Pimp

Twenty-Nine

“Make it real,” Larry said.

“Bill Moss is gone.”

Larry, in his car, in traffic in downtown Hollywood, didn’t even know who the fuck was calling, said, “Who the fuck is calling?”

Larry had been supposed to meet Eddie Vegas at a strip club, to update him on the project. Larry didn’t have an update — fucking Darren and Angela had kept him out of the loop — but he had some good bullshit prepared.

Then this call from a private number.

“Lionsgate told Eddie he’s not a producer anymore,” the voice said. It was a guy — old, a smoker, or both.

“I don’t know who I’m talking to,” Larry said.

“Make this right,” the guy said, and clicked off.

“You there? You there?” Larry said, feeling like some idiot in a movie who says, You there? You there? even when it’s obvious he’d been hung up on.

“Fuck me!” Larry screamed.

He called Becker’s various numbers — got voicemail at all of them. Same when he tried to reach Angela. All the execs at Lionsgate were either out of the office or in meetings.

Cut to an hour later — Larry arrived at Becker’s office in West-wood. The kid at the door tried to stomp him as he stormed into Becker’s office. But Becker wasn’t there — just Angela, alone.

“Sorry, I’m in meetings,” Angela said.

“Meeting with who?” Larry said. “There’s nobody here.”

“I’m busy, Larry.”

“Yeah, too busy to answer the phone,” Larry said.

“I learned how to produce from the best.” Angela smiled.

“Look,” Larry said. “I’m just here to resolve a little misunderstanding. Lionsgate’s telling my producing partner that he’s not on the project anymore, do you know why that is?”

“Maybe because he isn’t,” Angela said.

“Huh?”

“Bill Moss quit the project, so since he’s out, you’re out, and your friend’s out as well.”

Knowing he was fucked, that this would never fly with Eddie Vegas, Larry said, “Quit? What do you mean quit? He can’t quit.”

Angela smiled, bust fully expanded, and said, “Welcome to Hollywood, sweetie.”

Larry knew he had officially passed his expiration date and it was time to get the fuck out of town. He went home, packed a suitcase, and returned to his car. As he was getting in, he felt a gun against the back of his head, heard:

“Goin’ somewhere?”

It was the guy from In-N-Out Burger who looked like Nick Nolte’s mug shot.

“Make a sound, it’ll be your last,” Nolte said.

He led Larry into the back of a black sedan. There were two younger guys in the car, up front.

When the car started moving, Larry said, “I didn’t call for a car service, but it’s nice of you guys to take me to the airport.”

Larry going for humor to lighten the situation, the way the victims at concentration camps told jokes to distract themselves from the horror. Anyway, that’s what he’d heard.

They went up to the hills, not far from the Hollywood sign.

“Get out,” Nolte said.

Were they going to shoot him here? Larry was ready to start begging for his life, when he noticed another car, a BMW, off to the side. Eddie Vegas got out of it. He was in jeans, a white T-shirt, a black blazer. He looked sharp.

“You look sharp,” Larry said to him.

“You got my money?” Eddie asked.

“Is that what this is all about?” Larry said. “Jesus, why didn’t you just say so instead of sending half of 48 Hours to come get me?”

“You got the money or not?” Eddie said.

“I don’t have it yet,” Larry said. “But I’m working on it.”

“Sorry, ain’t good enough, man.” Eddie took off his blazer and handed it to Nolte. Said to Larry, “I told you, you had two strikes, and I told you Eddie Vegas don’t strike out.”

“You didn’t strike out, okay?” Larry said. “You got a foul tip. You’re still alive.”

“I ever tell you how I got the name Vegas?”

“’Cause you like to gamble?” Larry asked.

“No, I hate fuckin’ gambling,” Eddie said. “I got the name Vegas ’cause one time in Vegas when I was coming up, I had to deliver some product to a warehouse and the deal went bad. Guy I was with got blown away, my gun, shit ran out of bullets, but I fought, you know how? With my bare hands. Killed six guys with my fists. Mano a mano is the way I like to do shit. Keeps it more personal.”

“You’re kidding, right?” Larry asked, as the first punch connected with his face and something cracked, probably his jaw. Nolte and another guy held Larry up, as Eddie continued to assault his face like a punching bag.

“P-please,” Larry said through a mouthful of blood. “M-make it quick.”

Eddie didn’t. But eventually the pain went away and numbness set in. Larry couldn’t believe this was how he was going to check out, never getting that big hit. He’d always thought his luck would turn eventually, but the credits were rolling, and he was looking for his name, but it wasn’t there. There were other names, and then he couldn’t remember what his name was, what he was searching for.

Then the credits stopped rolling altogether, faded to black.