?” Raleigh said.

“She said it had an art gallery name on it or something like that. I didn’t get the whole story.”

“Nope,” Raleigh said, taking more than a sip this time to quell the starburst of fear. “Not here. She’s mistaken.”

“That’s funny,” Megan said. “She said the truck came from the Brueger driveway. It scared her because it almost ran over Cuddles.”

“No, I’ve been here every night since Mr. Brueger has been in the hospital. There was no one here in a truck or a car.”

“She must’ve been wrong,” Megan said. “She gets a little rattle-brained these days. But speaking of art, what would some of these paintings be worth?”

She looked so innocent, so like the child she really was, that Raleigh longed to impress her. He said, “Valerie, you might not believe it, but there are paintings in this house that’re worth half a million dollars.”

“Really?” she said. “For one painting?”

“For one painting,” he said.

“Wow!” she said, and it made him chuckle with pleasure. Her eyes popped wide like the little purple umbrellas he used to put in mai tais when he was catering parties. Then she said, “I like so many of them. I’d love to have an inexpensive copy of a few of them. I forget what you call copies of paintings.”

“Lithographs?”

“Yes, lithographs. Are there any places where I can buy a lithograph of some of these?”

“No, I’ve been told that each painting you see is an original and there’s not another like it on the planet.”

“Wow!” she said again.

He loved hearing her say that. “If there was an inexpensive lithograph available for some of these pieces, I’d buy them myself,” Raleigh said. Then he looked over the edge of his glass at those violet eyes and said, “I’d present one to you as a gift if I could.”

“You’re very sweet, Raleigh,” Megan said, finishing the wine.

“More, Valerie?” he asked quickly.

“I think I’d better take another look around for Cuddles and then walk home,” she said.

Raleigh was about to offer her a few calendar dates to choose from for the home-cooked dinner, when the house phone rang. He hurried to the kitchen phone for privacy, and when he picked up, he heard the now-familiar voice of Rudy Ressler.

“Raleigh,” the voice said. “It’s Rudy Ressler.”

“Yes, Mr. Ressler,” Raleigh said. “I’ve been waiting for your call.”

“We’re in New York,” he said. “It’s been hell getting flights on short notice. Unless plans change, we’ll be arriving at LAX late tonight, and we are totally drained. You can pick us up and drop me at my house. Then be prepared to do a light supper for Mrs. Brueger before she hits the hay. She’ll sleep for twelve hours, at least.”

Raleigh felt cold again and his limbs went weak. He had to ask Rudy Ressler to repeat the airline and the flight number. Meanwhile, Megan Burke was standing in the corridor, running her fingers over the poster-board replica of The Woman by the Water.

Raleigh hung up the kitchen phone and returned to Megan, now in the foyer by the door. She smiled and said, “Thanks for a wonderful time, Raleigh.”

“Yes, it was lovely, Valerie,” he said, looking agitated now. “I hope you find your little dog.”

“I will,” she said. “I’m just going to call him a few more times. He’ll come home when he’s tired. He always does. Will you open the gate for me?”

“Certainly,” Raleigh said.

“One thing, Raleigh,” she said. “Could I maybe call you sometime? I really enjoyed talking to you. Maybe we could go somewhere and have another glass of wine. I know a good little bistro.”

Stunned, he said, “Yes, of course. Call my cell.” And he ran to get the notepad and wrote down his number for her.

She kissed him on the cheek and said, “You’re a doll.”

That kiss from this delightful young woman would have made him happier than he’d been in months, except for the dread he felt over Leona Brueger’s homecoming.

He opened the door and watched her striding up the driveway, calling, “Cuddles! Here, Cuddles!”

Raleigh pressed the button on the wall panel inside the door, and the gate swung open. When she was out, he dialed Nigel Wickland. After the third ring came the voice that he had come to hate.

“Yes?” Nigel said.

“They’ll probably be home tonight.”

“Tonight?”

“Yes, tonight,” Raleigh said. “Has that goddamn thief called you yet?”

“Not a word since the first time,” Nigel said. “This is somewhat worrisome.”

“This is disastrous,” Raleigh said.

“Don’t lose your head.”

“Stop saying shit like that!” Raleigh said. “I have a right to lose my head. For listening to you and your crazy scheme in the first place.”

“If you hadn’t left the keys in the van…”

“Okay, let’s not go over all that again. Now what?”

“Now we sweat it out, Raleigh. The ball is in the court of my mentally challenged tormentor. Now, either we stay out of prison and make a million dollars or-”

“Don’t tell me about the or again.”

“All right, dear boy,” Nigel said. “As long as you are clear that despite your obvious aversion to gays, we two are in bed together for the foreseeable future.”

Megan was so excited and her mind was working so furiously, she feared she’d have an accident on the dangerous winding road as the VW descended from the Hollywood Hills toward the roaring traffic below. She only hoped that Jonas had recovered enough to understand the significance of her amazing discovery. Their scheme had changed completely. Before she arrived in east Hollywood, she had decided on a whole new game plan, and Jonas Claymore was no longer the quarterback.

He was standing in the shower when she got to the apartment. She dropped her purse on the kitchen table and entered the bathroom, but Jonas didn’t even see her. He was still coming down from the euphoria and never saw her hand reach inside the shower curtain and turn off the hot water. A blast of cold water made him squeal.

“What the fuck you doing?” he said, shutting off the water.

“Here, dry off,” she said, handing him a towel that was reasonably clean.

“Where you been?”

“Out,” she said.

“Yeah, I figgered that. But where?”

“I was trying to score some ox at Pablo’s, but there was nobody there that I knew or even recognized.”

“What were you gonna use for money?”

“I was going to try to talk somebody out of a quarter.”

“Goddamnit, girl,” Jonas said. “How many times I gotta tell you that nobody in Hollywood sells ox on the fucking installment plan. This ain’t Bend fucking Oregon. Christ, Megan, is your brain totally wacked, or what?”

“I’m just not as smart as you,” Megan said, going to the kitchen for some milk and cereal. Anything to settle her stomach.

When he was dressed in the same jacket, shirt, and pants he’d worn to the cybercafé, he joined her in the kitchen, running a comb through his hair. It looked to Megan like a sopping mound of straw. Like they’d mucked out of the stable back in Bend, where she’d taken riding lessons that her mother couldn’t really afford, a lifetime ago.

It was growing harder for Megan to believe that she’d ever been attracted to Jonas. But at times like this, when some inner defense mechanism allowed her to think and remember her past life, she could realize and admit that it had never been Jonas, it had been the ox. They had both mounted the ox and had ridden it into the arena that was Hollywood, and after that wild ride, her world had changed.

She said to him, “I know you’re running the game, but I think we should go right to that man Nigel Wickland and collect our money and make arrangements for him to pick up the paintings.”

He stared at her and said, “You do?”

“Yes.”

“And if he’s told the cops about us and they’re all staked out there, or maybe have the place wired, then we’re busted, right?”

“I don’t think we have to worry about that,” she said.

“Oh, you don’t?”

“No, in fact, I’ll do it.”

That made Jonas push the calico cat off the kitchen chair and sit. He couldn’t believe this new boldness he was hearing. He said, “Yeah, you must be smoked out.”

“Yes, you always say that,” Megan said. “Maybe I am, and of course you aren’t, because you can handle it. Well, what do you have to lose? I’ll go in and get the money and tell him where to find the paintings.”

“And if it’s a setup and the cops move in and bust you, what am I supposed to do, fly to Rio? They’ll put you in a room and you’ll spill your guts and we’ll both be sleeping in jail tonight.”

“I give you my word that if it’s a police setup, I will not involve you. I’ll go to jail and say nothing. My mother’s address is on my driver’s license, not your address. And she doesn’t know your last name or anything about where we live. You’ll be safe.”

“Megan,” he said, “what makes you so positive that the guy didn’t tell the cops that I phoned him? Jist tell me that.”

“I think he doesn’t want to lose his paintings. I think they might be worth a few thousand more than he told you. I think he wants them back, no questions asked.”

“How much do you think they’re really worth?”

“More than he says.”

“And you’re willing to risk getting arrested by walking in there and collecting our twelve large?”

“Yes.”

Megan could almost see his thoughts whirling. She got some cat food from the cupboard and fed Cuddles, then refilled her water dish. She gave the calico cat a bonus saucer of skimmed milk and stroked her until Jonas finished thinking.

Finally Jonas said, “Here’s what I’ll do. I’ll drop you a block from the gallery. Go in there and talk private with him and tell him if he wants his goods, he has to give you half the money right now to show good faith.”

“Six thousand?”

“You got it. And tell him the next meeting will be for the balance and we’ll have his property with us. Tell him he’ll get instructions by phone. Get his cell number. I ain’t going through that official… officious bitch again.”

“You’ll be close by?”

“Right. I’ll be parked somewhere and watching. And if this is a setup, I’m leaving you there. And I’m trusting that you’ll take the heat and you won’t rat me out. I’m trusting you, Megan.”

“Okay, you can trust me,” she said.

“I never been in jail except once for DUI,” he said.

“I’ve never been in jail for anything, but I’ll take a chance,” she said. “I think I can do this.”

“If he don’t have the twelve grand after the talk we had today, then there’s something wrong, and you better leave and walk west on Wilshire. Keep walking till I pick you up.”

“Let’s get going before the gallery closes,” Megan said. “I’m getting burbly thinking about it.”