The Last Deep Breath

11

Kendra had been right, Monty didn’t want to turn over the contact info for the porn actors where Harvey Wallbanger would be listed under his real name.

“You took my gun, didn’t you?” Monty asked.

“Yeah,” Grey admitted.

It got Monty sort of dancing around his office, on display in the big fish bowl. “You going to shoot some porn actress? That it? You that kind of crazy? See her screw fifty other guys on screen but you figure she’s yours, you love her, you’re going to save her, set her up in house and home, she’s going to be mother of your kids? That what you’re after?”

Grey wasn’t sure how many questions that was, so he hoped one answer would cover them all. “No.”

“What’s it all about?”

“Do you really need to know, Monty?”

“I think I do.”

Monty had the list right there on his desk. Grey could’ve just chopped the guy in the throat and walked out with the information while Monty crawled on all fours gagging and barking like a dog. But Grey didn’t feel the need to go that way and decided to just lay it out. Maybe Kendra was right, he was getting into character, running his lines, finding out who he was, or who he was supposed to be.

“Okay then,” Grey said. “My sister was in the biz under the name Eva Rains. She and a guy named Harvey Wallbanger were apparently a real-life couple. She left porn, probably due to drugs. She dropped a rung on the ladder and came to New York, maybe to be an escort. She was hurt badly by someone she called Johnny. Then she vanished on me. Maybe she’s back in L.A. So I’m here to see if I can get a line on her. I want to talk to Harvey. That okay with you, Monty?”

A couple of famous actors that Grey recognized walked by on the other side of the glass wall. Just a few months ago he might’ve gone after them for an autograph, talked up what his favorite scenes from their films were. But his DVD collection was scattered across six pawn shops in Manhattan now and his love for film seemed to have gone with it. He couldn’t stop thinking about the collapsed veins and the tracks between Ellie’s toes. He thought of Ellie’s dog tasered to death by the cops. It seemed to be a metaphor for something but he didn’t know what. He wondered if Harvey had really cared about her and failed to protect or if he’d only been another part of the problem. Grey’s thoughts were splashing everywhere like a wave hitting the rocks.

Monty was talking. “-hand you his name and contact info, I want you to promise me that you’re not going to-”

“Monty, just give me the-”

“-go psycho and start blasting away.”

“I told you, I’d deal with it.”

“And what’s Kenny think of this bold plan?”

Grey finally understood that Monty was stalling because he was putting together his own scheme.

He didn’t give a damn if Grey put six in Harvey’s face or not. Whether Grey did go crazy because he thought he was in love with a porn princess. He’d just been feeling Grey out, trying to see how on the edge he was, and whether Monty could put it to use, get in behind him and push him the rest of the way.

“All right, spit it out,” Grey said. “What’s on your mind?”

At last Monty smiled. He didn’t have to pretend any longer. For a guy who made his living off of actors Monty proved to be a really terrible one. He sat at his desk and stretched out, thought about putting his feet up but then decided against it. He pulled out two glasses and a bottle of Jameson’s from the bottom drawer of his desk, a bottle that hadn’t been there a couple days ago when Grey had riffled the place. Monty didn’t want to waste the bourbon.

He poured the whiskey.

”I think I have a little job for you first,” he said.

Funds were running low. Grey could use some kind of a payday.

“What kind of job?”

“I want you to kill my wife.”