Hollywood Tough

Chapter 14

"The guy I was trying to find her for is Dennis Valentine." Nicky actually whispered when he said the name, as if Valentine was some sort of godlike eminence.

"Who the fuck is Dennis Valentine?" Shane growled.

"Well, to begin with, his real name is Dennis Valente, but he Americanized it to Valentine. He's… he's related to Don Carlo DeCesare, the godfather in New Jersey. You musta heard of him. They call Don DeCesare 'Little Caesar.' Dennis's mother and Don Carlo are brother and sister, so he's, how you say, like his nephew."

"A made Mafia guy, right?"

"He's… well, he's…" Nicky stopped and looked at Shane in panic. "If this gets out, that I blew him in, my life is worth bubkes, y' know."

"Who is he, Nicky?"

"I told you."

Shane grabbed his silk shirt collar again.

"Okay, okay," Nicky stammered, "Dennis Valentine is like out here from New Jersey and he's tryin' to… how we say in film, get hooked up with talent vendors. He's opening up a film company."

"Wise Guy Productions?" Shane sneered.

"You laugh. But yeah.." Nicky took a deep breath to calm himself. "He's convinced that the key to power in L. A. is showbiz. It's our state's largest industry, even bigger than citrus now. Film is the perfect state industry. It's nonpolluting, labor and cash intense. These are words we use meaning-"

"I know what they mean," Shane interrupted. "Go on."

"Dennis says the State of California needs its film business to survive. 'Control showbiz and you control the entire State of California politically and economically.' And Valentine's not altogether incorrect. You see, Shane, according to California's tax base estimates, every dollar spent here gets multiplied seven times each year."

"What?" Shane was lost. "How d'ya figure that?"

"It gets spent seven times in twelve months. I pay the dollar to you, you pay it to your grocer, and your grocer pays it to his dry cleaner… like that. In a year, that same buck is spent seven times, and each time it gets spent, it gets taxed. So when you add up the seven multiple, showbiz is worth fifty, sixty billion a year to the California tax base. Control that, you got one fuck of a lot of power. Dennis thinks he can control it by taking over the show business unions."

"Can he do that?"

"Yeah, maybe… you see, in showbiz, we got what we call your above-the-line unions and your below-the-line unions. Boiling that down, your above-the-line handles all the creative people: writers, that's the Writers Guild of America-but to be frank, nobody gives a shit about writers, so forget the WGA. You also got SAG, the Screen Actors Guild. Then there's the big kahuna of all the guilds, the DGA, which is the directors' union. Directors are the real power players in film-the auteurs."

"And Dennis Valentine thinks he can organize a bunch of actors and directors? People who live in multimillion-dollar Malibu houses? What's he smoking?"

"No, no, Shane. He doesn't want to organize the abovethe-line-those guys are untouchable. He wants to organize the below-the-line guys-the I. A."

"The I. A.? That's like an alliance of unions, right?" "Exactly. The full name is IATSE, stands for International Alliance of Theatrical and Stage Employees. These unions include all the dumb everyday working stiffs who actually make the damn films-the grips, the set decorators, costumers, hair and makeup… like that." He grinned. "We call hair and makeup the 'pretty departments.' I think that's cute. You learn these terms when you're a player."

"I don't need the travelogue," Shane growled.

"Dennis thinks these below-the-line unions can be taken over. I think they've already bought some guys at the top, or threatened them-something. Anyway, IATSE is onboard already. Next, Dennis is going to use his uncle's contacts with the national brotherhoods in D. C. to put pressure on all these IATSE locals to negotiate with Dennis. Eventually, Dennis thinks he can control the cost of each film made in Hollywood."

"How?" Shane asked.

"If he says to a producer, 'You shoot your film and the unions will work at a cut rate,' the producer gets a great bargain, movie gets made. If he says, 'No deal, Mr. Producer, you gotta pay full boat,' or worse still, 'I'm gonna sock you with beaucoup overtime and a lotta expensive fringe bullshit,' then the producer gets screwed and his profits are destroyed. In so doing, Dennis thinks he can leverage that power to gain a percentage of ownership in the films made here. Pretty soon, nobody can shoot a union film in California without his say-so. See, he becomes like the czar of all filmed entertainment. That means he's got his hands around the throat of this sixty-billion-dollar tax base. He could call a strike, shut down the state, and all the schools would have to close. Even your fucking LAPD check would bounce. He becomes unstoppable, economically and politically. It's brilliant."

"You're screwing with me, aren't you?" Shane said.

"I swear. He's out here with his uncle's blessing, trying to set this up. I've been working with him on some deals. He knows I got connections. He's the one who wanted me to find Carol White."

"Why? What's he care about her?"

"We all went to Teaneck High together. We were all friends in the ninth grade."

"Awww, come on, Nicky… a class reunion?"

"Shane, it's true. Carol and Dennis were kinda the hot couple on campus back then. He was the BMOC, 'cause he was a big athlete and his uncle was the godfather of New Jersey. Carol was head cheerleader. She won some beauty contests, then came out here to be in films. Dennis used to make trips to L. A. to visit her. He and I hooked up 'cause I'd gone to USC film school, I'd learned my Yiddish by then. I could talk the talk. It was during one of those trips that he got the idea to take over the showbiz unions."

"Where is Valentine now?" Shane asked.

"He was living at the Bel Air Hotel, but he just moved to Kenny Rogers's old estate up on Mandeville Canyon Road. Thing's a mausoleum, sits on five acres. Musta cost him a fortune. Everything's real classy. He's not your normal garlic breather. He calls himself Champagne Dennis Valentine-drinks nothing but Taittinger, which he calls the champagne of champagnes. He's loaded with personality tics. He's a germ nut-won't even shake hands. He's a health-food nut, a vegetarian. Eats mostly broccoli and spinach. I swear, Shane, you go to his place for dinner and it's tofu and brown rice. I'd rather eat a hairball."

"And you're working for him?"

"I've got a co-production arrangement hammered out with his company, Heart-Shaped Films. Valentine… heartshaped-get it? We're going to do a film or two. I'm doing a lot for him, like arranging the party tomorrow afternoon to introduce him to the big players in Hollywood-agents, managers, and such. I'm not going to accept some snowball definition of net profits or rolling break-even. My piece on our co-productions has to kick in from first-dollar gross, after P and A, of course." Nicky talking the talk.

"I haven't heard so much sleazy bullshit since Clinton testified."

Nicky held up his hand. "You aren't a player, so naturally you don't get it."

Maybe not, but Shane had been getting one good idea. So he sat down on the edge of the bed beside the little grifter. "Guess what, Nick? This is your lucky day."

"I don't want a lucky day."

"Well, you got one. While you were just sitting here talking about your deal with this mobster, and this great life you finally got, I had a great idea."

"Bubee, ain't ya heard? There's a twenty-year-old reward out for a cop with a great idea."

"You're about to get a new fifty-fifty partner at CineRoma, and you're looking at him."

Now Nicky actually looked frightened. "Whatta you mean, 'partner'? Do I look like I want a partner?"

"Nicky, this isn't a negotiation. It's a condition. Either I come in for half of your company, or you take the pipe for Carol's murder. Say no, and I'll sell you so fast you'll think you're a used Bentley."

"Shane, why are you doing this to me?"

"Because I want this guy, Nicky. I think he killed Carol and I want him."

"Why? Why would he kill her? It makes no sense."

"Who knows why? Because he's a goomba, or because he eats too much broccoli. Maybe she knew his plans to infiltrate Hollywood and when she started shooting heroin, she became a liability and had to be fixed."

"Shane, he wouldn't do that."

"Or maybe she was shaking him down for money, to buy drugs. Who knows? Look, Nicky, I'm not arguing here. You've got no choice."

Little Nicky looked at him and actually started to weep. Tears came down his face, although for some strange reason, this time he made no crying sounds. Then he got control of himself.

"How much are you gonna pay me for your end?" he finally said, hope reappearing on his tear-stained face. " 'Cause it won't be cheap. Cine-Roma has a book value of slightly over five mil. That's not counting goodwill with agents and distributors and unearned assets like future profits on Boots and Bikinis."

"Five mil sounds high." Shane opened his wallet and took out one dollar and handed it over. "How 'bout one dollar and other considerations? I believe that's the legal necessity to guarantee a contract in the State of California."

"No fucking way," Nicky howled.

"Don't lose sight of the fact that the other considerations in this case include my keeping you off Lou Ruta's suspect list. I'll have somebody in the LAPD Legal Affairs Department draw up the contract."

Nicky Marcella sat there looking at Shane for a long moment, then he finally sighed and nodded. "I guess we should say a prayer or something."

"You pray over deals?"

"No. I wanta pray for Carol. We should do that, don't you think?"

Shane sat looking at him for a long moment, trying to assess if he was serious, and for some reason, Shane knew he was. It surprised him. But that was the thing about Nicky; he wasn't just one thing. He could catch you off balance. "Yeah, sure, let's do it," Shane agreed.

So they held hands while Nicky the Pooh bowed his head and prayed for Carol White's newly departed soul.