Justine drove the car around the lake with the Vegas-style fountain set in front of the enormous black glass building in Century City. The Monolith, as it was called, was home to Creative Talent Management, the biggest, most influential talent agency in Hollywood. And the world.
Nora Cronin sat beside Justine in the passenger seat.
Early in the year, Justine had worked for the DA’s office to help the LAPD catch a spree killer who had been terrifying the city and running the cops into the weeds.
The Schoolgirl Killer had been Lieutenant Nora Cronin’s case, but despite her initial outrage that the DA had assigned Private to work with her, she and Justine had meshed brilliantly, as if they’d worked together for years.
Nora touched up her lipstick as Justine drove into the garage, took a ticket from the machine, then cruised around the subterranean car park that consumed more square footage than the town where she was born.
“You know what’s freaky? More money passes through this building than we spend annually on national defense.”
Nora was big, built like a tank, and she had a good, hearty laugh, which she let loose now.
“You’re too funny, Justine. Actually, I can’t wait to see the inside of this place.”
“Yeah?” Justine said. “I think we’re in for a real gladiator-style face-off with an egomaniacal, money-driven jerk who may also be a killer.”
“We might not be able to pull this off. I’m just preparing you. If he says to leave, we’ve got to go.”
“Come on, Nora. A cop and a shrink are going to tag-team him. He’ll talk. He’ll beg us to listen to him.”
Nora laughed again. “What a pair you have, Justine. Anyway, this place may be the colosseum, but we only have to take down one lion. Only one. Here, take this.”
Nora reached down to the floor, picked up a file, and passed it to Justine, who stashed it in her briefcase.
“Let me do the talking,” Justine said.
“Fine,” said Nora. “I’ll be your bodyguard.”
Justine laughed. “Perfect,” she said. “I’ve always wanted one of those.”