Hollywood Tough

Chapter 28

They were standing outside on the front porch, away from the bugs, watching the last of the shower guests drive off. Alexa had just packed up her briefcase and was getting ready to head back to Parker Center.

"I can't do this tonight," Alexa said.

"Honey, we've gotta do it tonight. I'm running out of time."

It was already six-thirty. They were arguing about the seven o'clock meeting Shane had set up with Dennis Valentine.

"Why is it so important we do it tonight?" she persisted. "Can't we set it up for tomorrow, or on Saturday?"

"My bank account is empty. I need the hundred grand in good-faith money Valentine promised you."

"Tony just put in another hundred thousand at two this afternoon. That means the department is out over three hundred K. There's a limit to all this insanity, Shane."

"You haven't been down there. It's a zoo. You got any idea how much it costs to FedEx a two-ton Civil War cannon from Virginia to L. A.? I've got sets being built around the clock and people up in Oregon cutting down redwoods. I'm making three hundred pairs of Civil War lace-up underwear for three hundred teenage extras who, starting tomorrow, will be on full salary out at a farm in Reseda, practicing close-order drills with muskets. If we don't get this RICO case made soon, we may have to actually shoot the damn movie to have any chance of coming out." "You better be joking," she said, ominously.

"You haven't met Paul Lubick. When they were passing out assholes, this guy got one with fangs."

Shane pulled the StarTAC off his belt and showed it to her. "I checked this out at ESO. It has a bug inside that broadcasts to a satellite. If I can get him on tape trying to bribe you in a union-fixing scam, then I can shut this bullshit film down. I'm moving as fast as I can. I know it sounds crazy, but right now, I'm up against trigger clauses on three big talent deals. When they hit, we're fucked. We can't delay this."

"Trigger clauses. For how much, you never said." "You don't want to know."

She glared at him, so he told her, "Seventeen million in unamortized, above-the-line costs. Ten for Michael Fallon, two for Rajindi Singh, and five for Paul Lubick."

Alexa had her hands on her hips, which he'd come to recognize during their first year of marriage as her most bellicose posture.

"But we won't have to pay it, 'cause I promise I'll close it down before that happens, but you can't build in any delays. I know it's a shiny time, but this thing sort of got away from me. I think I can hold it to under half a million if we move fast."

So ten minutes later they were in Shane's Acura, driving to Kenny Rogers's old house on Mandeville Canyon. They were both stressed, and halfway there got into another argument.

"This movie has turned into a runaway train," Alexa fumed.

"I'm doing the best I can," he flared.

"It's like everything is coming apart at once," she complained. "Chooch is missing and that's got me worried sick. This damn gang war is escalating. Now I've got this mess with Valentine, and to top it off, Nora just told me she needs more help with the wedding. One of her bridesmaids, the one from Michigan, who was handling the flower arrangements and the chapel decorations, is AWOL and won't be out here till the day before the ceremony. All that got dumped on me this afternoon."

"So tell her no."

"How can I tell her that after all she's done for me?"

Shane knew it was absolutely the wrong time to tell Alexa about Farrell Champion. So why on God's earth did he ignore his instinct? But right there, on Sunset, just as he was nearing the 405, that's exactly what he did.

"Speaking of the wedding, it's just possible that Farrell isn't all we'd hoped for." Shane had his hands at ten and two on the steering wheel, his stare locked on the street ahead, but he could feel her anger pulsing across the seat at him, heating the side of his face.

"Isn't all we'd hoped for? Just what the hell does that mean?"

'Well, remember his bad joke?"

"Oh, no. Please don't tell me you've been investigating that."

"Honey, it wasn't a joke. Farrell does have two dead exwives-both from food poisoning."

"You promised me." She sounded exhausted, or resigned, or maybe it was just that she was massively disappointed.

"I know I promised, but dammit, I had a strong hunch, a feeling I just couldn't ignore. I couldn't."

"Why?"

"Because this guy's not Prince Charming. He's not even a halfway decent frog. In fact, cutting to the sleazy bottom line, he's a complete shit who skagged two ex-wives, got busted for it by the A. G. in Washington, then rolled over on a drug-money laundering scam he was doing in Panama to beat the double-one." Shane pulled Fineburg's fax picture out of his pocket and handed it to Alexa, who studied it for a minute, then pitched it into the ever-increasing distance between them.

"This isn't him. It's somebody named Daniel Zelso.

Doesn't even faintly resemble Farrell," she said disdainfully.

"It's him before the face job. I got prints from his house, Alexa. He's running around testifying for the feds behind a screen while they protect his identity in WITSEC."

She was staring down at the picture on the seat; then she put her hands up to her face and started to weep.

Shane had just passed over the freeway west of UCLA and was now heading west toward Pacific Palisades. As he slowed, a line of angry drivers started honking behind him, so he made a right onto Barrington. The houses here were large, the lawns well cared for, the neighborhood made famous by O. J. Shane pulled to the curb away from the streetlight and parked. In the front seat, beside him, his beautiful, strong wife was slowly coming unglued.

"Honey…"

"Shut up." She turned her back to him. "Just please shut up." Now facing the side window, sobbing.

Shane knew a lot of things were causing her meltdown. Lack of sleep was probably at the center of it, plus the stress of not knowing where Chooch was. Everything seemed to be hitting them at once.

"Honey, Farrell's a bad guy. I know I made a promise. I know I broke it, and I'm really sorry. I'd do anything if it hadn't come out this way, but dammit, I love Nora, too. She's my friend as well as yours. I had a hunch Farrell was lying and now it turns out he's a money-laundering murderer."

Shane looked at the dashboard clock: 7:06. He knew they couldn't run a scam on Dennis Valentine with their personal lives falling apart like this. What was he thinking? Why the hell had he told her all this now?

Of course there were two reasons: first, Alexa was the strongest, smartest person he knew, and he needed to strategize with her; second, he simply had a horrible time lying to her.

Finally, she turned to face him. "We better get going. It's after seven," she said, opening her purse and taking out a pack of Kleenex. She blew her nose, then threw the tissues back inside the purse, snapping it shut.

"Honey, I'm sorry."

"We can't deal with it now. I've gotta get my wits about me. You said it's up on Mandeville Canyon. That's only a few minutes from here."

"Alexa…"

"Shane, stop it. I'll get over it. Let's go. I have to get back to Parker Center."

He put the Acura in gear, swung a U back to Sunset, then resumed his trip to Dennis Valentine's house. They turned onto Mandeville Canyon and finally pulled up to his brightly lit gatehouse. Shane looked over at Alexa. She was bathed in the glow coming through the side window. "Honey, are you sure you're up to this?"

"Just ring the fucking buzzer," she said and sighed.